Tom Swift and His Giant Robot (7 page)

These unexpected words startled Tom. Perhaps the mystery was about to be unraveled! "You could have killed me!" exclaimed Tom angrily.

"I’m afraid that was the idea," was the man’s lame reply. "I was greatly relieved when I saw you get in your car and drive away. I’d had a change of heart. Now I need to confess everything."

"How soon can you be at my office?" Tom asked.

"I—I don’t
dare
come to the plant again, Tom," the trembling voice whispered in reply. "I’m afraid that someone—
he—
might see me."

"Why did you do it, Marco?" Tom asked, trying to draw the man out while he was in contact with him.

"He—he hypnotized me. He put me under a—a spell, so I had to help him."

"Who put you under a spell?"

"Please, Tom," the man pleaded. "I don’t want to say any more over the telephone. I’m terribly afraid. I’m sorry if I’ve done you or your father any harm. You’re both good Americans, and I admire the two of you! I’ll do anything to make it up."

Tom checked his wristwatch. "Go to the York Hotel in downtown Shopton," he instructed. "Take a room there and wait for me. I’ll be up at eleven o’clock."

"Right, Tom. Of course. I’ll do just that," the man quavered. "But you mustn’t let them see what you’re doing!
They’ll kill to get what they want!"

TOM BROKE the connection and signaled the operator that he wished to place a conference call. Soon he had Harlan Ames on one line and Ames’ assistant Phil Radnor on another.

"I’m not absolutely sure that this ‘Marco’ is on the level," Tom said after reporting his conversation. "For all we know, it could be another ambush—since they failed the first time."

"Do you think they’d risk an attack on a public street?" Radnor asked.

"Maybe, maybe not," commented Ames. "It depends on how desperate they are, Rad."

"Just the same," Tom broke in,
"I’m
pretty desperate to find out what’s going on. I don’t want to let this opportunity get away."

"If we’re dealing with some of Nicky Ammo’s old associates, I wouldn’t put anything past them!" Ames declared grimly.

"Still, I want to draw them out," Tom said.

After some further discussion, it was agreed that Tom would park his car and walk one block to the hotel, Ames and Radnor following him.

"We’ll meet where I park and you two amble along behind me," Tom instructed. "In that way we’ll be ready for any attack."

Tom returned to the table and told Bud and the girls that a technical problem had come up which required his immediate presence.

Sandy gave a skeptical look, but Bashalli said, "I understand, Thomas—science is very demanding. It is worse than two wives!"

Bud tried to draw Tom aside, but Tom left quickly. He didn’t want to put his best friend at risk this time. Tom hastily bid them all goodbye and left.

The rendezvous with Harlan and Phil was timed accurately and Tom’s every move was covered precisely according to plan. There were no attempts on Tom during the walk to the York Hotel. He entered the lobby through a revolving door and reached the room-clerk’s desk without being stopped.

Lagging well behind, Ames and Radnor followed him up a stairway to Marco’s room but remained in the corridor. At Tom’s knock, a voice from within told him to enter quickly. As Tom did so, Ames held the toe of one shoe against the door to keep it from closing completely and latching.

Marco was a rather heavyset, seedy looking man of late middle age. He wore a cheap toupe. The man was near tears and almost cringed as he began the tale of his misdeeds.

"I met him at a bar over in Millville. I’m a salesman—just returning home. He
mesmerized
me, that’s what he did! Talked on and on in a low voice till he had me in a trance. I couldn’t help carrying out his commands. When I started obeying him I couldn’t stop. Till now, that is. I’m through with him."

"Who is this person?" Tom asked.

"Raymond Turnbull. That’s what he calls himself, anyway."

The name meant nothing to Tom.

Marco continued. "He was waiting outside my house one night when I got home. I live alone, you know. Didn’t even remember giving him my address. He came every night after that and we talked. I’d get sleepier and sleepier. I could only see his eyes.

"Somehow I fell under his power. Turnbull made me come here to Shopton and live out of a motel room. I was supposed to hang around and try to get to know some of your Enterprises employees. He wanted information about where you were traveling, and especially about your robot project. Every night I’d make a tape of what I’d uncovered, and once a week I’d bring the tapes to him at a boardinghouse in town.

