Tom Swift and His G-Force Inverter (13 page)

Guards supplied by the county sheriff’s office had been keeping watch. One of the guards approached Tom as he climbed out of the
Silent Streak
. "Mr. Swift, maybe I should tell you..."

"Problems?" asked Tom.

"No, but—we thought we saw someone approaching your plane, ducking through the scrub. We tooled over there right away and didn’t find anyone, but... you know."

"I sure do," responded the Shoptonian ruefully. "Could just be a kid getting curious. But there’s no way he could defeat the
Queen’s
security system."

Still, they entered the Flying Lab warily, electronically checking its various decks for anything moving—or with the warmth of a human body. "Better check the hull sensors too," Bud urged. "I
believe
I recall a little problem about bombs getting stuck to our silver-white skin."

Tom grinned. "Yes—it’s happened!"

Nothing was detected. Finally Bud, at the main controls, raised the
Sky Queen
high by extended its landing props to full stretch, then elevatored-down the hangar-hold deck to the ground so Tom could drive the atomicar aboard.

As the deck rose back into place with a click, Tom exited the car—and discovered he was not alone!

"Say there, hello, my friend," said the weaselly face floating above a pointing gun.

Tom didn’t raise his hands, but looked the intruder in the eye. "
Buenos días
, Rampo."

"Have I impressed you, sneaking aboard like this?"

"Very much," Tom replied calmly. "Not everyone could figure out a way in—waiting till Bud and I hurried inside to check for ‘burglars,’ then hugging the atomicar’s tailfin, out of sight, while I drove you right into the ship. Where did you hide while the police were scouting around?"

Ociéda gave a toothy grin. "The airplane’s wheel-well is more than big enough for little Rampo. I’m a self-taught contortionist and acrobat, Tom. Been a big help in my line of work."

"Right. How did you know we’d be here today, anyway?"

The pickpocket snorted and lowered the pointing gun. "Fah! Might as well ask how I
managed
to sneak across the border—me and a thousand others every day. There are ways,
señor
. I knew of your Grand Canyon project, of course, so I took a motel room in the area and waited like a quiet mouse. This morning the papers tell me you’ll be visiting. Easy enough to listen to the police radio to find your parking place."

"What do you want?" asked Tom. "You never responded to the advertisement I placed."

"Why would I? You didn’t bother to sign it, eh? Took me a bit of effort, finding the connection of that phone number to the company of the so-much-famed Tom Swift. Also,
muchácho
, I prefer to follow my own agenda, young Tom. Safer, usually. And you know," he went on, "I did respond. Being here, now—
this
is my response."

"Just as you said in the note you left us—we’re ‘
speaking again
’."

Ociéda winked in a chummy way. "Only polite—have you not heard of honor among thieves?" Tom half-chuckled, and Rampo smiled back. "You like me, Tom, I can tell. I don’t need this gun."

"You still haven’t told me what you want."

The man turned serious. "It seems my innocent little encounter on a dirty little street has offended some nasty people. The Four Brothers Cartel—vengeful narrow-minded fat men. And it seems there are others too, foreigners, maybe spies or something. Ah me! They are making my life difficult and stoop-shouldered."

"It’s as I told you," declared Tom. "What you stole that night is important to bunches of people on all sides."

"And the old man I took it from, that night—him too?"

"Rampo, he might be the worst of all."

"A hard life," Rampo muttered. "Yet if I hand what I took to you, Tom—am I being fair? To myself? To my many years of striving and perfecting my talents? Shall I deprive myself of decent compensation, merely because certain persons are prideful and obsessive about some little nothing? No. If the fool thing is so much desired—well, have I not served as a delivery boy? Shall I not be paid for my services?"

"Where is it?"

"Am I such an
idióte
as to tell you?" The man laughed. "Ah! It is in the safest place possible. And no, I didn’t swallow it, if you are thinking of searching me too thoroughly with the deepest insult."

"I wasn’t planning to," smiled the youth. "I don’t know if you’ll believe me, but I don’t even know what the object is. I gather it’s pretty small and innocuous looking. The man you took it from calls it The Picasso."

"Very cultured. He has hired you?"

"No. I refused to work for him, but after hearing his story my friend and I came to Mexico on our own. I’d like to give The Picasso to its rightful owners, Rampo, but I’m also trying to protect you from this man, Asa Pike. He’ll do what it takes to force you to tell him where it is."

