Tom Swift and His Triphibian Atomicar (17 page)

Tom could guess the next few steps. "Next discovery: Longstreet is Tom Swift’s cousin, and Shopton is where he’s headed. But lo and behold, he’s staying at the Swift home, protected by a sophisticated alarm system."

The corporate rep gave the young inventor a thump across the shoulders. "You’re good! And if you had accepted my offer to you, you might now be working here with me as my colleague. I should add that Europa really did authorize the offer—they want dibs on the power plant."

"It gave you a chance to size me up."

"Yes. It did. And my appreciation of your principled tenacity is boundless, Tom."

"Now let’s hear about Gabriel Knorff," demanded Bud.

"Then let’s go back a step. I knew you were flying to your nuclear station, and your cousin was with you. Presumably the book was with him, in his luggage. A little vacation reading."

"Well actually," Tom remarked, "it stayed home. Ed had given it as a gift."

Wayne chuckled. "Oh really? Well. Sometimes hunches don’t pay off."

"I have a few hunches myself all of a sudden," stated Bud Barclay. "I think you used Knorff to get a clear record of Tom’s movements in the Citadel, so Mirza could break into the right spot and steal the book during Flambo’s visit. And you picked Knorff because you figured we would trust him."

"You’re on the beam, Barclay. But I was also interested in placing Longstreet, naturally. Yet your gullible photo-journalist might have been overly intrigued if I had over-prepped him—hard enough to get him to spy on a nuclear facility while thinking good thoughts! And of course, there was always the possibility that he’d be detected, as indeed he was, so the less he knew the better. Mimicking Isosceles was a nice stroke, playing upon you’re current invention project, Tom, your atomicar. I’d heard Milt was thinking over a production deal with Enterprises."

"You took a big risk, though, getting Mirza involved in jewel theft," Tom pointed out. "Seems to me you have all the Kabulistan rubies you need."

"Can one ever have too much wealth?" responded the man rhetorically. "Still, you’re right, my only error was hiring Mirza. He decided to take matters into his own hands. Not just for the money. Brownie points with Allah, a better couch in paradise, something along those lines, I gather. Imagine the gall, betraying the very man who had induced him to betray his employer! So please accept my apologies for what he put you and your sister through."

They now stood in front of a large ornate door of dark polished wood, set into the wall of the mine tunnel. Simon Wayne paused a moment, hand on the doorknob, and gave Tom and Bud a politely quizzical look. "But let’s finish our conversation before going inside. Any more questions? Comments?"

Tom took advantage of the invitation. "I suppose we can assume it was one of your men who threatened the man in the bookstall, in Shirabad. And then he slugged Ed and stole the book he’d just found."

Wayne shrugged. "The latter incident was indeed my doing. When the man I had tailing your group reported that Longstreet had made a very recognizable book purchase—well, I had to complete my collection, you know. But you must admit, he was gentle, by my orders. Minimum force necessary. As to this bookstall business, it was surely just one of the local enforcers of virtue and morality, who prowl about intimidating anyone too friendly with the ‘infidel invaders’. Gave me a chance to bring up the Assassins tale, though. You don’t discourage easily, Tom. Even my effort to get your whole party arrested, via a bogus tip to the police, didn’t stop you. And that’s admirable! All my hard work to keep you away from this mine...

"Well, the fates seem to want you here. And here you are."

Wayne politely swung the heavy door open and gestured for his involuntary guests to enter. Tom and Bud gaped in stunned surprise—and not merely at the sumptuous office with its modern-style desk, halogen lamps, overstuffed chairs, and its bookcase crowded with tattered copies of
Travels in Remotest Araby
.

Tom could scarcely choke out the words.

"Mr. Provard!"

"HELLO Tom, Bud," said Asa Provard, half rising from his chair, utterly calm. "Wayne told me you’d be dropping by."

"
Dropping by?
" Bud repeated in disbelief.

Provard ignored Bud’s retort and faced Simon Wayne. "How did our young visitors like the tour? Quite a setup."

"I trust they were duly impressed," Wayne replied with a wink Tom’s way.

Tom was flushed with anger. "Mr. Provard, we trusted you! Was the whole development project just some sort of hoax—a ploy to kidnap me?"

