“And it’s what Merrill said it was?”
“In a way,” Heimhocker said, and Loomis said, “That man is crazy, you know. Talk about megalomania.”
“ ‘Think big,’ I think, is the business phrase,” Mordon said. “You’ve looked into this Jerome project?”
“Genome,” Heimhocker said. “From the word gene. The Human Genome Project is the most expensive United States government scientific enterprise since the Manhattan Project.”
“Is it really.”
“I’m amazed,” Loomis said, “at how little it’s known.”
“Well, of course,” Mordon pointed out, “the Manhattan Project, inventing the atomic bomb, wasn’t very well known while it was going on, either.”
“True,” Heimhocker said, and Loomis said, “But that was wartime,” and Heimhocker said, “It may merely be too hard a story for the press to explain to the great unwashed,” and Loomis said, “True.”
“But the project does actually exist,” Mordon said, “and it is doing something with DNA chains—”
“Mapping,” Heimhocker said. “As your friend Merrill said. And it is finding disease tendencies. But this is a government project, you know, it’s not something you can sneak around inside, or influence, or co-opt.”
“But now, already this morning,” Loomis said, with a hint of a wail in his voice, “we received a hand-delivered letter from this Merrill Fullerton, with a covering letter from Dr. Archer Amory, informing us our melanoma researches are finished! Just like that!”
“Unfortunate,” Mordon murmured.
“And we were so close!” Loomis cried.
Heimhocker said, more calmly, “Whether we were close or not, we were always, in the company’s eyes obviously, no more than window dressing. They have no more use for that false face, so they’re throwing it away.”
“We feel so used!” Loomis cried.
“And we also feel,” Heimhocker said, “frustrated. We’re told in the letter that our research facility will be permitted to continue on as before, but only with a restructuring of goals, and that our goals are now in the area of genetic enhancement of tobacco safety.”
“How do you like that for a euphemism?” Loomis demanded.
“I think it’s rather wonderful,” Mordon admitted.
“But,” Heimhocker said, “how are we going to do this? Even if we find the invisible man—”
“We will,” Barney said.
“Yes, no doubt.” Heimhocker sneered at him, and spoke to Mordon again, saying, “But even if we find him, and even if we convince him to work with us, and even if he manages to pussyfoot around government laboratories without getting caught, or implicating us—”
“I’ve never wanted to commit a federal crime,” Loomis confessed.
“Exactly,” Heimhocker said. “So, Mr. Leethe, I realize you represent the other side in this matter, but it seemed to me you were as appalled as we were in that limo, listening to that man—”
“Not really,” Mordon said. “I’ve listened to businessmen dream before. But what you want to know is, how are you going to continue to live off NAABOR if NAABOR insists on you doing something illegal.”
“Impossible is the word I had in mind,” Heimhocker said, and Loomis said, “Impossible and illegal, and unethical, and immoral.”
Mordon nodded. “Everything but fattening. Gentlemen, I want you to understand this suggestion is not coming from me, but don’t you think you could work on this new project for some time to come without having any actual finalized data to report? I mean, how often do you report progress on your melanoma research?”
“Never, in fact,” Heimhocker admitted, but Loomis said, “That isn’t precisely true, Peter. We do prepare an annual report for the stockholders’ brochure, restating our goals and so on, indicating areas we’ve concentrated on during the previous fiscal year.”
“Other than that,” Mordon said.
“Other than that, nothing,” Heimhocker said, and Loomis said, “But we were just about to, we were on the verge of a breakthrough, we’re convinced of that, that’s why we were so eager to test one of the formulae on that burglar.”
“Speaking of whom,” Barney said, “do you mind if we do?”
“Please,” Heimhocker said, patting the air to calm Barney down (which, of course, would do just the reverse), “let me just finish this other matter first.” To Mordon, he said, “What you’re suggesting, without the suggestion coming from you, we understand that, is that we simply go along with Merrill Fullerton’s ideas, as best we can, without getting ourselves into trouble with the law. Not protest, not argue.”
