the bridge, stopping frequently to gaze at, and presumably admire the panorama stretched out before him-to his left the tip of Belvedere beyond Fort Baker, Titouron and Angel Island, the largest in the Bay, to his right the city itself and straight ahead Alcatraz Island and beyond it Treasure Island: between the two the rapidly diminishing shape of the New Jersey was heading for its berth at Akuneda. He made frequent stops, as if peering over the side. On one of those occasions he reached casually for the green cord he'd attached to the strut and hefted it It was weightless.
'What are you doing?'
He turned unhurriedly. April Wednesday's big green eyes, if not exactly alive with curiosity, held a certain puzzlement
'You do have flannel feet. I thought I was the only person within miles - well, yards.'
'What are you doing?'
'When I look at this marvellous view here and then at you I really don't know which I prefer. I think you. Have any people ever told you that you're really rather beautiful?'
'Lots.' She caught the green cord between finger and thumb and started to lift it then made a muffled sound of pain as his hand closed none too gently over hers.
'Leave that alone.'
She rubbed her hand, looked around her and said: 'Well?'
'I'm fishing.'
'Not for compliments, that's for sure.' She massaged her knuckles tenderly, then looked at him with some uncertainty. 'Fishermen tell tall tales, don't they?'
'I've done it myself.'
Tell me one.'
'Are you as trustworthy as you're beautiful?'
'Am I beautiful? And I'm not fishing. Honest'
'You are.'
"Then I'm trustworthy too.' They smiled at each other and he took her arm. 'A really tall one?'
'Yes, please.'
'Why ever not?' They walked slowly away together.
Hendrix replaced the receiver in its cradle. He looked at Milton and Quarry. 'You are ready, gentlemen?'
'Act One, Scene One, and all the world's a stage. That's wrong somehow.' Milton rose and looked critically at Quarry. "The shirt's wrong too, John. White shows up badly on TV. Should be blue-like me-or the President Blue shirts are all he has: you never know when a TV camera is lurking round the next corner.'
'Oh, shut up.' Quarry turned morosely towards the rear door of the van then stopped as a motor-cycle policeman drew up with a suitably dramatic screeching of tyre and smell of burning rubber, dismounted, propped his machine and hurried to the rear steps of the van. He held up his hand to Hendrix. 'For you, air.'
Hendrix took the eight-inch-long narrow cylinder. 'It's got my name on it, all right Where did you get it from?'
'The pilot boat brought in from the New Jersey. The captain of the New Jersey, that is, thought it might be very urgent'
FIVE
The centre section of the Golden Gate Bridge was fast assuming the appearance of an embryonic town, sprawling, inchoate and wholly disorganized as those burgeoning settlements tend to be, but none the less possessed of a vitality, a feverish restlessness that augured well for its expansive future. The fact that all the buildings were on wheels and that all the village elders, seated in solemn conclave, were immaculately dressed and had clearly never done a single day's physical toil in their collective lives, did little to detract from the curious impression that here were the pioneers pushing forwards the limits of the wild frontier.
There were three coaches and three police cars-the third had just brought Hendrix, Milton and Quarry. There were two large, glaze-windowed vehicles which bore the euphemistic legend 'Rest Room': painted in becoming red and yellow stripes they had been borrowed from an itinerant circus currently stopped-over in the city. There was an ambulance, which Branson had commandeered for purposes best known to himself, a large side-counter wagonette which had provided hot meals, a very large TV camera truck with its generator placed at a discreet hundred yards distance and, finally, a van that was unloading blankets, rugs and pillows to help
'What are you doing?'
He turned unhurriedly. April Wednesday's big green eyes, if not exactly alive with curiosity, held a certain puzzlement
'You do have flannel feet. I thought I was the only person within miles - well, yards.'
'What are you doing?'
'When I look at this marvellous view here and then at you I really don't know which I prefer. I think you. Have any people ever told you that you're really rather beautiful?'
'Lots.' She caught the green cord between finger and thumb and started to lift it then made a muffled sound of pain as his hand closed none too gently over hers.
'Leave that alone.'
She rubbed her hand, looked around her and said: 'Well?'
'I'm fishing.'
'Not for compliments, that's for sure.' She massaged her knuckles tenderly, then looked at him with some uncertainty. 'Fishermen tell tall tales, don't they?'
'I've done it myself.'
Tell me one.'
'Are you as trustworthy as you're beautiful?'
'Am I beautiful? And I'm not fishing. Honest'
'You are.'
"Then I'm trustworthy too.' They smiled at each other and he took her arm. 'A really tall one?'
'Yes, please.'
'Why ever not?' They walked slowly away together.
Hendrix replaced the receiver in its cradle. He looked at Milton and Quarry. 'You are ready, gentlemen?'
'Act One, Scene One, and all the world's a stage. That's wrong somehow.' Milton rose and looked critically at Quarry. "The shirt's wrong too, John. White shows up badly on TV. Should be blue-like me-or the President Blue shirts are all he has: you never know when a TV camera is lurking round the next corner.'
'Oh, shut up.' Quarry turned morosely towards the rear door of the van then stopped as a motor-cycle policeman drew up with a suitably dramatic screeching of tyre and smell of burning rubber, dismounted, propped his machine and hurried to the rear steps of the van. He held up his hand to Hendrix. 'For you, air.'
Hendrix took the eight-inch-long narrow cylinder. 'It's got my name on it, all right Where did you get it from?'
'The pilot boat brought in from the New Jersey. The captain of the New Jersey, that is, thought it might be very urgent'
FIVE
The centre section of the Golden Gate Bridge was fast assuming the appearance of an embryonic town, sprawling, inchoate and wholly disorganized as those burgeoning settlements tend to be, but none the less possessed of a vitality, a feverish restlessness that augured well for its expansive future. The fact that all the buildings were on wheels and that all the village elders, seated in solemn conclave, were immaculately dressed and had clearly never done a single day's physical toil in their collective lives, did little to detract from the curious impression that here were the pioneers pushing forwards the limits of the wild frontier.
There were three coaches and three police cars-the third had just brought Hendrix, Milton and Quarry. There were two large, glaze-windowed vehicles which bore the euphemistic legend 'Rest Room': painted in becoming red and yellow stripes they had been borrowed from an itinerant circus currently stopped-over in the city. There was an ambulance, which Branson had commandeered for purposes best known to himself, a large side-counter wagonette which had provided hot meals, a very large TV camera truck with its generator placed at a discreet hundred yards distance and, finally, a van that was unloading blankets, rugs and pillows to help
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