Jon stared numbly at the contents of the black folder. In retrospect, he supposed he should have, but he hadn’t really expected this.
His first task after closing his room and locking the door had been to put the contents of the briefcase back in the briefcase, as carefully as possible, taking some time to examine portions but mostly trying to get the material off his bed and at least somewhere a little less conspicuous.
It was a potpourri of technology the good doctor had put together. The portable holograph recorder/projector was just the beginning. There was a black box with a belt-clip with pretty basic instructions: Press for Invisibility. There was a pen that was straight out of James bond—it was a variable length laser, and Jon tried it out, only to slice a razor-thin line, a good five inches deep, in the small table beside his bed. There were almost two-dozen blue chrome disks that had, in tiny type, the words Cryogenic Mines on them. You apparently pressed the small blue button on top to activate them, but Jon thought perhaps he’d wait until later to try out anything that had the word “mine” in its description. There was a black and silver gun—it looked vaguely like some hokey Buck Rogers prop—that read: Magnetic/Electrical Field Disruptor. He only had one of those. He had two devices that resembled old-fashioned cigarette cases, made in burnished silver and black. The tops of them had several sliders and small knobs, and an inscription that explained that the devices were Inductive Hyper-Hypnotic Suggestive State Generators. Bernhard had had quite a way with names.
His first task after closing his room and locking the door had been to put the contents of the briefcase back in the briefcase, as carefully as possible, taking some time to examine portions but mostly trying to get the material off his bed and at least somewhere a little less conspicuous.
It was a potpourri of technology the good doctor had put together. The portable holograph recorder/projector was just the beginning. There was a black box with a belt-clip with pretty basic instructions: Press for Invisibility. There was a pen that was straight out of James bond—it was a variable length laser, and Jon tried it out, only to slice a razor-thin line, a good five inches deep, in the small table beside his bed. There were almost two-dozen blue chrome disks that had, in tiny type, the words Cryogenic Mines on them. You apparently pressed the small blue button on top to activate them, but Jon thought perhaps he’d wait until later to try out anything that had the word “mine” in its description. There was a black and silver gun—it looked vaguely like some hokey Buck Rogers prop—that read: Magnetic/Electrical Field Disruptor. He only had one of those. He had two devices that resembled old-fashioned cigarette cases, made in burnished silver and black. The tops of them had several sliders and small knobs, and an inscription that explained that the devices were Inductive Hyper-Hypnotic Suggestive State Generators. Bernhard had had quite a way with names.
A small plastic case he hadn’t even noticed before opened up to reveal several pairs of contact lenses. Bionic Vision was all it said on the inset. Jon stopped for a moment, and then put those to the side. He was going to have to give them a try, later. Similarly themed was a series of small button-sized devices, of which he had half-a-dozen, that simply said Ear. Jon went ahead and put those away. There was something that said Fit Over Teeth, though the purpose wasn’t immediately clear. There was a watch and six rings in two different styles—one design was gold, with a stone that appeared to be onyx, and thinner and more feminine, and one with a thicker silver band and a flat black ring face with a small white diamond in the center. He suspected that they were more than just jewelry, but how much more was not exactly clear. There was a pen light on a small chain. When he touched it, he saw the tiny type read: Car Starter: Touch to Car Ignition. There was an odd assortment of bracelets, some of which had apparent purpose—Magic Handcuffs read one pair of bracelets, but only when he was holding them. A necklace with a medallion that resembled a compass. Several small capsules that read things like oil slick and smoke field and devil’s stench.
