Hamilton filled him in completely. He didn’t think it was necessary to keep anything from the man. Vogerian wasn’t playing ball with him, so he wouldn’t play by Vogerian’s rules.
Jones absorbed it all. “So you want me to come along on this wild expedition?”
Hamilton nodded. “If he is up to something then I’ll probably need someone familiar with security devices. His ship will probably be filled with them.” He gestured around the room at Jones’ accumulated stock. “You have a certain facility for dealing with such devices.”
Jones looked cautious. “And what would I get out of this. If this Vogerian guy has to be dealt with, we’re not going to get any shares, now are we?”
Hamilton shrugged. “If he does prove treacherous, I’m sure we can persuade him to sign over his ship to us. I know a few people who know a few people etc., etc., who’d be very interested in acquiring a high-tech vessel for a fraction of it’s normal cost, with no questions asked. A share of even a fraction of such a ship would be worth a great deal. You wouldn’t have to work for years, perhaps ever again.”
Jones smiled. “Now that’s something I can relate to!”
“Plus,” Hamilton continued. “There’s always the possibility that this Humal thing might be real. If he does try to trick us then we can happily take his share and divide it up amongst ourselves.”
“What’s to stop us doing all this anyway? Even if he does prove to be on the level.”
“Me.” Hamilton said. “I accepted his contract. I won’t make the first bad move. Besides, we’ll know for sure whether he’s on the level after tonight.”
Jones frowned. “Why? What’s happening tonight?”
“You and I are going to pay a little visit to the first room that I was given at the hotel.”
Jones scowled. “I haven’t said I’m going yet.”
“You will.” Hamilton told him, confidently.
Jones scowled for a moment, then his face lit up with what Hamilton knew was going to be a bad idea. “I’ll tell you what. I’ll help you. I’ll check out your room.”
Hamilton’s eyes narrowed. “But?”
Jones beamed. “But first, you have to help me.”
CHAPTER FOUR
The warehouse was on the edge of the business district. It was part of a whole row of such storehouses. Most of them were dark, empty presumably. A few showed external lights and one was even in use, goods being unloaded as they watched.
The warehouse Jones was interested in was second from one end of the row. Unlike the others it was amongst, this one was patrolled by a pair of guards with vicious looking dogs.
The hounds were huge, almost four feet at the shoulder. They looked like no dog Hamilton had ever seen before. Jones explained that they were cross-bred with a local carnivore. Hamilton didn’t like the look of them. But then, he didn’t like this whole business.
“Look,” he began again. “I’m not sure about this Jones.”
“Not getting cold feet are you?” Jones chuckled.
Hamilton scowled. “Of course not! But I’m not a criminal!”
Jones raised his eyebrows. “And I suppose you’ve never broke in anywhere before?”
“That’s different! It was for my work!”
“Sure! Sure!” Jones nodded. “And this is for mine!”
Hamilton muttered under his breath. The annoying thing was, Jones was right. He had broken into places before, plenty of times. But that had been on behalf of a client. This was simple robbery. On the other hand, he recalled, he had stolen from that blackmailer’s he’d burgled. Stolen the evidence on his victims. And other things besides. Things he’d later sold for a profit. Of course, he’d planted evidence in return, to make up for what he’d taken. The victims hadn’t wanted their names dragged up, so he’d framed the man for industrial espionage, instead. Plans and photographs of secret equipment - all stolen by himself - were found by the authorities later that same night. The man had gone down for a long time. Much longer than if he’d been done for blackmail. Hamilton had done all that. Was he really any better than Jones?
“What did you say?” Jones grinned.
“I said OK.” Hamilton grumbled.
“Good! Now let’s get down to the matter at hand. Have you got the equipment?”
“I had it the last time you asked and I’ve still got it now!” Hamilton hissed.
“Just checking! Just checking!” Jones placated. “Don’t get all steamed up!”
“Just get on with it!”