"Even if, at the end, I am dead. This Asa is no different from all the others. And you, Tom? One wonders." He frowned stonily. "But if I am to be dead, first I will have money and a good time. I will give my possession to the highest bidder."

"Okay, but why are—"

"Here it is," he said, "here is that ‘deal’ you wanted. I come to you for protection, Tom. Lock me up somewhere, wherever you like—well, not a jail, of course; a private setting, a few amenities. Keep these wolves from getting at me. And then, to clear it all up and get it all over with, be my messenger. Do you see? My representative. We will make it so everyone talks through you. I see no one. Finally, I decide, and convey this silly Picasso to the winner, and I disappear. With my fair compensation."

"To resume picking pockets and mugging tourists?"

"To have fun with the rest of my life, which you have saved. I will be in your debt. I will even give you some money—after it is over, of course."

"You’re quite a guy,
señor
Ociéda," pronounced Tom. "But you’re also a crook, and for all I know, a murderer."

The man nodded. "
Que
? You’re thinking of what happened in the cathedral? Reasonable enough. I can only tell the truth to you.

"I came there in the ordinary course of business, that night. The poor dead man I was to meet, Tezler—a minor person at an embassy in the city. A naughty person, subject to blackmail, I fear. Don’t feel sorry for him, Tom, for he was stupid and careless. To prick his conscience it amused me to come to that holy place, to collect my modest fee for conveying to him a crude snapshot which he had come to value much."

"I get the picture," nodded the youth.

"But Tezler did not, for someone found out and killed him, so the newspapers tell us. This someone—who knows which group employed him?—comes onto the floor of the old basilica, where I have comfortably tied up the two guards and put them in a confessional; for who is without sin? And then Tezler’s impersonator is himself killed, no doubt by a rival group; and I am made a target, then you two intruders, then all of us. A busy night for the Virgin of Guadalupe, but Ociéda killed no one. I say with shame that I was not quick enough to do so. And it was dark. And of course murder is against my moral principles, don’t forget."

"Shall I believe the words of a stranger?" As the Shoptonian spoke his irony, his brain was working fiercely. It told him:
If I back the wrong side, something terrible could happen—but it could also happen if I don’t choose at all!
Tom told his brain to shut up so he could think.

"Here," said Rampo, abruptly kneeling down. He slid his gun across the deck to Tom. "There. I have put myself in your care. The world knows you for a smart kid, Tom Swift. You will work it all out. Money or no, I can’t have
nothing
if I get dead."

Shaking his head in frustration, the youth raised his arm to gesture behind him. The door panel on an inner bulkhead slid aside. "Guess you figured I’d be watching through the porthole, Skipper," said Bud.

"I knew you’d wonder what was going on when I didn’t come right up."

"As for me, I knew you were there as soon as you sneaked a peek," Rampo remarked smugly. "But I swear your presence had nothing to do with my giving up my gun."

Bud snorted. "Good grief, this hangar-hold is turning into a visitors center. We should put in a concession stand for the T-shirts."

"What will you do with poor Ociéda, young Tom?" asked the thief. "What do you decide?"

"To postpone the decision." Tom half-turned to Bud. "Follow behind us, flyboy. I’m escorting our guest up to the top deck, to the infirmary."

"
I’ll
carry the gun," stated Bud.

In the infirmary Tom had Rampo sit on a stool. The Mexican watched with growing concern as Tom looked through the cabinet of medications. "What do you intend,
señor
? To knock me out? Truth serum? Please consider: surely you are not licensed to administer medications!"

"Look toward the door, please," ordered the young inventor. Rampo felt a cotton swab against the back of his neck, then the sting of a blade and a
Chuk
! sound.

"Wh-what have you done?" demanded the thief.

"Made you a comfortable guest," replied Tom. "For
us
, that is. A while back I learned how to insert a tiny device under the skin. It transmits a signal that allows me to see what you see and hear what you hear. More importantly, it allows me to locate your exact position.

"So here’s what I’m going to do,
señor
. I’m locking you in one of the
Sky Queen
’s cabins for the flight back. I’m sure a talented guy like you could easily break out—but we’ll know it instantly up in the cockpit and let out the air in your part of the ship. Get the idea?"