"Then this afternoon he called me, and—I think he said some word that put me under. I don’t remember too clearly, but I was to lie in wait in your laboratory until you returned, even over night, and then—do what I did!"

"But how did you get onto the plant grounds without being detected?" Tom demanded skeptically. "How did you get into the lab, and then leave again?" The entire Swift Enterprises facility was protected by a high-tech electronic security system.

Marco began to shake. "I—I really don’t know. It’s all vague in my mind. Maybe the information I gave him allowed him to set something up."

"All right, all right," Tom said. "We’ll piece it together later. What’s the address of the boardinghouse?"

The salesman thought for a moment. "I can’t seem to remember—I think it’s Bond Street. But I can take you there. It’s on the outskirts of town off the south tip of the lake."

"We’ll go there at once," Tom decided, ignoring Marco’s quivering protests.

When the two came out of the room, Ames and Radnor had withdrawn around the hallway corner, but the shadowing arrangement continued as soon as they all left the hotel.

The salesman and Tom drove directly to the neighborhood where the boardinghouse was located. At Bond Street they turned into a quiet residential area, which boasted many old multistory homes from early in the last century.

Driving more than a block behind, Ames and Radnor kept a sharp lookout for signs of a trap.

It was exceptionally dark and they had to depend on a few street lights, spaced at wide intervals, for illumination. Tom instinctively slowed down as he approached the house, which had a porch across the front. At Marcos’ request he let the man out at the curb. "The landlady stays up late, and she knows me," he explained. After watching him go inside, Tom pulled a little forward and listened carefully. He saw Phil strolling casually up the block on the other side and glimpsed Harlan concealed in the shadows of trees and houses. There was no sound except that of his friends’ muffled footsteps.

Then the stillness was broken by a high-pitched scream. It seemed to have come from the boardinghouse!

"It sounded like a woman!" Tom hissed, then called softly, "Harlan, you and Phil stay under cover till I signal you."

Ames and Radnor darted for concealment into some bushes across the street. They heard the front door of the boardinghouse slam shut and saw a porch light flash on as hurried footfalls echoed down the wooden steps.

A moment later Marco had run up to the window of Tom’s car. "Look, Tom, I tried!" he exclaimed. "But when I spoke to the landlady about Turnbull she became hysterical and forced me to leave. She claims Turnbull’s gone and she wants nothing more to do with any of it!"

"Maybe I can help," Tom said. "You wait here next to the car, Marco." The salesman nodded meekly.

Tom rapped on the boardinghouse door in a polite manner and called out: "May I speak to you, ma’am? This is Tom Swift of Swift Enterprises."

The woman peered at him from behind a curtain in the hall window. Then, evidently recognizing the young inventor from newspaper pictures, she opened the door and warily invited her caller into her living room. "But don’t bother a-settin’ down!" she said firmly.

Tom gave her his identification and explained that he was looking for Raymond Turnbull, who was suspected of trying to interfere with one of his projects.

"Wouldn’t s’prise me one bit!" she declared huffily, adding that her name was Mrs. Riley. "But I can’t tell you where he is." She apologized for her hysteria and explained, "I’ve been
terribly
upset by what’s happened. When Mr. Turnbull first took the room he told me he was writing a book. I never paid much attention to him. He spent all his time with his papers and studies. I thought he was a fine gentleman.

"Then—
well!
He began to have
callers.
One night a pitiful-looking man with rheumy eyes came by. A little light went on in my brain, telling me he was a bad sort. Days after, I kept thinking he looked familiar. Then the other morning I remembered seeing his picture in a Sunday supplement. He was a member of that Briggin gang. The one they call
Slick."

Mrs. Riley held her handkerchief to her nose and began to sniffle. "Oh, I was so upset! I started to call the police. Just then, one of my other boarders told me Mr. Turnbull had left in the middle of the night. I was so relieved to have him gone that I didn’t bother to notify the police. Didn’t expect I’d ever have to look at him again."

She was interrupted by the sound of screeching tires out in the street, and the roar of an engine fading off with distance. "Land!" cried Mrs. Riley. "This used to be a quiet and respectable neighborhood!"

Now the engine growl came again, as if the car had whisked around the block. Tom’s eyes were riveted on a metal picture frame that hung opposite one of the opened living-room windows. As he stared, the frame began to quiver slightly.

