Bug Park

by James P. Hogan

  "We?" Michelle repeated. "You mean to include Kevin in this?"

  "It was his idea, for heaven's sake—his and Taki's. How can I leave him out? Anyhow, it'll need at least two operators. Some parts will probably need a couple of mecs working together."

  Michelle closed her eyes momentarily and sighed. "He's smart and a lot more mature than average, but he's still a kid, Doug. Do I really have to tell you that you can't go involving him in something like this?"

  "He won't even need to be in the city. He can play his part from a remote coupler," Corfe replied obstinately. "Don't worry about it. We've already agreed, this isn't anything to do with you anymore."

  "You do understand that what you're talking about is totally illegal?" Michelle said. "Even if you did come up with something, you'd rule out any chance of ever being able to use it in court. It would never be admissible as evidence."

  Corfe paused at the door. "You're missing the point. This isn't for any court case. It's for Eric. We've both tried to make him take this seriously, but it doesn't do any good. Well, if it's going to need something like this to convince him, then okay, I'll risk it. Suppose something eventually did happen to him, and we still hadn't done anything. How would I be supposed to feel about that?" Corfe looked back, but Michelle couldn't answer. He left the office, closing the door behind him.

  He crossed the outer room where a girl was typing at a screen while another took notes over a phone. Wendy, the receptionist, gave him a smile on his way out. A woman in a green coat and turban-shaped hat, looking impatient, was already rising to her feet as he passed through the waiting area. He came out of the main door of the Prettis & Lang offices and followed the corridor back to the elevators.

  Well, he'd had to try, he told himself. He was still too charged with headiness and irked by the way the meeting with Michelle had gone to have any regrets. In fact, just the opposite: For the first time in days he felt resolved and purposeful. After almost a week of indecision and a debilitating sense of powerlessness, it came as a relief.

  Compared to days gone by, people these days had become too passive, he decided. There had been a time when men stood up for their rights and took steps to protect themselves when they felt threatened. But somewhere along the line they had let themselves be turned into sheep, conditioned to dependence on impersonal authorities who as often as not were as impotent as they were indifferent. The thought of himself as somebody able to rise above such a situation was stimulating and invigorating. As he rode the car back to the ground floor, he felt a touch of the maverick quality that he sometimes sensed Kevin projecting into him. Good for you, for once, Doug Corfe, he told himself. Sometimes a man just has to do . . .

  The day was gusty with squalls of rain sweeping the streets when he came out onto Fourth Avenue. He tightened his coat about him and walked a block to where he had parked—he had borrowed Eric's van again, in preparation for the weekend. It was a restricted loading-unloading zone only for that time of morning, but he had escaped getting a ticket. He got in quickly, half expecting a uniformed figure to leap from one of the doorways before he could start the motor. Just as he was about to pull away, his personal phone rang. He put the van back into "Park" and fished the unit from his pocket.

  "Hello?"

  "Doug?"

  "Yes."

  "This is Michelle."

  "Oh. . . . Hi again."

  There was a short pause. Then a sigh came through audibly. "You two guys aren't going to have a clue what to look for in there. . . . Look, if there's absolutely no way I can talk you out of this insanity, then we'd better try and give it the best chance of coming up with something. You're absolutely certain there'll be no question of anybody going into the building in person?"

  Corfe's brow furrowed, then lifted as he realized what she was saying. "Does this mean you're in with us?"

  "You're going to need help. . . . Look, I can't talk now; I've got somebody waiting. Can you find that place called Chancey's, that we went to with Kevin?"

  "Sure, I think so."

  "I'll meet you there. Can you give me, say, forty minutes?"

  "Okay . . . and thanks. But you're right. There's absolutely no way I'm gonna change my mind about this."

  "I'll see you, then."

  A meter warden came around the corner ahead and approached, peering to see if there was anyone in the van. Corfe shook his head as if to say not this time, smirked, engaged gear, and drove away.

