Forever Begins Tomorrow (14 page)

As for Roger, he was making a list of the questions they wanted to ask Bridget when they finally got to her. Though they had their doubts about how cooperative the master spy would actually be, the gang's general feeling was that it couldn't hurt to try.

As he studied the notes they had made on their various adventures, Roger found his thoughts persistently returning to the black glove Wendy's mother had found. Something about it had begun to nag at him.
I can't quite put a finger on it
, he thought, delighting in the pun.
But something just doesn't add up here
. Deciding to express his doubts, he asked aloud, “Did you guys ever wonder if Bridget's not really the spy?”

“Yeah,” said Hap. “It crossed my mind that she might have been framed. But she fits the clues we have, so I decided it was just my imagination. Why do you ask?”

Roger shrugged. “I don't know. I guess I just don't like the way everything got tied up so fast.”

“I was saying something like that at home,” said Ray. “My father claimed I was just jealous because we didn't crack the case ourselves. I'll tell you one thing, though. My parents were both really shaken up about the whole thing.”

“The whole island was shaken up,” said Rachel. “I didn't realize how people felt about Bridget until she got arrested.”

“I wonder if we might find out more than we expect when we finally get to talk to her,” mused Roger.

Just for the heck of it, he took the black glove from its hiding place and tucked it into his shirt. It couldn't hurt to have it along when they went to see Bridget.

While the gang was speaking, the object of their conversation paced restlessly back and forth in her cell.

How could I have allowed this to happen?
Bridget McGrory asked herself, for what seemed like the hundredth time.
How could I have been so careless—especially now, when everything is so important!

She collapsed on the bunk and dropped her head into her hands. All her plans, all her work, seemed lost.

What would her superiors say? (Assuming she ever saw them again.)

All right, McGrory
, she told herself suddenly.
Buck up! You didn't rise this high in the organization by giving up when things got rough. Let's get back to work!

Taking a tiny blade from the sole of the shoes she had been wearing when Brody arrested her, she inserted it into the crack between the door and the frame, then began hacking away at the inch-thick stainless steel rod that held them together. She sighed. It would have been so easy with her electronic skeleton key; a minute or so for it to scan the mechanisms, then a quick flip of the wrist and the rod would snap back, leaving the door free to swing open.

Sawing your way out was a heck of a lot harder.

On the other hand, it was better than being here when they came to get you.

“Just what we need,” said Trip, looking at the sky. “Another storm.”

He was standing with the rest of the gang outside their headquarters. They were huddled in a tight little knot, using each other as protection against the breeze. Patches of stars peered through a sky choked with clouds, and the wind from the ocean seemed to be getting stronger by the minute.

“I wish we still had the use of the dune buggies,” said Rachel wistfully. “Everything's been a lot harder since they were taken away from us.”

“If wishes were horses, beggars would ride,” said Ray, quoting one of his stepmother's favorite sayings.

“Yeah, well, if wishes were dune buggies,
we
would ride,” said Wendy. “We would also ride if there was any justice in the world. Now that Dr. Hwa has admitted there really was a spy, he should have given us back our vehicle privileges.”

“Come on, let's get moving,” said Roger. “You can gripe while we walk.” He started off down the road, the others straggling behind him. “To tell you the truth,” he continued, “even though Dr. Hwa tried to be gracious about it, I think he was so mad at being proved wrong he wasn't about to give us
anything
, including vehicle privileges.”

“Nothing like a sore loser,” said Hap. “And considering what you just said, do you really think this visit to Bridget is such a good idea?”

“Actually, it's probably really stupid,” said Trip, striding up alongside them on his long legs. “I'm beginning to get a bad feeling about the whole thing.”

“I know what you mean,” said Rachel. “But the supply plane comes soon, and when it leaves, Bridget will be on it. So this is our last chance to get some pretty big questions answered.”

