Overload. - Overload. Part 14
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Overload. Part 14

"Not sure yet, but don't worry. Between now and then we'll think of something."

Mrs. Quinn seemed shocked. Irwin Saunders smiled.

"Then there are the rate hearings; that's front number four. Any time there's a proposal for increased utility rates, p&lfp will oppose them fiercely, as we did last time. With success, I might add."

"What success?" Roderick Pritchett asked. "So far as I know, a decision hasn't been announced."

"You're right, it hasn't." Birdsong smiled knowingly. "But -I have friends at the PUG, and I know what's coming out of there in two or three days-an announcement which will be a kick in the crotch to GSP & L."

Pritchett asked curiously, "Does the utility know yet?"

"I doubt it."

Laura Bo Carmichael said, "Let's get on."

"The fifth front," Birdsong said, "and a mighty important one, is the annual meeting of Golden State Power & Light which takes place two and a half weeks from now. I have some plans for that, though I'd be glad if you didn't ask me too much about them."

"You're implying," Saunders said, "that we'd be better off not knowing."

"Exactly, counselor."

"Then what," Laura Bo asked, "is all this talk of liaison about?"

Birdsong grinned as be rubbed a thumb and two fingers together sugestively. "This kind of liaison. Money."

"I thought we'd get to that," Pritchett said.

"Something else about our working together," Birdsong told the Sequoia group. "It would be better if it wasn't out in the open. It should be confidential, entre nous."

"Then in what possible way," Mrs. Quinn asked, "would the Sequoia Club benefit?"

Irwin Saunders said, "I can answer that. The fact is, Priscilla, anything which damages the image of GSP & L, in any area, is likely to diminish their strength and success in others." He smiled. "It's a tactic which lawyers have been known to use."

"Why do you need money?" Pritchett asked Birdsong. "And what sum are we talking about?"

"We need it because p & lfp alone cannot afford all the preparation and people which are necessary if our combined opposition-on the table and under it-is to be effective." Birdsong turned directly to the chairman. "As you pointed out, we have resources of our own, but not nearly enough for a project of this size." His glance returned to the others. "The amount I'm suggesting the Sequoia Club contribute is fifty thousand dollars in two installments."

The manager-secretary removed his glasses and inspected them for clarity.

"You certainly don't think small."

"No, and neither should you, considering what's at stake-in your case a possible major impact on the environment."

"What bothers me in all of this," Mrs. Quinn observed, "are certain implications of gutter fighting which I do not care for."

Laura Bo Carmichael nodded. "I have precisely the same feeling."

Again it was the lawyer, Saunders, who interceded.

"Certain facts of life," he told his colleagues, "ought to be faced. In opposing these latest projects of Golden State Power-Tunipah, log Fincastle, Devil's Gate-the Sequoia Club will present what we know to be reasoned arguments. However, remembering the climate of the times and misguided demands for more and more energy, reason and rationale are not certain to prevail. So what else do we do? I say we need another element-an ally that is more aggressive, more flamboyant, more calculated to excite public attention which, in turn, will influence the regulators who are only politicians once removed. In my view Mr. Birdsong and his whatever-he-calls-it group . . ."

"Power & light for people," Birdsong interjected.

Saunders waved a hand as if the detail were unimportant. "Both ahead of those hearings, and at them, he'll add that missing element we lack."

"TV and the press love me," Birdsong said. "I give them a show, something to leaven and liven their stories. Because of that, anything I say gets printed and is put on the air."

"That's true," the manager-secretary affirmed. "Even some outrageous statements of his have been used by the media while they've omitted our comments and those of GSP & L."

The chairman asked him, "Am I to assume you are in favor of what's proposed?"

"Yes, I am," Pritchett said. "There is one assurance, though, I'd like from Mr. Birdsong, namely that whatever his group does, no violence or intimidation will be countenanced."

The boardroom table quivered as Birdsong's hand slammed down. "Assurance given! My group despises violence of any kind. We have issued statements saying so."

"I'm glad to hear it," Pritchett acknowledged, "and the Sequoia Club, of course, shares that view. By the way, I presume everyone saw the report, in today's Chronicle-West, of more bombings at GSP & L."

The others nodded. The report had described havoc at a GSP & L truck depot where more than two dozen vehicles were damaged or destroyed during the night-the result of a fire started by a bomb. Several days earlier a substation had been bombed, though damage was slight. In both instances the underground Friends of Freedom had claimed responsibility.

"Are there more questions for Mr. Birdsong?" Laura Bo Carmichael asked.

There were several. They concerned the tactics to be employed against GSP & L-"continual harassment on a broad public information front" was how Birdsong put it-and the use to which the Sequoia Club's money would be put.

At one point Roderick Pritchett ruminated aloud, "I'm not sure it would be to our advantage to insist on a detailed accounting, but naturally we would require proof that our money was expended effectively."

"Your proof would be in results," Birdsong answered.

It was conceded that certain matters would have to be taken on trust. At length Laura Bo Carmichael announced, "Mr. Birdsong, I'll ask you to leave us now so that the rest of us can discuss your proposal privately. One way or the other, we will be in touch with you soon."

