The Walls Of The Universe Part 45

"All right."

John pushed his worries away. He had a meeting with Charboric in a couple days. He had the device open on a workbench, possibly ruined. Visgrath had threatened him with harm if he didn't comply. But Casey was back in his life, and that was all that mattered.

CHAPTER 36 36.

"I think so, if the current doesn't exceed half an amp," Henry said.

"We can't guarantee that," John said.

"Not until we test," Henry said.

John paged through the circuit board catalog. "These IMCAL 212 boards seem to be what we need-"

The phone rang, and they looked up from the workbench filled with circuitry. They had spent the morning trying to simplify Henry's model of the thread. Grace was at the factory, giving Casey a tour.

"h.e.l.lo?"

"John, this is Grace. Visgrath is here. He's angry."

"What? Why?"

"The circuits and equipment showed up on my corporate bill. He's suspicious."

"Stall him. We're coming."

"What is it?" Henry said.

"Visgrath. He's suspicious because Grace bought all this on her corporate card."

"Oh, s.h.i.t."

"Yeah."

Henry ran for the door. John looked at the device, sitting there in the open.

"I need to lock this in the safe," John called.

"I'll meet you there," Henry said.

John placed the device gently in the huge safe in the warehouse office. No one was getting in there.

When he reached his car, Henry was long gone. John sped toward the new factory, zipping past the noonday traffic on the highway. The factory was only ten minutes away.

The undercarriage of the Trans Am smashed against the speed b.u.mp as John came into the office complex. He slammed on his brakes as he came around the corner. An ambulance was in front of the building. Henry's car was parked in the fire lane, with its door open. There was Grace's car.

Paramedics were working on a body in the middle of the road.

John threw open the door of the car.

He ran.

As he neared the fallen body, he made out a woman's shoe. He came to a halt, his heart thumping.

Lying on the street, blood flowing from a wound in her abdomen, was Casey.

"Casey!" John cried. He tried to get closer, but a paramedic blocked him.

"Let us work, buddy," she growled.

John stumbled back, tripping over the curb. What had happened? Where was Grace? Where was Henry?

He saw Viv, the shop foreman, coming out of the door of the Pinball Wizards factory.

"Viv!" he shouted. "Where's Henry and Grace?"

She looked confused, shrugging her shoulders. "Not here."

"Where?" John cried.

"They left just a few minutes ago," Viv said, confused. "They left with Casey and the gruesome twosome."

"Who?"

"You know, Visgrath and Charboric. They were all locked up in the office for a while, then Henry came, and then they all left." She peered around John's shoulder. "What's happening?"

"Casey," John said numbly. "She's been..."

"Is that blood? Jesus, that's Casey," Viv said.

John felt his knees buckle. Viv, with legs thick enough to be mistaken for tree trunks, lifted him to his feet. "Hold on there, John. Let's get you inside."

John shook her off. His vision seemed to crystallize. They'd shot Casey. Visgrath and Charboric were on to him. They had to be. Something had forced their hand. Realization struck. They wanted the device. If they didn't know about it, they soon would. And John didn't have it. It was at the old factory.

He brushed past Viv, ignoring her squawk of outrage. His car was still idling, with its door open. He drove between the ambulance and the row of parked cars. His heart twisted as he saw Casey lying there. He hated himself for leaving. What else could he do?

There was a dark SUV outside the warehouse when he got there. He pulled the Trans Am around the corner of another alley and sat there shaking. He should have taken the device with him. Then he could have... What? Run? Not this time.

He popped his trunk, rooted around inside, and pulled out the tire iron. It felt cold in his palm. Useless and limp.

He snuck down the alley, taking the back way to the warehouse. He peered down the cross street and saw no one in the front seat of the SUV. He felt foolish. Lots of people parked in the alley. He'd probably seen that same SUV a dozen times.

He came to the padlocked rear door of the warehouse. He of course didn't have the key; it was in his dresser at home. He could see nothing inside. The window was crusted over with dirt and grime. John would have to go in the front door.

A Dumpster, half-rusted and smelling of foul water, blocked most of the alley. Beyond it were piles of pallets. Technically he owned all of this, but he hadn't bothered to clean it up.

He made his way along the wall of the warehouse. The sun blazed down on him-it was hot for an early May day-and he cast no suspicious shadows over the windows.

At the corner, he glanced around quickly. The SUV was still empty, and the door to the warehouse was open. Someone was in his warehouse.

