3rd World Products, Inc., Book 3

by Ed Howdershelt

  No passwords? No code? Did they all think they knew each other's voices that well?

  A few moments later, when the deadbolt lock shot backward and the door opened slightly, someone said, "Ain't nobody here."

  Another guy said, "Maybe he went back upstairs."

  "Oh, man!" said the first guy. "That dumb bastard's done left his rifle down here."

  "Preacher's gonna nail his ass for that. Leave it. Don't touch it. It ain't up to us to cover his dumb ass."

  Although they seemed to have decided what the situation was, the first guy began climbing the stairs rather cautiously, his rifle at the ready. A muzzle protruded from the doorway and the second guy glanced to his left and right after a disbelieving look at the rifle. Morons. All of them, so far.

  "Well no damned wonder," he said, "That's B.J.'s tape on the clip."

  "That boy's too damned dumb to wipe his own butt," said the first guy.

  I pondered their low esteem for B.J. only briefly as the second rifleman cleared the doorway and took several tentative steps upward. Quietly picking up the rifle, I slipped through the doorway and quickly got to one side of it just as the second guy said, "I don't like it. I ain't goin' up there, man."

  "We gotta check it out, man. You hear anything?"

  "Not a damned thing, and I ain't goin' up there, and that's all there is to it."

  I heard motion on the stairs, then one of them muttered a flat, "Oh, shit."

  The other guy tensely asked, "Whaddaya mean, oh, shit?"

  "The rifle's gone, man. The fucking rifle's gone. It was right there on that step and now it's gone."

  In a conversational tone, I said, "What the hell's goin' on up there? Where is everybody? Why's that goddamned door open?"

  The two guys came down the stairs fast, jabbering excuses. I slammed the first one in the head with the wooden butt of the AK as he reached the doorway. He went down as I kicked hard into the second guy's lower gut. The guy doubled over in a combination of amazement and pain. A solid swing with the AK's wooden stock put him out cold.

  Risking a few minutes for the sake of stealth, I dragged the guys to the stairs as I called the situation in. I then took the magazines out of their rifles and unloaded the chambered rounds, then tossed the magazines up and out of the stairwell.

  "Control, you have two to go in the stairwell, ma'am. Guns, but the ammo is now on the roof. Try to be quiet about it. I'll leave the door closed and unlocked, but wait for info. Don't let anybody just barge in."

  Linda said, "Copy that. Pickup is on the way."

  One guy looked as if he'd be out for some time. The other was starting to come around. I slammed him again with the rifle and hurried to close the door for appearances sake. It occurred to me that I could have simply stunned them, and I briefly wondered what had caused me not to use my stunner. Old habits?

  The door had a single deadbolt lock and two hasps on the inside for big padlocks. Not knowing if the padlocks were standard procedure, I simply set the deadbolt in the open position and closed the door with one of the loose 7.62 rounds wedged under it on the stairwell side to hold it shut.

  "Door secure, Control. Don't disturb the AK round holding it shut. Moving on."

  "Copy that."

  For the first time, I had a chance to examine my surroundings for more than more men with guns. I was in a storage area that was full of stacked boxes and half-used shelves. Nudging a box with my toe, I tried to slide it. No good. Heavy as hell. The top was folded shut. I pulled a flap up far enough to see what was inside, but all I saw was heavy duty gray bubble wrap.

  "I'm in a storage area beyond the stairs. Heavy boxes, carefully wrapped. Watch for tripwires. Maybe let bomb disposal wonder what's in the boxes. Moving on."

  "Copy that."

  When I cracked open the other door in the room, I discovered that it opened into a poorly lit hallway. West was to the left. I could only see to the right, naturally, which was a dead end after one more door. I cracked the door a bit farther, then a bit more, and soon I could poke my head out and look up and down the hall.

  A big guy with crude tattoos on his arms was sitting on a stool ten yards away, under the only working light in the hall and next to elevator doors. He was leafing through a magazine, holding it above his considerable belly, and his rifle was leaning on the wall beside the stool. I left my captured rifle in the storage room and let myself out to the hallway, pulling the door quietly shut behind me, then headed for the guy on the stool with my stunner in hand.

