Tom Swift and His Dyna-4 Capsule (16 page)

"If it even exists!" grated the young flier bitterly.

"—but what Eckdal is threatening, with his bogus ‘evidence,’ is a Grand Jury and the possibility of a protracted trial."

Bud rubbed his eyes. "All I wanted to do was get good grades." He looked up at Tom, listening silently. "Skipper, why do you suppose he changed his plan? First I’m being held for ransom—then they, they
murder
Reb. I’m
sure
that’s what happened!—now that you’ve told me about Eckdal."

"The murder happened last week, while you were still being held," Tom noted. "But consider this scenario. Rose Reb jumps to her death for whatever reasons people do things like that, threatening Eckdal and his friend Baxx with police attention. They start to panic, like the amateurs they are—redoubled when you remind them that Bud Barclay doesn’t need a Swift to make trouble for them."

"By escaping."

"So instead of just putting you back in your prison, they decide to
use
her death to hurry things along, planting the watch, maybe faking something further to hold over—
us
."

Randy Dibs was also present for the discussion—though unseen—by speaker-phone hookup to the Nevada site. "May I say something? Even if Bud’s back—hi there, Bud!—and the main reason you had for bringing me in is over, I’m still on official assignment with you folks. I still have my duties. I, er, can’t go back to the office without having done something.

"So at least I can come up with a theory. Here’s what
I
imagine happened. This Rose Rebecca gal got into a fight with her boyfriend up in that hotel room—it doesn’t take a ‘profiler’ to know that Garton Baxx is basically a violent psychotic and narcissist, for all his macho charm. It wouldn’t take much to get him out-of-control crazy and to end up shoving her to her death. Believe me, he wouldn’t ask Eckdal for advance permission."

"Got it," said Bud. "It
wasn’t
the blackness. Not hers."

"She may have contributed to the situation by taunting Baxx. She may have changed her mind about you, Bud. Seems she changed her mind quite a bit, hmm?"

"It bounced around."

"Let’s say she begged him to release you."

"It’d puncture his bloated ego."

"It’d puncture
anyone’s
bloated ego. She provoked him into violence. Out she goes!

"That’s my expert mental reconstruction of the crime. At least I
sound
like a pro—I hope."

Harlan Ames added: "And then it’s as Tom has suggested. Since she’s dead anyway and they’re afraid the main plan has been monkey-wrenched, they panic and try to turn things around to their advantage."

"As quickly as possible," Tom added.

"Because once they have that account information, they’re
gone
!" stated Dibs. "I’m sure they have some kind of escape route to another country all greased and ready. You won’t be able to touch them. If they get stopped, they spill the phony evidence and your best friend has a fight on his hands."

The two friends both acknowledged the likelihood, as did Ames, listening intently. Bud said, "They’re doing pretty good for a couple low-IQ thugs."

"We may have underestimated them," cautioned Dibs. "These guys may not be criminal geniuses, but Baxx has obvious street-smarts."

"And Torr Eckdal has whatever cleverness it takes to be a con man," noted Ames grimly. "Tom, it’s almost certain that Eck has got ahold of someone who’ll be able to penetrate the Nevada site despite security, someone reporting back to Eckdal who’ll come out of the woodwork when it looks like you’re ready and able to crack open the brick."

"They’ve got real guts," remarked the young inventor. "They’re not only facing our Enterprises people—and you, Randy—but Federal security inside and up above, patrolling the Test Range."

But Agent Dibs shook his head. "Not
Federal
security, Tom. The guys are subcontracted-out by the management company hired to run the place. Same deal as they used in the Iraq occupation."

"Dressed-up Rent-A-Cops," Bud said. "Jetz!—I hope they do better than the guys who used to watch the student parking lot."

There was no thought of contacting the police or the FBI—Bud was only a
person of interest,
the Swifts reasoned, and the person of interest concurred. But as the time-transformer construction moved ahead in Nevada day by day under the guidance of Wiltessa and Hank Sterling, at last requiring the personal attentions of its inventor, Bud asked whether he should remain behind in Shopton. "Skipper, let’s face it—I’m a liability. Maybe it’ll look bad for you and Enterprises after the fact—maybe you’ll get dinged for harboring a suspected murderer or something."

"Do you
want
to be there, pal?"

"Oh man, you
know
I do!"

