"Captain Anger Adventure #1 The Microbotic Menace" - читать интересную книгу автора (Koman Victor)

Chapter Ten The Safecracker

The house-an expensive, two story building-sat on a culde-sac in an exclusive suburb of Palo Alto. Cap drove his unassuming white van past the domicile and parked halfway down the block. Leila and Rock stepped out, this time dressed more conservatively. Rock wore a dark blue business suit that attempted but failed to conform to his thickset physique. He wore a wide, garish blue paisley tie around his thick neck. Leila, at least, looked refined in a free-flowing maroon jumpsuit not too different from her more functional black one. Neither of them wore their pistols on the outside. A barely visible bulge under Rock’s left arm, though, let the experienced observer know that he was armed.

Cap emerged from the van finally looking like himself. He was a tall man, over six-foot-three, who seemed even taller because of his self-assured and powerful bearing. When in disguise, he could look several inches shorter simply by assuming a poor posture and a weaker attitude. Now, though, he stepped onto the sidewalk with strength and dignity, cleansed of all disguise and wearing an outfit specially designed for his life of action and danger.

Pants, shirt, and jacket of khaki clad his body with comfort and panache. But unlike the mock clothing sold in fashion houses, Captain Anger constructed his gear of a rugged, almost indestructible weave of aramid fibers developed in his own lab. The same cloth composed Rock’s business suit and Leila’s apparel. The dense fibers provided some protection against low velocity bullets and insulated well against heat and cold while maintaining a constant body temperature for the wearer.

Captain Anger’s shirt sported several pockets, two large ones and several smaller ones designed with their openings disguised and not obvious to the casual glance. His pants similarly possessed cargo pockets that did not bulge away from his strong legs, but rather conformed to them without clinging tightly. The jacket hung to mid-thigh and displayed crisp, no-nonsense lines. It hid many secrets in its six outer pockets and ten inner ones. Even the belt that cinched his waist held its share of surprises.

His face, scrubbed clean of the rubber mask he utilized in his guise as the old bum, looked even more impressive in the afternoon sun. This was a man meant to live in the fire of adventure, born to roam the world and change it wherever he went. Nothing less could please such a man of action.

Yet in his gaze dwelt the soul of a scientist, a rationalist whose every action was ruled by the cool workings of the intellect. Even his boldest, wildest moves operated under the firm yoke of reason.

It was his expertly trained intellect that warned him of danger in the seemingly unthreatening home. He stepped in front of the other two members of his team and strode to the front door. Standing aside to avoid any gun blast that might chance to punch through the closed door, he swung the ornate brass knocker twice.

No response.

Without any urging, as if they had rehearsed a hundred times, Rock and Leila split up, heading to the left and right sides of the home. Captain Anger withdrew a slender, bendable black tube from his jacket and peered around the window frame and through the glass next to the entry. The tube-an infra-red viewer-detected the slightest variance in temperatures and converted it into an image. Looking through it at the hall carpet, Cap saw the blurred heat-outline of footprints. Someone had been there only a few moments ago. The steps led from the foyer up the curved stairway to the second story.

“Someone’s in there,” he subvocalized without moving his lips or even opening his mouth. The tiny but powerful microphone in the earpiece he wore picked up the nearly inaudible tones conducted through jawbone and inner ear, transmitting them to his comrades who wore the same devices and via satellite to Cyclops. A second microphone operated on a different frequency, capturing all the sounds that Cap heard and transmitting them back to the Institute. The earpiece was smaller than the smallest hearing aid so that Captain Anger’s team could be in full communication with one another at all times without anyone suspecting. Cap was one of the most circumspect people imaginable. So much so that his enemies sometimes swore that Cap and his friends were telepathic, or psychic, or black magicians.

Rock crept through the neat bed of bright yellow flowers surrounding the south wall of the house. He discovered a patio and sliding glass door. The door hung jimmied open on one hinge. “My side,” he muttered, “fast!” With that, he jumped from the flower bed and through the doorway, landing on the carpet of the breakfast nook with astonishing silence for a man of his bulk. He crouched, listening for any sign of movement.

Cap was the first to join him, quietly appearing at his side. Leila crept in an instant later.

Cap peered through the infra-red scope, determined that no one had been in the room for a few minutes, and signaled the others to follow.

Halfway up the hall stairway, they heard a mighty crash, the sound of steel against steel. Captain Anger raced swiftly up the stairs three steps per stride and followed the sound to its source.

The ringing smash sounded again. And again. Cap entered Dr. Madsen’s upstairs office to see a long-haired blond teenager frantically swinging a sledgehammer at a wall safe.

