Pitfall

by Cameron Bane

  Understanding dawned. “Charles. You mean—”

  “Charles Cross. The security chief. The guy who gave you the ride here.”

  “That’s what you call him? Boneless Chuck?” I almost laughed out loud, but held back.

  “Sure. I mean, you saw the guy. Is he strange-looking or what?”

  “He is that. But why Boneless? He looked like he had plenty of bones to me.”

  I was hoping my engaging the guard in friendly banter would draw him out. He appeared to be a real talker, and on top of that he was the first person since I’d hit town, outside of Rae Ann the waitress, who might give me something I could actually use. So as Led Zeppelin put it, I let him ramble on.

  “One of the guys that used to work here nicknamed him,” Frank explained, taking the seat I’d just vacated. “Todd—that’s the guy—was a fan of old Fred Astaire movies. He ate ‘em up. Anything to do with dancing was right up his alley. Even though Todd was married, we all thought he might have been a little …” The guard wagged his hand. “You know?”

  “If you say so.”

  “Todd always said that whenever Astaire danced, he moved across the floor like he didn’t have any bones. So that’s it.” Frank paused, as if he’d made his point. He hadn’t.

  “Sorry, you’ve lost me.”

  He looked around and lowered his voice. “What I mean is, Boneless is kind of like Astaire, but he doesn’t dance. At least, I don’t think so. With him it’s martial arts.”

  Can I spot ‘em or what?

  “He knows them all, and then some,” Frank said.

  “Karate, kung fu, tae kwan do, that sort of thing?”

  “I guess. I’ve seen him in action.” His inflection went flat. “And wish I hadn’t.”

  That sounded intriguing. “Go on.”

  The old man frowned. “Why?”

  “I’ve always liked watching martial arts.” I should; in the service I learned fighting techniques so obscure their names are barely pronounceable. “I’ll bet it was interesting.”

  “Interesting.” Frank snorted the word. “Yeah, I guess you could say it was interesting when I saw him tangle with a guard who made fun of his voice.”

  “From your tone that didn’t go over too well.”

  “That’s what I’m saying.”

  Frank’s prompt comebacks made me wonder how wise he was, running his yap like this. I hoped he was close to retirement, because if Eli Cross had any idea of what a motormouth the old man was being to me, a complete stranger, I’d bet the guard’s days of working here would end with a sudden pink slip. Or worse.

  The old man shifted his weight on the cart’s leatherette seat. “What happened was, one day Todd was standing right next to Boneless, and he happened to call him the Breezy Wheezer. He’d heard it around. You know, because of the way he sounds when he talks.”

  Seemed appropriate to me.

  “But you don’t do that, because Boneless thinks he sounds just fine. One second he’s standing there, calm as day, and the next he’s ripping into Todd like a buzzsaw.” Frank’s eyes had gone wide. “I mean it. Every part of Cross was flying. I never saw anything like it. It was like … it was like he didn’t have any bones. Liquid. Almost like he wasn’t human.”

  Charles Cross was human enough. Still, this was good intel.

  “Poor Todd never had a chance.” Frank shook his head. “He died the next day.”

  “Died?” Now that was crazy. If it was true, why was Cross still walking around free?

  “Yep. GeneSys paid for his funeral, but still …” Frank’s voice trailed.

  “And that was all?”

  “Sad to say, but yeah.”

  This did not compute. Take it from a former cop, if Charles Cross really was as good at martial arts as the old man was making out, and had killed someone with his skills, he wouldn’t have been standing here earlier today, calmly talking to me. He would have been in jail. “So what happened after that?”

  Frank finally turned cautious. “I think maybe I’m talking too much.”

  I couldn’t lose him now. “You’re fine,” I coaxed.

  Still he hesitated. Removing his blue cap, he worked its bill with worried fingers. “Well …”

  “Listen, Frank, if I’m going to be dealing with Charles—Boneless—as part of my job, I need to know the kind of man he is.”