Provard’s eyes flashed back and forth between Tom and Simon Wayne. "What is this, Wayne? You told me Swift Enterprises was already on board. Now Tom’s accusing me of kidnapping!"

Mr. Wayne gestured Tom and Bud into seats, then sat himself down behind his desk. "Asa, my apologies. I chose to refrain from telling you that I had changed my mind. We don’t really need any partnering involvement by Enterprises. I’ve sensed certain reservations on their part. Yes, I told you this morning that I’d been in touch with Tom out in the field and secured his cooperation, blah blah
et cetera
. But for sound business reasons I felt a need to shade the truth a bit. I’m sure you understand."

"This is most embarrassing!" Provard told Tom Swift. "I gather you know nothing of my personal participation in Mr. Wayne’s project here in Kabulistan."

Tom smiled. "We’ve been let in on a
few
things," he said dryly. "Perhaps you can bring us up to date."

Provard nodded, sending Wayne a disapproving glare. "I certainly will! After I sent you off on the development project, which is absolutely legitimate, Wayne contacted me and described his acquisition of this source of the unusual rubies needed for our mutual business venture, a matter I assumed would be none of your concern, Tom. But when he explained about the mine here, in the very region of your own work, I insisted that he get in touch with you to keep you informed and enlist your support. Hours ago he said he had done so!"

"Again, Asa—I do apologize," said Wayne.

Bud exclaimed heatedly, "So this ruby mine business and spy stuff is just one of your money-makers, Provard? A little side income?"

Asa Provard appeared shocked. "Then you haven’t even been told—?" The financier pulled out a handkerchief and mopped his brow as Simon Wayne looked on with an expression that suggested amusement. "We’re not marketing rubies, boys. The Amir’s Mine is an important industrial resource, to the eventual benefit of this country and the whole world. It’s true, I’ll make a good profit, and so will Wayne, but this aspect of development― "

"Wait!" Tom interrupted. "What sort of ‘resource’ are you talking about?"

"Why, the rubies, of course!—to be used in Wayne’s photronic processor chip. As he has explained it to me, the unique crystal structure of these rare rubies make them necessary if the processor is to function. And they cannot be produced artificially, not yet."

Wayne rose to his feet theatrically. "Tom, my private contract employees—not like I want to spend my life at Europa Fabrikant!—have developed a new kind of data processor, one that directly integrates memory storage into its calculational function. Puts ’em together, a golden handshake. No, it’s not the long sought quantum computing breakthrough. But it
does
advance computing by a century or so, they tell me. Photronic processing! We compute with frequency-modulated laser beams, thin as an atom, circuits of pure light replacing not only electrical impulses but even certain of the processing components themselves, using analog rather than digital principles."

"I see." Tom nodded thoughtfully. "And the Kabulistan rubies are used to produce the kind of laser beam you need."

Wayne laughed. "Billions of such beams, Tom, pulsing from corundum-chromite granules no bigger than a medium molecule. Forget cellphones, we’ll soon be wearing high-power supercomputers on our wrists!"

"And at present Provard Financial is the principal investor in Mr. Wayne’s startup venture," Provard continued. "Now Tom, I’m well aware that Wayne’s business model involves a degree of aggression."

"We compete very vigorously," commented Wayne. "Have to."

"There has been some bribery, which is a part of the local culture. He spread misleading rumors—not an uncommon business practice. And, yes, I imagine he has rather skirted the regulatory laws of Kabulistan. But surely the Kabulistanis will gain huge financial benefits from this natural treasure!"

Tom raised his eyebrows. "Is theft and assault also okay by you, Mr. Provard? Or didn’t he tell you the lengths he’s willing to go to, to keep the Dalton book out of the hands of any ‘competitors’?"

Provard turned to Wayne in surprise, who said a bland shrug: "One does what one needs to do in big business. Don’t I owe you that, Asa, as my main investor? If I had informed you, you would have been exposed to some personal liability. Can’t have that."

"As far as I’m concerned you’re in hot water anyway, Mr. Provard," grated Bud. "Did you really never think old Handlebar-Face here might be cutting a few corners in this secret deal? There’s such a thing as asking questions, man! And you know... Ort Throme admires you. He thinks you’re this great guy, out there helping whole countries. What’ll he think of you after this is all over with?"

