Binary

HOUR 8

`Hold out your hands.'

Peters held out his hands and waited while the supervisor ran the Geiger counter over them. It made a soft clicking sound in the cavernous warehouse garage.

`Stand still.'

He stood and watched as the counter probe was passed over his chest, his abdomen, his legs. It was a little like being frisked.

`Turn around.'

He turned. He heard the counter clicking as it was passed down his spine to his feet.

`Okay. Next.'

Peters stepped aside, and the driver moved forward. As the driver was being checked by the Geiger counter, the dispatcher said to Peters, `First run?'

`Yes,' Peters said.

`Ever done a DC before?'

Peters pointed to the counter. `Not like this.'

`What've you done, explosives?'

`Yes.'

`This is easier than explosives or flammables,' the dispatcher said. `We've got a regulation for two men in the cab, and another for staying under forty-five miles an hour. That's it. We can take all the roads, all the tunnels and bridges. Much easier than explosives.'

Peters nodded. `What exactly is it?'

The dispatcher consulted his clipboard. `Mostly hospital supplies. Cases of intravenous saline, twelve quarts to the case, thirty cases in all. Cases of pennicillin G, forty-eight ampoules to the case, fifteen cases in all. And two rad cartridges.'

`Rad cartridges?'

`Two bars of plutonium-238 oxide. That's a radioactive isotope. One thousand grammes each - they're packed in lead cylinders.'

`That's our dangerous cargo?' Peters asked.

`You bet,' the dispatcher said.

The driver finished his check and came over to join them. `What was that all about?'

`Insurance,' the dispatcher said. `You have to be cleared before exposure to the cargo., in order for our coverage to be effective. We should also do a blood test, but we don't bother.' He turned to Peters. `Reeves, this is your rider, Peters. Peters, Reeves.'

Reeves shook hands with Peters. As he did so he gave him a slightly surprised look, as if something were mildly wrong.

The dispatcher nodded across the warehouse. `Truck's over there,' he said. `Have a good trip.'

Peters blinked in the sun and put on his sunglasses. Beside him, Reeves sighed. `Bright day,' he said.

`Sure is.'

`You new at this?'

`Yeah.'

`What'd you do before?F

'Aeroplane tail assembly. Lockheed, in Palmdale.'

`Tail assembly, huh?' Reeves said, and laughed loudly.

`They laid me off.'

Reeves stopped laughing and nodded sympathetically. `Rough,' he said. And then after a moment, `Laid off the tail assembly.' And he chuckled some more.

Peters smiled. He felt confident about Reeves, who was fat and sloppy and casual - and fifteen years his senior. There wouldn't be any difficulty.

`Well,' Reeves said, `since you're new at this, you might as well learn the ropes.'. He reached into his pocket and withdrew a plastic bottle of yellow pills. He handed it to Peters.

`What's this?' Peters asked.

`Dex. Go ahead, take one. Feel terrific.'

Peters shook a pill into his hand and paused. Reeves took one, then reached into his leather jacket and produced a flask.

`Wash it down with this,' he said. `Vodka. No smell.' He handed Peters the flask.

Peters dropped the pill from his hand, letting it roll down between the seats. He pretended to swig from the flask, then returned it to Reeves.

`You'll learn,' the driver said, and smiled.

Peters nodded and leaned forward slightly in his seat. That way he could see out the side-view mirror and keep an eye on the black Ford sedan that had been following them for the past fifteen minutes.

Ten minutes later they were on the San Diego Freeway, moving down the far right lane. They passed a green and silver sign: HACKLEY RD EXIT 1 MILE. Peters shifted in his seat. Reeves was talking about his children.

`They're good kids,' he was saying, `but they don't show proper respect. All this screaming about the President, all this revolution talk, it makes me want to -,

'We get off at the next exit,' Peters said.

`No,' Reeves said, `we don't stop for another -' He broke off.

Peters had taken the pistol from the pocket of his leather jacket.

`Hackley Road,' Peters said quietly. `Turn off the ramp and go half a mile east. You'll see a small dirt road. Turn right onto that.'

`I'll be goddamned,' the driver said.

They came to Hackley Road and turned off on the exit ramp. They drove east. Peters glanced in the side mirror and saw that the Ford sedan was still following.

`I should have known,' Reeves said.

`How's that?'

`I should have known something was wrong when I shook hands. It's your hands.'

`What about them?'

`They're as soft as a baby's ass,' Reeves said. `You never worked in your life.'

`Turn right, up here,' Peters said.

It went smoothly. Reeves pulled the truck onto the dirt road and stopped in a clump of eucalyptus trees. Peters made Reeves get out and lie on his stomach on the ground, with his hands over his head.

Reeves said nothing for a long time. Finally he said, `You going to shoot me?'

`Not if you stay quiet,' Peters said.

The Ford sedan drew up behind the truck and three men, all wearing children's Halloween masks, jumped out. A driver remained at the wheel. Nobody spoke as the men opened the back of the truck, climbed up on the hydraulic tailgate, and went into the cargo area.

`Nice and easy,' Peters said, standing near Reeves with the gun. `Nice and easy.'

Reeves did not move.