Jon continued putting the items back into the briefcase. Coins that weren’t really coins, what appeared to be a transistor radio, what looked to be small, unremarkable black boxes, what seemed to be a plain Rubik’s Cube and didn’t do anything special even when he messed with it for a while, what seemed to be a pair of sunglasses, and a few dozen other items that either appeared to be everyday objects or didn’t appear to be anything very specific at all; they all went in. After he was done, all that was still out was the container of contact lenses and the black three-ring binder. While many of the items had at least basic descriptions or a name and sometimes even instructions either on them or as part of their function, many of them left Jon clueless as to just what they were supposed to do. He figured that Dr. Bernhard had to have left him some instruction on exactly how he was supposed to use these things, either in a form something like the holograph projecting video cassette or just plain written instructions. It turned out to be the latter, although “plain” wasn’t exactly the word to describe the contents of the notebook. Initially, he was a little nonplussed to note that the first page started out with a disturbing political screed:
Jon continued putting the items back into the briefcase. Coins that weren’t really coins, what appeared to be a transistor radio, what looked to be small, unremarkable black boxes, what seemed to be a plain Rubik’s Cube and didn’t do anything special even when he messed with it for a while, what seemed to be a pair of sunglasses, and a few dozen other items that either appeared to be everyday objects or didn’t appear to be anything very specific at all; they all went in. After he was done, all that was still out was the container of contact lenses and the black three-ring binder. While many of the items had at least basic descriptions or a name and sometimes even instructions either on them or as part of their function, many of them left Jon clueless as to just what they were supposed to do. He figured that Dr. Bernhard had to have left him some instruction on exactly how he was supposed to use these things, either in a form something like the holograph projecting video cassette or just plain written instructions. It turned out to be the latter, although “plain” wasn’t exactly the word to describe the contents of the notebook. Initially, he was a little nonplussed to note that the first page started out with a disturbing political screed:
Imperialist America has been a cancer on the world, injecting pollution into the body of nature for profit and murdering millions in war for the wealth and power of military contractors, and the imperialist advancement of exploitive Western class-structures and caste systems on the indigenous cultures of other countries—especially those countries where most of the population has darker skin than those of us in Imperialist America. America is the biggest blight on the West and the West is the biggest blight on the world. The oppression of other, non-Western countries for our absurd, pampered lifestyles artifact. There is no doubt it is the genuine article. I’m sorry to put you through this, Jon, but my options. I found, were vanishingly small. I--
Jon stopped reading. There was a disconnect there somewhere. Had Bernhard been addressing all that gobbledygook about “imperialist America” to him? Then, Jon saw what the issue was. The neatly handwritten words changed to a completely different set of words when his finger touched the paper. Jon just shook his head. “Damn,” he said. “Something else.”
He decided he would start reading again from the top, firmly gripping each page, when he noticed what looked like a twenty dollar bill poking out of the back of the notebook. He flipped to the back and then saw something he hadn’t expected, that at once made him feel giddy with excitement yet made the circumstance seem that much more soberly real. In the back of the book, each in its own neat pocket, there were 50 hundred dollar bills, 50 twenty dollar bills, and 50 ten dollar bills. Jon counted it. It came to six-thousand five-hundred dollars. It was more money than Jon had ever seen in his life. And that wasn’t the end of it. There were also 50 hundred peso notes and 50 five hundred peso notes—Mexican money. There were 50 Canadian hundred dollar bills and 50 Canadian fifty dollar bills. And about 500 British pounds. And four thousand dollars worth of American Express Traveler’s Checks, made out in Jon’s name. With Jon’s signature already on the first signature line.
“Holy shit,” Jon murmured, shaking his head. “Where the hell do you think I was going to be going, Dr. Bernhard?”
Obviously, Bernhard had thought Jon was going to be doing a lot of traveling. It was why, no doubt, he had included passports—three blanks and one prepared with Jon’s picture and vital information. And it wasn’t over yet—there was a Diner’s Club and a MasterCard, both in his name. Jon shook his head. He couldn’t use those cards, could he? What place would let a fourteen year old use a charge card?
It wouldn’t matter much, if the last card was the genuine article, though. It was a blank gray card, the size and shape of a credit card, but it didn’t say anything. However, when Jon picked it up, the surface illuminated with a set of buttons. Automated Bank Teller Card, it read. Choose Dollar Amount and Insert in Machine. Buttons with prepackaged amounts from $100 to $1000 filled up the rest of the card. Jon shook his head. The good doctor, crazy or not, had been a busy, busy bee. Jon put the card back into the small slit cut for it in the back of the notebook, and the type immediately faded.
Jon nodded to himself. Well, that answered the question of how they would pay for hotels and motels, at least. They certainly had the money to do it, and apparently getting more money would be as simple as finding the closest ATM. He was no more certain of the wisdom of that strategy than ever, but most of the practical objections seemed to be addressed. They had money. Apparently, they wouldn’t have much trouble finding a car with the pen light car starter. He had credit cards—of dubious use, he thought, but he had them—and passports. He didn’t know how he was supposed to fill in the blank ones, but didn’t think it was very likely to come to that. And if the pursuit got too close . . . he had weapons. He could make weapons, too. There was a lot nastier stuff in the book than Bernhard had seen fit to prepare for Jon. There were cryogenic mines and the magnetic/electrical disruptor, whatever that was supposed to do, the laser pen, and a few other geegaws that looked pretty dangerous to him. Then, there were the holographic decoys and what appeared to be clip-on invisibility. And there was a lot of stuff in Dr. Bernhard’s bag of tricks that Jon wasn’t sure just what it did yet.