  "Kevin won't need to be anywhere near," Corfe said across the booth after the waitress had brought Michelle's coffee and left. "I'll borrow Eric's van and control everything from a block or two away after the mecs go in—it's fitted out as a complete remote-command center. Kevin can stay back at Neurodyne and couple in from there, using the lab transmitter and a unit in the van as a local relay. In fact, some of the Neurodyne mecs need special software routines that will only run on the firm's machines, so someone would have to be there anyway. The place will be empty tomorrow. I can drop him off there on my way into town."

  "And what about Taki?" Michelle asked. "You said something about him being mixed up in this too. I don't like that, Doug."

  "No. It was just that he and Kev together came up with this idea of using the mecs."

  "So you're not planning on giving him a part in all this tomorrow?"

  Corfe shook his head. "Aw, come on. Credit me with some sense, Michelle. This is our affair. I wouldn't go dragging some other family into it."

  "But Kevin has already told Taki about it, obviously," Michelle pointed out. "Are you sure it hasn't gone further?"

  "Kevin says not, and I believe him. He and Taki have got this special . . . 'thing.' I guess he needed somebody to talk to . . . like we all do sometimes."

  Michelle sipped her coffee and ran over in her mind what had been said. "So when is Eric going up to Barrow's Pass?" she asked finally. "The last time I heard, it was still either tonight or tomorrow morning."

  "Probably tomorrow, but that's okay. He'll leave by, oh, around ten at the latest. That'll still give me plenty of time to pick Kev up and go on into town."

  "You're planning on doing this in the middle of the day, in broad daylight?" Michelle sounded dubious.

  "The best time," Corfe replied. "Lots of activity and traffic. People about. Why wait until everything's quiet and risk being conspicuous? And in any case, it might not be so straightforward. We could end up needing the whole weekend for all I know."

  Michelle thought it over one last time. Finally she looked up. "So I'd need to be where? In the van with you, I guess."

  Corfe stared at her for several seconds. "Am I hearing this right? Are you saying you'll do it?" Despite it being the reason why he had come to her office, now that she had actually said it, he found it difficult to believe.

  Michelle released a long sigh that acknowledged she was committed, at the same time shaking her head wearily in a way that seemed to say she couldn't think why. "I'll look at what's on the screens and make suggestions," she said. "I'm not sure I've had enough experience of driving mecs to be any more use than that."

  "I understand that. But I wouldn't have asked more, anyway." Corfe laid a hand lightly on her arm as she started to look away. "And look, if anything does mess up, then you're out of it right there. If anybody ever needs to know, I'm acting strictly alone, on my own initiative. Kevin's back in the lab; you're out on the street. Neither of you had anything to do with it." He shook his head before she could say anything. "That's the number-one rule. This is my show this time, and I give the orders. I won't have it any other way."

  Michelle started to say something, checked herself, and then nodded.

  She picked up her cup again and went quiet as she ran over in her mind what would be entailed, searching for the snags. Corfe waited, saying nothing.

  "Is this really going to be as straightforward as you seem to imagine?" she said finally. "For a start, what makes you think that Garsten will have obligingly left what we're looking for t
here in his computer for us to find? Lawyers are notoriously conservative people, Doug. They use paper and file cabinets a lot as well, you know. How is some little bug-size mec going to deal with things like that?"

  "We've got larger mecs too—earlier models," Corfe replied. "You'd be surprised how powerful they can be at low speed. We use them for all kinds of tasks."

  "But isn't getting larger ones like that inside going to be more of a problem?"

  "How so?"

  Michelle shrugged, frowning at the obvious. "You need to find a bigger hole," she said. "Or make one. We're getting closer to talking about breaking in again."

  Corfe shook his head. "I don't think so. We've thought of a better way that won't involve anything like that at all. Or rather, Kevin did. For some reason it always seems to take a kid to see an obvious way of doing something. Why go looking for ways of trying to get them inside after the place is closed, when you can take them in while it's open?"

