He looked at his watch. Nine-thirty-five. “Jesus,” he said, “we’ve got less than two and a half hours if that guy means what he says.”
They were in the general neighborhood now and he could see the gas storage tanks by the river silhouetted against the hazy August sky. Mike Chavez was driving carefully as kids darted in and out of the parked cars, using the street for a playground.
Old and rundown, the racially mixed neighborhood was street after street, block after block, of wood-frame three and four deckers jammed in one on top of the other. Lieutenant Rudderham knew that they backed up to within one hundred yards or so of the gas tanks. He shuddered as he thought of the effects of fire and explosion, especially on a day like this when water pressure would be low. If the tanks went up, there would be no need to wait for urban renewal.
Mike Chavez pulled the car to the curb in front of an empty variety store. They were about a block from the gas tanks. Rudderham recognized two other unmarked police vehicles and was momentarily surprised at the lack of squad cars and fire apparatus. Then he realized that the presence of patrol cars and fire equipment, even if hidden from the tank itself, would arouse curiosity and might precipitate the activity that would cause whoever it was to fulfill his threat of early detonation.
“That’s just the problem, Harry,” Chief of Police Carl Werner confirmed when Rudderham and Chavez were inside the vacant variety store. A command post of sorts had been hastily set up — table, with police radio on it; chairs; map of the area. Besides Chief Werner, Harry Rudderham recognized the Police Commissioner, the Fire Chief, four boys from demo, and a man he knew was from Civil Defense but whose name he had forgotten. The Mayor of the city was in front of the map, smoking a cigarette nervously.
“If we call in black and whites, fire equipment, civil defense apparatus and so on,” Werner continued, “we’re running the risk of this guy setting it off early. Of course, he’ll do it by noon anyway, he says. So if we want to evacuate or block off this area, we’d have to start now.”
“We’d never be able to do it,” said the Mayor. “Not enough time.” He ran his fingers through thinning hair. “We’ve been in touch with the Governor, of course. He’s offered State Police, even the National Guard. But what the hell good will they do now? We’ll need them later, of course, if...”
“Mike mentioned a note to the Governor,” Rudderham said.
“This is it,” said the commissioner, proffering it to the lieutenant.
Rudderham read the note, hand printed in capital letters on a piece of school composition paper:
TO THE GOVERNOR,
I HAVE LIVED ALL MY LIFE IN THIS NEIGHBORHOOD. IT USED TO BE A PRETTY GOOD PLACE TO LIVE BUT NOW IT IS NO GOOD. IT IS A STINKING PLACE NOW TO LIVE IN AND NO ONE CARES ABOUT US PEOPLE STUCK HERE SO I AM GOING TO BLOW THE WHOLE THING RIGHT OFF THE MAP AT TWELVE OCLOCK TODAY, I AM WILLING TO DIE AND THE OTHER PEOPLE WHO DIE TODAY WILL DIE FOR A GOOD USE, THEY WILL MAKE EVERYONE SEE THAT PEOPLE SHOULDN’T HAVE TO LIVE IN SLUMS. I HAVE THOUGHT ABOUT THIS FOR A LONG TIME AND NOTHING CAN CHANGE MY MIND. IF ANYONE TRIES TO STOP ME OR IF I SEE MANY POLICE OR LOTS OF PEOPLE STARTING TO MOVE OUT I WILL BLOW THE TANK UP RIGHT AWAY. I HOPE THIS ACTION WILL MAKE YOU START PROGRAMS RIGHT AWAY TO GIVE PEOPLE AND THEIR KIDS GOOD DECENT PLACES TO LIVE.
MARTIN WEISS
1171 MARKET STREET
“He gave his name? Is that really the guy?” Rudderham asked, handing the note back to the Commissioner.
“We’ve checked him out and I guess that’s who he is, all right,” said Werner. “We have his wife downtown, the poor bastard. Weiss hasn’t been home all night and his wife says he’s been acting strangely for months. Really brooding about his job, the neighborhood, and so on.”
“What does he know about explosives?” asked Rudderham. “Job? Military?”
“Nothing in his job experience to give him knowledge of explosives. He’s a factory worker. Mattress factory. We’re still waiting to hear from the Army. He did serve in World War Two his wife says. But — and this is significant — according to his wife he likes to tinker around the cellar with chemicals, electrical gadgets, and so on. Now, what he’d be able to come up with, we don’t know. Whether he ever got the right combination of chemicals or not is almost impossible to check out. We’ve been to the house and if he ever had anything in the cellar, he’s cleaned it out.”
“Where does that leave us?” asked Rudderham.
“Right on the spot,” said the Mayor, perspiring furiously. The lieutenant wondered whether the heat alone was the cause.
“We’re getting a man with binoculars into one of the houses near the tank,” said Werner. “He should be there by now. The problem was getting the family out and isolated without causing a stir. The house is about one hundred fifty yards from the tank.” The Chief lit a cigarette with steady hands. “We’re hoping we can get a rifle shot at him. We’ve got a couple of guys for that on the way.”
“Why can’t you evacuate all the parts of the neighborhood that he can’t see? You know, right up to the line of houses that border the tank. And then get those houses emptied by the back door?”
“That’s what we had in mind if it comes to it. But, as we said, it’s risky and there isn’t much time. It’d be awful hard to pull that off without creating a lot of stir. We’d hate to push him into doing something that he might not do otherwise. See what I mean?
“There’s no guarantee that he’ll go through with it. He might be bluffing. He might back off on his own. But if we upset him by doing what he says he doesn’t want us to do, that might push him over. Of course, we don’t even know if what he’s got would do the job. That’s a chance in our favor.”
“What does the Gas Company say?” asked Rudderham. “I mean, how durable are those tanks?”
“Well, it depends. The tanks — holders, they call ’em — are made of steel plate about four inches thick. It’d take a good charge to rupture it, but...” The Chief paused. “And don’t forget there are five other tanks there plus the high-tension lines.”
Chief Werner took a deep drag on his cigarette, inhaling and holding the smoke in his lungs a moment. “It comes down to this. We don’t know if it’d blow or not for sure. There might just be a rupture of the tank and the gas would leak out without exploding or catching fire. That is, if we’re real lucky. But if it blows... Jesus, there could be one hell of a chain reaction with those other tanks and the wires. I don’t like to think of the results, believe me.”
Lieutenant Rudderham looked at the Mayor. The man was ashen. Taking his handkerchief from his pocket, Rudderham captured two hard sneezes and blew his nose. Damn hayfever. He looked at his watch. Nine-fifty-five.
Noticing, the Mayor looked at his own watch, went to the window and looked out for a moment. Turning, he said, “We can’t wait any longer. I want the area blocked off and evacuation of the houses near the tanks begun. Get the people out the back doors and moved out in unmarked cars.”
Rudderham pulled a chair from under the table and sat down. Suddenly, he was completely fatigued. The inside of the store was stifling. The day gave promise of mid-ninety degree readings again, a continuation of a heat wave approaching three weeks.
The radio on the table cracked for the first time. Because of the special frequency, they weren’t picking up routine calls. “This is Gill. Do you read me? Over.”
Chief Werner went to the radio and spoke into the mike. “We hear you, Gill. Go ahead.”
“He’s partially obscured by one of the supporting girders. He’s got a box with him of some sort but it’s hard to make it out clearly.”