Mercury Man (6 page)

Tom watched intently for a while, but little was happening across the way. It was 8:25, well past dinnertime, and the evening shifts might be working. He munched on a sandwich, wondering what his mother had thought of his note and whether she would be going out with Reichert again. The image of that slouching sleazebag made him want to spit. Instead, he sipped some juice and waited.

His patience was rewarded some minutes later when an expensive-looking sleek blue convertible pulled up at the Fabricon entrance. The driver, a balding, stocky figure in a white summer shirt and slacks, jumped from the car, and Tom recognized him at once.

Dr. Tarn stood for a moment, staring across Harbour Street (Tom almost felt that the man was looking right at him and shrank back). Then the passenger, a slim young blonde in a halter top, slid across and took over the wheel. Tarn bent to kiss her briefly, and even from where he stood Tom could hear her tinkling laughter.

Tarn turned quickly, swinging a small black briefcase, and disappeared into the building. Tom took out his notebook and wrote down the time. But what to do now? He couldn't follow Tarn inside. Was he going to wait the whole night and note down who came and went?

The next minutes passed rather slowly. Then, just as he was beginning to lose patience, something else happened.

A red company van cruised slowly down Harbour Street and drew up at the door where a few minutes before the Mercedes had deposited Tarn.

The van seemed crowded with passengers, shifting and stirring behind the glass. When they began to scramble out, Tom craned his neck to see them, but the vehicle obstructed his view. “Move that thing,” he whispered. “Move it, you stupid idiot!”

The van didn't move for some minutes, but luckily the passengers were in no hurry to get out and enter the building. Tom could hear their voices as they laughed and joked around and he could see them pushing and shoving together at the vehicle's doors and on the sidewalk.
Kids
, he thought,
a bunch of high school kids.

Finally, amid shouts and cheers, the van emptied; slowly it pulled away and the passengers stood at last in full view. With a gasp Tom recognized Bim, Pete, Estella, and Jeff Parker.

He was surprised at the feelings that overcame him then. He saw his friends joking and laughing together on the sidewalk, not very far away, and yet they seemed like total strangers. He felt completely alone, isolated, left out, and deceived. On the one hand he had a great desire to be with them — and after all, they had invited him! On the other hand he didn't want any part of it. He wanted to get away right now, to hide out somewhere and be strong and single and solitary in his aloneness. The worst thing would be if
they noticed him hiding here like a fool. God! How they'd laugh at him!

Slowly, much too slowly, the bad moments passed. The kids began to drift inside. Within minutes the entrance to Fabricon was once again surrounded by a shrinelike silence.

Tom gritted his teeth. He had to think. He had to figure things out.

What in hell was going on?

Why had they suddenly arrived like that? He knew the kids couldn't all be on one shift. Jeff and Bim didn't even have jobs there yet. Were they all going to some kind of training meeting? An indoctrination?
What kind of indoctrination?

Was he making too much of things because he himself didn't have the guts to take on a challenge? Reluctantly, he admitted it might be so.
But what did Fabricon want with the kids?

Tom stood in perplexity, staring at the towering, perfect building opposite. Fabricon's white facade suggested the beautiful sterility of a gigantic laboratory; its gleaming glass indicated openness and transparency of purpose; its emblazoned slogan promised miracles for the future. His friends might be caught up in something, yet they were no fools. Maybe if he just had a few quiet words with them …

Tom mopped his sweating forehead, wiped his hands on his cut-off jeans, and moved slowly out of the trees and toward one of the benches. Deeply preoccupied, he had lost all sense of his surroundings. He
turned to survey the streets and the little park, as if he might find the answer there.

It was then that he saw the figure in the shadows. A tall man in a black running suit, standing and glaring at him with a fierce and particular intensity.

Tom stepped back. The man came forward.

“You!” he shouted.

For an instant Tom stood frozen, then he turned and ran, at top speed, in the direction of Fabricon.

