Goodbye California - Alistair [90]
Bramwell said cautiously: ‘Which one?’
‘Which woman is?’ Burnett would have gone over big with the women’s lib. ‘But I was referring to Mrs Ryder, of course.’
Healey steepled judicious fingers. ‘Charming, I thought.’
‘Charming? To be sure, to be sure. Charming. Quite beautiful. But deranged.’ He waved a vague arm around. ‘All this, I suppose. Women can’t take it. Went along to see her after dinner, pay respects, commiserate with injured daughter, you know. Damn pretty young girl that. Lying there, all shot up.’ To listen to Burnett, one would have assumed that the patient had been riddled with machine-gun fire. ‘Well, I’m a pretty even-tempered fellow’ – he seemed to be genuinely unaware of his own reputation – ‘but I must say I rather lost my temper. Said that Morro was at worst a cold-blooded monster that should be destroyed, at best a raving lunatic that should be locked up. Would you believe it, she didn’t agree at all.’ He briefly contemplated the enormity of her error in character assessment, then shook his head at its being beyond normal comprehension. ‘Admitted that he should be brought to justice, but said he was kind, considerate and even thoughtful of others at times. An intelligent, I had thought highly intelligent, woman.’ Burnett shook his head again, whether in self-reproach at his own character assessment or because he was sadly figuring out what the rest of womankind might be like it was hard to say. He drank his brandy, clearly not savouring it at all. ‘I ask you, gentlemen. I simply ask you.’
‘He’s a maniac, all right. That I grant you.’ Bramwell was being cautious again. ‘But not amoral as a madman should be. If he really wanted an impressive debut for this atom bomb of his – assuming he has one, and none of us here doubts it – he’d detonate it without warning in the Wilshire Boulevard instead of with warning out in the desert.’
‘Balderdash. The extreme cunning of extreme madness. Wants to convince people that they’re dealing with a rational human being.’ Burnett examined his empty glass, rose and made for the bar. ‘Well, he’ll never convince me of that. I detest clichés but, gentlemen – mark my words.’
They marked his words in silence and were still sitting in silence when Morro and Dubois entered. He was either oblivious of or ignored the thunder on Burnett’s face, the gloom on that of the others.
‘I am sorry to disturb you, gentlemen, but the evenings are a bit dull here and I thought you might care to see something to titillate your scientific curiosity. I do not want to sound like a showman in a circus, but I’m sure you will be astonished – dumb-founded, I might almost say – by what Abraham and I are about to show you. Would you care to accompany me, gentlemen?’
Burnett wasn’t going to pass up the opportunity to exercise his truculence. ‘And if we refuse?’
‘Your privilege. And I mean yours, Professor. I somehow think your colleagues might be quite interested, and would take great pleasure in telling you afterwards. Of course, you may all choose to refuse. I will bring no pressure to bear.’
Healey rose. ‘I was born nosey. Your food is excellent but the entertainment factor is zero. Nothing on the TV – not that there ever is much – except the precautions being taken to keep people away from the Yucca Flat tomorrow and the fearful speculation as to what the next threat is going to be and what is the motivation behind it all. What is the motivation, Morro?’
‘Later. Meantime, those of you who care –’
They all cared, even Burnett. Two white-robed acolytes were waiting in the passage. This didn’t worry the four physicists: there was nothing new in this, nor in the certain knowledge that they would be carrying their Ingrams in the folds of their robes. What was unusual was that one of them was carrying a tape-recorder. Burnett, as ever, was the first and principal objector.
‘What’s your devious mind planning on now, Morro? What’s the damned recorder for?’
Morro was patient. ‘To make a recording. I thought you might like to be the first to