Grant swiped at tears. “Do you believe me, sir?”
“Son, I believe apples don’t fall far from the tree. I also know that young men sometimes do stupid things. I just hope you grow past that.” Chief Peck half grinned. “Now, back to the cell with you. A night or two behind bars isn’t going to hurt you and once the Feds leave town, I imagine any report about your time spent with us might just get badly misfiled.”
In his cell, Grant sat with his back to the NVA members and did his best to ignore their catcalls and comments. He actually wished Polly was there. She could be sharp-tongued enough to make them cry, and Grant would have loved to have seen that.
They turned out to be pretty easy to ignore. Grant just crawled into the hole in his middle. The look on his father’s face, and the sound of his voice just continued to suck Grant down. When his father had said that he wasn’t innocent, that had sunk a dagger right into his heart. Grant’s actions had really tested the bond of trust with his father. Perhaps it had even broken it.
What made it worse was that Grant was pretty sure his father understood why he’d been there in the alley. His father didn’t talk much about his childhood, but he’d been a young man. He’d had adventures. He’d certainly gone places his parents had told him not to and survived. Being curious, taking what should have been a completely benign risk, enjoying an incredibly cheap thrill, was just a normal part of growing up.
But you’re not normal, Grant.
Grant played the whole scenario over in his mind again. Had he been normal, the NVA guys probably would have beaten him up or at least scared him off. They might have shot him, or taken him hostage, but that was about it. It would have been a horrifying experience, but the damage would have been limited.
Whereas, in the alley, if the man from the vault hadn’t intervened, what would have happened? Grant would have been forced to stop the NVA members. Then Chief Peck would have emerged into the alley with all of them unconscious. Even if Grant had gotten away at hyperspeed—and had remembered to get his bike—Hardin would have known he was in the alley. If someone else saw him, or one of the NVA members remembered having seen him, the rest of the NVA might target his family.
I failed to acquit my responsibility to my family. A chill puckered Grant’s flesh. I almost got them all killed. Had the NVA not thought the Lyttleton police so inept by linking him to them, they likely would have gone after his family. As it was, the NVA seemed content to pillory him with ridicule and leave it done at that.
The Silver Car Diner catered dinner for the jail. Grant got two grilled cheese sandwiches, which meant that Chief Peck had consulted Hardin about Grant’s preferences. The diner used thick slabs of sharp cheddar and enough butter to soak the bread. He also got a slice of strawberry pie for dessert, whereas the NVA members’ entire meal consisted of something gray which throbbed.
After dinner, Grant settled in for what he assumed would be the longest night of his young life. The NVA members had stopped taunting him, but he figured that was due largely to his refusing to react. He also thought the fact that the fourth cell remained empty might have contributed. Marta Coulden should have been in that cell, but he gathered the FBI had asked for her to be held elsewhere. They referred to her as “Sister Tanya,” but that didn’t imply anything about religion or holiness. Grant told himself they were less concerned for her welfare than they were her telling the FBI all she knew about them. To assume otherwise made them more human than he wanted to acknowledge at the time.
Just after midnight a deputy came and pulled Grant out of his cell. In the office he pointed Grant to a short, heavyset man whose bald pate was dappled with sweat. The man wiped his hand on a handkerchief then extended it to Grant. “Kip Carson, Esquire. I live over in Centerville. Your father called me to get you out.”
“Really?”
“Yes, Mr. Stone. If he hadn’t, I’d be snug in bed at this time of night.” Carson signed a form on a clipboard. In return he got a manila envelope which he handed to Grant, along with the library books. “Those should be your things. Come on.”
Grant felt his wallet and watch through the envelope. He followed Carson out to the street, but didn’t see any car. The attorney started north, across the town green, toward Town Hall and the Lyttleton Tower. Grant could make out the silhouette of a late-model sedan at the base of the tower.
“You could have parked closer.”
“It’s a nice evening. Walk won’t hurt.” The attorney turned and smiled. “Don’t you be worrying about a thing, Mr. Stone. This will all work out.”
“You’re talking legally.”
“Of course.”
Grant frowned. “How did my father sound on the phone?”
“Concerned.”
As they walked, the Tower loomed taller. Built of rough-hewn, dark gray stone, the Lyttleton Tower was one of the town’s oldest structures and definitely the tallest. It rose to five full stories, almost half again as tall as either Town Hall or the Courthouse. Built as a memorial to the dead of the Civil War, it had a clock in the uppermost story. It had ceased to work on Armistice Day, 1918, having frozen at 11:11. Tallies of the dead from both world wars had since been added to the memorial. An iron-bar gate blocked the arched entrance, and many people believed that the spirits of the dead inscribed on the memorials actually haunted the tower.
