Mercury Man by Tom Henighan Read Free Book Online

classically simple and reassuring. And, by all accounts, wonderful discoveries were taking place inside. Emblazoned across two sides of the building near the top were two big signs, illuminated every night. “FABRICON INC.” the topmost one announced, and just below it, in slightly smaller letters the second advised: “READ THE FUTURE IN US.”
    Was it really likely that anything weird could be happening in such an efficient and clean-lined setting? The building shone like a white beacon and its many windows seemed to insist that this was a place with nothing to hide.
    Tom gritted his teeth and decided that, whatever his doubts, he had to go through with his plan. The idea of a Mercury Man ring and a porthole might be a bit dumb, but he knew what he’d seen with his own eyes. The kids had been acting strangely. There was too much sudden enthusiasm for Fabricon. No harm in checking things out.
    He knew that just opposite the computer firm, along Harbour Street, there were several renovated office buildings that had sprung up in the wake of the new development. Behind them, running parallel to Harbour, lay Water Lane, and Tom figured he could approach the building by that route. All he had to do then was hang out in the little park opposite Fabricon. From there he could size the place up and get a sense of anything weird that might be going on.
    He turned and made his way back to Water Lane. It was a narrow but relatively prosperous thoroughfare, with lawyer’s offices, architecture firms, trading companies, and other professional outfits occupying the brownstones that had miraculously survived the many changes in this area of town.
    Tom kept a steady pace, taking note of the houses with their added-on studios, their clever landscaping, the parked BMWs, and the well-dressed men andwomen who materialized in the doorways. They had worked late, he supposed, and were anxious to be getting home. They all looked so clean and cool — everything was air-conditioned here — while Tom, drenched in sweat, felt dirty and out of place. He was sure that, if anyone had noticed, they would have found his clothes pathetic, the belt-clip ridiculous, and the whole idea of a sinister Fabricon absurd.
    â€œGet yourself a life, kid,” they would have said, which in a way was what everyone was telling him.
    He walked on, and after a while he turned west to get to Harbour. He found the park, an open space with a fountain and trees, a few benches, washrooms, and a bus stop shelter. Occasionally a fish and chips or sausage vendor would set up there, but at that moment it was deserted. Tom breathed a sigh of relief. It should be the perfect place from which to keep an eye on Fabricon.
    Tom stood in the darkness between a beech tree and some withered bushes and gazed across at the front entrance of the computer firm. A pity he couldn’t have brought Grandpa’s binoculars, but he’d been afraid they would attract attention.
    Luckily, his eyesight was good and he had a direct view of the place.
    The brass door, beneath the elegant awning, shone now like a polished shield. From his brief spring visit, Tom remembered what was behind it. He pictured the huge hall with its tiled floor, its walls hung with historic scenes of West Hope. He remembered the small brass fountain discreetly set off by potted cactus plants, a display caseillustrating “Fabulous Fabricon” (this included pictures of successful personnel, trophies, plaques, and the like), and, somewhat to the rear of the fountain, a security desk that barred entrance to all but the invited. Tom and Pete, however, had actually made it to a waiting room before being politely but firmly kicked out.
    Tom watched intently for a while, but little was happening across the way. It was 8:25, well past dinnertime, and the evening shifts might be working. He munched on a sandwich, wondering what his mother had thought of his note and whether she would be going