  Maybe he was more alert than the others. Maybe he just had better senses. He raised his head from his magazine and looked around, then looked around again with a 'did I really hear something?' look. Seeing nothing and hearing nothing, he went back to his magazine.

  I didn't want him falling off the stool or onto the rifle right next to it. I wanted him quietly out cold. How did he feel about rats? I made a soft chittering noise and waited. He noticed it the second time I made the noise. I chittered again. He looked disdainfully down the hallway past me, then went back to his magazine.

  Got him. Now I can roll the other rifle cartridge down the hall and he won't get all spooky about it. I did so, flicking the cartridge close to the floor and maybe ten feet behind me as I chittered angrily. The guy heard the round hit the floor and saw it skitter to a stop.

  "Fuckin' rats," he said, getting up from the stool. "Where the hell'd they get wunna those? And why the hell would they even want one? Can't eat the damn thing."

  It always mildly amazes me when someone actually names the best reasons for being cautious, then ignores his or her own words. He placed his magazine face down on the stool and picked up his rifle, then walked toward me. Hmm. Must've had some training somewhere along the line. Oh, well.

  He was too big in the belly to just lean over and pick up the round, so he had to go to one knee to reach for it, and that's when I stunned him hard twice. He melted to the floor a few feet from the storage room door.

  I picked up the rifle cartridge and stuck it in a pocket, then set his rifle inside the storage room door before I went back for him. Grabbing his wrists, I worked to drag him into the storage room as I muttered, "Control. Got a big one this time" -- puff puff -- "three hundred plus" -- puff puff -- "stunned his ass" -- puff puff -- "find him just inside the hall door, other end of storage room."

  I took a few moments to catch my breath, then said, "Jesus. Control. Better double team to move this one. Got another rifle, too."

  "Copy that, Dragonfly."

  "They weigh a helluva lot more when they're out cold."

  "That they do, Ed. Need a break?"

  "If I get another one like that one, maybe. Moving on."

  "Copy that."

  Past the elevators were two doors on the right and one on the left. Maybe once-upon-a-time offices? The big boss and his little people across the hall? I hate closed doors on the job. They always present problems when you're trying to be sneaky.

  The only thing to do was try the doors; the big room first only because it happened to be big. I slowly turned the knob. It went just so far, then stopped. Locked. Looking up and down the hall once, I reached for my briefcase and pulled it down to get my cutter out of it, then let it float back over my head.

  I whispered, "I'm at the door to the big room, west side. Going to cut the lock."

  "Copy west big room."

  After putting the two inkpen-looking cylinders together, I turned it on. As the short, bright field snapped into being, that sound echoed up and down the hallway. The damned cutter suddenly seemed awfully loud as it hummed, but it sliced through the door's lock and frame with expected ease.

  On the chance that there was someone on the other side, I was careful to cut only as deeply as necessary to cut the locking bar. When I was finished, rather than snap the cutter off, as well, I laid it on the floor well beyond the doorway, mostly to avoid stepping on it if I had to leave suddenly.

  I cracked the door enough to let the probe pee
k in above me, then retreated.

  "Probe view?" I asked.

  "One man, unmoving, to the right as you enter."

  "Copy that."

  Easing my way into the large room, I saw that it was illuminated by a small lamp on a desk by the window. The man was lying across a stack of boxes. I approached him carefully until it became apparent that he wasn't breathing, then I approached him even more carefully, alert for traps. Nope, no traps. No pulse or respiration, either, and no blood in the area. Cause of death?

  I checked for wires and pressure devices as I rolled the man over slowly. In the back of his neck near the base of the skull was one small slit about a quarter-inch wide. Someone had cut his strings and done a damned good job of it. Only the tiniest bit of blood had seeped around the blade.

  There was no time to worry about who he used to be or why they'd killed him. I checked a couple of boxes and found more of that tightly-packed bubble wrap.