  At that, the guard gave in. “Yeah. Yeah, I guess that’s true.” He shook his head and his tone turned bitter as he ran his hand through his thatch of gray hair. “My retirement starts next week, and man, I’m glad I’m about done at this place.”

  “Why is that?”

  “Because nothing happened to Boneless, that’s why.” The old man spat the words, jerking his cap back on. “Not a single, solitary thing. Eli just spread some green around, including some to Todd’s wife, and everything was all nice again.”

  I’d heard of situations like this, a company like GeneSys owning a town, buying their way out of any trouble that might come knocking. But I’d met Elgin Hardesty, and he didn’t strike me as the type who could be bought, and I told Frank so.

  “I can’t see a man like your sheriff just letting a death like that slide. He seems to be a pretty straight-shooter.”

  “Oh, he is. But a fight’s a fight, and Todd did start it with his crack.” The old man paused. “It just finished different than he expected.”

  Again Frank hung up, and this time I let it go. I had enough from him to mull over, and then some. “You know, this is all pretty interesting, but—”

  “But you’re still stuck with a cranky cart, and you need to get about your business,” Frank finished. Reaching down, he flipped the vehicle’s switch, turning it back on. “Tell you what, Mr. Fields, you take mine, and I’ll take this rascal.”

  “I thought you said Boneless was the only one who knew how to work it.”

  The guard’s grin was sly. “He likes to think so. But I know a thing or two myself.”

  Once on it he began fiddling with the gears, and I had to ask. “Frank, I appreciate your candor, but isn’t it misplaced? I mean, how do you know I won’t go running to your boss and tell him the name you call him?”

  “Because already he knows,” the old man stated simply.

  “What?”

  “This place may be big, but nothing stays secret for long.” He moved the gear shift handle up and down, trying to get it to engage. “We all think he kind of likes it now. But after what he did to Todd, no one ever dares say it again to his face.”

  “Of course.” My thoughts were flying. “If that’s the case, he must really like the guard who originally hanged that handle on him.”

  “You mean Buddy Mordetti.” With a soft clunk the handle found its sweet spot.

  “I guess so.”

  “That’s the guy.” Frank’s good humor slipped away. “But none of us know what Boneless thinks about Buddy. The day after he named him, he disappeared.”

  The old man stepped on the cart’s throttle and silently drove off.

  *

  A minute later I was in Frank’s vehicle, gliding the other way back down the long hall. I realized I needed a map to negotiate the nooks and crannies of this place, since Eli must have thought I could find my way around his little funhouse by echolocation. It seemed the best place to get that map would be where I’d entered. Following the sweeping curve of the hall, in two more minutes I was back at the lobby doors.

  “Yes sir, Mr. Fields.” The same guard who’d greeted me earlier was still at his post behind that futuristic desk. “Finished already?”

  “Nope. I haven’t even started. I need a map.” And I wished I didn’t. In a perfect world the insides of GeneSys could have been found on the ‘Net, but we’re not there. Yet.

  “Sure thing.” Pulling open a drawer on his left, his hand came out bearing an older version GPS, charcoal gray and maybe six inches by five. He held it out.

  Taking it, I said, “I’ve used these when I’ve gone c
amping.” And I had, but not the kind of camping he probably would have known. My old Army unit had used something quite a bit like it when we were in the field. Ours were more advanced, of course.

  “Maybe you have. Notice the clip on the back, so it can hang on a belt?” I flipped it over, seeing it. “You’ll find most of the workers here carry them because they also contain our intranet hookup.”

  “Interesting.” I began handing it back, still trying the play the role of the humorless Luddite. “But I don’t much fancy the idea of this thing banging my hip all day. Don’t you have like a one-page, foldable map you can give me?”

  The guard made no move to take the device. “Mr. Fields, take a slow look around. What don’t you see here?”

  This guy’s cockiness was starting to grate. “Is that a joke?”

  “Not at all. What you don’t see is paper. Not a scrap. That’s why we don’t have paper maps. We don’t even keep magazines for the visitors. Not hard copies, anyway.”