"The idea is got!"

As they flew toward New York, Tom and Bud discussed the matter heatedly. "Look, Tom, you’re putting all your eggs in—in a smalltime pickpocket!" Bud observed. "Why buy his line? How do you know the guy even
has
The Picasso? Maybe the whole thing is some crazy plot cooked up by Asa Pike and the Collections people!"

"I know, flyboy. They’ve all succeeded in putting me in a bind, a real logic trap," was the thoughtful response. "Yup. I don’t have the luxury of staying out. I
have
to take sides—unless I—"

The bleep of the control board’s PER unit, bearing the Swift Enterprises quantum cartridge, interrupted him. "Tom?—this is Ames. Something has happened here, here in Shopton. I—

"It’s my daughter Dodie—she’s been
taken
!"

FRANTIC with concern at Ames’s account, the boys mach-ed the skyship toward Shopton and Enterprises. In the two Swifts’ executive office, the security chief repeated the story in full detail.

"I apologize if I’ve been a little sketchy," said Ames, clearly shaken. "Dodie always goes jogging before breakfast, down along Lakeside Park. It was frosty this morning. She started her car to let the heater run, then came back inside for a few minutes. She said goodbye.

"I waited for her to come back for our breakfast together. She seemed to be taking an unusually long time—or maybe I was just nervous after what had happened in that parking lot. I went outside...

"Her car was still idling. The door was popped open. She was..." His voice caught. "Nowhere. I examined the car, then the ground. There were signs of a scuffle, marks on top of her footprints from earlier, when she’d started the car. Two people, men, one heavy, one lighter—perhaps slightly built..."

"Like Ritt Kincaid," said Tom quietly.

"Yes. And now—"

"I take it there’s been no contact?" asked Mr. Swift.

"No immediate contact," was the reply. "I came here in case they might choose to reach me at the plant. My home phone is forwarded.

"Damon... Tom... I haven’t notified the police. I don’t want amateurs blundering around and compromising evidence. Or risking...

"You two Swifts, Rad, Bud—I know I can turn to you to help me get Dodie back!"

"We’re with you," said Bud simply. The others nodded.

Mr. Swift arranged for the Enterprises switchboard to have access to a PER unit quantum-linked to one in Harlan Ames’s hand. Then the five drove out to Ames’s lakeside condo in a TSE van bearing Tom’s remarkable robotic tracking device, the sensitector, adult version.

They parked a block away and unloaded the SenTec. Tom placed a hand on the arm of Dodie’s father. "Don’t worry, Uncle Harl. Rover Boy shouldn’t have any trouble finding Dodie."

"If anyone can," added Ames crisply and bitterly. Harlan Ames had already lost one loved one.

With the watchers standing well back, Tom activated the sensitector with his Spektor control. The compact metal machine reared up on its single monowheel. Tom guided it to Dodie’s car and let it make a few circuits about it as it sought distinctive molecular traces. "Rover’s got a good scent profile for Dodie," Tom reported. "Also signatures for two others—recent traces."

Ames nodded curtly. "But the frost on the pavement is interfering, isn’t it Tom."

"I’m afraid so," Tom acknowledged reluctantly. "But let’s give it a try. One good sign—there’s nothing associated with guns."

"How about chloroform, or something of that sort?" asked Phil Radnor.

"Maybe. Some unusual chemicals."

"Distinctive enough to help us," Mr. Swift noted. "That’s the way it works."

But the five knew that, ultimately, Dodie’s rescue would depend upon being able to follow whatever vehicle had been used to carry her away. Here lay disappointment. After a matter of yards, Rover Boy paused. "The three signatures have faded out," reported Tom.

Bud demanded: "So what about their car?"

The young inventor studied the SenTec’s readout. "It’s strange. I don’t see the usual signs of carbon monoxide or other fuel traces."

"Obviously they used a non-exhaust vehicle, fuel-cell or electric," pronounced Mr. Swift impatiently. "Is there something we can check for that? Something to trace?"

"Wait a sec!" Tom said abruptly. He worked the SenTec controls. "I was right!
The vehicle was powered by a Swift solar battery!
"

Bud was incredulous. "You mean—those super sci-fi batteries give off some kind of exhaust?"