“If you protest or argue,” Mordon told him, “you’ll be replaced. There are a lot of researchers out there who’d like a lab of their very own. If you make waves right now, you’ll lose your funding. You’ll probably lose this building.”
Loomis said, “But what about our melanoma research?”
Mordon shrugged. “Continue it. Call it something else in your financial statements. The accountants who pay your expenses have no idea what you’re doing anyway.”
Heimhocker and Loomis looked at one another. At last, Heimhocker said, “We could probably give him little bits of information from time to time.”
“Not enough,” Loomis said, “for him to do any real damage.”
“Of course,” Mordon said.
Heimhocker gave Mordon a hunted look. “It’s a frightening way to live, though,” he said.
“All ways to live are frightening,” Mordon consoled him. “Imagine living like Barney here, for instance, who has been very patient, and who wants to talk about Fredric Noon now. Go ahead, Barney.”
Barney frowned at Mordon’s profile. “What’s wrong with the way I live?”
“Nothing. You seem very content in it. Talk to the doctors about Noon.”
Barney thought it over, and decided to move forward. Turning to the doctors, he said, “Has Noon been in touch with you two yet?”
“No,” Heimhocker said, and Loomis said, “We wish he would!”
Barney beetled brows at them. “You sure about that? Not even one little phone call?”
“Of course not,” Heimhocker said, looking insulted, while Loomis looked astonished, crying, “Every time the phone rings, we hope it’s him! For heaven’s sake!”
“Because he will,” Barney said, and glanced at Mordon. “Right, Counselor?”
“His invisibility doesn’t seem to be ending,” Mordon told the doctors. “So far as we can tell, he’s still absolutely unseeable.”
“Well, of course,” Loomis said, and Heimhocker said, “That’s what we expected.”
Mordon raised an eyebrow. “You expected it? That he’d still be invisible? Unharmed by your potion, but invisible?”
“Absolutely,” Heimhocker said, and Loomis said, “There isn’t the shadow of a doubt. Or a shadow of Noon, come to think of it.”
Barney said, “And that’s why he’s gonna call you. One of these days, one of these nights, he’s gonna have piled up all the cash he wants, he’s gonna want to get visible again so he can live like a normal guy, and he’s gonna call you two and try and make a deal.”
“That,” Loomis said, “is what we’ve been praying for.”
“When it happens,” Barney said, “we want to know. Mr. Leethe here, and me, we both want to know, right away.”
“That depends,” said Heimhocker.
“The hell it does,” said Barney, and Mordon held Barney’s arm a moment, saying, “Easy, Barney, let me explain it to them.” Back to the doctors. “Here’s the situation. At this moment, you’re worried about your funding, you’re worried about the future of your legitimate and no doubt very useful research here in this facility. You know you can’t go forward without NAABOR. I am in a position to make life easier for you at NAABOR, or to make life impossible for you there. You have my assurance that no one, none of us, not Barney, not me, not even Merrill Fullerton, has any intention of harming Fredric Noo
n. We all want to make use of him, true, but so do you. You will be given every opportunity to continue your experiments on him—”
“Observations,” corrected Heimhocker.
“Observations. There is no reason for you not to work with us, and therefore I have no reason to make trouble for you at NAABOR. Do we understand one another?”
“I’m afraid we do,” Heimhocker said.
“So when Mr. Noon calls,” Mordon said, “you’ll make arrangements with him—”
“You won’t lose him,” Barney said.
“Exactly,” Mordon agreed. “You’ll keep your contact with him, and you’ll inform us at once. Yes?”
Both doctors sighed. Both nodded. Heimhocker said, “Yes.”
Barney said, “And you don’t make him visible again without clearing with us. The both of us.”
The doctors looked at him in surprise. Loomis said, “Make him visible? Not possible.”
Barney said, “What?”
Mordon said, “You can’t undo it?”