So they might actually be able to pull it off. They might be able to, for all practical purposes, disappear. Not just run but vanish without a trace.
He decided he would start reading again from the top, firmly gripping each page, when he noticed what looked like a twenty dollar bill poking out of the back of the notebook. He flipped to the back and then saw something he hadn’t expected, that at once made him feel giddy with excitement yet made the circumstance seem that much more soberly real. In the back of the book, each in its own neat pocket, there were 50 hundred dollar bills, 50 twenty dollar bills, and 50 ten dollar bills. Jon counted it. It came to six-thousand five-hundred dollars. It was more money than Jon had ever seen in his life. And that wasn’t the end of it. There were also 50 hundred peso notes and 50 five hundred peso notes—Mexican money. There were 50 Canadian hundred dollar bills and 50 Canadian fifty dollar bills. And about 500 British pounds. And four thousand dollars worth of American Express Traveler’s Checks, made out in Jon’s name. With Jon’s signature already on the first signature line.
“Holy shit,” Jon murmured, shaking his head. “Where the hell do you think I was going to be going, Dr. Bernhard?”
Obviously, Bernhard had thought Jon was going to be doing a lot of traveling. It was why, no doubt, he had included passports—three blanks and one prepared with Jon’s picture and vital information. And it wasn’t over yet—there was a Diner’s Club and a MasterCard, both in his name. Jon shook his head. He couldn’t use those cards, could he? What place would let a fourteen year old use a charge card?
It wouldn’t matter much, if the last card was the genuine article, though. It was a blank gray card, the size and shape of a credit card, but it didn’t say anything. However, when Jon picked it up, the surface illuminated with a set of buttons. Automated Bank Teller Card, it read. Choose Dollar Amount and Insert in Machine. Buttons with prepackaged amounts from $100 to $1000 filled up the rest of the card. Jon shook his head. The good doctor, crazy or not, had been a busy, busy bee. Jon put the card back into the small slit cut for it in the back of the notebook, and the type immediately faded.
Jon nodded to himself. Well, that answered the question of how they would pay for hotels and motels, at least. They certainly had the money to do it, and apparently getting more money would be as simple as finding the closest ATM. He was no more certain of the wisdom of that strategy than ever, but most of the practical objections seemed to be addressed. They had money. Apparently, they wouldn’t have much trouble finding a car with the pen light car starter. He had credit cards—of dubious use, he thought, but he had them—and passports. He didn’t know how he was supposed to fill in the blank ones, but didn’t think it was very likely to come to that. And if the pursuit got too close . . . he had weapons. He could make weapons, too. There was a lot nastier stuff in the book than Bernhard had seen fit to prepare for Jon. There were cryogenic mines and the magnetic/electrical disruptor, whatever that was supposed to do, the laser pen, and a few other geegaws that looked pretty dangerous to him. Then, there were the holographic decoys and what appeared to be clip-on invisibility. And there was a lot of stuff in Dr. Bernhard’s bag of tricks that Jon wasn’t sure just what it did yet.
So they might actually be able to pull it off. They might be able to, for all practical purposes, disappear. Not just run but vanish without a trace.
Assuming, of course, that the worst they had to expect was going to come from the FBI and the CIA and the Army and whoever else. Since it had occurred to him, he had not been able to get the image of a meat thermometer popping up out of his head. Or the end of “To Serve Man”. Whoever developed all this technology would hardly be significantly off-put by it, and could probably easily overwhelm or disable all of it. Pop! Turkey’s done! It’s a cookbook!
Jon shook his head, turned back to the front of the notebook and began reading, gripping the page firmly so the page on display remained consistent.
Jon, it began. I believe some background information may be helpful to you . . .
Jon shook his head, turned back to the front of the notebook and began reading, gripping the page firmly so the page on display remained consistent.
Jon, it began. I believe some background information may be helpful to you . . .
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