They trudged on, leaning into the wind, each wrapped in his or her own private thoughts. After what seemed like an eternity, they reached the building where Bridget was incarcerated.

Wendy took out the robot control device.

“You sure that thing is going to work?” asked Roger. He cradled his arm, thinking about his last encounter with the ferocious sentries. Dr. Clark had promised to take the cast off in a day or two, and he didn't want to have to start all over again with a new one.

“Hey, no problem,” said the Wonderchild. “I can make those mechanical monsters jump through hoops if I want.”

“Preventing them from tearing us to pieces will be sufficient,” said Roger dryly.

“Got it,” said Ray, pulling his electronic key off the door. “Let's get moving!”

Rachel stepped through first. Once inside, she switched on her flashlight. After about twenty paces she murmured, “We go left here.”

When they reached the end of the corridor, she led them left again, then headed down a flight of stairs. “Boy,” muttered Hap, “they really packed her in—” He was interrupted by a screech and a flare of light. Roger, who had been walking beside Rachel, jumped back with a shriek. One of the security robots stood at the foot of the stairs, its eyes blazing.

“Calm down,” said Wendy, punching a few buttons on the control panel. “I already dialed in. Everything's under control.”

Indeed, even as she spoke the robot seemed to freeze. The only problem was, they had to squeeze past it to get off the stairway. Roger, who still had nightmares about the robot that broke his arm, was overwhelmed by a sudden vision of the thing roaring back into action and crushing several more of his bones. Fidgeting nervously, he hung back while the others made their way past the sentry.

Hap was next to last. Once he had passed the robot, he turned to see if Roger was coming.

The redhead's eyes were filled with misery. “I can't do it,” he whispered. “You guys will have to go on without me.”

 

Aiding and Abetting

Outside, the storm that had been building all night broke over Anza-bora Island with its full fury. House-high waves began to batter the shore. Tree-toppling winds shrieked across the beach. Jagged bolts of lightning crackled through the sky, gigantic snake-tongues slithering between the ground and the clouds. They came so frequently it was as if the night itself was on fire. Volleys of thunder made it sound as if there was an earthquake in heaven.

In the central chamber of the computer center, the area known as the Brain Cell, an alarm began to sound. Startled, Dr. Leonard Weiskopf hurried to scan a series of monitors. What he saw filled him with awe—and fear.

“Throw up the emergency shields!” he cried. “Quickly!”

Dr. Anthony Phillips was closest to the panel that controlled the shields. Without questioning his colleague, he began flipping a series of switches that would activate a complex system designed to protect the computer from unusual surges of electricity. The computer was already well guarded, of course. The network of lightning rods, power deflectors, grounding and diffusion nets, and other protective devices he was putting into effect now was so restrictive it affected the performance of the computer and was used only for extreme situations.

For the most part the system worked. The lightning that slammed against the building again and again flowed into the grounding system, which vented its power safely into the earth. But while the shields had been designed for major storms, the holocaust breaking over Anza-bora this late December evening was more than they could handle, and not all the electricity was carried safely away from the computer. Some found its way into the building power system; some seeped into the computer itself.

Strange things began to happen all over the computer.

And nowhere were they stranger than in the section linked to the laboratory behind Dr. Celia Clark's office.

The five members of the A.I. Gang who had already passed the robot stood waiting for their leader.

“Come on, Roger,” said Wendy impatiently. “Don't be a ninny. The thing is completely under control.”

To prove it, she walked over and kicked the frozen sentry's metallic shin. “See? It's down for the count.”

“I know,” said Roger miserably. He was cradling his disabled arm in his good hand. Memories of the night it had been broken were flooding his mind, immobilizing him. “It doesn't make any difference. I still can't do it.”

“Look, Bonzo,” said Wendy. “You're the one who—”

“Shut up, Wendy,” said Ray.

Squeezing back past the robot, he took Roger's good arm and said gently, “Close your eyes. We'll go together.”

