Mercury Man (23 page)

Tarn, for his part, was giving nothing away. “You know what this means, of course.” He laughed shortly. “It means a felony charge and confinement in prison. And this time, no consideration.”

He paused, as if to let this sink in, then continued. “I want to know exactly what led you to do this. Who your accomplices are and how this break-in was planned. Why are you wearing this ridiculous costume? Only yesterday I gave you good evidence as to how you were being misled and deceived. Some people have a lot to gain by disrupting Fabricon. You'll gain absolutely
nothing
.”

Tom bent his glance. “I don't want to talk to you,” he mumbled.
Did Tarn's questions mean that they hadn't caught Mercury Man? He couldn't be sure; he could only pray that it was so
.” I'll stand on my rights,” he insisted. But his voice sounded choked and it bothered him.

“I haven't called the police yet, but I intend to,” Tarn spoke dryly. He seemed to be studying the far wall. He looked at his watch and added, “I intend to give you one last chance, however.”

Tom shrugged his shoulders, though his stomach was beginning to turn over.

“Take him down the hall!” Tarn ordered, and the guards shoved Tom through the doors and into the corridor.

Another guard waited there. When he saw Tom appear, he slipped by him and whispered something to
Tarn. The scientist pressed his lips together; Tom could not read his expression.

A few steps forward, then the guards pushed Tom through an open door and into another room, bare and brightly lit. The door slammed suddenly behind him; a man got up from behind a desk.

“Tom! What in hell's going on? I never thought you'd pull a stunt like this.”

He hadn't heard wrong. He was here. His father was at Fabricon.

“Dad!” he said, but his heart was sinking.

Joe Blake was a tall, rugged man with greyish rough-cut hair and an easy smile. He was dressed in a blue suit that made him look uncomfortable; he wore no tie and his hands moved uncertainly as he spoke.

Tom could only stare at him, thinking how different he looked — not at all as he recollected. All his memory traces of his father seemed to be in close-up. He recalled his eyes and the curve of his mouth, his heavy eyebrows and his wrinkles. Now Tom seemed to be seeing him from a distance, from far away; it was as if the man had blurred or grown more awkward during all those years of absence.

When the moment of strangeness passed, anger came, and Tom pressed his lips together. This was the man who left them in poverty, who had caused his mother so much pain.

As if on a wrong cue, his father came forward and stuck his right hand out. Tom turned away, tried the door, but found it locked.

“I know you've got some hard feelings, son. It's been a hell of a long time.”

“You didn't care!” Tom said fiercely. “You didn't care about us.”

His father seemed uncertain. “Look, I didn't come here to defend myself. Tarn's boys got hold of me and told me you were in big trouble, so I came over to try to help. I know I haven't been the greatest father in the world, but I want to help you.”

“He's using you, Dad, Tarn is using you. You don't know anything. They're probably monitoring us right now.”

Joe Blake looked anxiously around, then smiled. “No! That's impossible! Why would he do such a thing? Son, I don't know the facts, but I want to help.”

“He brought you here to confuse things. To get me out of his way. You don't know what he's doing! He's a madman! He's trying to destroy some friends of mine.”

“Hey, just a minute! If he thinks I'll be fooled, he's crazy. I just want to make sure you don't get in trouble.”

All of sudden Tom saw a gleam of hope. Could his father be telling the truth? Would anything be lost by confiding in him?

“You want to help? You really do?”

“Of course I do.”

“Then get me out of here as quickly as possible.”

His father looked abashed. “Now just a minute. As I understand it, you broke into this place. And for the second time, at that. If I help you get away I'll be assisting
you to evade arrest. As a public servant, I can't afford to do that.”

“You know something, Dad?”

“What?”

“You're full of crap.”

Joe Blake flashed him an angry look. He took a step forward and stopped. Tom looked defiantly at his father, who continued in a subdued manner.

“There's no need for that kind of talk. Just tell me what's happened and why you're here and dressed in that crazy outfit. You can't fool around with these people, you know. This is a big corporation.”

