Г. Х. Стоун: Fatal Error

So while Pete spray-painted his van, Jupe worked through Uncle Titus’s pile of sinks, updating the inventory list that had been printed out earlier in the month. There were complete descriptions of bathroom and kitchen sinks — colors, sizes, shapes, dimensions, fittings, manufacturers… more about sinks than he ever wanted to know.

Finally at two o’clock he finished the list and turned it over to Aunt Mathilda. By then the Ford van had a shiny blue paint job, and Pete was cleaning his equipment.

“How much longer?” Jupiter asked as he wiped a sweaty arm across his red face.

“Ten minutes.” Pete looked up. “Why?”

“Gotta grab a bite.” Jupiter headed for the workshop. “Want some?”

“Your gourmet diet? Count me out!”

Seated on a stool in the workshop doorway, Jupe munched happily. This was the most satisfying diet he’d ever tried. Very filling, and he knew the pounds were melting away.

“Yo!” Bob called across the junkyard. “What gives?” He trotted up in jeans and a black Batman T-shirt.

“You got my message?” Jupe licked his fingers.

“Yeah. So where are we going?”

“The Reasoner Corporation.”

“You found it?”

Jupe filled Bob in about Ty’s discovery.

“Cool!” Bob said. “A lead! But I wonder why Ty said go slow?”

The three guys piled into Pete’s car and zipped off.

“Two hours is the magic number,” Bob reminded Pete. “Remember, we’re taking the girls to Cosmic Trek .”

“Relax. No way I’m going to forget this time.” Pete assured him.

“Or you won’t live long afterward.” Jupe chuckled. “That is, if Kelly has anything to say about it!”

“This is from the shy dude who dates only when we make him?” Pete asked Bob. “How’d you get to be such an expert on babes, Jupe?”

Jupiter grinned. “Listening to you two Romeos!”

Twenty minutes later the Investigators found the Reasoner Corporation on a dusty, little-used street in Rocky Beach’s industrial area. The top of an old wooden warehouse, painted gray, showed beyond a tall wall. A faded, painted wood sign just under the warehouse’s domed roofline named the company but gave no information about what it did or produced.

“It looks like the joint!” Pete slowed his Aries in front of the old building. “I mean, it could be Alcatraz!”

The warehouse stood back on a huge parcel that appeared to be completely enclosed by a tall concrete block wall. Rolled barbed wire topped the wall. Nothing but a few trees could be seen inside.

“No wonder this place spooked Ty,” said Bob as they drove by. “Check out the security!”

Pete turned the car, and they coasted past again. The entrance and exits were blocked by solid steel gates that stood two feet taller than the walls. Next to one was an electronic sentry box.

“Uncle Titus’s bank has a sentry arm with an electronic box on the employee parking lot,” Jupiter informed the others as he studied the steel gate. “The only way you can drive in is if you have a plastic employee ID card. You stick the card in a slot, an electronic eye ‘reads’ the numbers, and if you’re for real, the gate opens. Of course, that’s just the entrance.”

“What do you mean, just the entrance?” said Pete. “The bank’s exit doesn’t have an electronic arm or box — just the standard sharp prongs sticking out of the ground. You know, the kind that puncture your tires if you try to drive the wrong way.”

“I’ve got a feeling there’s a point to this,” Pete told Bob. “Come on, Jupe. Give!”

“The Reasoner Corporation,” Jupiter said with maddening logic, “wants not only to keep people from driving in but also from walking in. Otherwise they’d have a prongs-in-the-ground exit. Instead they have these big steel gates coming and going.”

“Sure. With an open security exit,” Bob figured, “people can just walk around the prongs to get in.”

“Right.” Jupe nodded, peering toward the gate and its electronic sentry box. “Probably there’s an intercom on the box for outsiders to try to talk their way in. But you get the message from the tight security and the out-of-the-way location that the Reasoner Corporation does not want visitors.”

“What kind of work do you suppose they do?” Pete wondered.

“Check in on the intercom and ask,” Bob said. “Be my guest!”

“No thanks.” Pete shook his head. “I wouldn’t be surprised if the guards here carry Uzis!”

As they passed a stand of eucalyptus trees, Jupe said, “Park in there. It’s good cover.” No curb blocked the street, and behind the trees was an open field.

“Cover for what?” Pete said. “A break-in? You go first, Jupe. I’ll lend you my wire cutters.”

“Big of you.”

Pete parked in the field. The Investigators got out of the car and slipped among the tree trunks. Bark crunched under their feet, seeming very loud on the silent street. From the trees they stared at the prison-style warehouse.

“Maybe they do something illegal,” Pete said.

Bob said, “Yeah. Maybe it’s a weapons dump for terrorists… or a factory for illegal drugs.”

“Or maybe… ” Jupe said slowly, “all the security is designed not only to keep people out but also to keep them in .”

The grim meaning of Jupe’s latest idea started to sink in. Then suddenly shouts and cries erupted behind the Reasoner Corporation’s wall.

“Help! Help!” Pleading voices floated across the street.

The Investigators were too stunned to move.

Anguished cries rose again.

Pete snapped into action. “Someone’s in trouble in there!” He ran to the trunk of his car, where he kept — his tools.

For a moment Jupiter thought about Ty’s warning to take it easy, not to rush in. But Pete raced past, wire cutters in hand, and Bob was right behind him.

“Please help us!”

Jupiter dashed after his friends.

The investigators barreled across the street. Fresh pleas for help sounded from the Reasoner Corporation. The guys jumped up and grabbed the top of the six-foot-tall concrete block wall. Pete and Bob hauled themselves right up, and Pete immediately clipped open the barbed wire.

As Jupiter at last reached the top, a pitiful voice cried, “No! Help us!”

“It’s coming from there!” Pete shouted. He pointed at an open garage-size door in the old warehouse.

The guys jumped off the wall and raced across a lawn toward the door. Pete got there first and skidded to a halt in the doorway. Bob and Jupiter slid in next to him. The Investigators stared at the weird scene in the barren two-story room.

Two human-size brown lumps spotted with green fungus writhed across the concrete floor. Slithering with them was an inky black blob smeared with slime. “Oh Yuk!” Pete said. “Gross!” Bob agreed.

Suddenly the three things rose up on human legs that were encased in tights colored to match each costume. Alarmed, the things huddled together.

“No!” screamed one. “No, no!”

“Save us!” screeched a second.

They were the voices the guys had heard outside!

Just then a big cylinder of Hallenbeck’s Space Age Scouring Powder danced into view. It sang in a deep bass voice:

The dirtiest dirt

Is always hurt

By Hallenbeck’s Scouring Powder.

If you want your house clean,

You’ve gotta be mean

With Hallenbeck’s Scouring Powder!

As soon as it finished the song, the cylinder bent over, aimed its top, and exploded clouds of white powder onto the whimpering dirt clods.

“Out of sight,” Pete said in awe.

At that moment an enraged voice bellowed behind the Investigators. “This is a closed set! What do you think you’re doing busting into a rehearsal!”