Roger, intensely humiliated, felt a rush of gratitude for Ray's kindness. “I don't know…” he whispered.

“I'll guide you,” said the Gamma Ray. “Come on, close your eyes.”

Roger did as directed.

“Now, squeeze yourself against the wall.”

Roger pushed against the wall so hard it seemed as if his spine might leave a permanent impression.

Ray tightened his grip on Roger's arm and gave it a gentle tug. “Okay, now slide along it with me.”

After an instant's hesitation Roger began to ease along the wall in Ray's direction.

“Good. Now, one step at a time. Step. Step. Come on.”

Beads of perspiration sprang out on Roger's forehead. He tried to imagine himself on a cool forest path.
Step. Step
. At the end of the path he saw the robot, reaching out with its tentacles.…

“That's it!” he cried, ready to tell Ray he couldn't go another step.

“You mean you were peeking?” asked the Gamma Ray.

Roger opened his eyes. That
was
it. He had made it! He shook his head. “No peeking,” he said ruefully. “Too scared. I owe you one, Ray. Big time.”

“Let's just get to Bridget,” said Ray. “I want to finish this.”

“It's not much farther,” said Rachel, who was feeling somewhat embarrassed for her brother. “Just down this corridor and to the left.”

They started again, and within moments had reached their destination. When they did, the low groan that escaped their lips was uttered in perfect unison.

The cell was empty.

“Chips!” said Wendy, stepping in to make sure Bridget wasn't hiding behind the open door.
“Now
what do we do?”

“Well, at least we got an answer to one question,” said Rachel. “If she was merely Bridget McGrory, super secretary, I think she'd still be here. Having flown the coop, it seems more likely that she is indeed Bridget McGrory, super espionage—”

She was interrupted by a shout from behind her: “Stop right there! You kids are under arrest, every one of you!”

Black Glove pushed a key and waited for the printer to deliver the first draft of the speech the world would hear on Christmas Eve. Glancing over the opening paragraphs, the spy chuckled.

The laugh felt good. It had been months since there had been much occasion for merriment. Now that had all turned around. How amazing that after all the trouble things had fallen into place so smoothly.

It was hard to believe it had taken so many years of planning to reach this moment—and even harder to believe that despite all the planning, it was unexpected events that had brought the scheme to such a glorious conclusion.

Or maybe not; the science of the random was a field of growing interest. Black Glove smiled again. Random events could move things in ways that no one could predict. What a surprise the leaders of G.H.O.S.T. had in store for them tomorrow! It would be truly delicious to see their faces when their former top agent announced that mankind's governments were about to be abolished because the planet had a new master—a master named…
Black Glove
.

Euterpe broadcast a command. In response a deadly satellite shifted slightly in its orbit. Slowly it began to move into a pattern that, for Black Glove's purposes, was much more useful than the one it had previously followed.

Marley Smathers, the man charged with monitoring that particular weapon, noticed the change. A chill of terror rippled down his spine. He had heard about the mysterious movement of some of the nation's most powerful weapons. But actually being the one on duty when it happened was different—horrifying at a deep, gut level.

Smathers's hands began to tremble. Though it had taken him a long time, he had finally come to understand what the bomb he watched could do—understand it not in terms of numbers and statistics, but in terms of the real horror and destruction it could unleash.

He still remembered the day he had broken through to that awareness. He had been in a plane, flying over a great city. When he looked down, he had realized that the satellite he monitored for a living could obliterate that entire city—all the bustle, all the noise, all the buildings, all the
life
—in a matter of seconds.

Then his vision had stretched beyond the boundaries of the city. He had done a quick calculation, and in a terrifying instant the world reshaped itself for him as the numbers became a reality. For the first time he saw, really saw, how far that single bomb's destructive power would stretch.

That was when he had vomited.

Later, when he told his wife about his vision, she had asked him why he didn't leave the work. He answered her truthfully, that it didn't make any difference. If he didn't do it, someone else would.