The Golden Gate by Alistair MacLean

Author:Alistair MacLean [MacLean, Alistair]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Published: 0100-12-31T22:00:00+00:00

The return of the ambulance to the centre of the bridge at about six o’clock was greeted with warmth and interest. Even being in the spotlight of the eyes of the world loses its dramatic effect if one has nothing to do. Branson’s TV broadcasts apart, the middle of the bridge offered little in the way of entertainment.

When April, pale-faced and still apparently shaken, stepped from the ambulance, Branson was the first to greet her.

‘How do you feel?’

‘I feel such a fool.’ She rolled up a sleeve to exhibit the punctures O’Hare had inflicted upon her earlier in the day. ‘Two little pricks and I’m as right as rain.’

She walked away and sat down rather heavily on one of the many chairs scattered around her. Her colleagues gathered round.

Branson said to O’Hare: ‘She doesn’t look as right as rain to me.’

‘If you mean she’s still not back to normal, I agree. Same appearance, different causes. Last time you saw her she was on a high: now it’s a low. My guess was right, it seems – just an emotional trauma. She’s been sound asleep for the past two hours under heavy sedation. Dopey, that’s all. Dr Huron, the psychiatrist, didn’t want her to return, but she made such a damned noise about not getting back and this being her last chance or whatever that he decided that it might be better for her to return. No worry. I’ve brought back enough of the same sedative to last us for a week out here.’

‘For the sake of all of us, let’s hope you won’t need a quarter of it.’

Revson waited until the last of April’s welcomers had left her for the TV, a show of peculiar interest to all as the programme was devoted exclusively to a rerun of Branson’s early afternoon broadcast. Nobody, Revson was unsurprised to observe, was more interested than Branson himself. But then Branson had no more to occupy his time than anyone else. The only person who seemed remotely active was Chrysler, who visited the rear coach at regular intervals. He wondered why.

Revson sat beside the girl. She looked at him coldly.

He said: ‘What’s the matter with you?’ She remained silent. ‘Don’t tell me. Somebody’s been turning you against me.’

‘Yes. You. I don’t like killers. Especially I don’t like killers who plan their next murders coldbloodedly in advance.’

‘Come, come. That’s putting it a bit strongly.’

‘Is it? Cyanide guns? Lethal pens? Shot through the back, I should imagine.’

‘My, my, we are bitter. Three things. First, those weapons are used only in acute emergency and then only to save lives, to stop bad people killing good people, although perhaps you would rather have it the other way round. Second, it doesn’t matter to a dead man where he has been shot. Third, you have been eavesdropping.’

‘I was invited to listen.’

‘People make mistakes. Clearly, they invited the wrong person. I could be flippant and say I owe a duty to the taxpayer, but I’m not in the mood.’ April

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