Davey Birdsong stood, beaming, his big body towering over the others.

"Well, cobbers all, it's been a privilege and pleasure. For now so long!"

As he went out there was an awareness that he had slipped like putting on a garment-into his bluff public role. When the boardroom door had closed behind Birdsong, Mrs. Quinn spoke first and firmly. "I don't like any of it. I dislike the man and all my instincts are against trusting him. I'm totally opposed to any linkage with his group."

"I'm sorry to hear that," Irwin Saunders said, "because I believe his diversionary tactics are exactly what we need to beat these new GSP & L proposals, which is the important thing."

"I must say, Mrs. Quinn," Pritchett remarked, "I agree with Irwin's view."

Priscilla Quinn shook her head decisively. "Nothing any of you say will make me change my mind."

The lawyer sighed. "Priscilla, you're being altogether too prim and proper."

"Possibly that's true." Mrs. Quinn's face flushed red. "But I also have principles, something that disgusting man appears to lack."

Laura Bo said sharply, "No acrimony among ourselves, please!"

Pritchett injected smoothly, "May I remind everyone that this committee has authority to make a binding decision and, if it so decides, to expend the amount of money we've discussed."

"Madam Chairman," Saunders said, "the way I count the voting so far is two in favor, one against, which leaves the swing vote up to you."

"Yes," Laura Bo acknowledged, "I realize that, and I'll admit to some ambivalence."

"In that case," Saunders said, "let me state some reasons why I think you should come to my view, and Roderick's."

"And when you've finished," Priscilla Quinn told him, "I'll argue the opposite."

For another twenty minutes the debate went back and forth.

Laura Bo Carmichael listened, making a contribution here and there, at the same time weighing mentally the way her vote should go. If she opposed co-operating with Birdsong there would be a 2-2 stalemate which would have the same effect as outright rejection. If she voted "for," it would be a decisive 3-1-Her inclination was to cast a "no." While seeing merit in Saunders' and Pritchett's pragmatism, Laura Bo's instincts about Davey Birdsong paralleled Priscilla Quinn's. The trouble was, she didn't particularly want to be linked with Priscilla Quinn-an undoubted snob, a society ill do-gooder forever in the social columns, married to old California money, and thus representing many things which Laura Bo abhorred.

Something else she was aware of: If she sided with Priscilla against the other two it would be a clear case of the women versus the men. Never mind that Laura Bo would not intend it that way and was capable of judging any issue irrespective of her sex, that was the way it would look. She could imagine Irwin Saunders, a male chauvinist, thinking: the damn women stuck together, even if not saying it aloud. Saunders had not been one of Laura Bo's supporters when she was a candidate for the Sequoia Club chairmanship; he had backed a male contender. Now Laura Bo, as the first woman to assume the club's highest office, wanted to show that she could fill that post as well and impartially as any man, perhaps a good deal better.

And yet . . . There was still her instinct that the Birdsong connection would be wrong.

"We're going in circles," Saunders said. "I suggest we take a final vote."

Priscilla Quinn asserted, "My vote remains 'no."'

Saunders growled, "Strongly-'yes."'

"Forgive me, Mrs. Quinn," Pritchett said. "I vote 'yes."'

The eyes of the other three were focused on Laura Bo. She besitited, reviewing once more the implications and her doubts. Then she said decisively, "I will vote 'yes."'

"That does it!" Irwin Saunders said. He rubbed his bands together.

"Priscilla, why not be a good loser? join the rest of us and make it unanimous."

Tight-lipped, Mrs. Quinn shook her head negatively. "I think you will all regret that vote. I wish my dissent to be recorded."

2.

While the Sequoia Club committee continued its discussion in his absence, Davey Birdsong left the club's headquarters building humming a jaunty tune. He had not the least doubt what the outcome would be. The Quinn woman, be knew, would be against him; he was equally sure the other three-for individual reasons-would see the situation his way. The fifty thousand smackeroos was in the bag.

He retrieved his car-a beat-up Chevrolet-from a nearby parking lot and drove through the city's center, then southeast for several miles. He stopped on a nondescript street where he had never been before but which was the sort of location where he could leave the car for several hours without its attracting attention. Birdsong locked the car, memorized the street name, then walked several blocks to a busier thoroughfare where, he had observed en route, several bus lines operated. He took the first westhound bus which came along.

On the way from the car he had donned a hat which he normally never wore and also put on horn-rimmed glasses which he didn't need. The two additions changed his appearance surprisingly, so that anyone used to seeing him on TV or elsewhere would almost certainly fail to recognize him now.

After riding the bus for ten minutes, Birdsong got off and bailed a cruising taxi which he directed to drive northward. Several times be glanced through the taxi's rear window, inspecting other traffic following. The inspections seemed to satisfy him and he ordered the taxi to stop and paid it off. A few minutes later he boarded another bus, this time going east. By now his journey since parking the car had assumed the approximate shape of a square.