“Absolutely not,” Loomis said, and Heimhocker said, “The computer models were very clear on that.”
Mordon said, “You’re positive.”
“It’s a one-way street,” Loomis said, and Heimhocker said, “Freddie Noon’s invisibility is irreversible.”
“Irreversible.”
“Think of albinos,” Loomis said, and Heimhocker said, “That’s a loss of pigmentation in a different way,” and Loomis said, “Not as thorough, not as severe,” and Heimhocker said, “But just as irreparable,” and Loomis said, “You can’t paint an albino and expect it to stick,” and Heimhocker said, “And the same is true, forever, of Freddie Noon.”
“In the movies,” Barney said, “once the guy is dead, you can see him again.”
Heimhocker curled a lip. “I have no idea what the scientific basis for that would be,” he said.
“Invisible forever,” Mordon said. He was still getting used to the idea.
“I’m afraid so, yes.”
Barney cleared his throat. “I tell you what,” he said. “When Freddie Noon calls you guys, you don’t mention that part, you see what I mean?”
* * *
“You can call me a worrywart if you want,” Barney said.
They were on the sidewalk in front of the Loomis-Heimhocker Research Facility. Mordon said, “Why would I do that, Barney?”
Barney jabbed a thumb at the pretty little townhouse they’d just left, where Shanana continued to observe them from within her oriel. “I’m gonna tap their phones,” he said.
“Do,” said Mordon.
40
Freddie waltzed into the Big S at five minutes to eight on Thursday evening, two days since he’d first cased the joint and five minutes before it would close for the night. Since being here last, he’d called Jersey Josh for his order—Josh had grumbled about the truck, but finally admitted he could resell it and would therefore buy it—and he’d made his plans, and now Peg had let him off at the front door and he was ready to go.
The first place he went was the rear of the store, where all the garage doors were, some of them shut and some of them open to reveal the insides of big trailers being used as storage. Skipping around workmen on and off forklift trucks, Freddie studied the contents of the various trailers and finally decided that the sixth one from the right would be the most useful. At the moment, it was less than a quarter full, with Japanese VCRs on pallets, stacked to the ceiling at the far end of the trailer.
Outside each trailer, taped to the wall beside the garage-door opening, was a yellow trip sheet that gave that trailer’s identification number and a lot of other news. Freddie memorized the number of the sixth trailer from the right—21409—and then went on to make the rest of his selections. Since he couldn’t carry stuff around with him, not even a pencil and a piece of paper, he had to memorize everything he needed to know, but that was okay. He had a good memory, and nothing to distract him.
He was maybe half an hour at the rear of the building, and then he legged it to the front, headed for the office, and it just seemed as though everything was going to be with him tonight. For instance, he didn’t even have to press the button to be let into the stairwell. There was a guy just coming out, papers in hand, a younger and less cigarlike Gus, and Freddie managed to reach behind the guy and stop the door just before it snicked shut. The guy walked on, frowning at his new orders, and Freddie slid inside and upstairs, where clerical crew number two was finishing up the last two hours of the workday, mostly with gossip, and most of the gossip about people on soap operas instead of people they actually knew.
It was easy for Freddie to make his own order, adding a line to a work sheet here, a work sheet there, tapping them out on the computer terminals, whenever the clerks were distracted, which they usually were. By ten past nine, according to the big clock on the wall, his paperwork was finished, and down the stairs he went, and along the row of shops to the restaurant, closed for the night, with a lock on the door that Freddie merely had to caress to get in.
This restaurant was just a sandwich-and-coffee place, which was fine by Freddie. He made himself a nice big sandwich, had a glass of milk, had a piece of pecan pie and another glass of milk, and sat at a booth near the back, where the moving fork and glass couldn’t be seen, but he could watch the clerks leave. He did not look down at his stomach.
Ten o’clock. Here they came, in little clusters, moving by the plate-glass windows of the restaurant on their way to the main exit, still talking soap. Then the last of them were gone, and the illumination out there on the selling floor changed as most lights were switched off, to leave just enough for the guards to see what they were doing as they moved around.
