Memoirs Of An Invisible Man by H.F. Saint Read Free Book Online Page B

better. I decided to tell myself that I did, although two little points of pain were beginning to define themselves in my eyes. Soon those points would extend back and join in the middle of my head to form a piercing headache.
    Although it was still early, a few people had already arrived and were straggling unenthusiastically into the building. They all looked like academics to me. There certainly weren’t going to be any other securities analysts. I wondered if there would even be any press coverage. Of course, if the
Times
ran something by Anne, the event would have to be counted a smashing public relations success. But I wondered again why Micro-Magnetics wanted a public relations success in the first place. Their press release was useless. What were they after?
    Fame and vast wealth, I supposed. The usual.
    The revolutionaries were hauling their cartons out onto the lawn and setting up their own little scientific demonstration right in front of the entrance. They did not seem at all concerned that someone might object to their presence, which seemed odd. But evidently they were right: no one seemed in the least interested in them. Academic setting. You always have young people milling around on lawns doing whatever they like. Perhaps someone would have some aspirin inside. Coffee. Some of Carillon’s people were crouched in front of the door of the little concrete hut. Not a good place for them.
    Carillon and Anne appeared through the hedge and joined the group on the lawn. I watched as Anne wished them all well, then turned and walked out to join me.
    “Thanks for waiting.” She seemed to be in a benign mood again.
    “My pleasure. I wanted the air anyway.”
    “You all right? You look a bit green.”
    “I’ll be fine,” I said. “Dialectical materialism always affects me this way. It’s the relentless pitch and yaw of the historical process. How’s the revolution coming? Do I have time to get my money out of the bank?”
    “The guinea pig is gone. Did you let it out?”
    “Why would I try to stem the irresistible tide of revolution?”
    “Well, you were the chief suspect. You and the girl with the long blond hair, who apparently has a history of bourgeois sentimentality.” Anne was definitely in a better mood. “Anyway, it’s gone.”
    “Pity. What will they do?”
    “They’re searching for a stand-in. They would probably welcome the opportunity to use you, if you’re interested. Shouldn’t we go in? It’s starting to rain.”
    “By all means, let’s go in… Tell me, do you have any idea what Carillon’s people are doing in that electrical shed or whatever it is?” The door of the concrete hut with all the electric lines was open now, and one of the students was standing in the doorway holding what appeared to be a toolbox.
    “I think,” said Anne, without bothering to look, “they’re going to shut off power to the building as part of their demonstration or something. So everyone will have to come out and watch. Have you seen anyone else from the press?”
    “No, I haven’t. You mean they’re going to just shut off all power to a laboratory with God only knows what kind of equipment running in it? Don’t you think that’s a bit irresponsible?”
    “You think anyone is irresponsible who thinks about anything more than making a profit,” Anne said good-naturedly.
    “Not at all. They’re welcome to think about absolutely anything they—”
    “And as usual you’re more concerned with private property than with people.”
    “This particular private property is about to contain people. Us, to be precise. They’re going to blow us up after all. Look, I’m completely new to terrorism. Isn’t the warning phone call before the explosion one of the conventions? Maybe we should let the police or the folks at Micro-Magnetics know what—”
    “We’re journalists, not police informers,” Anne said, beginning to heat up again. “It’s not our job to tell anyone anything. It’s a