“Is that what they told you to tell me?”

“If you don't trust me, Tom, we're not going to get anywhere.”

“All I want to do is to get out of here.”

His father sighed, crossed the room, and sat down heavily behind the desk.

“I should never have come over here.”

“Why did you?”

“I honestly wanted to help.”

“What else did Tarn tell you?”

His father looked at him. “Nothing much. How's your mother, by the way?”

“Why didn't you call her once in a while to find out?”

“I did! I did — at the beginning. After a while she just wouldn't talk to me.”

Tom swallowed. It sounded like his mother.

“How is she?”

“She's fine. She'll probably get married again.”

He saw his father stir. “To the other guy? The guy in the weird suit?”

Tom started. He realized he hadn't thought of it. His mother and Paul — a strange idea! Then his hopes seemed to crash down. How did his father know about Paul?

“You mean you've seen Mercury Man? They've caught him?”

“Take it easy, son, they haven't caught anyone — except you. I heard those mugs mention the costumes. And who the hell's Mercury Man?”

“You mean he got away? Paul got away?”

“What are you talking about? You two were trying to rip the place off, is that it?”

“I can't believe it! Paul got away!”

“Were you trying to steal computer stuff? The two of you? That's what Tarn told me.”

Tom sat up straight. “Tarn is a liar. He framed Paul because Paul found out he's making a super computer out of DNA material! And computer programs based on genetics. If he can get these on the market, there's no telling what might happen. Tarn thinks people are just fodder. You don't know him, Dad.”

“You're not telling me you broke in here to foil a mad scientist?”

“That's exactly what we did, Dad!”

Joe Blake laughed tartly. “C'mon … who's full of crap now?”

Tom sprang across the room; he stopped abruptly before the big desk and stood gazing down at his father.
Joe Blake returned his glance. That was more like it: close up, remembering.

“Dad! Get me out of here. This is serious! Help me. I wouldn't lie to you. You understand that?”

His father looked at him for a long time. His eyes seemed to grow heavy with recollection. He pressed his lips together and cleared his throat.

“You were always a pretty straight kid.”

Tom turned away. He couldn't bear that his father should see his weakness. If his dad said another word he might just bawl. At that moment Tarn and all his tricks seemed to dwindle in importance.

“If I get you the hell out of here,” Joe Blake said, “you'll tell me everything that happened?”

“If you swear not to tell Tarn.”

“Why should I tell Tarn? Can't you trust me?”

“If you trust
me.
”

His father paced across the room, not looking at him.

“What the hell!” he said, and slapped his son lightly on the arm. “You're getting to be a big son-of-bitch.” He looked at Tom, smiled crookedly, and nodded.

Tom thought of the bulky guards outside the door. He pointed in their direction and made a gesture.

“I'll take care of them,” his father said.

He waved Tom back, knocked on the door, and called out.

“Here, open this up, will you?”

Voices sounded outside. The door swung open.

Joe Blake pushed it back and stepped into the corridor, beckoning Tom to follow.

The guards eyed them, waiting for some explanation.

“I'm taking my son to the police station,” Joe said. “That's what Dr. Tarn asked me to do.”

Tom clenched his fists. Was his father playing it straight? Was this some kind of trick? He still wasn't sure he could trust him.

“I'm sorry, sir. We have orders to hold this boy. The company is going to charge him with breaking and entering.”

“Let me speak to Dr. Tarn, then.”

“I'm sorry, Dr. Tarn has left the building.”

Tom exchanged a glance with his father.

“Now just a minute,” Joe Blake went on. “You have no right to hold this boy here. Dr. Tarn designated me to take him to the station. If you won't let us go, I intend to call the police and then you'll have to take the consequences. The police chief is a very good friend of mine.”

The guards shook their heads, but their faces were full of doubt. They withdrew a few steps down the corridor and began a whispered conversation. After a few minutes, one of them disappeared into a nearby room.

