Overload (55 page)

admission that twenty-five thousand dollars of the club's money had been

spent unwisely. And Priscilla Quinn's sharp tongue would make the most

of that.

Woman versus woman. For all her disdain of femininity, her determination

not to let her sex influence her decisions, in the end it was Laura Bo's

womanly pride which proved persuasive.

Picking up her pen, she scribbled a signature on the p & 4 check and

banded it to a smiling Roderick Pritchett.

Tle check was mailed to Birdsong later that same day.

10

"We need more violencel More, more, more!" Davey Birdsong

thumped a clenched fist angrily, his voice raised to a shout. "A pisspot

ful more, to shake people up! And some bloody, messy deaths; a lot of

them. It's the only way, the absolute only way, to stir the goddam

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dumb public off their complacent asses and get action. You don't seem to

realize it."

Across the rough wooden table which divided them, Georgos Winslow

Archambault's thin, ascetic face flushed at the final accusation. He

leaned forward and insisted, "I do realize that. But what you are talking

about requires organization and time. I'm doing my best, but we can't

take on a target every night."

"Why in bell not?" The big, bearded man glared at Georgos. "For

Cbrissakes! All you do now is let off some pissant firecrackers, then

laze around here for a goddam month's vacation."

Their discussion, which had quickly developed into an argument, was

taking place in the basement workshop of the rented east-side housethe

Friends of Freedom hideaway. As usual the workshop was cluttered with

tools and hardware of destruction-wires, metal parts, chemicals, timing

mechanisms, and explosives. Birdsong bad arrived ten minutes ago after

taking his usual precautions against being followed.

"I told you before, there's enough bread for whatever you need," the p

& Ifp leader continued. The trace of a smile lighted his face. "And I

just got more."

"The money is important" Georgos conceded. "But we take the risks here.

You don't."

"Goddammiti-you're supposed to take risks. You're a soldier of the

revolution, aren't you? And I take risks too-of a different kind."

Georgos shifted uncomfortably. He resented this entire dialogue, just as

be did the increasing dominance of Birdsong, which had happened since

Georgos' own source of funds dried up and Birdsong's replaced it. More

than ever Georgos bated his movie-actress mother, who, without knowing

it, had financed Friends of Freedom in the beginning, then had ceased to

do so with the ending of Georgos' allowance through the Athens law firm.

He had read in a newspaper recently that she was seriously ill. He hoped

it was something painful and terminal.

"The last attack on the enemy," Georgos declared stiffly, "was our most

successful. We caused a power failure over one hundred square miles."

"Sure. And what effect did it have?" Contemptuously, Birdsong answered

his own question. "Nil! Were any of our demands met? No! You killed two

lousy pig security guards. Who cares? Nobodyl"

"I'll admit it was surprising and disappointing that none of our demands

. . ."

Birdsong cut him off. "They won't be met! Not until there are bodies in

the streets. Blood-drenched, putrefying piles of bodies. Not until the

dead cause panic among the living. That's the lesson of every revolution!

It's the only message the docile, moronic bourgeois understand."

"I know all that." Then, sarcastically, "Perhaps you have some better

ideas for .

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"You're damn right I dol Now listen to me."

Birdsong lowered his voice; his anger and contempt appeared to dissipate.

It was as if, like a schoolmaster, he had impressed the need to learn

upon a pupil. Now the lesson itself, in lower key, would follow.

"First," he said, "we state some articles of faith. We ask ourselves: Why

are we doing what we are? And the answer is: Because the existing system

in this country is stinking, rotten, corrupt, oppressive, spiritually

bankrupt. What's more, the system can't be changed-that's been tried-,

it doesn't work. So everything existing, the whole geared-to-therich,

grind-the-poor capitalist system, has to be destroyed to allow usthe true

believers, we who love our fellow men-to build anew and decently. The

revolutionary is the only one who sees that clearly. And the destruction,

piece by piece, is what Friends of Freedom-along with others like us-are

beginning to do."

While he talked, Davey Birdsong sbowed-as he had elsewbere-his chameleon

quality. In part he had become the university lecturer-persuasive,

eloquent; in part he was a mystic, speaking to his own inner soul as much

as to Georgos.

He continued, "So where does the destruction begin? Ideally, everywhere.

But because, so far, we are few in numbers, we choose a common

denominator-electricity. It affects all the populace. It lubricates the

wheels of capitalism. It makes the bloated rich more bloated still. It

allows minor comforts-palliatives-to the proletariat, deluding the masses

into believing they are free. It is capitalism's tool, an opiate. Cut off

the electricity, disrupt the core of its system, and you thrust a dagger

in capitalism's heart!"