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  The polished brass sign proclaiming the offices of phillip a. garsten, attorney at law was mounted on the wall by the door at the top of five stone steps leading up to what had formerly been a spacious, single-family town residence in the First Hill district, close to the Seattle University campus between Twelfth Avenue and Broadway. The house had been restored to an immaculate condition as a property investment, painted pale yellow with white trim and a red tile roof. It stood set back from the street behind a white picket fence and secluding screen of shrubbery, giving it an air of permanence and dependable confidentiality becoming of the profession.

  Corfe arrived thirty minutes after leaving Michelle in Chancey's diner and coffee shop. He was carrying a tan leather document case and a white plastic bag bearing the name and logo of a local bookstore. The bag looked heavy, stretching the grips as it hung in his hand. He pushed the door open with an elbow and went through. The entrance hall was opulent enough to bespeak success and competence, but not to the point of daunting a potential client contemplating the likely bill. The main furnishings consisted of a redwood office suite and brown brocatel-upholstered chairs, set against a background of beige velveteen overdrapes and a shag carpet with wood inlaid surround. A receptionist faced him across a desk equipped with paper trays, appointment book, computer terminal, and a sign saying that her name was Lisa.

  "Good morning," she greeted, smiling. "What can we do for you?"

  "Oh, hi. My name's Jeffreys. I called fairly late yesterday afternoon. I think it was you that I talked to."

  "Yes, I remember—to see Mr. Garsten. You want to set up a boat business, right?"

  "Well, to know a little more about the preliminaries of what would be involved, anyway." Corfe's eyes wandered around, absorbing the surroundings. "We made an appointment for eleven-thirty. I guess I'm a little early."

  "Sure, I've got you down. Mr. Garsten is running slightly behind time this morning. Would you mind taking a seat in the waiting room? I'll buzz through that you're here."

  "That's fine."

  Lisa showed him across a hall and through a glass-paneled door into a room containing several easy chairs, a couch, and a couple of low tables with stacks of magazines. She invited him to make himself at home and be comfortable. He said he'd prefer to stretch his legs and stand. She said that would be fine, assured him it wouldn't be too long, and left.

  Corfe wandered about the room, pausing near the door to register the layout of the hall and corridor outside, and the doors opening off. The waiting room had a window seat with doors below that might suit his purpose—although there was an external latch that could prove a problem if somebody closed it later before leaving for the weekend. There was a space in a corner behind one of the chairs that was unlikely to be checked; and feeling with a foot told him there was enough clearance underneath the couch. It really was that simple. He could accomplish his task and conceal the mecs right now, spend the rest of the time chatting innocuously, and then leave. The only trouble was, no terminal to the computer was located in the waiting room. That could make things difficult if the only access lay in other rooms that would possibly be locked. Better to keep his options open until he'd had a chance to see more. He went back out into the hall and asked if he could use a restroom while he was waiting. Lisa directed him along a passage leading to the rear of the house.

  On the way, he passed two rooms with terminals on the desks inside. Beyond was a photocopying area with shelves of cardboard boxes and stacked paper, and a metal hanging-file cabinet with more boxes piled on top—all of them good possible locations also.

  Naturally, the package that Corfe had brought contained the mecs that he and Kevin thought would be the most useful. There was always the chance, however, that as the weekend unfolded they might need to send in additional models to perform some specialized task, or for whatever other reason. A further objective of Corfe's visit, therefore, was to reconnoiter possible entry points. For obvious reasons, they didn't want to go disturbing any outside doors or windows.

  On the way up to the house, he had noticed a grille low down on the side wall, that looked like a vent to the basement; that was a possibility. Now, in a room at the rear outside the restrooms that looked as if it might have once been a laundry, he found a blanked-off pipe that could have been a dryer vent.

  On his way back to the front of the house he deliberately took a wrong turn and discovered a coffee lounge with a wood stove and a pipe going up through the ceiling. If all else failed, there would be a chimney somewhere outside that a can-size mec would surely be able to reach without too much difficulty. Before he could investigate further, a clerk appeared from a filing room next door and directed him back to reception. Lisa was waiting in the front hall to say that "Mr. Garsten will see you now."