“OK! OK! I’m goin’. Just remember your part.”
“Gee!” Hamilton muttered under his breath as Jones moved off. “How could I forget. You’ve only told it to me a dozen times!”
Jones disappeared behind the warehouse next to the one he was interested in. In his dark clothing he was all but invisible in the darkness. Hamilton waited. The guards patrolled the concrete around the warehouse, rotating anti-clockwise. There was always one of them on patrol, the other usually in the little hut attached to the front of the warehouse. After half an hour they would swap over. Annoyingly, this was not regular as clockwork. Often they varied their patrol lengths by up to fifteen minutes either way, making it impossible to plot any kind quick assault on the rear of the building. Either they were lousy time-keepers or very good at their job.
Ten minutes passed and Hamilton caught the single flash of dim light from the roof of the warehouse that Jones had gone behind. It was his signal.
He quickly retraced his footsteps a short way to where Jones rental car had been left. The rental markings had been covered up with those belonging to another company. He jumped in and was soon driving towards the warehouse. As he passed in front of the building he slowed quickly and pulled the choke out. The car coughed and spluttered convincingly. He continued to brake to a stop. The engine continued to gasp as if on its last legs.
Hamilton let the engine chug for a few moments before allowing the engine to die. He climbed out slowly, muttering loudly about hired junkers.
The guard who was stationed in the little hut immediately came forward to investigate, bringing his hound with him. He unsnapped his holster as he did so and spoke into a walkie-talkie also. The second guard appeared from around the back of the warehouse and made his way forward.
Hamilton popped the bonnet and began to fiddle with the engine.
The first guard and dog approached quickly but cautiously.
The second remained by the front of the warehouse. From the corner of his eye, Hamilton saw Jones atop the next warehouse along. The black man hauled a ladder upright from where it had lain on the roof and, by means of a rope attached to the far end, lowered it gently across the gap between the two storehouses. Hamilton sneezed violently as the end touched down and backed away from the car as if he’d inhaled something noxious.
The first guard stopped at the sudden movement and drew his weapon. Hamilton saw it was a standard issue pistol, medium calibre, low velocity. Designed to deal with unarmoured civilians and thieves, he thought, such as himself and Jones.
“What’s the trouble?” The guard called.
Hamilton threw his hands up in mock despair. “Who the Hell knows!” he complained. “This is the fourth time today this pile of crap has quit on me.”
The guard nodded knowingly, still suspicious. “Want me to call a tow truck?”
Hamilton shrugged. “If you like. It usually starts up again in ten minutes or so, though. I’d hate to waste any more money on this thing. Would you believe I missed an important meeting because of this tin scrap-pile?”
“Sure, I can believe it.” The guard was staring past Hamilton now, searching for possible accomplices. There was nothing, however, behind him. Looking the other way, Hamilton saw Jones run lightly across the ladder to the other side. Apparently satisfied, the guard put away his gun and came a few steps forward. “Listen, if you want to stop awhile I guess it’s OK. But you’ll have to stay with the vehicle. No wandering about. Alright?”
>
“Great! Thanks!” Hamilton exhaled in relief. “I just hope it’ll start up again! I don’t fancy walking to my hotel.”
“Where are you staying?” The guard was casual, now, but Hamilton knew he was still uncertain.
“The Excelsis. Do you know it?”
The guard nodded. “I’ve heard of it. Never stayed there myself. Listen, I’ve got to get back to work.” He made an incomprehensible gesture to his huge hound, which promptly sat down, watching Hamilton. “I’ll leave you the dog for company.”
“Gee, thanks.” Hamilton said, with what he hoped was the right amount of concern.
The guard turned and retraced his steps back to the hut, waving his companion back to his patrol.
Hamilton anxiously scanned the roof of the warehouse. Jones and the ladder had both vanished.
Jones had no trouble bypassing the three alarm systems that protected the warehouse skylights.
