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fair. After coming west, and despite her legal minimum of schooling, she

bad gotten a job as a department store salesclerk-in the infants' wear

department, which she liked. She enjoyed helping choose clothes for

little kids and, about that time, bad the feeling she would like to have

children herself someday, though she would not treat them the way she had

been treated at home.

The thing that happened, which put her on the road she finally walked

with Georgos, was being taken, by another girl Yvette worked with, to

some left-wing political meetings. One thing led to another, later she

met Georgos and . . . Oh God, what was the use of going over it all

again!

Yvette was well aware that in some ways she was not bright. She always

had difficulty in figuring things out and, at the small country school

she attended until age sixteen, her teachers let her know she was a

dunderhead. Which was probably why, when Georgos persuaded her to give

up her job and go underground with him to form Friends of Freedom, Yvette

hadn't any real idea of what she was getting into. At the time it sounded

like fun and adventure, not-as it turned out to be -the worst mistake of

her life.

The realization that she-like Georgos, Wayde, Ute and Felix-bad become

a hunted criminal came to Yvette gradually. When it was implanted fully,

she was terrified. What would they do to her if she was caught? Yvette

thought of Patty Hearst, and what Hearst had been made to suffer, and she

was a victim for Cbrissakes. How much worse would it be for Yvette, who

was not?

(Yvette remembered how Georgos and the other three revolutionaries had

laughed and laughed over the Patty Hearst trial, laughed about the way

the establishment was falling over itself in a self-righteous effort to

crucify one of its own, just to prove it could. Of course, as Georgos

said afterward, if Hearst-in that particular case-had been

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poor, or black like Angela Davis, she would have gotten sympathy and a

fairer shake. It was Hearst's misfortune that her old man had money.

Hilarious, though! Yvette could still see their small group watching TV

and breaking up each time the trial reports came on.)

But now, the fear from having committed crimes herself hovered over

Yvette, a fear which expanded like cancer until, in the end, it filled

her every waking hour.

More recently, she realized that Georgos no longer trusted her.

She caught him looking at her in strange ways. He didn't talk as much as

before. He became secretive about the new work he was doing. Yvette

sensed that, whatever else happened, her days as Georgos' woman were

almost over.

It was then, without really knowing why, Yvette started to eavesdrop by

making tape recordings. It was not difficult. 'nere was equipment

available and Georgos had shown her how to use it. Using a concealed

mike, and operating the recorder in another room, she taped conversations

between Georgos and Birdsong. That was how, playing the tape back later,

she learned about those fire extinguisher bombs at the Christopher

Columbus Hotel.

The Georgos-Birdsong conversations were on the cassettes she had given

the black woman. So was a long, rambling account of it all, from the

beginning, by Yvette herself.

Why bad she done it?

Even now she was unsure. It wasn't conscience; no point in kidding

herself about that. Nor was it because of any of those people at the

hotel; Yvette was too far removed, too far gone, to care. Perhaps it was

to save Georgos, to save his soul (if he had one; if any of them did)

from the terrible thing be intended to do.

Yvette's mind was getting tired. It always did when she thought too much.

She still didn't want to die!

But she knew she bad to.

Yvette looked about her. She had kept on walking, not noticing where she

was, and now realized she had come faster and further than she thought.

Her destination, which she could already see, was only a short distance

ahead.

It was a small, grassy knoll, high above the city, and preserved as a

public space. The unofficial name was Lonely Hill, which was appropriate

since few people went there, a reason Yvette bad chosen it. Tle final two

hundred yards, beyond the last streets and houses, was up a step, narrow

path and she took it slowly. The top, which she dreaded reaching, came

all too soon.

Earlier, the day bad been bright; now it was overcast with a strong, cool

wind knifing across the exposed small peak. Yvette shivered. In the

distance, beyond the city, she could see the ocean, gray and bleak.

Yvette sat down on the grass and opened her purse for the second

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time. The first time had been when she produced the tape cassettes in the

bar.

From the purse, where it had weighed heavily, she lifted out a device she

had removed several days ago from Georgos' workshop and had hidden until

this morning. It was a bangalore torpedo-simple but deadly, a stick of

dynamite inside a section of pipe. The pipe was sealed at both ends, but

at one end a small hole had been left to allow for entry of a blasting

cap. Yvette had inserted the cap carefully herself-something else Georgos

taught her-baving attached to the cap a short fuse, which now protruded

through the end of the pipe. It was a five-second fuse. Long enough.

Reaching into the purse again, Yvette found a small cigarette lighter.

As she fumbled with it, her hands were trembling.