The boy, who could not have been more than fifteen, took another swing at the exposed hinges on the safe. Steel hit steel, sending white-hot sparks flying, scenting the air with the smell of burnt iron. He took a moment to wrist away the sweat dripping into his eyes. Then, for whatever reason, he turned around to check the doorway.

And saw the tall, copper-haired man in khaki.

With a startled gasp, the young man raised the hammer and lunged toward the bearded intruder, swinging the weapon with all his might.

Cap caught it in one hand, near the business end of the sledge, and reduced its motion to zero. With his other hand, he gripped both the boy’s wrists and pried them away from the handle.

The kid struggled and screamed, “I’ll kill you, you murdering bas-”

“Hold on, son,” Cap said calmly without releasing his grip. The boy tried to kick him, but he lifted him up by the wrists, out and away from harm in a feat of leverage that would have astonished a professional weightlifter. “We haven’t killed anyone lately. Who are you?”

“None of your business. Put me down.”

Cap complied, keeping hold of the sledge hammer.

The kid with the shoulder-length yellow hair rubbed a sore wrist and stared up at the stranger. He paused for a moment, then broke and ran for the hallway. He galloped squarely into the block wall that was Pyotr Kompantzeff.

“Shto tebye-what have we got here?” Rock caught and held the frightened and angry kid in a Russian bear hug that defied escape. The captive swung a foot at Rock’s shin, but the ragged sneaker bounced off the thick bone and sinew of the burly man’s gristly leg.

“We’re not who you think,” Leila said, stepping into the kid’s field of view. “Put him down, Rock.”

Freed of Rock’s iron grip, the boy stared at the haunting, raven-haired woman in puzzlement. “You don’t work for Dandridge?”

Cap shook his head. “My name is Richard Anger. This is Leila Weir and Pete Kompantzeff.”

“Are you cops?”

Leila laughed. “Hardly.”

“We’re scientists,” Rock said levelly.

The kid eyed him up and down. “Yeah, right.” Rock looked more like an enforcer for the Russian Mafia than a scientist.

Cap leaned the sledge hammer against the wall. “Do you know Dr. Madsen?”

“Who said I should?” The teen’s voice was suspicious, cautious.

“You’re in his home, breaking into his safe.”

The kid shrugged. “So I’m a burglar. What does that make you?”

“Burglars don’t call the people who catch them murderers. Is Dr. Madsen dead?”

The kid walked over to a chair and collapsed into it. Burying his face in one hand, he wept and pounded the chair arm with another. “Dandridge did it. I know he did. I’ll kill him.”

“What’s in the safe?” Cap asked.

The boy looked up, a guarded expression on his face. “Nothing. Money. I need to get out of town.”

Captain Anger nodded. “I see. Maybe I can help.” He stepped over to the safe. “What’s your name?” he asked calmly, his sensitive fingers gently turning the dial.

“What’s it to you?”

Cap shrugged, continuing his work on the safe. “I just like to know the people for whom I serve as safecracker.”

With that, he stopped turning the dial and reached for the locking handle. “Well?”

“Jonathan Madsen.”

The handle rotated with a heavy clack. Cap swung the door open to look inside. “No money,” he said.

Rock walked over to the desk. “Out with it, boy. Who’s Dandridge and how’d he kill your father?”

“My grandfather,” Jonathan Madsen corrected. “Dandridge worked with him at Stanford. Grampa Julie would let me visit now and then. I liked being around the lab. Then something happened to a grad student of his named Barry Feinman and Dandridge took over and had gramps canned.”

“Flash,” Captain Anger murmured, “check status of a Dr. Dandridge at Stanford.”

“Already working,” said a voice in his ear. “William Arthur Dandridge, Ph.D. in electronics. Currently head of research at Drexler College of Nanotechnology.”

Cap withdrew a sheaf of papers partway from the safe. “Are these patent forms what you’re looking for?”

The young Madsen gazed impassively at the imposing figure before him. “Maybe. Let me see.” He walked over to the open safe and reached in with his right hand, feeling around for a second or two. Then he pulled out the stack of papers with both hands and carried them to the desk by the bookshelf-lined far wall. Putting the papers down, he casually slid his hands into his pockets and sat down behind the desk.

“Yeah. That’s the stuff.”

Cap smiled at the kid’s bold-but crude-effort. “And,” he said, “how about what you palmed into your pocket?”

In a leap that surprised all, Madsen jumped to the desk and took a swift step to its edge. Using it as a diving board, he kicked off and sailed fists first through the glass of the second-story window. The crash of the shattering panes startled the three into action.