"Then it’s a done deal," declared Tom firmly. "
I
want you there, flyboy, like always. And you may be better protected at the site than here."

Bud grinned. "I’m not so sure about that. But if it’ll help the cause of Swiftian science, I’ll risk it. Say, maybe you can make me a little older—give me a touch of distinguished gray!"

"I think we’ll
both
pick up a few gray hairs by the end of
this
operation."

Ames and Radnor agreed that having Bud accompany Tom to Nevada was a reasonable idea. But when contacted Agent Dibs expressed worried disagreement. "I know how Bud Barclay’s a part of your life and ‘inner process’ and all that, Tom—whatever it is that makes a genius a genius. But if you’ll give me credit as, at least, a professional in the making..."

"You think he should remain in Shopton," Tom stated into the telephone.

"Yes, I do. I know I haven’t met the guy, but this isn’t about Bud as a person. It’s about security for your dyna-4 project. Garton Baxx is a psychopath. Whatever he really felt toward Rose Rebecca, her taking a softer attitude toward Bud—even expressing a
twinge
of doubt toward Baxx—would make it a matter of power and control."

"And jealousy."

"If the situation evolved as I suggested, he may blame the person who
wasn’t
in that hotel room—Bud—for everything that happened. Such people blame everyone but themselves. They can’t confront their own culpability, right? Make sense?"

"Yes," Tom said. "But why would taking Bud along to Nevada—"

"You still don’t see it!" snapped the agent. "Er, sorry... it’s just, you know, my rep is on the line and..."

"I know, Randy."

"My point is that Baxx and Eckdal are almost certainly in position somewhere near the installation. That’s where they’d want to be as things play out. Having Bud present would be a provocation—teasing the bull. Baxx— through whoever he’s planted among your work force to spy on you—might get crazy and strike out after Bud—and
you
—whatever the cost to the big plan."

"That’s pretty hard to swallow," the young inventor replied. "All that brilliant conniving put at risk in a moment of rage?"

"Which is exactly what may have happened already—in that hotel room!" urged Dibs. "Even in Shopton, Bud should probably stay in a controlled,
watched
environment until all this is over. Harlan and Radnor don’t seem to be taking into account the fact that bringing Bud to the time cave creates a worry for you as you complete the project—and a distraction for me as I try to protect you!"

Tom was unconvinced. He badly wanted his pal with him. "If Baxx were all that obsessed with Bud, I’d think he’d have made some attempt on him here in Shopton by now—he’s been back for almost a week. But... I’ll think over what you’ve said, Randy."

"Thanks," responded the agent brusquely, ending the call.

Bud’s fate wasn’t left entirely to chance and the mercies of madmen. Ames had assigned a member of the plant security force to keep a discreet eye on the young pilot, parking outside his apartment and shadowing him from a distance as he went about his daily routines.

"Dave’s out there somewhere right now," Bud told Sandy, picking her up at the Swift home the night before Tom was to fly to Nevada. "Nice guy, but I don’t feel like my brave impulsive self with somebody always on my tail."

"I don’t see anyone," Sandy said as Bud’s beloved TSE TSE FLY swung out onto the public road from the Swifts’ driveway.

"Yeah, that’s the point, San."

The friendly twosome took in a movie, then dinner, then a late drive near Lake Carlopa and the recreation pier. "Buddo..." Sandy began shyly, "I’m so sorry about—what happened. What was she really like? I mean—"

There were many emotions in Bud’s voice. "Reb was just unhappy, totally unhappy. She had this way of complaining that I thought was funny—then. But, you know, I was about the only person who’d put up with her. She couldn’t be a part of any ‘group,’ any high school clique. People snarked at her behind her back. I dunno. When you think of how nobody even knew her folks had been killed, all the—"

Suddenly the convertible waggled.

"Funny," Bud murmured. And then the two gasped in fear as TseTse accelerated on her own with squeeling tires!

"B-
Bud
!" Sandy shrieked.

"I’m not doing a thing!"

The car was hurtling down the roadway toward a sharp curve—a curve it would be unable to take. Beyond, straight ahead, was the shoreline—and the waters of the lake!

THERE was no time for shouting. TseTse was already moving too fast for sharp braking—as on a rain-slicked freeway, they would never stop in time. Bud still had control of the wheel, but the car’s screeching momentum was already too great to allow its diver to turn them aside.