"Quick!" he shouted, as the picture glass suddenly shattered with a loud crack. "Hit the floor!" He clutched the landlady’s sleeve and pulled her down next to him.

Suddenly the radio, television set, wall thermostat, and every lightbulb in the room burst forth with a shower of sparks and a puff of white smoke. The acrid smell of ozone filled the room.

The car peeled away, this time for good, and the danger seemed over. One of the ornate lampshades was smoldering; Tom quickly put it out and made certain that Mrs. Riley was unhurt.

"You pushed me down purty hard, young man," she replied. "But I suppose I’ll live."

Now pounding footsteps were heard on the porch, and the front door was flung open.

"It’s all right, Mrs. Riley," Tom said quickly. "These men work for me at Swift Enterprises."

"Marco’s gone!" exclaimed Harlan Ames disgustedly. "A van sped by with the side door open and he jumped aboard. Then they circled back once and drove off."

"But what happened in here?" asked Phil Radnor, noticing the pall of smoke in the air and the darkness in the main room.

"Just a guess," said Tom. "I think our enemies have some kind of short-circuit inducer that they beamed our way." Then, reflecting on the words he had just used, he snapped his fingers. "Guys—that must be what happened at the armory last night! It
wasn’t
just an accident!"

"Well, it’s what I’d expect," scolded Mrs. Riley. "What call have you boys t’be hanging around with Slick the gangster anyway?"

Tom stared at her. "What do you mean, ma’am?"

"Well, you come here with him in the middle of—"

Harlan Ames interrupted her. "Do you mean to tell us—"

Tom asked unbelievingly, "Mrs. Riley, the man who came in just before me—"

"Why, that was Slick!" she said. "Who’d you think it was?"

THE FBI was very interested to learn that "Slick" Steck, a member of the notorious Briggin gang and an old cohort—and rival—of Nicky Ammo, had surfaced in Shopton.

"We figured he was still alive, somewhere," said Sam Valdrosa over the phone. "Our trail petered out in Central America around the time we took Nicky into custody."

It was the following day. Tom’s father had called a meeting of Swift security personnel in his office, with Tom and Bud also present. At Tom’s suggestion they had included Agent Valdrosa, in Albuquerque, via speaker-phone.

"Of course, I remember reading about the Briggin gang," commented Damon Swift. "Bank robbers, weren’t they?"

"Bank robbery, extortion, all sorts of mischief back in their heyday," replied Valdrosa. "When old man Briggin died, the gang pretty well fell apart, and the four main men—Nicky, Steck, ‘Pins’ Zoltan, and Maurice ‘Flash’ Ludens—decided to hang separately rather than hang together, if you know what I mean. Zoltan is dead and buried—involuntarily!—and we’ve got Nicky closely watched. Steck and Ludens were the wild cards."

"Why would these mobster-types have an interest in Tom’s giant robot?" asked Bud.

Phil Radnor answered before Valdrosa could. "Just imagine what a super-strong robot could do, knocking over a bank!"

"Right," added Valdrosa. "No fingerprints! Seriously, who knows? We haven’t yet established a connection between these attacks on Tom and the ghost-stuff here in New Mexico."

"That’s true," said Mr. Swift. "Perhaps attacking Tom in the robot lab was just a coincidence."

"Except Marco—that is,
Slick—
mentioned the robot in connection with that fancy fairy tale he made up," Tom noted. "Sam, there are obviously several others involved in this plot, according to the landlady."

"I’ve read the fax of her statement," said the agent. "None of the men she described match anyone in particular. Of course, they
are
pretty vague. Incidentally, D.C. has already had agents over to the boarding house to check for prints, but the rooms were wiped clean quite efficiently—even the stairway banister."

Bud asked, "So what was last night all about, anyway?"

"Here’s what I think," responded Tom. "After I stubbornly didn’t die in my lab, someone must have had second thoughts and decided I was more valuable alive. Slick Steck may have thought he could kidnap me when I went to meet him, but—sorry, guys!—they saw Harlan and Phil, which scotched
that
plan. So Slick’s accomplices used the kidnap van to get Slick away from us."

"The attack with the electronic device may have been intended as a momentary distraction, to ensure the getaway," Mr. Swift suggested.