The lighter was hard to get going in the wind. She put the pipe bomb down

and cupped the lighter with her hand. It sputtered, then flamed.

Now she picked up the pipe bomb again, having difficulty because she was

trembling even more, but managed to bring the end of the fuse to the

lighter. The fuse ignited at once. In a single, swift movement Yvette

dropped the lighter and held the bomb against her chest. Closing her

eyes, she hoped it would not be .

4

The second day of the National Electric Institute convention was winding

down.

All of the day's official business was concluded. The Christopher

Columbus Hotel meeting balls were deserted. A majority of delegates and

wives, a few with families, were in their rooms and suites. Among them,

some hardy spirits were still partying. Many others were already asleep.

Some of the younger delegates and a handful of older roisterers remained

spread around the city-in bars, restaurants, discotheques, strip joints.

But even they were beginning to drift back to the Christopher Columbus

and, when late-night places closed at 2 A.M., the remainder would join

them.

"Good night you characters." Nim kissed Leah and Benjy, then turned out

the lights in the hotel suite's second bedroom, which the children were

sharing.

3o6

Leah, almost asleep, murmured something inaudible. Benjy, who was more

chirpy, even though it was well past midnight said, "Dad, living in a

hotel is real neat."

"Gets kind of expensive after a while," Nim said. "Especially when

someone called Benjamin Goldman keeps signing room service checks."

Benjy giggled. "I like doing that."

Nim had let Benjy sign the breakfast bill this morning, and the same

thing happened tonight when Benjy and Leah had steak dinners in the suite

while Nim and Ruth attended an NEI reception and buffet. Later, the whole

family left the hotel to take in a movie, from which they had just

returned.

"Go to sleep now," Nim said, "or your signing arm won't be any good

tomorrow."

In the living room, Ruth, who had heard the conversation through the open

bedroom door, smiled as Nim returned.

"I may have mentioned it before," she said, "but I suppose you know your

children adore you?"

"Doesn't everybody?"

"Well . . ." Ruth considered. "Since you mention it, there could be one

or two exceptions. Like Ray Paulsen."

Nim laughed aloud. "By gollyl You should have seen Ray's face when he

came back to the convention with Eric Humphrey, thinking the chairman was

going to chew my balls off because of what I said this morning, and

instead Eric did the opposite."

"What did he actually say?"

"Something about having received so many complimentary remarks about my

speech, how could he be in a minority and take exception? So he

congratulated me instead."

"If Eric has come around that much, do you think there could be a change

in policy now-to more outspokenness, the way you've wanted?"

Nim shook his head. "I'm not sure. The don't-rock-the-boat faction, led

by Ray, is still strong. Besides which, only a few people in our or-

-ganization understand that a future electric power crisis is almost a

certainty." He stretched, yawning. "But no more worrying tonight!"

"It's early morning," Ruth corrected him. "Nearly one o'clock. Anyway,

yesterday was a good day for you, and I'm pleased you got a fair press."

She motioned to a late afternoon edition of the California Examiner

beside her.

"That was a fat surprise." Nim had read the Examiner's report of his

speech several hours ago. "Can't figure out that Molineaux dame. I was

certain she'd stick in the knife again, and twist it."

"Don't you know by now that we women are unpredictable?" Ruth said, then

added mischievously, "I should have thought all your research would have

shown you that."

"Maybe I'd forgotten. Perhaps you noticed I've restricted my re-

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search lately." He leaned forward and kissed her lightly on the neck, then

sat down in a facing chair. "How are you feeling?"

"Normal most of the time. I tire easily, though, compared with the energy

I used to have."

"There's something I want to ask you about." Nim described his conversation

with Leah, and his conviction that the children ought to be told about

Ruth's health in case a sudden change for the worse should find them

unprepared. "I hope it won't happen, just as much as you do, but it's

something we should consider."

"I've been thinking much the same thing," she told him. "You can leave it

to me. In the next few days I'll pick a time and tell them."

He supposed he should have known. Ruth, with her good judgment, her ability

to cope, would always do what was best for the family.

"Thank you," he said.

They went on talking-quietly, easily, enjoying each other's company -until

Nim reached out and took Ruth's hands. "You're tired and so am I. Let's go

to bed."

They went, band in hand, into the bedroom where, just before turning out

the lights, he noticed the time: 1:30 A.M.

They fell asleep, almost at once, in each other's arms.

A quarter mile from the hotel, Georgos Winslow Archambault was seated alone

in the red "Fire Protection Service, Inc." truck. He could hardly wait for

3 A.m. and the explosions to begin. Georgos' excitement simmered like a

cauldron, arousing him sexually, so that a few minutes ago he had had to