Tom ran blindly, straight into Harbour Street. A taxi swerved and missed him, its horn blaring. He caught a glimpse of the driver's face, startled and angry together, but the cab went on without stopping.

A car came the other way and the woman who was driving, taking no chances, leaned on her horn, then slowed down and shook her finger in Tom's direction. He thought he recognized her as one of last year's teachers and ducked away.

He hustled out of the street and straight up to Fabricon's entrance.

His heart was pounding; his breath came in gasps. His hands touched the cold metal of the company door.

The man in black had not followed him across. He had remained in front of the park, jogging around, pretending to read the bus schedule.

He was clever, acting as if he were just killing time, but Tom wasn't fooled. He knew the man was watching him.

Is he trying to scare me away, to drive me inside the building?
Tom took a deep breath.
Or is he just some weirdo hanging around parks? There's got to be a way of figuring this out.

Into his mind suddenly came the image of his friends, scrambling out of the van and into Fabricon. They had seemed happy enough; they weren't being kidnapped. And yet it was odd that they were all there together, trooping dutifully into Fabricon as if they were following some Pied Piper. Something was going on — he was sure of it. There had to be a way to find them, to figure things out for himself, to get his own take on Fabricon.

At that moment two men appeared in the hall inside. They had materialized from a nearby corridor and were laughing and talking, reaching for cigarettes as they moved.

They came straight out the door and Tom stepped aside to let them pass. They ignored him, absorbed in conversation.

“What did she say then?” one of the men asked.

“You won't believe this, but she told me she liked the new program.”

They lit cigarettes and walked south up Harbour. The man in the park was no longer visible, but Tom could almost sense his presence.

He knew that as soon as he moved, as soon as he started to head back to the safety of home or his grand-father's place, the man would be after him.

He stepped boldly through the door and into the great hall of Fabricon.

It was exactly as he remembered it, and he quickly circumnavigated the fountain and headed straight for the guard desk.

A grizzled old man looked up from his tabloid paper.

“What can I do for you?” he asked, keeping most of his attention on the paper.

“I hope I'm not too late,” Tom said. He tried — it wasn't difficult — to sound breathless and eager. “I missed the pickup and I guess the kids are already here. I ran after the red van but I just missed it.”

“Oh,
them
kids. Sure. And what would your name be?”

“Bim Bavasi,” Tom said. His own name, he knew, wouldn't be on any list.

“Just a minute, I'll call up and tell them.”

Now Tom was desperate. They would know that Bim was already there; he would be exposed at once.

“Excuse me, sir,” he said, as the man started dialling. “Is there a men's room here I could use?”

“Right through them doors, kid. And don't disappear — they'll be sending someone down in a minute.”

Tom stepped quickly through the doors and into the inner sanctum. Luckily, he had remembered from his spring visit that there was a restroom there. He had no intention of stopping there now, however.

As soon as he was out of the watchman's sight, he sprinted away down the corridor.

He turned a corner and came upon an even longer corridor — a softly lit, restful space, it was lined with blue doors and decorated with abstract paintings that
looked like spreadsheet graphs. Inscriptions on the doors bore the names of famous scientists: Einstein, Planck, Darwin, and others. There was nothing else in the hall except a fancy looking water cooler.

It looked as if he had hustled his way into a dead end, and he was tempted by the red exit sign at the far end. But it was just an emergency door: he had boxed himself in. They would soon be after him and he would be exposed and humiliated. Was that what his pursuer had wanted? Or was he waiting outside for the inevitable conclusion?

Tom stopped. He had no idea what to do.

The door marked “Einstein” opened, and a woman in a white lab jacket stepped out. She looked at him casually, then more sharply.

“Can I help you?” She was noticing his rough clothes and probably his panic.

“Yeah. My friends came over in a red van. I missed it, so I came on my bike. There was nobody out there to ask, so I thought I'd just look for them myself.”

The woman's expression lightened.