The device was in there.

Peering around the corner of the warehouse, he tried to get a good look inside. He heard voices.

"Get the torch."

He dodged back.

A man exited the building, tall and blond, one of Visgrath's men undoubtedly. He opened the back of the SUV and pulled out a blowtorch and canister. Grunting as he lugged it over the door sill, he called, "Help me with this."

John heard the canister being dragged across the cement floor. They were definitely heading for the office where the safe was.

"I don't know why we can't wait for a combination," the man who had fetched the torch said.

"You know why."

"We'll find him sooner or later."

The second man said something in a language John didn't recognize.

The tire iron suddenly slipped in John's sweaty palm. He s.n.a.t.c.hed at it and barely caught it before it clanged on the ground. His heart thudded. What was he doing?

He had to stop these men. Call the police? How long would that take? Grace and Henry were in danger. Casey had been shot. John didn't have time to wait around. Everything they were working on was in that warehouse. And these two goons were breaking open the safe that held the device.

John waited five seconds, then ducked down and crawled toward the door. If the two men were in the office with the safe, they had no direct line of sight of the door. He slipped inside.

The office was ten meters from the warehouse door, past the workbench where the electronics sat.

He carefully and swiftly ran to the wall next to the office door, plastering himself there. The two men were muttering to themselves. John heard the clicking of the ignitor but no burst of flame from the torch. Good.

Then there was a whoosh as the torch caught. The two men laughed.

John counted to five again, determined to rush in on five. When he got to ten, he almost laughed aloud.

"Come on, John. Now."

He dodged into the room.

The two men, goggled, were bent over the safe.

John slammed the tire iron into the shoulder of the closer man, the man who wasn't wielding the torch.

He grunted, collapsing to one knee.

John raised the iron over the second man.

He cursed in that odd language and tossed the torch aside.

John brought the iron down, but the man blocked it with a forearm. The arm bent at an odd angle. The man grunted, pulling it to his chest. John had broken it.

The other man wasn't down. He swung at John, his fist connecting with John's jaw.

Staggering, John saw blotches of light. The tire iron fell from his hands, and he reached to pick it up. The first man landed a punch to the side of John's head, a glancing blow.

John kicked with his foot, catching the first man in the knee. He went down hard. John found the handle of the tire iron and swung it madly at the first man. It connected with his skull. A dull, sickening thud knocked the rising man flat. He didn't move.

John swung the iron backhanded at the second man, the one with the broken arm. He jumped back, but that brought him to the wall. John swung again and caught the man's shoulder. He grunted, twisting, trying to get past John. John slammed the iron into his thigh. He fell like clothes off a hanger.

John paused, his chest heaving. His enemies were both down, one unconscious, one clutching his thigh. John raised his iron to knock the second one out, but the man cringed before him, and he found he couldn't swing his iron on a defenseless, p.r.o.ne man.

The smell of smoke rose in the room. The torch had landed on a pallet, among some old newspapers. The tip, still hot, had caught the papers aflame. Already the papers were engulfed, and the pallet was next.

John thought for a moment whether there was a fire extinguisher, but he couldn't remember where. He turned to the safe.

Placing the tire iron on the top of it, he touched the lock with a finger.

Suddenly his brain wouldn't work! He couldn't remember the combination.

"d.a.m.n it!"

He glanced at the rising fire. He ducked his head below the smoke that was collecting at the ceiling. His lungs kicked and he coughed.

John placed his hand on the dial. He closed his eyes and relaxed. Turn, spin the dial to...

He remembered, or rather his fingers remembered for him. He dialed the combination.

The safe popped open, and he grabbed the device.

The conscious man cried out.

John turned, expecting him to be lunging at him. The man was still on the floor, having crawled his way to the door. He was staring with amazement at the device in John's hands.

"You have a --." He used a word John didn't know. "You have a G.o.dd.a.m.n --."

The man started crawling toward John. He grabbed the tire iron and swung it, but the man wouldn't be deterred. John couldn't swing on a p.r.o.ne man, and now he was blocking the door with his body. Smoke continued to fill the room.

John leaped over the man, running for the door. He stopped at the lab table. He scooped all the electronics, all the notes, into a box, laying the device on top of it.

He turned slowly and surveyed the warehouse. There was nothing left here. Casting one last look over his shoulder, he saw the two men, one dragging the other, struggling out of the burning room. John turned and ran.