The first was a simple pressure change register. By the very fact that it was protecting a warehouse meant that it couldn’t be very finely tuned. Warehouse sides tended to expand and contract under heat and wind pressure. It was only likely to go off if a door was opened. Dissolving a small hole through the plastic of the skylight set off nothing. A quick check of the pressure allowed Jones to insert his own pressure canister into the circuit. He was mildly surprised to find that the warehouse maintained a positive pressure. It was the kind of atmosphere one might expect in a clean-room environment in a lab. The pressure alarm, he presumed, was there to see that the pressure remained positive, that is, greater than the outside pressure. No dust could get in that way.
His hopes of a big haul continued to rise. If his information was correct, he’d be able to leave the planet with this haul and to Hell with it!. He was mildly concerned about Hamilton. The man was helping him, sure, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t a cop. Jones doubted that, however. It just didn’t seem to fit the man’s personality. He wasn’t a cop, he decided, or else he was one Hell of an actor pretending to not be a cop.
The second alarm system was a conventional wire loop circuit, ancient in design. It had probably been the original alarm system for the place, before it had been taken over by it’s current owners, Exton Electronics, Inc. Jones bypassed it without hassle.
The third alarm system was entirely internal and did not inhibit his entry at all. It was a laser and optic pick-up system. Again, simple, but effective.
Once he’d finished cutting a hole in the plastic skylight he sprayed an aerosol down into the building. The beams of the lasers became visible as the tiny droplets passed through them. There were a whole series running along just below the skylights. Transmitters and receivers all at one end, reflectors at the other. The beams passed within reaching distance below him and were spaced every six inches. There was no way for him to get through. Deflecting the beams was something that could only be done in holo-dramas. There was no way someone could insert a mirror fast enough to avoid causing a break in the beam. In addition, the beams were probably timed. A deflection halfway along would mean the beam took half the time it should do to make the trip. Instant alarm.
He peered down into the warehouse, seeking the treasures it held. It was mostly an uninspiring stack of pallets loaded with plastic wrapped boxes. None of the boxes were less than a foot square so he wouldn’t be able to go fishing for any. He saw the air generator easily. It lay in the middle of the warehouse, pumping out purified air. A long, flexible pipe connected to the wall and provided it with the air. The pipe was too narrow to crawl through.
He regarded the lasers again. The beams were wide. Very wide for what they did. He was pretty sure that was to offset any alignment difficulties due to the building’s structure flexing in adverse weather conditions. A larger reflector would have done as well, he thought, and been cheaper probably. Mind you, he thought, Exton had more money than sense, anyway. Anyone who’d park the kind of electronics they produced in a crummy warehouse deserved to have them stolen. As to the lasers…. He considered inserting an optic fibre loop into the beam. That way he could slip through the loop and down. However, if the beam was timed, the extra loop would set off the alarm. Plus, inserting it in the first place relied upon each part of the beam carrying the same information so that a partial blockage wouldn’t trigger the sirens. It was all very frustrating. Glancing at his watch, he noted that some minutes had passed. He wondered how Hamilton was doing.
Hamilton was doing fine. He’d tinkered with the engine for a while then tried to start it a few times. Of course, his tinkering had rendered it a non-starter. Jones was taking his sweet time about things. He’d promised Hamilton he’d be no more than ten minutes. That time had expired five minutes ago. Hamilton hoped he knew what he was doing.
The watchdog followed his every movement with hawk-like intensity. If Hamilton hadn’t known better, he’d swear the mutt was intelligent. Its owner hadn’t returned yet, but Hamilton could see him in the guard hut, continually glancing towards the car. The man’s suspicion was increasing with every passing minute. Hamilton considered what he would do in the man’s place.
He decided he’d probably search the warehouse, just to be sure.
The guard, however, remained in the hut.
Hamilton sighed and sat back in the driver’s seat. He flicked on the car’s radio, a typically rubbishy model, and relaxed as music filled the vehicle.