“Good old Mac was out for a smoke, was he? I think I know what you want. That's the Fabricon Youth Group. There's a stairway there, right next to Darwin, you see? The Youth Group meets on the second floor. In the auditorium, usually — it's called Copernicus Hall. You can't miss it.”

“Thanks a lot, ma'am.”

Tom smiled and, restraining himself, found the stairwell. Once out of sight, he turned on all the jets,
bounded up two steps at a time, pushed through another door, and emerged in a larger, more imposing space.

It was huge, as big as a basketball court, but its smooth white walls were lined with display cases, while its arched ceiling made him think of a church. At the far end, high up, hung a metallic robot the size of a small car, dangling on invisible wires above some cushioned chairs and couches. A couple of men sat there, tiny figures beneath the robot, their backs to where Tom stood. They seemed reposeful enough, until a third man appeared from somewhere and said, in a voice loud enough for Tom to hear, “There's a kid roaming around here, looking for his pals. They're all with Tarn now in Copernicus and he doesn't want to be disturbed. If you run into this kid have him wait right here until Tarn gets through with them.”

One of the men said something in reply. Tom, who had crouched down behind a display case, couldn't hear it, but he heard their laughter. When he dared to look again, the third man had disappeared and the first two men were sitting placidly together.

If he were caught, the great Dr. Tarn would speak to him.
That was a possibility he didn't exactly look forward to.

Examining the hall more carefully now he saw that it was rimmed, several levels higher, by a kind of balcony — a narrow walkway such as sometimes gives access to the higher shelves in old libraries. He saw, too, that about twenty feet away there was a curved metal staircase by which he could reach this walkway. Once up there, he might be able to get a look into Copernicus
Hall without being seen. The only trouble was that to do so he would have to walk out in full view of anyone who might come out of any of the many doors that lined both the upper and lower levels of the place.

The situation seemed hopeless, but then he noticed, a few feet away, a numbered door that looked like it might be a maintenance closet. This gave him an idea, and he crept slowly and carefully forward, keeping his eye on the two men down the hall, hopeful that they wouldn't turn and spot him.

He reached the closet, turned the handle, and found that it was open. He was inside in an instant, and he pulled the door shut behind him and flipped on the light. Sure enough, there was a small washbasin, a few mops, brooms, and pails, and the smell of soap and disinfectant.

When he saw the rough bundled clothing hung on metal pegs in one corner, he sprang forward. He was in luck! Here he had a ready-made disguise that might just do the trick.

Quickly, he pulled on the work overalls — they were a little small but he managed to get into them. There was even a cap, which he tore at to make it fit his head. He gawked at himself in the mirror, laughed, and grabbed a pail and mop.

He took a deep breath, slowly opened the door, and stepped back into the corridor.

He walked forward without much confidence. He knew that, above all, he had to look bored and casual. Workmen didn't stalk around places holding mops like swords or lances. Deliberately, as he climbed the curving
stairway, he clattered the pail against the metal banister. The men in the lounge area turned at once, threw him a glance, then paid him no further attention.

He took a deep breath. He had passed the first test. Up the stairs he climbed, until he emerged on the narrow walkway, high above the main hall. He stopped for a minute, pretending to work at a patch of floor. He had to move forward along the balcony to reach the auditorium.

He went slowly and carefully, and his confidence built up a little. It looked like he just might make it. Then suddenly a door opened right behind him and voices sounded so close in his ear that he jumped and gasped. He had sense enough, though, not to spring around, to keep on mopping. His heart pounded wildly as a man and a woman stepped around him, negotiating the narrow space together.

“Evening,” he mumbled in his deepest voice, without daring to look at them.

“Evening,” the woman replied.

They walked on past, engrossed in their conversation, and disappeared into another room. He picked up his mop and continued, as deliberately as he could, in the direction of the auditorium. A man walked out of a room just in front of him.

Tom turned quickly, set the pail and mop aside, pulled a rag out of his pocket, and pretended to polish the tiled wall. The man walked past without a word.