“He's going to phone,” the other said.

Tom waited. His father was fingering an unlit cigarette. Then the first man came back, shrugging his shoulders. “All right,” he said. “Take the kid away. He's in your hands, though, just remember that.”

Tom couldn't believe his ears. They were letting him out of Fabricon!

His father led the way down the corridor. Neither of them looked back. A few doors opened as they
passed by. Faces peered at them; Tom heard the low drone of conversations. An air of crisis seemed to have enveloped the building.

They emerged in the parking lot, and his father led the way to a shiny new red van, sitting by itself close to the entrance gate. Tom climbed into the front seat. In a few minutes they were out on Harbour Street.

“Where to?” his father asked.

“Just a few blocks,” Tom explained. “So you're really not taking me to the station?”

“Of course not, not if I like your explanation.”

“Pull over here and I'll try to fill you in.”

They were directly opposite Mercury House. It looked shabby, hot, and blistered in the late afternoon sunlight. Tom thought with a thrill,
If all goes well I'll be seeing them all. But not there. We're supposed to meet in the tunnel.

He took in the house and next to it the small dilapidated garage, which few would suspect was the entrance to a magical underworld. Down below, in a nuclear bunker that Zak Daniel had built in the fifties and later refurbished, they would be waiting for him.

He turned to his father and started to tell his story, leaving out a lot of things, most especially Miranda.

When he had finished, Joe Blake said excitedly, “Hell! I can't believe such a thing is going on in our city. There has to be a mistake in here somewhere.”

“There's no mistake. You'll see! Paul has the evidence! I saw plenty myself!”

“Then, son, you've been playing with fire.” His father sighed and shook his head. He seemed about to
speak, then made a helpless gesture. “I'll do whatever I can to help you.”

Tom waited for more. He felt uncomfortable with his father and wanted to get away. He could have jumped out of the van, but he resolved not to move. After everything, that would have been some kind of failure.

“I'm letting you go, Tom,” his father announced at last. His stern tone seemed dutiful and not sincere. “That's because I believe you. And, after all, you're my kid. But if I find out you're lying, you'll be in trouble with me — I don't care what your mother says. I just hope you haven't chosen the wrong side.”

Tom looked at the long, half-dilapidated porch of the old house. Was that a Siamese cat sitting on the cushionless swing beneath the bare twisted vines?

He turned suddenly to his father and asked, “Why did you leave us, Dad?”

His father didn't move or look at him. The question hung awhile in the silence. Finally, Joe Blake patted his son on the shoulder and said in a quiet voice, “Well, Tom, you're almost a grownup now. I believe you can take it. You see, there was this woman I met back then —”

A few minutes later, Tom stood alone on the street.

Tom walked along the ramp they had shown him the night before. Here the tunnel curved and the tracks wound away into the darkness. It hardly bothered him that the space was narrow, the lights dim, and the walls so close that he could touch the damp splotches on the bare rock and plaster. He had escaped from Fabricon, from the Pavlov Room with its horrors; he had seen his own father: tremendous events that caused him to stop more than once and contemplate everything afresh. It was as if he had walked into a new world.

The meeting with his father had shocked him. For years, he had thought of Joe Blake as remote and indifferent, but now he knew better. His father was friendly, blustering in his manner, and yet somehow unreachable. Tom felt guilty because he didn't like him better. Guilty about his own father! Yet his dad had talked about the past so casually — he seemed to expect Tom
to forgive him the neglect of all those years after a handshake and a few jokes.

“Let's keep in touch, son,” his father had said to him, leaning out of the van window. His smile seemed genuine, but also a little mechanical. Then he'd looked away quickly, as if Tom had read too much in his glance.

But Tom didn't want to keep in touch. It was all far too complicated! His father had been an absentee so long that Tom didn't know how to fit him into his life.

The sound of voices in the tunnel ahead broke in on his thoughts. His pulse quickened and he ran forward.