The music ended shortly and a news report began. Hamilton groaned quietly. He never listened to the news much. It rarely had anything interesting to offer. Just doom and gloom. He reached to turn it off, then froze. A report was coming in. It was a report that held particular interest for Hamilton, since it concerned the planet where his family lived. His eyes widened as he realised that it was not only the planet but the city of his birth that was involved. He turned the radio up.
“The earthquake,” the radio announced. “Which measured a hefty nine point two on the Richter scale, had an epicentre less than two miles from the city centre. Damage is reportedly widespread and civil authorities have declared a state of emergency to be in effect. The exact death toll is not yet known but it is believed that about two hundred are feared dead and a further six hundred injured. Worst hit areas are reputed to be the southern poor districts and the Old Quarter, though nowhere was immune to damage. Civilian communications with the city have been cut, but anyone with relatives in the area is directed to contact the following number via StellarNet, and patience is urged as the lines will be very busy. That’s all the information on the situation that we have at the moment. We will, of course, keep you informed as updates are recieved.”
Hamilton stared blankly at the device. He wondered if his family were alright. Sure, he didn’t get along with most of them, but they didn’t deserve this. The radio disgorged the emergency number and Hamilton memorized it quickly. He’d call the moment he got back. He couldn’t see Vogerian complaining about it. In any case, emergencies were usually free of charge. He considered briefly what he’d say if he got through. The last time he’d tried hadn’t been a resounding success. His mother had simply slammed the receiver down before he could say more than “Hi, It’s me!” Their attitude left a lot to be desired. Still, that had been years ago. Maybe they’d changed since then. He wasn’t too hopeful.
He returned to the job at hand. He glanced at his watch and was concerned to learn that more than twenty minutes had elapsed since Jones had climbed across the ladder. What the Hell was he doing?
Jones finished rigging up the optic loop and pushed the ends into the beam. He cringed, but there was no alarm klaxon. That didn’t mean he hadn’t been detected, just that the alarm hadn’t gone off. It could be a silent.
Below him, loops of fibre-optic cable dangled to the floor, replacing in their coils the distance he’d cut out of the circuit. An elaborate system of clamps of tape held the ends of the cable steady in the paths of the beam. It went in one end and out the other, missing out the reflector entirely. Jon
es would have fitted the reflector with a light sensor, but Exton were merely over-cautious, not paranoid.
The gap revealed was eighteen inches wide now. He was thin enough to fit through with care, but he didn’t want to. He’d already taken twice as long as he’d estimated. Hamilton would be going mad if he took much longer.
Not all the pallets were plastic wrapped and some had been opened for inspection. Some of the boxes were accessible. Jones quickly got out his fishing line. It was nothing more than a reel of stout cord with a large, flat disk attached at one end. He pulled out a glue gun and liberally doused one side of the disk with it. Avoiding contact with it, he lowered the disk through the gap and down into the warehouse. With practised ease he began to swing it back and
forth. In seconds, the disk stuck itself to a box. Jones waited for a few moments more, in order to be sure the glue was set, and then cautiously reeled in his prize.
The box was dragged to the edge of the stack it was on and teetered there for an instant before dropping off. Jones pulled in the cord frantically to prevent it from striking the floor.
There could be pressure sensors. Also, it would make a terrific racket.
The box swung backwards and forwards at the end of the cord, narrowly missing hitting another pallet. Jones steered it expertly and continued to reel in. The box rose ten feet, then twenty. When it was only five feet from the top, the lid burst open and a shower of electronic components rained down onto the floor.
Jones watched in horror as they tumbled to the ground, clattering deafeningly in the quiet of the warehouse. Even more horrifying, he realised, was that they were disturbingly ordinary-looking components. Not the rare ones that he’d hoped for. Wrong pallet, he thought irritably. The last of the components fell to the floor with a plastic clunk and silence descended once again.
Humal Sequence 1: A Breath of Hope Page 6