aisle. A display of inexpensive Big Ben alarm clocks. He bought ten of them.
It was 3:18 when he walked into his room. He took the alarm clocks from their boxes, lined them up on the table, and opened his attachi case, taking out a small leather case containing miniature hand tools. He would buy bell wire and batteries first thing in the morning, the explosives later in the day. The charges might be a problem, but it was not insurmountable; he needed more show than power-and in all likelihood he would need nothing at all. The years, however, had taught him caution; an exchange was like the workings of a giant aircraft. Each system had a backup system, each back-up an alternative.
He had six hours to prepare his alternatives. It was good he had something to do; sleep now was out of the question.
The shift from dawn to daybreak was barely discernible; winter rain was promised again. By eight o'clock it had arrived. Bray stood, his hands on the windowsill, looking out at the ocean, thinking about calmer, warmer seas, wondering if he and Toni would ever sail them. Yesterday there was no hope; today there was and he was primed to function as he had never functioned before. All that was Beowulf Agate would be seen and heard from this day. He had spent his life preparing for the few brief hours that would prolong it the only way that was acceptable to him. He would bring her out or he would die; that had not changed. The fact that he had effectively destroyed the Matarese was almost incidental now. That was a professional objective and he was the best... he and the Russian were the best.
He turned from the window and went to the table, surveying his work of the last few hours. It had taken less time than he had projected, so total was his concentration. Each clock was dismantled, every main wheel spring drilled at the spindle, new pinion screws inserted in the ratchet mechanisms, the miniature bolts balanced. Each was now prepared to accept the insertion of bell wires leading to battery terminals that would throw thirty seconds of sparks into exposed powder. These sparks would, in turn, burn and ignite explosives over a span of fifteen minutes. Each alarm had been set and reset a dozen times, infinitesimal grooves filed across the gears insuring sequence; all worked a dozen times in sequence. Professional tools, no particular significance attached to his knowing them. The designer was also a mechanic, the architect a builder, the critic a practitioner of the craft. It was essential.
Powder could be obtained at any gunsmith's with the purchase of shells. As for explosives, a simple visit to a demolition or excavation site, armed with the proper government identification, was all that it took for an on- the-spot inventory. The rest was a matter of having large pockets in a raincoat. He had done it all before; lay mentality was the same everywhere.
Beware the man bearing a black plastic ID case who spoke softly. He was dangerous. Cooperate; Oo not allow your name to get on a list.
He placed the clock mechanisms in a box given him by the supermarket clerk five hours ago, sealed the top, and carried it outside to his car. He opened the trunk, wedged the box into the corner, and returned to the hotel lobby.
"I find that I'll be leaving shortly," he said to the young man behind the front desk. "I paid for a week, but my plans have changed." "You also had a lot of phone calls billed to your room." "True," agreed Scofield, wondering how many people in Salem were also aware of it. Did witches still burn in Salem? "If you'd have the balance ready for me, I'll be down in about a half-hour. Add these papers to my bill, please." He took two newspapers from the stacks on the counter, the morning Examiner and a local veekly. He walked back up the staircase to his room.
He made instant coffee, carried the cup to the table, aud sat down with the newspapers and the Salem telephone book. It was 8:5. Paul Bergeron had been in the air thirty minutes, weather at Logan Airport permitting.
It was something he would check when he started his calls.
He opened the Examiner, turning to the classified section. There were two openings for construction workers, the first in Newton, the second in Braintree. He wrote down the addresses hoping