The entire force would assemble downtown and be conveyed to Brookside by chartered bus. Accompanying them would be a radio van, to be used as the communications center. Walkie-talkies would be issued to key people, A fleet of small vehicles would provide local shuttle service.
During the preceding day-"D-day minus one"-the meter readers and engineers would be briefed on what was expected of them, though their actual destination would be kept secret.
On arrival at Brookside on D-day, the meter readers would begin house-to-house and business-to-business checks of electric and gas meters, searching for signs of tampering. They would also go to specific buildings, selected because of known theft patterns. Supermarkets, for example, were always prime suspects because electricity was their second largest operating cost (labor was the first) and many such businesses had cheated in the past. Thus all supermarkets in the area would be checked. As and when anything suspicious was located, the service engineers, backed up by Harry London's Property Protection men, would move in.
"The quicker you put something like this together, the less danger there is of leaks." London grinned. "In the Marines there were bigger jobs we did a whole lot faster."
"Okay, gyrene," Nim said, "I was just a dogface. But I'd like to be in on this operation."
Although Nim's own military service had been brief, it gave him something of a common bond with Harry London. Immediately after college Nim was drafted and sent to Korea. There, a month after arrival and while his platoon was probing the enemy from an advanced position, they were strafed and bombed by American planes. (Afterward the ghastly error was described in military double-talk as "friendly fire.") Four U.S. infantrymen were killed, others injured, including Nim, who sustained a perforated eardrum which became infected, leaving him permanently deaf on the left side. Soon after, he was sent home and quietly given a medical discharge, the Korean incident hushed up. Nowadays, most of Nim's colleagues and friends were aware they should sit on his right during conversations-the side of his good ear. But only a few knew exactly why. Harry London was one of the few.
"Be my guest on Thursday," London said.
They arranged a rendezvous. Afterward they talked about the sabotage at La Mission which had killed Walter Talbot and the others. Although Harry London was not involved directly in the investigation, he and the utility's chief security officer were after-hours drinking cronies and exchanged confidences; also London's background as a police detective had given him contacts with law enforcement agencies which he kept operative. “The county sheriff is working with the FBI and our own city police," he informed Nim. "So far all leads have run up against a brick wall. The FBI, which does most processing of evidence in this kind of case, believe they're looking for a new batch of kooks without police records, which makes everything harder."
"How about the man in Salvation Army uniform?"
"That's being worked on, but there's a hundred ways they could have got the uniform, most not traceable. Of course, if they pull the same dodge again, that's something else. A lot of people will be alert and waiting."
"You think they might?"
London shrugged. “They're fanatics. Which makes them crazy-smart, brilliant in some ways, stupid in others. You never can tell. Often it just takes time. If I hear any rumbles I'll let you know."
"Thanks."
What he had just heard, Nim realized, was in essence what be had told Ardythe last Wednesday night. It reminded him that he should call Ardythe, and perhaps go to her, soon. Nim had seen her once since Wednesday-briefly at Walter's funeral on Saturday morning, which many from GSP&L had attended. It had been, to Nim, a depressingly ritualistic occasion, supervised by an unctuous undertaker whom Walter Talbot would have detested. Nim and Ardythe had exchanged a few stilted words, but that was all. Now he wondered: Ought he to allow a "decent" interval before telephoning Ardythe? Or "as it hypocritical, at this stage, for him to consider decency at all? He told Harry London, "I'll see you on D-day."
8
It would be another scorching day in that long, hot summer. That much was evident, even at 9 am when Nim reached Brookside.
The D-day force had arrived an hour earlier. Its communications center was set Lip oil the parking lot of a conveniently central shopping plaza where a half-dozcn of the utility's vehicles were clustered, identifiable by their distinctive orange and white coloring and the familiar GSP & L logo. Already the thirty meter readers had been driven to dispersal points. They were mostly young men, among them some college students working during the summer, and each was in possession of a batch of cards showing addresses where meters and related equipment were to be inspected. The cards were from a special computer printout last night. Normally the meter readers' job was simply to read numbers and report them; today they would ignore the numbers and search only for signs of power theft.
Harry London, emerging from the communications van, met Nim as he arrived. London appeared perky and cheerful. He wore a short-sleeved, military-style shirt and smartly creased tan slacks; his shoes were brightly shined. Nim removed his own suit coat and tossed it back into his Fiat. The sun had begun to bake the parking lot, sending beat waves upward.
"We're getting results already," London said. "Five clear fraud cases in the first hour. Now our service guys are checking out three more."
Nim asked, “The first five-are they business or residential?"
"Four residential, one business, and that's a lulu. The guy's been stealing us blind, gas and electric both. Do you want to see?"
"Sure. "
London called into the communications van, "I'll be in my car, with Mr. Goldman. We're going to incident number four."
As they drove away, lie told Nim, "I've already got two feelings. One, what we'll be seeing today is the tip of an iceberg. Two, in some cases we’re up against professionals, an organized ring." "Why do you think so?"
"Let me answer that after you've seen what I'm going to show you."
"Okay." Nim settled back, inspecting Brookside as they moved through it.
It was an affluent suburb, typical of many which mushroomed in the late 195os and early sixties. Before then it was farmland; now the farms were gone, replaced by housing developments and businesses serving them. There was-at least, outwardly-no poverty in Brookside.
Even small tract houses, in regimented rows, appeared well cared for, their handkerchief lawns manicured paintwork fresh. Beyond this modest housing were several square miles of larger homes, including palatial mansions with three-car garages and separate service driveways. The community's stores, some in attractive tree-lined malls, displayed quality merchandise which reflected the area's prosperity. To Nim it seemed an unlikely locale for thefts of power.
As if reading his mind, Harry London offered, "Things ain't always what they seem." He turned the car away from the shopping area toward a gas station and garage complex which included a tunnel-type car wash. London stopped at the gas station office and got out. Nim followed.
A GSP & L service truck was also parked. "We've called for one of our photographers," London said. "Meanwhile the service guy is guarding the evidence."
A man in gray coveralls walked towards them, wiping his hinds on a rag. He had a spindly body, a fox-like face, and appeared worried. "Listen," he said, "like I told you already, I don't know nothing about no..."
"Yes, sir; so you did." London turned to Nim. "This is Mr. Jackson.
He gave us permission to enter his premises to inspect the meters."
"Now I'm not so sure I should've," Jackson grumbled. "Anyways I'm just the lessee here. It's another outfit owns the building."
"But you own the business," London said. "And the gas and electric accounts are in your name. Right?"
“The way things are, the bank owns the goddam business."
"But the bank didn't interfere with your gas and electric meters."
"I'm tellin' the truth." the garageman's hands clutched the rag more tightly. "I dunno who done it."
"Yes, sir. Do you mind if we go in?"
The garageman scowled but didn't stop them. London preceded Nim into the gas station office, then to a small room beyond, clearly used for storage. On the far wall were switches, circuit breakers, and meters for gas and electricity. A young man in GSP & L service uniform looked up as they came in. He said casually,