The men emerged from the truck carrying two small, extremely heavy boxes. Peters could see the triple-blade radiation symbol on the boxes. The men closed the truck and started to load the boxes into the car. One of them came over and expertly tied and gagged Reeves with adhesive tape.

Then, speaking for the first time, the man said, `bet's go.'

Peters was confused. `I thought you were going to take -'

`Let's go.'

Peters went with the man, who wore a Donald Duck mask, and got into the car. The sedan backed out of the road and drove off.

The men all left their masks on. One of them said, `What's the time?'

`Nine thirty-two.'

`Perfect.'

Peters was given a mask of his own, a witch's mask with day-glo pink cheeks and wild eyes. He pulled it on ` and said, `I thought we were taking the penicillin too.'

`The plan was changed,' somebody said.

`But if we just take the capsules -'

`The plan was changed this morning. We were told to take only the capsules.'

Peters frowned and said nothing. He felt the change in plan was a terrible mistake. By stealing the penicillin they would have confused the issue; it might have taken the truckers several days to discover the theft of the radiation capsules. But now they'd find only the capsules gone… It was too obvious, too simple. Why had the change been made?

`Time?'

`Nine thirty-six.'

The driver nodded and pulled over to the side of the road. The men sat quietly, not removing their masks. Peters looked at the backs of their necks, noticing the length of their hair, the condition of their collars, the way they were dressed. Several minutes gassed.

`Time?'

`Nine forty.'

The driver put the car in gear. He drove down the road through gently rolling farm country. The morning air was still cool.

`There it is.'

Up ahead was another dirt road turnoff, with another truck pulled off the road and another man standing over the driver.

`Remember, we want twenty pounds of it.'

The black sedan pulled up behind the truck. Peters was given the spool of inch-wide adhesive tape; he quickly tied and gagged the driver. Meanwhile the others opened the truck and removed several small packages. They were wrapped in clear plastic and looked like bread dough: a whitish, puttylike substance. The men carried two packages each, bringing them around to the trunk of the sedan, setting them in carefully, then going back for more.

Peters gave a mask to the man standing over the driver with the gun. The gunman did not speak. Then Peters went around to the trunk of the sedan and began counting the plastic packages. When there were twenty, he placed them in a suitcase, locked the case, and closed the trunk.

The men climbed back into the sedan and drove off.

`Time?'

`Nine fifty-one.'

`Beautiful.'

'T'he black sedan drove back to the San Diego Freewa, and stopped at the on-ramp for Hackley Road. Peters got out. So did the other gunman. Peters went around to the trunk and removed the suitcase with the plastic packages. The other gunman placed the two radiation capsules into the blue canvas gym bag.

He stood with Peters until the sedan had pulled onto the freeway and disappeared. Then, his back to the road, he took off his mask. Peters took off his mask as well. The other man removed a paper American flag from the bag. With Peters' help, he taped the flag onto the side of the suitcase.

Then Peters removed his black-haired wig and his moustache. The other man removed his blond wig and peeled away a reddish, new-looking scar on the side of his cheek.

The two men looked at each other and laughed.

`Well done, brother,' Peters said, and clapped him on the back.

They waited five minutes, and then another black sedan, very dusty, pulled up. An older man leaned out and said, `Give you boys a lift?'

Peters said, `We're going to Phoenix.' As he said it, he glanced at his brother, who was frowning.

`Hell of along way,' the old man said. `Anyhow, you want to go south. This is the north ramp.'

`We're just resting a minute.'

The man looked at them as if they were peculiar, shrugged, and drove onto the ramp. His car rattled as he gathered speed, and then he was gone. They were left by the roadside.

His brother lit a cigarette.

`You know,' his brother said, `this is going to create a hell of a mess.'

`That was the idea.'

`When are you leaving?'

`Four.'

`That's cutting it awfully close. I'm getting out at three.'

`To Vegas?'

His brother nodded. `You?'

`Chicago.'

`You better hope nothing delays that plane on the ground.'

`There's another flight at four thirty. I'm booked on that one as well.'

His brother nodded.

Down the road they saw a car approach. It was black and white, a sedan. They couldn't see it clearly, but as it came closer they saw the configuration better. A police car.

`Shit,' Peters said.

His brother lit another cigarette. `What if he wants to look in the suitcase? What if he -'

`We haven't done anything wrong,' Peters said. He glanced at his watch. It was almost ten o'clock. Where the hell was the pickup?

The police car came closer.

`I don't like this at all,' his brother said.

`We haven't done anything wrong,' Peters said again.

The police car approached them and put on its blinker.

`The bastard's pulling over.'

But the car did not pull over. Instead, it drove onto the ramp and merged with traffic. The cop hardly glanced at them.

They sighed.

`What time is it?'

`I have ten, on the nose.'

In the distance a car got off the far ramp and made a U turn under the freeway. It was a Cadillac convertible with a woman driving. She came around and started up the ramp, going back the way she had come. She stopped when she saw them.

`I took the wrong turnoff. Can I give you fellows a lift?,

'We're going to Phoenix,' Peters said.

`No kidding,' the woman said. `That's my home town.'

`No kidding,' Peters said. `Which part?'

`The right part,' she said.

The two men exchanged glances, then got into the car, placing the suitcases in the back seat. The woman said, `Sorry I'm late,' and drove off. Nothing else was said.