Trying for calm, Bud smoothly nudged the brakes. Then, at a moment precisely calculated, he yanked the steering wheel to starboard.

They had already left the pavement and were crossing the strip of grass that edged the drop-off of several feet into Lake Carlopa. TseTse’s nose swerved aside and the car began a whirl like a spinning plate. Sandy shrieked; Bud silently joined in, eyes wide. The convertible tipped slightly as if it were about to roll.

For an instant they were nosed away from the lake, hurtling backwards on fierce momentum. Bud gunned the engine to even greater ferocity and the tires bit in, now working against their motion. Wet grass and turf splattered in all directions. They slowed—stopped—and Bud frantically killed the motor.

TseTse and its white-faced occupants gasped to a stop. The rear bumper hung over the edge into space.

"B-Bud..." Sandy panted, "r-really, you—you
don’t
need to impress me."

Bud sat like a stone, clenching the wheel like a lifeline. "Somebody got into it—into TseTse. And where’s our security boy?"

The answer came in a sobering call from Harlan Ames, as Bud and Sandy waited for a tow truck. "Dave Wharton was knocked out getting into his car as you were leaving the movie—a dart in his neck. He’ll be fine—"

"Lucky him!" snarled Bud into his cell. "Good night, even if a dunking in the lake wouldn’t have killed me and Sandy, it sure shows that Baxx hasn’t put his grudge behind him!"

"Dibs is right—it’s become some sort of maniacal obsession focused on you personally," Ames declared coolly. "He’s after you, Bud, at whatever risk to Eckdal’s plot. TseTse is all-electronic. Baxx must have cut some wires or something under the hood, or maybe inserted a remote-control mechanism that overrode your accel pedal."

"He must have done it while TseTse was parked at the restaurant."

"He was an expert hacker even as a kid. Apparently he altered grades on the school computer for a fee. No Tom Swift, but technologically adept enough to get under your skin."

"Under my hood! But how the heck did this jerkface know when to push the button and—and do whatever he did to the accelerator? How’d he know we were approaching the lake?"

The response was grim. "Not so hard—given that he was following you, out of sight, in Dave Wharton’s car—with Dave unconscious in the trunk! Radnor just found it abandoned a half-mile down the road.

"Bud," continued Ames, "I wonder if Agent Dibs isn’t right as to his recommendation. If we’re dealing with that level of determination and craziness, it might be best for all concerned if you kept clear of the dyna-4 site and stayed in Shopton. You can move into the duplex on the plant grounds. I know you don’t want to, but we have to think of the overall picture."

Bud replied with simmering anger. "Mm-hmm. Right on all three counts, Harlan—about the overall picture, about how staying behind would be best, and—the part about
not liking it!
"

The security man snorted. "Now to convince someone who’ll like it even less—Tom Swift!"

The next morning Bud moved into the Enterprises guest duplex with slumping shoulders. And that afternoon the
Sky Queen
took to the skies and turned toward Nevada.

Tom sat at the controls next to Enterprises employee Markham Wesberg. Chow Winkler—his omission would be unthinkable—came up behind them. "Coulda plugged you both, boys, and ya never woulda known. Got ol’ Mouthy with me," said the westerner. "Plan t’ get in some practice." Enterprises had been able to classify Chow as "temporary adjunct security personnel," allowing him to bear arms at the federally controlled facility. The skyship had brought along some targets for the gunslinger to practice on in the desert above the time cave.

"You won’t rest till you top Dibs, will you," smiled Tom.

"Stuck in my craw. You’d best hope I make my mark right quick, boss. When I get tired ’n ornery, the stew gets mighty thin!" Tom didn’t respond, and the cook added quietly, "Don’t seem right, does it, son?—leavin’ Buddy Boy behind. Ask me, it’s a blame pewly-poor idee."

"I agree," said a voice somewhere behind Chow’s impressive breadth and shirt of frenzied colors.

The westerner spun around, eyes popping. "B-brand my saucepans!
Bud
!"

Bud’s grin almost exceeded his face. Tom laughed. "You snuck up on us, pardner, but we snuck one over on you, too. I overrode Harlan, and Dad agreed."

"But I sawr with my own two eyes—"

"That was the big idea, Chow," said Bud. "I made like I was staying put at Enterprises, so now Baxx is likely to keep hanging around Shopton instead of raising dust in Nevada with old Eck."