  “Why?”

  “Let me explain that by giving you some quick history here.”

  “All right.”

  “GeneSys is the most advanced facility of its type in the world. And rightfully so, seeing its funding comes mainly from a consortium of private investors.”

  “Is that so?” That might lead somewhere. “Like who, for instance?”

  “It doesn’t matter. Their names would be meaningless to you.”

  We’d see about that. More and more the guard was sounding less like a minimum-wage cop wannabe, and more like something else. I couldn’t put my finger on exactly what.

  “I see.” I figured to play along. “Lots of bucks, I guess.”

  “Oh yeah, lots and lots. Everything here costs big dollars because everything at GeneSys is totally state of the art. And all of it geared toward one purpose, that of ending famine in our lifetime.”

  Looked like we had another true believer here, just like Eli Cross.

  “It’s costly, true,” the guard continued. “But we feel the potential payoff is worth every cent. Wouldn’t you agree?”

  “Yes indeed. Go on. This is fascinating.” And it was, even though I knew he was bullshitting me terribly.

  “GeneSys is completely self-sufficient in regard to power. As you may have noticed when you entered, you came down a slight slope. That’s because our facility was built using earth-berm construction.”

  “I’m familiar with that.”

  He acted as if he hadn’t heard. Or didn’t care. “Earth-berm is one reason we’re so cool in August. In addition, an aquifer supplies our water needs, and in winter the dome itself helps supply its own heat. We also compost everything here, and I mean everything, utilizing the heat that composting generates to create steam. This in turn powers our electric turbines.” He paused. “Am I going too fast for you, Mr. Fields?”

  “Not at all.”

  “I just wondered. Your attention seemed to be wandering.”

  I almost told him I always look this way when I’m bored spitless, but didn’t. “I’m just a little tired. Please continue.”

  He picked up without missing a beat. “Our advanced technology even extends to waste disposal. The toilets at GeneSys are the latest incinerating type.”

  That got me. I couldn’t help it as I barked a derisive laugh. “That gives a whole new meaning to the term hot seat.”

  Ignoring my jibe, the guard motioned above us with his hand. “The dome generates most of its power by way of its active/passive solar construction, meaning the entire exterior surface is covered with thousands of photovoltaic cells.”

  “Photovoltaic?” I was still playing dumb.

  “Those are devices for turning sunlight into electricity.”

  “Really,” was all I said.

  “All of this has been done for one overriding purpose, that of making sure we don’t waste a thing. And that also includes not having anything here made of paper. Again, it all comes back to waste. Mr. Cross just can’t stand the thought of it.”

  “I see.” I realized we’d come full circle, and the sales pitch was over. “That was very well done.” I regarded him. “What’s your name, anyway?”

  “Albert Trask, sir.”

  “Well, Albert-Trask-sir, you are a by God treasure trove of helpful information. It’s a wonder you don’t lead tours here.”

  “I do. I split my duties between manning the desk and escorting visitors around.”

  “Then why didn’t you take me back to see Mr. Cross instead of his son doing it?”

  “I imagine the boss wanted to see what kind of man you are. Truth be told, so did I.” Albert’s smile had subtly changed. “You see, Mr. Fields, Blakey Sinclair is a friend of mine.”

  Picking up the unmistakable hint of warning, I checked his eyes. Uh-huh. Yep, there was fight there, far back.

  I gigged him anyway. “But I’d think your duties would also include keeping out the riffraff. By whatever means, correct?”

  “Right.”

  I gazed harder, going for broke. “Including deadly force?”

  “Sure.” Albert hadn’t hesitated a second. “Mr. Cross has been good to me. A job like that, I’d do for free.” Oh, yeah. This guy was going to be trouble, sure as breakfast.

  I held up the plastic device. “Well, thanks for the information, Albert, and the map. I’m sure it’s not as hard as it looks.”