Asa Provard reddened with anger. "You have no business commenting on my relationship with Orton Throme, Barclay. But I’ll tell you this—it’s because of Ort that this investment was of such importance to me. I’ve intended for years to leave him most of my fortune and estate. But now it seems certain of my relatives intend to contest the matter in court, maliciously."

"Not everyone appreciates abstract art," Tom remarked with dry irony.

"In any event, this startup investment is vital to giving Orton Throme the secure future he deserves."

Tom stood up from his chair as Simon Wayne watched him with eyes of ice. "Then I’m sorry to say you’re in for a big disappointment, Mr. Provard.
The whole thing’s bogus!
—a scheme by Wayne to wheedle investment bucks out of you!"

"Ridiculous!" cried Provard.

"Think so?" Tom strolled over to one of the ancient wooden beams shoring up the office ceiling, taking a key from his pants pocket. He slashed the key across the timber, gouging into it. The mark it left was light in color, contrasting starkly with the sooty black of the surface around it. "Does that look centuries old to you? Hollywood stuff, I’d guess." He turned to face the two men, and Bud—wide of eye and mouth. "Maybe there
is
an Amir’s Mine out there somewhere near. The books say so. But this isn’t it. Is it, Mr. Wayne?"

The big man showed his teeth in a fierce grin. "No."

Provard was pale, distraught. "What is this? What
is
this?"

"What is it, Asa? Business." Simon Wayne walked slowly around his desk. And now, discarding his earlier promise, he held a revolver in his hand! "Something give me away out there in the tunnel?" he asked Tom. "Wood chip out of place? I’m baffled as to what reason you had to suspect my setup."

"You can
hear
the reason," was the reply. "The sound of pumps running continuously to keep the phony ‘mine tunnel’ from flooding. I’ve taken a look at the unusual geology of this Turq’ha Nur region where you’ve set up shop. Those ridge formations show that the water table is very high, and has been fairly stable for many thousands of years. No preindustrial people could possibly have worked a mine at this level—it would have constantly flooded out. Just as this excavation of yours has been, repeatedly, Mr. Wayne, ever since you had it dug. You can see the traces clearly at the bottom of that nice wooden door of yours!"

Wayne shrugged good-naturedly. "Ah well, at least I dug myself a nice office HQ out here in the wilds. Who knows, maybe we
will
run into a ruby or two down here. Could happen."

"But—but—!" Provard was aghast, understandably. "But Wayne demonstrated the processor to me, to my engineers!"

"Please, Asa, nowadays it’s child’s play to fake almost anything," chuckled Wayne. "And not to disillusion you, but even engineers can be bribed. For a man with so much at stake, you’re mighty gullible. Well—perhaps that
does
make a fellow overanxious, hmm?"

"Good lord!
You’ve ruined me!
"

"Oh no, not just yet. The hour is early, the day is young. Until your decease becomes known, we’ll still be partnering. You’ll be what we call a
silent
partner." The gun motioned Provard, Tom, and Bud out the door. "Let’s head over to one of the storerooms. You’ll all keep there for a while. I have a bit of future-minded planning to do." As they walked along, hands raised, Wayne mused aloud, "You pesky boys ended up in my neck of the badlands despite all my efforts to keep you safely away. I never expected to have to go this far, to have my men snap you up and deliver you to me. Because that fool Dalton book was floating around, I had to locate hereabouts, more or less, to be credible as the ‘cursed mine of fantastic rubies.’ Of course it was the basis of my cleverly phony investment opportunity. At the same time the book posed a danger if the odd mine hunter started lurking around. But I thought the level of detail actually wasn’t enough to lead anyone almost to my doorstep. Strange. But whatever you ‘scientists’ believe, coincidences do happen."

The storeroom had unyielding walls of fitted rock, a concrete floor, and a door of steel. There was little else inside. The ceiling was twenty-five feet above them, air and some daylight coming down through a grated well-like shaft at the ceiling’s midpoint. "Anything more to be said?" asked Simon Wayne, about to slam the door on them. "Hmm. Can’t think of a thing." The door clanked shut.

Bud turned to Tom, his faced flushed with the excitement of mortal danger. "Up through the shaft?"

Tom studied the possibility, as Provard, a broken man, looked on with little hope or interest. "The grating looks like it could be worked free without too much effort. But even if we three stood on each others’ shoulders like circus acrobats, we wouldn’t come close to reaching it," he pronounced.