Fatal Error - Stone G. h. - Страница 18

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• 18/21
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“We’d better get out of the way in case he comes through the fence!”

Jupe and Branson raced back behind a tarpaulin-covered mound of what looked like fake marble slabs. Just then the vehicle stopped, its motor still running. Slowly a section of the fence swung open, the barbed wire with it. Jupe caught a glimpse of the driver as he was climbing back into his pickup.

“Amazing,” Jupe whispered. “It is Rome!”

“Looks like Nort’s built himself a secret gate! You can’t see this area from the front of the complex where most of us work. Just goes to show how smart he is!”

“That gate’s got to be how Rome came and went yesterday without being spotted,” Jupe reported to Pete and Bob on the walkie-talkie.

“Way to go!” Bob exclaimed. “You found him!”

“I can’t wait to nail the creep!” Pete said.

“Hey, don’t start anything until we get there.”

“And don’t forget, the guy’s got a gun!” Pete added.

As Jupe signed off, Rome’s pickup rolled through the gate and parked behind a long storage shed. Rome got out and closed the gate. It clicked into place so perfectly that you couldn’t tell it was there in the fence. Rome took a small black parcel from the front seat and stuffed it in his jacket.

“There’s the money!” Jupe said in a husky whisper.

Now Rome tossed a tarp over the pickup. Rome was about five foot nine and weighed a good two hundred pounds. His soft, pudgy face and overbright eyes glistened in the moonlight.

“He looks like a crazed Pillsbury Doughboy,” Jupe whispered.

“He’s fat because of all the junk food and the years behind a computer,” Branson whispered back. “I tried to get him to work out with me or go to karate class, but he wouldn’t. He claims to be a lot tougher than he looks.”

“He doesn’t need karate. He’s got a gun. Remember, he shot at us yesterday.”

Rome circled the pickup, carefully tying down the tarp as if he expected to be at Oracle for quite a while. “Wonder why he’s hiding the pickup if he’s planning to skip town,” Jupe went on. “Something really weird’s going on.”

“At least he’s giving Pete and Bob time to get here,” said Branson. “They can help us take him.”

As Rome meticulously worked, Jupe decided that he might as well sit down and take a load off his feet. He saw a granite boulder next to their hiding spot.

Just as Jupe lowered himself, Branson said in an alarmed whisper, “Don’t!”

But Branson was too late. Jupe crashed through the papier-mache rock and landed with a grunt.

Rome lifted his head and stared suspiciously in their direction. He took a step toward them.

While Branson looked frantically around for something to blame the noise on, Jupiter closed his eyes and transported himself back to his acting days.

“Meow!” he cried, chin raised. “Me-o-ow!”

Rome listened for a moment, but Jupiter’s imitation was so good that the pudgy blackmailer soon grinned and picked up a hefty rock. He heaved it in their direction.

Instantly Jupiter gave an angry yowl, letting the noise trail off as if the cat were running away.

Rome laughed and nodded, satisfied. He went back to tying down the tarp.

Branson stifled a chuckle. “Nice going!”

Jupe smiled modestly. Then he asked Branson, “How could Rome cut a hole in the fence and install that gate without anyone’s noticing? That’s a big project.”

Branson sighed. “In our business, when you’re stumped with a programming or design problem, you wander around, thinking. And nobody bothers you. For instance, the guy who invented the famous Cray supercomputers — Seymour Cray — used to dig a tunnel in his backyard to help him think. So I wasn’t suspicious when Nort was gone more and more each night. But I wish I’d figured out he was up to something… I gave him plenty of time to put together this whole scam.”

Rome finished tying the last knot on the tarp. He stood up and grinned wolfishly. This is a dude convinced he’s a big winner, Jupe decided.

Jupe and Branson melted back among the shadows as Rome walked toward them. He passed quietly by and moved on toward the warehouse. Jupe let out his breath. Rome disappeared inside.

“Where’s he going?” Jupe asked as they ran after. “Back to his desk?”

“Doesn’t make any sense,” Branson agreed. The guys stopped at the door that led into the section of offices. They listened. Silence inside. They opened the door. The lights were spaced far apart on the wood-paneled walls, leaving spooky black pits in between. The guys stepped onto the hardwood floor, and Jupe closed the door, which creaked. It startled them.

“Where would he have gone?” Jupe whispered nervously. Was Rome waiting for them around some blind corner? “Wish I knew!”

They padded down the hall, their steps muffled by their rubber-soled athletic shoes.

“What about Club Dead,” Jupe suggested. “It’d be a great place to hide.”

“Yeah!”

They pressed their ears to the door of Club Dead and listened.

“Zero sound,” Branson whispered.

Jupe turned the knob and pushed open the door a few inches. When nothing happened, he opened it all the way. It creaked. Jupe shook his head in disgust.

In unspoken agreement, they slipped inside and split up. Seeing by the weak light from the open door, they moved off among shadowy mechanical gorillas, suits of armor, a space capsule shell, and a fierce Tyrannosaurus Rex. Between the spooky sets and waiting for Rome, Jupe was really jumpy.

Suddenly something whacked his shoulder. Chills shot up his spine.

He whirled. Instantly he bent his knees and raised his hands. He’d get the guy with a judo tai-otoshi body drop!

Branson chuckled quietly next to him. “It’s only a robot.”

Jupe straightened up. Without realizing it, he’d circled back to the door where the great chrome robot stood guard.

“Of course,” Jupe said grumpily. “I knew that.” One of the robot’s heavy arms hung down at its side. “Must’ve gone limp and hit me just as I walked by.”

Suddenly the robot seemed to go haywire. It flung its arm up like a Nazi storm trooper, nearly braining Jupe. Laser beams shot from its eyes. It whirred and clanked and started to clomp forward, shooting out its arm all the while.

Jupe backed away, terrorized.

“Uh — oh,” said Branson. He ducked past the flailing arm and started punching buttons in a panel on the robot’s back. Finally the metal monster slowed down and stopped.

“Needs a repair,” said Branson.

“So do I!” muttered Jupe. “That thing almost gave me a heart attack!”

If Norton Rome was hiding in Club Dead, he had to know he had company now. Warily Jupiter and Branson continued searching.

Something soft brushed Jupe’s head. He nearly jumped out of his skin. He peered up. It was a Grim Speaker costume, attached high to a guy wire. Next to it, a ladder led up to a heavy wire that stretched across the room. Straps from a harness dangled beneath the costume. It looks like you could do an aerial act with it, Jupe decided. Maybe some other time!

Jupe and Branson headed back to the door. Their nerves were raw, on edge, waiting for Rome to jump out from every shadow.

“Any sign of him?” Jupe mouthed silently over a stack of crates.

Branson shook his head glumly.

“Where to next?” Branson whispered as they walked through the open doorway.

Instead of answering, Jupiter went rigid with fear. And so did Branson. They were staring into the crazed eyes of Norton Rome. He aimed his big Walther 9 mm pistol first at one, then the other.

“Brannie!” Rome said in mock friendliness. “I thought you knew — curiosity killed the cat!”

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