“That’s why we have to do it. There’s no way anyone could get near the jet, so they’ll know it had to be one of the experiments messing up. They’ll blame Bowdler.”
“Forget it,” Martin said. “We’ll end up in some tiny room, getting searched in places I’d never dream of hiding anything. I don’t know about you, but I have absolutely no desire to have my body cavities explored by some guy with a bad attitude and hairy arms.”
“Pull over. I’ll drive.”
Martin stepped on the gas. “Nope. I might be crazy, but I’m not suicidal. I’ll drive. You tell me how to get there.”
We managed to find route 95 and get to the airport. After Martin parked, we went into the international terminal and took the elevator up to the arrival area. I figured there’d be lots of people waiting to meet flights, so we wouldn’t look out of place. There was a hallway with windows right by the elevators. I moved from window to window, trying to spot any place where there were private jets. It felt weird using the binoculars. I was afraid someone would see me and think I was a terrorist.
Martin finally spotted the jet. “Petain International, right?”
“Yeah. You see it?”
“Yup.”
“Where?”
“Heading for the runway.”
“Shoot.” I looked where he was pointing. There was a jet taxiing toward one of the runways. That was a problem. I didn’t want to hurt anyone. But I hated to waste an opportunity. Besides, I wasn’t planning anything huge. No fires or explosions. Not here, around all this jet fuel and all these people.
I focused the binoculars so I could see into the cockpit. There was a small box mounted in front of the copilot. It had the Psibertronix logo. I yanked it free and bounced it off the instrument panel.
An instant later, the plane stopped moving. I could see the pilot talking on the radio. Then the plane turned down a side path and taxied back toward the hangars.
“Someone’s not going to be happy,” Martin said.
“Yeah. This will get their attention. If you own your own jet, you expect to go wherever you want, whenever you want. These guys don’t like to wait for anything.”
“Like if you can drive, you lose the ability to wait for a bus.”
“Exactly.” I glanced out at the runway. “That felt kind of wimpy, didn’t it?”
“Yeah. Not much of a bang.”
I thought about what we’d done so far. There were probably already ripples spreading toward the people in charge. But I wanted to make sure I sent at least one unmistakable message. “I’d love to end the night with something more impressive.” I looked at the list again, then showed it to Martin. “What do you think?”
He smiled and poked his finger at the last entry on the second sheet. “This?”
“Yeah. I think so.”
“It’s a bit of a drive,” Martin said, grinning. “But I guess I can force myself to get behind the wheel again.”
last ups
EVEN WITH THE help of the map that was in the glove compartment, New Jersey was a lot harder to find than the airport. By the time we got to Cherry Hill, it was after midnight. The whole way there, Martin kept singing driving songs. At least, he sang when he wasn’t swearing.
“I take back what I said about wanting to drive all the time,” Martin said. “These people are freakin’ crazy. I can’t believe we aren’t crumpled up in a burning wreck on the side of the road. Hey, didn’t you already die once in a stolen car?”
“I’m trying not to think about that.”
“That would be weird, wouldn’t it? Dying for real the same way they faked your death.”
I nodded and tightened my seat belt. Cars flew past us on both sides. Trucks pulled right onto our tail, even when Martin moved over to the slow lane. I think they’d have driven over us if they could manage that without scratching their nice chrome grills. After a while, I stopped looking out the back window. I just didn’t want to see what was there.
We finally reached our exit. I figured it wouldn’t be hard to find Ganelon Corp., since the road looked pretty short on the map. Sure enough, the factory was down by itself at the end of the road, behind a tall fence topped with barbed wire. We parked at the curb and walked over to the fence. The gate was padlocked, which wasn’t a problem. Padlocks were easier than door locks.
“This is the company Cheater was talking about. They made the defective ammunition,” I said.
“And lots of other stuff that doesn’t work,” Martin said.
“It’s all about to work a whole lot less.” I didn’t want to deal with any more front doors. We walked around to the side. It was an old building, with paint peeling from the wood near the windows and moss on the walls.