  She showed him through a secretarial area with two desks. At one of them, a brunette was typing onto a screen. The other desk had a terminal too, although it was blank at the moment, the chair before it empty with a green cardigan thrown over the back. There were file cabinets along two of the walls, and a door leading through to what was clearly Garsten's office. Here, Corfe decided. This would be the perfect place.

  Lisa knocked, ushered Corfe through. "Mr. Jeffreys," she announced. Garsten got up, beaming, and shook hands. He was short and ruddy faced, with straight, reddish hair brushed to the side college-boy style, and a close-trimmed mustache, failing completely to convey the sinister image that Corfe had half expected. More, if anything, he put Corfe in mind of a supermarket manager. Why, Corfe had no idea. As far as he could recall, he'd never met a supermarket manager.

  The line Corfe had prepared was that he'd been invited to go into partnership in a boat-hire business and wanted to check on the legal requirements and implications before giving an answer. He had called his old friend Ray Young, the Vancouver ferry captain, the evening before, and as a result had been able to come armed with some plausible questions revolving mainly around liabilities, tax credits, insurance, and investment write-offs. He and Garsten talked for about twenty minutes. At the end of the interview, Garsten scribbled down the references to some pamphlets and guides that he thought it might be useful for "Jeffreys" to take away and study, and suggested they fix another appointment when he'd had a chance to go through them. They agreed to leave things at that point for now, and came back out of the office to the secretarial area.

  "Carol, could you pull out a few things for Mr. Jeffreys," Garsten said to the brunette who had been there when Corfe went in. He handed her the list that he had jotted down. Then the phone rang in the office behind him. "That's probably somebody I've been expecting," he told Corfe. "Excuse me, but I'll have to leave you. Carol will show you out." And with that, he went back into his office and closed the door.

  "Busy guy," Corfe commented, casually taking in the surroundings while Carol rummaged in her desk and on a shelf behind.

  "It can get hectic. This is nothing, really. . . . Oh, it looks like I'm out of MTL4s. I'll see if there are any
left next door. Back in a second." She went out into the hall, and Corfe heard her call something to Lisa. The other chair in the room was still empty. Corfe was left on his own. He blinked. Breaks like this didn't happen every day. In that case, all the more reason to make the best of them when they did. He looked around frantically.

  A wooden cabinet of drawers stood by the wall behind the desks, below several shelves carrying books, journals, card indexes, and various office accessories. Between the cabinet and the far corner was a worktop with storage below for stationery supplies and assorted boxes. Stooping and peering in, Corfe saw there was an awkward-to-reach space back in the corner, where several cleaning cloths, several old binders, a broken Rolodex, and other odd items had been pushed in a jumble. He reached inside the bookstore bag that he was carrying and produced from it another, folded bag containing the mecs that he had brought with him to hide. The package included two telebots and an assortment of tools, besides the several smaller models that he and Kevin had agreed on as a minimum initial task force. He dropped onto one knee and placed the bag at the back of the space, out of sight behind the other things, and straightened up again quickly. There were enough books left in the bag that he was still holding to leave it unchanged in outward appearance. When Carol came back, he was back by the door, admiring a print of a 19th century schooner.

  Corfe returned to the van, which he had left in a parking lot a few blocks away. From a console inside it, he activated one of the smallest mecs in the package that he had left behind, and in the course of the lunch hour was able to direct it up onto the worktop, and from there to a recess in the mounting bracket of a wall lamp, high up in the room where it would be unlikely to be noticed for the rest of the day. He then changed channels to activate another mec, and placed that one among the leaves of a potted plant on top of a file cabinet on the opposite side of the room. The second also contained an acoustic system that a couple of the engineers at Neurodyne were experimenting with, adapted from Kevin and Taki's models, and could thus pick up sound. Corfe left their transmissions on auto record and went off on foot to spend the afternoon amusing himself in the city.