  I muttered, "Dead guy in the big room on the west side. A high spinal tap. More boxes with bubble wrap. Desk by the window. Moving on."

  "Copy that."

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Using the same procedures to get through the other two doors, I discovered no more bodies, but many more of the boxes, all similarly packed with bubble wrap.

  "Control, I want to see what's in one of these boxes," I said.

  "Negative."

  "Big field around the building. Nothing gets out. Why not?"

  "We don't know who may be in other levels, Ed. They may have children and families in the building."

  "Would you bring your kids to a germ factory?"

  "Has anyone accused these people of being sane? Don't open any boxes."

  "Okay. Won't open boxes. Moving on."

  "Copy that."

  As I stepped into the hall, the elevator pinged to announce an arrival. Figuring I had about ten seconds to see inside the elevator, I ran as quietly as I could down the other side of the hall. The doors opened when I was still ten feet away and a woman in a white lab coat stepped out. She'd been alone. She saw the empty stool and seemed puzzled, then turned to go Westward, not that it mattered. I couldn't let her go either East or West unless she was unconscious.

  She cradled what looked like a miniature diver's air tank in her hands and she was studying it as if it were of supreme interest, not as if it were supremely dangerous. As she passed me, I snatched the cylinder from her hands and zapped her at almost the same time. She crumpled instantly and I dragged her into the nearest doorway.

  "Zapped a woman this time," I said, and described the cylinder she'd been admiring like a big jewel.

  Wallace answered with, "Copy that. Two men on the way. That sounds like a five-minute emergency tank, Ed."

  "Looks like one, too, but it's too heavy. Oh, hell. Guess what's in those boxes, people. Guess why they're so damned heavy. All that bubble wrap is to keep them quiet in transit. The tanks are full of fluid, not air."

  "As good a guess as any, Ed. Linda says don't open any."

  "Thought she might say that. Tell her I only opened ten of them and I'll stop now that I know better."

  "Ha, ha," said Linda.

  I zapped the woman hard again on general principles and put the canister on the floor near her.

  "Ready to move again. What are you doing with all the prisoners, guys?"

  "We have a flitter team laying them out on the roof. Too risky to take them anywhere yet. The team doesn't leave the field either, until everybody's been checked for bugs."

  "Roger that. Moving again. Downstairs this time to the second floor."

  "Copy that."

  I padded quietly to the stairwell door and had almost started to open it when I heard voices in the stairwell.

  "Control, cancel move. People in the stairwell. At least two."

  "Copy that."

  I eased the door open a crack and saw two men talking on the next landing down. Neither was facing my direction or looking up, so I eased the door open a bit more. It occurred to me to test the knob on the other side of the door, so I tried to turn it. No good, and all the inside stairwell doors might be locked, in which case I'd have to cut them or take the elevator. Neither idea appealed to me.

  I had to assume that all the elevator doors would be guarded at least as well as the 3rd floor's elevator had been. I also had to assume there'd be guards on the stairwell doors and that they'd be perceptive enough to notice a continuous bright light and wisps of smoke coming from a lock mechanism.

  I quietly pulled the door shut and went to the elevator. The two guys in black cautiously entered the hallway as I turned to go to the elevator. I told them that I had an idea of sorts. We'd put the woman in the elevator and leave her positioned so that the doors would continuously bump her hips when they tried to close. That would bring someone upstairs sooner or later.

  Whoever found her would report the problem, which would probably bring even more people up and down the stairs and get the elevator moving in the midst of a small amount of furor. The only hitch was the missing elevator guard.

  "Control, can you spare two prisoners? I need both the woman who had the canister and the elevator guard, unconscious for at least an hour each."

  "For what reason?"

  "A distraction to get some careless activity going on either the stairs or the elevator. Some way to get to the next floor unnoticed."

  Wallace came on. "The team medic has some stuff that ought to do that for you, Dragonfly. Where's the canister?"

  "With the woman."

  "Hide it in the room where the woman is now. Medic is on the way."