  “You won’t have any trouble, Mr. Fields.” Now all pretense of civility was gone, and his chuckle was unabashedly nasty. “An eight-year-old boy could make it work.”

  “Good.” I raised my eyebrows in hope. “You wouldn’t happen to have one lying around, would you?”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Of course I’d only been screwing around with Albert. Like I said, in the service I’d routinely used the map’s more advanced cousins. This thing was cake: no brag, just fact.

  After I’d wandered away to a more secure spot behind some plants, I had the device up and running in less than a minute. Now I was looking at a vertical shot, as if I was suspended fifty feet high up in the dome’s support girders and looking down. I couldn’t tell if the picture was a real-time feed or CGI: the graphics were that good.

  Picture an oval racetrack, a thousand feet long by five hundred wide, and put a huge expanse at its center. Pack that expanse completely with plants of all sizes and varieties, heights and widths, all of them sitting up on ten-foot-tall open, steel racks spaced five feet apart, and being fed and watered with green, rubber hoses dangling from black metal pipes.

  That was the dome in a nutshell.

  The racetrack, of course, was the hall running the inside of the perimeter. According to the map the areas coming off that hall and angling in toward the center were the staff offices and storage rooms.

  I touched a button. The screen changed to an analog layout, and more information appeared. The rooms now showed as rectangles with titles: Supply, Data Entry, IT Systems, Clean Room, and so on. I even saw the universal symbols for man and woman, indicating the location of the restrooms; you know, the ones with the flaming toilets. I needed to remember to give those things a wide berth.

  Around the far side of the facility I located the Security station, home to friendly Frank Vint and not so friendly Albert Trask. It was also the lair of one Boneless Chuck, he of the wheezy voice and killer disposition. As I read the map the dark realization grew that he and I were going to have a day of reckoning before this was over. I knew that as surely as I knew my name.

  I also found his father’s room. The key read simply E. Cross, Director. Not to mention A. Kidnapper of gullible children.

  And then I spotted the doors with the red diamonds.

  There were three, all located at the dome’s far end. They were the ones Eli had been so adamant about, citing security concerns. And now I saw why he had been so exercised. If the map was right, they weren’t labs. They were elevator doors. But elevators to where?

  I did know one thing for certain. Tho
se doors would lead me to Sarah Cahill. Somewhere beneath my feet—and how far down I couldn’t even hazard a guess—she was waiting.

  But I needed to see more, and I got back on the cart, heading to where the first set of elevators were. Once there and dismounting, I surreptitiously walked over and examined the first one. Above the up and down buttons was a slot, obviously for a key card.

  I mentally kicked myself for having left my little machine at home that was the electronic version of a lock-release gun; it would have come in handy here. On the other hand I could easily unscrew the panel and hot wire it to make it work … but not while I was under surveillance, of course. That meant somehow I’d have to either secure an employee card to open it, or have Marsh work his magic and fix it from there.

  I needed more solid intel before I made my move, and so far, other than from gabby Frank, all I’d gotten was the tourist line. There had to be someone here with what I needed, and was willing to part with it.

  Climbing back on the cart, map in my left hand, I was off. I needed data, and where better to get it than Data Entry? Following the line on the map I turned right, heading down the opposite leg of the racetrack. As I did, I felt my pulse beating just a little faster. Finally, at long last, I felt I was close to the answer.

  Break time or whatever must have been over because I was passing people now. The majority looked like townies, both the men and women alike dressed in business causal. Not a few of them shot me dark looks as I drove by. They’d probably heard of my tussle with Blakey and Chet at Jerry’s the previous night and figured my visit here would only cause trouble for them. If they only knew.

  The remaining workers were a different bunch. There were only a handful of these, dressed in jeans and down at the heels brogans. Techies, I thought. Even disregarding their go-to-hell clothes, they didn’t have a local look about them. What look they did have was hard to pin down, but it was there all the same.

  And then I got it. These had to be the ones in the know, the inner circle. The townies were just here to earn a paycheck; these others were the true believers, just like the Cross boys and Albert Trask.