“Gospodi!” Rock cried, turning to run downstairs.

Cap raced to the window in time to see Jonathan hit the ground shoulder first. With a bone-crunching thud, the boy landed in the soft earth of the floral landscaping. The wind knocked out of him, he fought to rise and run.

With a stronger and more planned jump, Captain Anger sailed from the window to land on his feet a yard from the gasping, bloodied boy. After determining that Madsen was not seriously injured, Cap crouched beside him and waited.

When Jonathan had regained his breath, Cap said, “What’s in your pocket that’s worth dying for?” He held out a hand as the boy struggled in panic. “I won’t take it from you, even though I easily could. I want to help you.”

Rock and Leila arrived by a more mundane route in time to hear the wheezing teen say, “Gramps… and I were… real pals. I wanted… to be a scientist the way… he was. He told me… about his problems at… work. Said corporate intrigue… and spying were… things he wasn’t used to.”

He sat up, with help from Leila. Still laboring for breath, he also fought to restrain sobs of anguish.

“He told me if… anything should happen to him that he had… instructions taped to the inside of his safe. He gave… me the combination once, but I forgot it.” He reached into his pocket and produced a piece of adhesive tape, coated now with lint and dirt. Stuck to it also was a shiny, iridescent disc the size of a quarter.

“Optical storage medium,” Cap said. “Smallest CD I’ve seen.” He slipped it into one of the hidden pockets of his shirt.

“Julie liked small things. He always said that the goal of technology is to do more with less.” The kid began weeping again.

“How’d he die?” Leila asked in her softest tone.

“He confronted Dandridge last week. They fought about something. Then gramps phoned me yesterday sounding really weird. He wasn’t himself. Hasn’t acted normal for a long time. He told me that I knew what to do and then he said goodbye.”

Cap pondered for a moment, then said, “Your grandfather disappeared four months ago. Where has he been?”

“He-” Jonathan’s words were interrupted by the sound of collapsing timbers.

“The house!” Leila cried.

“Stay here,” Cap said, running into the building. Inside, he quickly found the source of the noise.

A portion of the living room wall on the first floor had collapsed into a pool of reflective silver. “More microbots,” he said, the earpiece transmitting the message to those outside.

Pulling a small silicon capsule from one of the hidden pockets in his shirt, he tossed it into the center of the scavenging mass. It immediately melted as the microbots disassembled it, though more slowly than Cap had expected.

Suddenly, the center of the pool changed. The capsule disgorged a hundred thousand copies of the microbot reprogrammed by Captain Anger. The shiny surface of the pool rippled gently as the machines fought it out in eerie silence on a microscopic scale. The scavengers proved no match for the reprogrammers: their circuitry logically prevented them from dismantling their own kind. The reprogrammers, though, obeyed just as relentlessly their own command to alter only the scavengers and to leave all other material unharmed.

The silver pool slowly thinned as the reprogrammed microbots spread out in search of more victims. The entire living room took on a silvery sheen. Now, though, nothing decomposed into raw materials and more microbots. Instead, the furniture, carpets, walls, and drapes looked as if they had been sprinkled with silver dust. Then, with the microbots spreading out even thinner, it seemed as if everything were coated with a sooty powder.

When the robots thinned out to just one layer thick, the color showed through again and the living room appeared normal. Normal, that is, except for the yawning cavity created by the scavengers. Damage already done could not be repaired. But the danger had passed.

Cap returned outside to see that the young Madsen walked with Rock and Leila toward the front of the house. Limped, more accurately, blood still dripping from the glass lacerations on the young man’s hands, arms, and shoulders.

The captain spoke to the trio. “Dr. Madsen must have used the phone in the living room when he called you. It was half-devoured by microbots. They’re partly solar-powered, so they’re slow workers in a dark room, which is why the whole block hasn’t been consumed. Our own version of the microbot will work faster on the same amount of light. It takes less energy to reprogram a microbot than to dismantle matter and build copies of itself.”

As the four walked toward the street, the kid suddenly pointed and yelled.

“Dandridge!”

He struggled to wrest himself from Rock’s grip and rush toward a man in a white lab coat. The bespectacled man looked up, saw them, and turned to run back to the chocolate-brown sedan parked at the curb. He jumped inside and flipped the ignition as Cap sped toward him. With a squeal of peeling rubber, the car roared beyond Cap’s reach and accelerated up the street.

Cap dug into a cargo pocket and withdrew a small pistol. Taking careful aim, he fired one shot at the receding vehicle. A hole appeared in the trunk amid a small cloud of pulverized brown paint.