  When the team medic arrived, two winded blacksuits were dragging the fat guy behind them. The guy had already been dosed with whatever; we propped him on his stool with his rifle next to him.

  "Firing pin removed," said the medic, then he went to dose the woman.

  Next we positioned the woman to block the elevator doors while one of the guys hid the canister deep between boxes. Once all appeared ready, the black suits ghosted back up the hallway and out of the building. I parked myself where I thought I'd be least likely to be trampled and waited.

  "Update," said Linda, "The woman is one of the missing lab workers. Looks as if we've found the anthill, Ed."

  "Kewl beenz," I muttered, and heard Wallace ask, "What? What did he say?"

  It seemed as if I'd been putzing around in the building for hours, but my watch claimed it had only been twenty-seven minutes. Oh, well. No rush. More voices in the stairwell, and one sounded brassy. He was loud enough that I could hear his words.

  "Well, get your ass up there and see!"

  I could hear the guy come bounding up the stairs, but he seemed to get an attack of caution near the door. A key rattled briefly, slipped into the lock, and the knob turned. When the door opened a crack, I saw the guy kneeling behind it, as close to the floor as possible. I heard the key slide out of the lock and jangle briefly. Seeing nothing, he poked his head farther out, saw the guard and the woman, and dashed back down the stairs to report to someone.

  Be nice to have one of those keys. Well, no, not really. Key or cutter, someone would be near the door. Fielding up an ice block to keep the door from latching wouldn't work, either. Someone could notice a door not closing or a wet spot. Better just to try slipping in during high traffic.

  More noise on the stairs. This time four people came cautiously out of the stairwell. Two ran quietly each way along the hall and back and reported all doors closed. I couldn't believe it... They'd only glanced at each door without testing the knobs. Could be that they knew what was in those rooms. Now, if they'd only send at least two by way of the stairs...

  They did. After the fat guard and the woman had been hauled into the tiny elevator, one of them ordered two others to use the stairs. Those two were unthrilled about that and one actually slammed the door against it's stop as he went past it. I reached to slap the footlatch down over the stop and slipped through the doorway.<
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  The guy came back up the upper flight of steps as I went down. The guy at the bottom impatiently waited for his compadre with his hand on the second floor door knob. I stepped behind him and very quietly helped him wait.

  When his friend started down after getting the upper door closed, the man in front of me opened the lower door slightly. By the time the other guy was halfway down the lower steps, the door was fully open and I slipped through into the hallway beyond. Someone pushing a metal cart nearly ran into me immediately, and avoiding the cart almost caused me to brush up against someone else who was walking by, but I managed to avoid contact with both of them.

  The place was a beehive. People were coming and going from room to room up and down the halls. Unlike the guys in the stairwells and above, these people all wore tidy white synthetic paper overalls. I worked my way through the traffic to get a look into one of the rooms and saw people reaching into clear plastic boxes that had rubber gloves mounted in arm holes.

  One at a time, canisters would be pushed along a row and into a trough of liquid within one of the plastic enclosures, where rubber-gloved hands would snap-hook the submerged canisters to hoses, then turn a knob on top of the small canister. Twenty seconds or so later, they turned the knob the other way and disconnected the canisters. While I could see by the number of live people around that the system seemed to work, I was exceedingly glad to be inside my five suit.

  Someone who was getting out of someone else's way shoved an empty cart sideways, right at me. There was nowhere to go but up. I leaped and grabbed what I instantly recognized as a steam pipe. My five suit kept me from having serious contact burns, but it was like having hot coffee spilled across my palms for several seconds before I could let go and drop to the floor. Thankfully, there was enough noise that nobody noticed the sound of my landing. I sent a cooling field over my hands and almost sighed with relief.

  There's noise and then there's noise, and if you want cover, the noises have to generally match up. I could thump and bang a little bit and it would blend with similar noises of the wheeled carts and closing doors, but I wanted to talk to Control, and there wasn't much talking going on around me. Trying to report, even in a whisper, would be a big risk. On the other hand, Control and company were hearing and seeing everything I did.