^ The rifle was propped on a sack filled with sand and the muzzle pointed through an open window. The room was in shadow because the sun was aimed in the same direction as the rifle barrel. The marksman, Chaim Borgheim, took the first pressure. A second squeeze and Tafak was dead.
^ Albert Meyer, the man who had quietly intimidated Lucille Fahmy, the switchboard operator who had provided a telephone number in Beirut, sat at the back of the room with an automatic weapon across his lap. He jumped when the phone rang, jumped because it could have disturbed his colleague's aim. He moved very quickly, scooping up the phone by his side. 'Albert here…' His eyes widened as he listened, then he said 'understood,' put down the receiver and moved swiftly and quietly across the room. Albert was sweating.
^ 'No, Chaim…' He extended one finger carefully across the top of the rifle barrel, being very careful indeed not to touch the ^ ^ weapon. He could feel sweat dribbling down his back. 'Jesus Christ.. .'Chaim released the first pressure, looked up with a blank expression.
^ 'I thought I was too late. They just phoned through – not yet. Not yet, they said.'
^ 'Some crisis – in another part of the world. They cannot yet assess its implications. We must wait.'
^ Through the fog the men on Mile Rocks lighthouse at the entrance to Golden Gate channel saw the ^ Challenger ^ burning.
^ It was dark, it was foggy, but the glare of the flames broke through both darkness and fog, a hideous half-seen conflagration which chilled them even more than the night air round the exposed lighthouse. They immediately signalled the Port Authority, which transmitted their signal to the mayor's office, and this signal arrived at almost the same moment as a message from the tanker.
^ The meeting in the mayor's office, which had gone on for hours, with a brief break for refreshments, was breaking up. Peretti listened on the phone, said wait a minute, then called out to the men leaving the room. 'Hold it! Something else is just coming through…'
^ They waited while he went on listening, scribbling notes on his desk pad. They were tired, worn out with arguing, and Cassidy, by sheer force of character, had persuaded the mayor to wait until morning before he finally decided – whether or not to let the terrorist ship inside the Bay. There had been more threats from the ship, now signed by LeCat, and Peretti was wracked with anxiety that he might be responsible for the violent deaths of twenty-nine innocent human beings, one of them a woman. Reluctantly, he had given way to Cassidy.
^ In his shirtsleeves despite the low room temperature – to save fuel the thermostat was turned down to sixty-two degrees -Peretti felt soiled and rumpled and badly in need of a shower. That was, before the phone rang. Now he had become alert again, staring at Cassidy while he listened on the phone. He put down the receiver, glanced at his notes. 'Get back to your seats, gentlemen, this thing isn't finished for tonight. It's only just beginning.' 'What's happened?' Cassidy demanded crisply. 'Two more signals – one from Mile Rocks lighthouse, one from the ^ Challenger ^ herself. There's been a serious explosion aboard the tanker, then a bad fire. Nine people have been very seriously hurt – five of them hostages, and one of them is Miss Codrell. They're asking for immediate permission to steam into the Bay so the casualties can be taken ^ off. ^ Four of them are terrorists
…' 'That's the signal from the ^ Challenger? ^ Cassidy asked. 'Yes.'
^ 'It could easily be a trick. I don't believe it…' Peretti exploded. How like the goddamn military… 'You may not believe it – or want to believe it – but I have a message here from Mile Rocks lighthouse confirming that they have seen the tanker ablaze,' he rasped. 'The fire has gone out now, thank God. And I'm giving permission for that ship to enter the Bay…'
^ 'We could lift the casualties off the tanker by chopper maybe,' Garfield, the Coast Guard chief suggested.
^ 'The message repeats the earlier threat – if any aircraft, surface or underwater vessel approaches the tanker all the hostages will immediately be killed…' 'I still don't like it,' Cassidy said.
^ 'Colonel, no one is asking you to like it,' Peretti snapped. 'You just haven't thought this thing through. One wrong move on my part and those people on that tanker may die. I have to think of the British crew, helpless men with guns pointing at them. When we take off the casualties we shall have four terrorists in our hands for questioning. Some human contact even with terrorists is better than…'
^ Even while Peretti was speaking they were hauling up the side of the hull of the ^ Challenger ^ the remnants of the two Carley floats which had been attached to her with cables. The floats, crammed with petrol-soaked rags, had earlier been lowered over the side, each with a tiny thermite bomb and a timer device aboard, so when they drifted with the current they were well clear of the tanker as they exploded and ignited the floats, creating the two separate blazes which had been seen from Mile Rocks lighthouse.
^ '… human contact even with terrorists is better than trying to communicate across a void through the medium of radio signals,' Peretti continued. 'These misguided men are not necessarily all wild beasts…'
^ 'You could have fooled me,' Cassidy said, then regretted the remark. It had sounded damned rude.
^ Peretti sat up straight at the head of the table and spoke without rancour. 'You are a soldier, Colonel Cassidy. You have been trained to shoot at the enemy. Sometimes that is necessary, but here we have hostages from another country – from Britain – to think of. I am not putting this to the vote, I am taking the decision myself. The tanker ^ Challenger ^ will be given permission to enter the Bay…'
^ It was close to midnight when Governor Alex MacGowan's Boeing 707 approached the runway at San Francisco International airport, his flight much delayed owing to a petrol shortage which had kept him waiting for seven hours at Heathrow Airport, London.
16
^ 'From the point of view of the Red Army, if the western nations attempted to break the Arab stranglehold on their economies, then a favourable situation might arise whereby the Soviet Union could secure for itself certain oil reserves essential in the event of a future confrontation with the People's Republic of China…'
^ Extract from photostat of confidential report from Marshal Simoniev to First Secretary of Union of Soviet Socialist Republics handed to Ken Chapin of CIA by Soviet defector, Col Grigorienko.
^ 'After a night in bed with his wife, Peretti is the kind of guy who has to be helped out of it in the morning…'
^ 'Before this thing is finished I'm going to get a whole lot coarser,' the Governor assured his wife. He peered out of the window into the dark. 'Where the hell is the airport?'
^ The Boeing 707 was losing altitude rapidly, coming in to the San Francisco runway from the north-east – all planes had been routed away from their normal entry over the Pacific so they wouldn't pass over the tanker ^ Challenger. ^ It was the flying moment Miriam MacGowan hated most – the downward drop at speed towards a solid concrete avenue somewhere out of sight. MacGowan's attitude was more brutally fatalistic – either we hit the deck and cruise along it – or we burn. He was careful not to express the sentiment.
^ MacGowan was fuming. Half an hour ago, while the plane was flying over San Luis Obispo, he had received a radio message from an aide Col Cassidy had spoken to. Occasionally, in the States, when a military man does not agree with a decision, he has been known to leak the decision to a political friend whose views equate more closely with his own. MacGowan now knew that the terrorist ship he had heard about while changing planes at Los Angeles was going to be allowed inside the Bay. It was, of course, a typical Peretti decision. Milk in his spine and jello in his guts. MacGowan couldn't stomach the bloody matinee idol.