As he left the second bus, Birdsong inspected the other passengers getting off, then began walking briskly, turning several corners and glancing back each time. After about five minutes of walking he stopped at a small row house, then ascended a half-dozen steps to a recessed front door. He depressed a bell push and stood where he could be seen from the other side of the door through a tiny one-way peephole. Almost at once the door opened and he went inside.

In the small dark hallway of the Friends of Freedom hideaway Georgos Archambault asked, "Were you careful in coming here?"

Birdsong growled, "Of course I was careful. I always am." He said accusingly, "You botched the substation job."

"There were reasons," Georgos said. "Let's go below." He led the way down a flight of cement stairs to the basement workroom with its usual clutter of explosives and accessories.

On a makeshift couch against one wall a girl lay stretched out. She appeared to be in her twenties. Her small round face, which in other circumstances might have been pretty, was waxen pale. Stringy blonde hair, in need of combing, spilled over a grubby pillow. Her right hand was heavily bandaged, the bandage stained brown where blood had seeped through and dried.

Birdsong exploded. "Why is she here?"

"That's what I was going to explain," Georgos said. "She was helping me at the substation and a blasting cap went off. It took off two of her fingers and she was bleeding like a pig. It was dark; I wasn't sure if we'd been heard. I did the rest of the job in a big hurry."

"And where you put the bomb was stupid and useless," Birdsong said. "A firecracker would have done as much damage."

Georgos flushed. Before he could answer, the girl said, "I ought to go to a hospital."

"You can't and you won't." Birdsong exhibited none of the affability which was his trademark. He told Georgos angrily, "You know our arrangement. Get her out of here!"

Georgos motioned with his head and unhappily the girl got off the couch and went upstairs. He had made another mistake, Georgos knew, in allowing her to stay. The arrangement Birdsong had mentioned-a sensible precaution-was that only be and Georgos should meet face-to-face. Davey Birdsong's connection was unknown to the others in the underground group-Wayde, Ute and Felix-who either left the house or kept out of sight when a visit from the Friends of Freedom outside conduit-Birdsong-was expected. The real trouble was, Georgos realized, he had become soft about his woman, Yvette, which was not good. It had been the same way when the blasting cap went off; at that moment Georgos had been more concerned about Yvette's injuries than the job in hand, so that wanting to get her away safely was the real reason he had hurried-and botched.

When the girl had gone, Birdsong said, low-voiced, "Just make damn sure-no hospital, no doctor. There'd be questions and she knows too much.

If you have to, get rid of her. There are easy ways."

"She'll be all right. Besides, she's useful." Georgos was uncomfortable under Birdsong's scrutiny and changed the subject. "The truck depot last night went well. You saw the reports?"

The big man nodded grudgingly. "They should all go that way. There isn't time or money to waste on bummers."

Georgos accepted the rebuke silently, though he didn't have to. He was the leader of Friends of Freedom. Davey Birdsong's role was secondary, as a link to the outside, particularly to those supporters of revolution-"drawing room Marxists"-who favored active anarchy but didn't want to share its risks. Yet Birdsong, by his nature, liked to appear dominant, and sometimes Georgos let him get away with it because of his usefulness, particularly the money be brought in.

Money was the reason right now for avoiding an argument; Georgos needed more since his earlier sources had abruptly dried up. His bitch of a mother, the Greek movie actress who had supplied him with a steady income for twenty years, had apparently hit hard times herself; she wasn't getting film parts anymore because not even makeup could conceal the fact she was fifty, her young goddess looks gone forever. That part Georgos was delighted about and hoped things would get progressively worse for her. If she were starving, he told himself, he wouldn't give her a stale biscuit. Just the same, a notification from the Athens lawyers-impersonal as usual-that no more payments would be made into his Chicago bank account. Georgos' cash needs involved current costs and future plans. One project was to build a small nuclear bomb and explode it in or near the headquarters of Golden State Power & Light. Such a bomb, Georgos reasoned, would destroy the building, the exploiters and lackeys in it, and also much else around-a salutary lesson to the capitalist oppressors of the people.

At the same time, Friends of Freedom would become an even more formidable force than now, to be treated with awe and respect.

The idea of creating an atomic bomb was ambitious and perhaps unrealistic-though not entirely. After all, a twenty-one-year-old Princeton student named John Phillips had already demonstrated in a much publicized term paper that the "how to" details were available in library reference materials to anyone having the patience to assemble them. Georgos Winslow Archambault, steeped in physics and chemistry, had obtained all the information he could about Phillips' research and had built up a file of his own, also using library data. One non-library item in the file was a ten-page handbook put out by California's Office of Emergency Services and directed to police agencies; it outlined ways of dealing with atomic bomb threats and that, too, had provided useful information. Georgos was now close, he believed, to creating a detailed working drawing. However, actual construction of a bomb would require fissionable material, which would have to be stolen, and that would take money-a lot, plus organization and luck. But it just might be done; stranger things had happened.

He told Birdsong, "Since you've brought up time and money, we need some long green now."

"You'll get it." Birdsong permitted himself a wide smile, the first since coming in. "And plenty. I found another money tree."

3.