“Let’s roll!” he shouted to the others, ignoring the fact that he could just as well have whispered the command over the earcomm.

Captain Anger and his team ran to the van and jumped in, Jonathan tucked under Rock’s arm like a football.

They craved this excitement. Cap may have surrounded himself with men and women of exceptional intelligence and abilities, but the glue that bound them together was their shared lust for the galvanizing thrill of adventure. They who possessed powerful intellects and constantly used them needed equally powerful diversions. The members of Captain Anger’s inner circle found diversion aplenty in his fantastic exploits.

Cap gunned the engine into life and pulled away from the curb.

“We’ve lost him!” the kid cried, looking this way and that, his blond, bloodied hair whipping about the sides of his face. “I’ll bet he turned left, though. Back toward the university.”

“Relax, boy,” Rock said. “Captain Anger fired slug with homing device inside.” He tapped his thick, short fingers at the keyboard of the van’s onboard computer. “Smotri, look at screen.”

On the screen, a digitized map of Palo Alto displayed a dizzying amount of information: Streets, riverbeds, buildings, topography, political boundaries, government buildings, hospitals, police stations. With a single keystroke, Rock made it show only the streets and two moving dots, one red and one blue. The blue dot remained at the center of the screen while the map rotated and moved.

“We are blue dot,” Rock said. “Top of screen is always front of van. Easier to visualize map overlaid on your real-world view. Red target is Dandridge’s car. We won’t lose him unless he abandons car or finds and destroys homer.” Rock switched the screen to its high-information mode and leaned back in his seat, very satisfied with himself.

Cap and Rock rode in the two front seats. The other two seats, in the compact laboratory/computer center at the rear, were occupied. Jonathan stood behind Rock’s seat, gripping it tightly to remain standing while the van pitched left and right, forward and back. Leila calmly stood at work in the back, pulling a medical kit from a compartment. With catlike steadiness in spite of the bouncing of the vehicle, she advanced on Jonathan and set the case down, opening it up and administering to his wounds.

“You look like the loser in a cat fight,” she said as she helped him off with his shirt. His skin glistened with sweat and blood, and he smelled of salt and garden soil

Slashes from the plunge through glass crisscrossed his arms and shoulders. Braced for the sting of antiseptics, he felt nothing as the beautiful woman sprayed each cut with a clear, painless liquid and pressed the sides of the wounds together. Much to his amazement, each laceration sealed shut as if glued together, leaving only a red line to indicate that there had ever been a cut.

“It’s a cyanoacrilate compound,” Leila said. “Sort of like super-glue for tissues. Seals the wound but eventually resorbs after healing.” She smiled wickedly. “If your guts had been blown apart, we could spray everything and create a seal to stop the bleeding. Then a surgeon could put you back together. This stuff has saved a lot of lives on the battlefield even before Cap perfected it for peacetime use.”

The van took a turn at high speed. Jonathan put a steadying hand out against the wall. Leila-remarkably-stayed in place simply by shifting weight on her lithe, smoothly muscled legs.

“We’re attracting interest of law enforcement!” Rock shouted. On his screen flickered yellow dots indicating the location of radio transmissions on police-band frequencies. Several of the yellow sparks sped toward the blue.

Cap reached toward the dashboard-a vast array of aircraft-style dials, monitors, and switches-and tapped a small button. On the rear of the van, the commercial license plate morphed into a federal emergency plate with different colors, character styles, and numbers. That would be enough to ward off any attempt to pull the van over, something Captain Anger was reluctant to permit.

The plate actually contained an array of thousands of tiny rods, each with a color changing tip. The rods extended or retracted to form the numbers on the plate and the tips changed color to match the designs of all fifty state license plates, federal and state government plates, and the plates of the Canadian provinces and Mexican states. Each license plate image stored in the van’s database was valid for a white van registered in each jurisdiction.

“He’s heading toward the Palo Alto airport,” Rock said.

Cap nodded, his deep sea-green eyes never turning from his view of the road. Though his mind no doubt followed several trains of thought at the same time, he appeared to be concentrating all his powers on the simple act of high-speed driving.

“Our jet’s in San Jose!” Leila said. “If we can’t stop him or plant a homer on his plane, we’ll lose him!”

Cap monitored the car’s progress on the computer screen, never once coming so close to Dandridge as to make visual contact. The business buildings on El Camino Real whipped past them; cars screeched to a halt, narrowly avoiding the speeding white blur. Twists and turns took them away from California’s oldest highway and toward the bay.

The sedan reached the airport. Cap’s van followed.

And faced a wall of machine guns.