On a little two-man electric cart. That was cute; Freddie was sitting there, twiddling his thumbs, waiting for dinner to finish its disappearing act, when whirrr, that little golfcart sort of thing went by, with two rent-a-cops on it, talking sports to each other. Their uniforms were navy blue, almost black, imitation police in style. They carried walkie-talkies in holsters where police carry guns, and they wore their police-type hats farther back on their foreheads than regular cops do. They didn’t look as though they expected trouble.
Well, so far as Freddie Noon was concerned, they weren’t about to have any trouble, at least not from him. Checking to make sure he was invisible again, leaving his dirty dishes behind to cause an argument among staff tomorrow morning, he let himself out of the restaurant and paused to check things out before heading back to look-see truck 21409.
He could hear the electric cart whirring around here and there, the buzz of it bouncing back at him from the metal rafters up by the roof. Apparently, there was only one cart in operation, with two of the four nighttime guards on it. Moving forward from the restaurant, looking back and up, he saw lights on in the upstairs offices, and one venetian blind raised, and a guard seated at the window there, looking out, which made a lot of sense—good place to station a sentry. The fourth guy he didn’t see yet.
No problem. Freddie loped away to the rear of the store, avoiding the electric cart, and truck 21409 was full. Yes, sir. Giving it as much of the double-o as he could from outside, it seemed to Freddie that his orders had been carried out to the letter. The heavy lifting in this caper had been done by others, which was only proper, and now, in addition to the Japanese VCRs that had been in this truck in the first place, there was everything else Jersey Josh had requested: personal-computer terminals, boom boxes, and, God knows why, washing machines. (Jersey Josh could not possibly have wanted those last for himself.)
But here Freddie found guard number four, which created a bit of a snag. The guy was seated in a chair leaning against the rear wall of the building, between two of the open garage doors, and he was doing the puzzles in a crossword-puzzle magazine.
The problem was, Freddie had wanted to pull down and close both the door of truck 21409 and the garage door frontin
g it, neither of which he could do with that guard sitting there. The truck, maybe, almost, since all he’d have to do was reach up to the dangling leather strap and tug on it, and it might not make too much noise as it rolled down, if he did it slowly and carefully. But the garage door was electric, and clanked; he’d heard these doors clank open and shut his last time here.
Well, so he’d adjust. Leaving those doors open and the guard at his puzzle, continuing to avoid the electric go-cart as it whirred around and around in random patterns, Freddie made his way back to the middle of the store, where he’d noticed a ten-foot-high display of pillows, all in a big wire basket, its sides open enough so the customers could reach in and pull out the pillows they wanted. Freddie now climbed up this basket—the wire was sharp and painful against his bare feet—and when he got to the top he flopped onto the pillows and wallowed around until he was really nestled in, and then he lay there gazing up at the ceiling as he waited for the cleaning crew to arrive. He was as comfortable as he had ever been in his life, but he was pretty sure he wouldn’t fall asleeeeeeeeee—
Eleven o’clock. The cleaning crew was here. Freddie knew it was eleven o’clock, and he knew the cleaning crew was here, because the sudden racket they made was so loud and so god-awful that he jumped out of sleep like a deer into your headlights, kicking and flailing in such a panic that he was well and deeply buried in the basket of pillows by the time he got his wits about him. Then he struggled back to the surface and lay there gasping a while, listening to all that noise.
No, it wasn’t that the building had fallen down. It was just the cleaning crew, that was all, with their vacuumers and compactors, advancing through the aisles like an invading army in tanks.
Freddie lifted his head, cautious, trying to orient himself, and far away, above the aisles, beyond the phalanxes of weed-whackers and battalions of work boots and soft explosions of furry pink slippers, there remained the lit window of the second-floor office, at the same level as himself atop his pillows, and the impassive guard was still seated in there, looking out, directly at Freddie, and not batting an eye.
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