Brightening, Georgos injected, "Lenin said, 'Communism is Soviet

government plus the electrification of . . ."'

"Don't interrupt! I know exactly what Lenin said, and it was in another

context."

Georgos subsided. This was a new and different Birdsong from the several

variants he had seen before. Also there seemed little doubt, at this

moment, about who was in command.

"But," the big man resumed-be bad risen and was striding back and

forth-"we have seen that more is required than disruption of electricity

alone. We must draw greater attention to Friends of Freedom, and our

objectives, by disrupting-destroying-electricity's people."

"We already did some of that," Georgos pointed out. "When we blew up

their La Mission plant; then the letter bombs. We killed their chief

engineer, their president . . ."

"Piddling numbersi Penny antel I mean something big, where the killing

will not be in ones and twos but hundreds. Where bystanders will be wiped

out too, proving there's no safety on the sidelines of a revolution. Then

our aims get attention! That's when fear will set in, followed by panic.

When all in authority and below, everyone, will be scurrying to do

exactly what we want!"

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Davey Birdsong's eyes were focused on the distance, clearly far beyond

the dismal, disordered basement. It was as if he were seeing a dream, a

vision, Georgos thought-and found the experience heady and infectious,

The prospect of more killing excited Georgos. The night of the bombing

at Millfield, after he had slain the two security guards, he had been

briefly sickened; it was, after all, the first time he had killed another

human being face to face. But the feeling quickly passed, to be replaced

by a sense of elation and-curiously, he thought-sexual arousement. He had

taken Yvette that night and used her savagely, reliving, while he did,

the powerful upward knife thrust with which he had killed the first

guard. And now, remembering, listening to Birdsong's talk about mass

killings, Georgos felt his sexual organs stir again.

Birdsong said quietly, "The opportunity we need is coming soon."

He produced a folded newspaper page. It was from the California Examiner

of two days earlier and a single-paragraph item had been ringed in red

crayon.

POWER GROUP TO MEET

Possible nationwide shortages of electric power will be discussed

next month when the National Electric Institute holds a four-day

convention in the city's Christopher Columbus Hotel. A thousand

delegates from public utilities and electrical manufacturers are

expected to attend.

"I scratched around for more details," Birdsong said. "Here are the exact

dates of the convention and a preliminary program." He tossed two

typewritten sheets on the workshop table. "It will be easy to get the

final program later. That way we'll know where everybody is, and when."

Georgos' eyes were agleam with interest, his resentment of a few minutes

earlier forgotten. He gloated, "All those big wheels from power

outfits-social criminals! We can mail letter bombs to selected delegates.

If I begin work now . . ."

"No! At best you'd kill half a dozen-probably not that many because after

the first explosion they'd get wise and take precautions."

Georgos conceded, "Yes, that's true. Then what do you . . . ?"

"I have a better idea. Much, much better; also bigger." Birdsong per-

mitted himself a thin, grim smile. "During the second day of that con-

vention, when everybody has arrived, you and your people will plant two

series of bombs in the Christopher Columbus Hotel. The first set of bombs

will be exactly timed to go off during the night-say at 3 A.M. That stage

of bombing will concentrate on the main floor and mezzanine. The

objective will be to block or destroy all exits from the building as well

as every stairway, every elevator. So no one can escape from the floors

above when the second stage begins."

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Georgos nodded his understanding, listening intently as Birdsong

continued.

"A few minutes after the first bombs have exploded, other bombsalso

exactly timed-will go off on the floors above. Those will be fire

bombs-as many as you can plant and all containing gasoline, so as to set

the hotel on fire and keep it burning."

A wide, anticipatory smile spread over Georgos' face. He said breath-

lessly, "It's brilliant! Magnificent! And we can do it."

"If you do it right," Birdsong said, "not one person on those upper

floors will leave that building alive. And at three in the morning, even

those who stayed out late will be in bed. We will execute everybody:

Those convention delegates-our main target for punishment-and their

women, children, and all others in the hotel who have chosen to get in

the way of a just revolution."

"I'll need more explosives; a whole lot." Georgos' mind was working fast.

"I know how and where to get them, but it will cost."

"I already told you we have plenty of money. For this time out, and

more."

"Getting the gasoline is no problem. But clockwork mecbanisms-I agree

with you the timing will have to be exact-those ought to come from out

of town. Bought in small numbers from several places. That way we won't

attract attention."

"I'll do that," Birdsong said. "I'll go to Chicago; it's far enough away.

Get me a list of what you need."

Still concentrating, Georgos nodded. "I must have a floor plan of the

botel-at least the main floor and mezzanine where we'll set the first

explosives."

"Does it have to be exact?"

"No. just a general layout."

"Then we'll draw our own. Anyone can walk in there, anytime."