Back to Georgos and Birdsong. They were discussing something... making arrangements . . . Christopher Columbus Hotel . . . bombs disguised as fire extinguishers . . . a red pickup truck: Fire Protection Service . . . second night of the National Electric Institute convention. . . 3 am. . .
Nancy's skin prickled. She did a swift mental calculation, glanced at her watch, then hurled herself at the telephone.
The news story had ceased to have priority.
Her hand was shaking as she dialed 911 for police emergency.
6
The watch lieutenant presiding at the police department operations center knew he had to make a fast decision.
A few moments earlier, the male police operator taking Nancy Molineaux's gil call, and writing down the information, had signaled the lieutenant to cut in on the line. He did so. After listening briefly, he questioned the caller who identified herself by name and as a reporter for the California Examiner. She explained about the tapes, how she had acquired them, how they had revealed the information she was now passing on urgently.
"I know of you, Miss Molineaux," the lieutenant said. "Are you calling from the newspaper?"
"No. From my apartment."
“The address, please."
She gave it.
"Are you listed in the phone book there?"
"Yes. Under 'Molineaux, N."'
"Please hang up your phone," the lieutenant said. "You'll be called back immediately."
The police operator-one of twenty such operators handling emergency calls-had already found the number in a city phone directory. He scribbled it on a piece of paper which he passed to the lieutenant, who tapped the number out, then listened.
Nancy answered on the first ring.
"Miss Molineaux, did you just call police emergency?"
'Yes."
"Thank you. We had to verify the call. Where will you be if you are required later?"
"At the Christopher Columbus Hotel," Nancy said. "Where the hell else?"
She hung up.
The police lieutenant debated briefly with himself. He had established that the call was genuine and not from a crank. But was the information strong enough to justify emptying the city's biggest hotel, with resultant chaos, in the middle of the night?
Normally, in the case of a bomb warning-the police received hundreds every year-the procedure was to send an advance squad, consisting of a sergeant and two or three patrolmen, to iwestigate. If they were suspicious or found merit in the tip, they would phone the operations center and emergency procedures would begin. (Radio communication was never used at that stage for two reasons. One, if a bomb existed, a radio signal might set it off. Two, since police radios were monitored by all and sundry, the police sought to delay having press and spectators clog the scene.)
But, if the report just received was genuine, the danger real, there was insufficient time for normal methods.
In daytime, with emergency forces from the police and fire departments working together, a big hotel like the Christopher Columbus could be evacuated in half an hour. At night, however, it would take longer-an hour if they were fast and lucky. Night time evacuation posed special problems; there were always some heavy sleepers, drunks, skeptics, illicit lovers unwilling to be discovered, all requiring room-byroom checks and the use of passkeys.
But there wasn't an hour. The watch lieutenant glanced at the big digital clock above him: 2:21 am The newspaperwoman had said a bomb or bombs might go off at 3 am True? False? He wished to hell a more senior officer could be briefed and make the judgment. No time for that either.
The lieutenant made the only decision be could, and ordered, "Start bomb evacuation procedures-the Christopher Columbus Hotel."
A balf-dozen phones in the operations center went into use immediately. Alarm calls were placed to central district police and fire units first; fire trucks and all available police cars would roll at once. Next, calls went directly to the police department's night commander and deputy fire chief who, together, would direct the hotel evacuation. Simultaneously, the police tactical unit, which included the bomb squad, was being alerted; they would follow other forces quickly. After that: a call to a nearby Army depot where an explosives ordnance squad would contribute experts in bomb disarming. Police departments in neighboring municipalities were asked to aid by rushing their bomb squads too. ambulances-almost certain to be needed-were summoned. Continuing to work down a list, major law enforcement, fire, and city functionaries were notified, most aroused from sleep at home.
The watch lieutenant was speaking by telephone with the night manager of the Christopher Columbus. "We have a tip, which we believe to be authentic, that bombs have been placed in your hotel. We recommend you evacuate immediately. Police and fire units are on the way."
The word "recommend" was used advisedly. Technically, the lieutenant had no authority to order evacuation; any such decision must be the hotel management's. Fortunately, the night manager was neither a hair splitter nor a fool. "I'll sound the house alarms," he said, "and our staff will do whatever you say."
Like a war machine set in motion, the command effect spread rapidly, each component gathering momentum, each utilizing specialized techniques to become part of a total effort. The action had already moved away from the operations center, which would now become a conduit for reports. Meanwhile, answers remained unknown to two vital questions. First: Would bomb explosions occur at 3 am? Second: Assuming they did, could the hotel be effectively cleared in the remaining time-an all-too-inadequate thirty-six minutes?
The suspense would be short-lived. The answers to both questions would be known soon.
* * *
She had done her bit for humanity, Nancy Molineaux decided. Now she could go back to being a newspaperwoman.
She was still in her apartment though getting ready to leave. In between throwing on outdoor clothes hurriedly, Nancy phoned the Examiner's night editor and gave him a fast rundown of what she had. As be asked quick questions, she sensed his excitement at the prospect of a big, breaking story.
"I'm going to the hotel," Nancy told him. “Then I'll come in to write." She knew, without asking, that every available photographer would be dispatched to the scene at once.
"Oh, one other thing," she told the night man. "I have two tape cassettes.
I had to tell the police about them, and they're sure to be wanted as evidence, which means they'll be impounded. Before that happens, we should make copies."
They arranged that a messenger would meet Nancy at the hotel and collect the tapes. From there he would rush them to the residence of the paper's entertainment editor, a hi-fi nut who had his own sound lab.
The entertainment writer was known to be at home and would be warned that the tapes were on the way. The copies and a portable playback machine would be in the newsroom, waiting, when Nancy got there.
Nancy had reached the outer door of her apartment, on the run, when she remembered one more thing. Racing back to the phone, she dialed the number of the Christopher Columbus Hotel, which she knew from memory. When the operator answered, she instructed, "Give me Nimrod Goldman's room."
* * *
In Nim's dream, the GSP & L electric system was in desperate crisis. One by one, the system's generating stations had failed until only one remained-La Mission No- 5, Big Lil. Then, exactly as happened last summer on the day Walter Talbot died, the La Mission No- 5 panel at Energy Control began emitting warning signals-flashing lights and a high-pitched ringing. The lights diminished but the ringing persisted, filling all of Nim's consciousness until he awoke and found the bedside telephone shrilling. Sleepily, he reached out and picked it up.