Overload (26 page)

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 bad 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.

110

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 nowso longl"

As he went out there was an awareness that he had slippedlike 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 Cbevrolet-from a nearby parking lot and

drove through the city's center, then southeast for several miles. He

stopped on a nondescript street where be had never been before but

1.12

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

westbound 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."

"T'here 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?"

"Tlat'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."

112

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 ar-

rangement. 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-toface. 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. Tle real trouble was, Georgos realized, he had become soft

about his woman, Yvette, which was not good. It bad been the same way

when the blasting cap went off; at that moment Georgos bad 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. Tbere'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