The Red Cell by André Gallo (the top 100 crime novels of all time TXT) 📕

After a few minutes, she handed them back and said, “It looks like there’s an overview on the other side of the bridge and to the left. I bet there must be a snack bar there somewhere. Let’s go get a sandwich. I’ve heard the sourdough bread in San Francisco is very different. Not as good as a French baguette, of course.”

“Tell you what. If the view here is great, it must be even greater if we climb a little higher. Let’s see where this road goes and then we’ll get something to eat.”

They returned to the car and continued climbing, but the winding road soon turned away from the water. “Let’s just see where this goes,” Steve said.

“I’m getting hungry,” Kella said, taking a swig of water from a bottle in Steve’s pack.

At a fork, Steve took a right, and soon they were in a large concrete parking lot. He parked near a large sign proclaiming NIKE SITE SF58.

“Come on,” he said. “Let’s see what this is about.”

“I can tell you all about this from the guidebook.”

“It will just take a minute.”

They got out of the car. Almost right away a tall thin man in his fifties joined them, as well as half-a-dozen other people who had gathered around the sign.

“My father was assigned here during the Cold War,” their new friend said. “There were about three hundred active sites throughout the United States, all designed as the last defense against Soviet bombers that might have gotten through our fighter aircraft squadrons.”

The other visitors also listened. “If my father was ever ordered to push the button and fire the Nike missile, he knew he would have only a few seconds to live, because the nuclear bomb carried by the Soviet bomber would wipe out the base.”

The man walked away, and Kella pulled Steve toward the car. On their way out, they passed a sign inviting visitors toward Rodeo Beach. When Steve looked at her quizzically, she shook her head and Steve turned the car around.

When they reached the lookout point where they had stopped, Kella’s cell rang.

“It was Margo,” Kella said after she disconnected. “Good news and bad news. She cannot do the bridge tower tomorrow, but she can meet us there in about an hour. I told her we would be there. Let’s go get a bite to eat.”

They met Margo at the base of the North Tower. She appeared middle-aged, with short, dark hair, generous curves, and laughing eyes. “The elevator,” she said, “is too small for three. In fact, if you don’t know each other well now, you will be on intimate terms by the time you reach the top, a slow five hundred feet from road level.”

Steve and Kella entered the narrow, windowless cage and understood what Margo was talking about when Steve tried to turn to reach the manual controls on the front panel. A red bulb went on above their heads as the elevator began its upward journey. Somewhere outside, a siren announced the elevator was moving.

Steve and Kella faced each other, their bodies touching from head to toe. “I would be surprised,” Steve said, “if you were not pregnant by the time we reached the top.”

“And I would be surprised,” Kella replied, smiling, “if the baby was not born by the time we reached the top.”

Steve kissed her and asked, “Are we going to make another baby?” Kella kissed him back.

They finally reached the top and opened the door to step out into a closed area on one side of which was a tall ladder. “I’ll go first,” Steve said. He unlatched the hatch at the top and stepped out onto the viewing platform before turning back to give Kella a hand up.

They could see through the metal lattice on the platform, which was about ten feet wide, crossed over the six lanes of traffic below, and linked the east and west sides of the tower. The wind prompted both to put their hands on the railing for stability.

“This is not as high as the Eiffel Tower,” Kella said, “but it’s a lot scarier.”

Steve scanned the horizon with the binoculars. “That’s where we were this morning,” he said, pointing toward the Marin Headlands overlook, which was now full of cars and visitors. “There’s a weird looking car up there; a camouflaged Hummer. Looks like a military visitor. And that’s Angel Island over there,” he added, pointing in the other direction. “That was the Ellis Island of the West Coast, where immigrants were screened. Here, take a look.” He handed her the binoculars.

“I love the view of the sailboats,” she said. “It’s like a post card.”

She had been examining the people below on the bridge for a few minutes when suddenly she said, “I can’t believe it!” She handed the binoculars to Steve. “Look, on the right side of the bridge, about a hundred yards away from the tower, the guy in a blue windbreaker and jeans. He’s leaning on the railing and is using his cell phone. He’s looking toward the Headlands overlook.”

Steve took the binoculars and adjusted the focus. “I don’t see him. Blue windbreaker?” An instant later he said, “I’ve got him. What about him?”

“He was my jailer, the team leader of the two guys who held me hostage in Brussels,” she said, her voice quicker and louder. “Don’t you recognize him? I’m sure that’s him. I’m sure I could get him with a sniper rifle. Let’s go, let’s go. I wish I had brought my automatic.”

She pulled Steve back toward the elevator.

42. The White House and a Federal Building in San Francisco

“Glad you’re all here,” Baxter said. “Virtually all here, anyway.” He smiled toward the two large screens side by side on the wall of his conference room. On one