The lawyer paused at his car then jerked his thumb at the tower. “I was told to tell you that you were expected at the top of the tower.”
“My father’s there?” Grant looked up toward the unmoving clock, but saw no one and no lights. “Are you sure?”
“Those were your father’s expressed wishes.” The lawyer offered him his hand again. “It was nice meeting you. I hope we won’t have to run into each other again.”
“Thank you, sir.” Grant took a deep breath and steeled himself. As the lawyer drove away, Grant approached the tower. The gate remained closed, but the padlock hung open. Grant slipped beyond the gate, but put the padlock back in place. Inside he found a rickety set of wooden stairs and mounted them.
“Dad?”
No one replied, but up above, around the third landing, a door cracked open enough to splash yellow light into the night. Grant quickened his pace and reached the door perhaps a hair more swiftly than most folks would have. He rapped lightly on the door and nudged it open.
He stopped, amazed. “What the blazes…”
The space which occupied third and fourth floors of the tower had been completely built out. A bank of tall computers with blinking lights, reel to reel tape drives and a printer the size of a standing freezer took up one whole wall. Three TVs stacked one above the other butted up against filing cabinets and a big desk. Up above all that, on the second level, lay a chemical lab, wood and metal-working machines, racks of clothes, stuffed bookshelves and rows of filing cabinets.
Directly across from him, the man from the vault rose out of throne-like chair. “Do come in, Grant Stone.”
Grant stared at him. “You’re not my father.”
“True.” The hooded head inclined at an angle. “I am, however, the man who retained Mr. Carson. He believes he was hired by your father, which is enough to protect him.”
Had he not spent the night getting his emotions under control, Grant would have dashed across the room and punched the man through the throne and all the way to Centerville. To do that, however, would have revealed his secret.
That would make things worse than they already are.
The hooded man opened his hands benignly, but light still glinted from his gauntlets’ claws. “I know you could cross the room in the blink of an eye and hurt me very badly.”
Grant’s heart sank. He knows.
“Before you do that, please give me a chance to explain the charade this afternoon. Believe me when I say I’m sorry for the inconvenience.”
“Sure, right. Jail was inconvenient. Having my father leave me there, that was something more.”
“Yes, I didn’t anticipate that
turn of events.” The man clasped his hands behind his back. “I noticed you at the bank. I put down three of the robbers. Someone else eliminated two. There was a limited pool of individuals who could have done that. Until I saw you in the alley, I actually assumed your sister had dealt with them.”
“She couldn’t.”
The man shook his head. “I think you denigrate her martial arts skills, but no matter. I surmised, from the bank, that whomever had acted was able to see in the infrared range, hence adding heat to the smoke I used in the alley. When you didn’t do anything except catch, I gathered I was correct. I believe, then, you capable of feats of superior strength and speed, with the ability to see outside the normal visible light spectrum. Have I missed anything?”
“Um, no.”
The man chuckled. “Hesitation. You’re a horrible liar. So I have missed something. Several somethings I’m willing to bet. Immaterial at the moment.” The man’s hands again appeared, open and spread wide. “Because of what I had surmised, and the nature of the battle in the alley, I was forced to accuse you of being an accomplice. It would distract the NVA members from what had really taken place. Since you’d not be confessing to use of your abilities, your protestations would make you sound weak, and they’d accept that. To do otherwise would be to admit they’d been beaten by a farm boy. That would not do.”
“You figured out to do that on the fly?” Grant narrowed his eyes. “I mean, I figured out that I was lucky things happened that way, so things wouldn’t be revealed but…”
“Yes, Grant Stone, I figured it out. Perhaps not exactly on the fly, as you say. I had planned against certain contingencies.”
“And you were on the Courthouse roof, watching and planning all day?”
“It only really matters that I was there when they broke out.”
“No, actually…” Grant sighed, rubbing a hand over his forehead. “What do I call you? I have been thinking of you as ‘the man in the vault’ but that’s stupid.”
“Merlin.”
“As in the wizard?”
Merlin’s shoulders slumped a little. “No, as in the bird of prey.” He walked over to a drafting table and tapped it with a talon. “I’ve been trying to come up with a good logo, but, I can’t figure out anything I like.”
Grant wandered over to the table. “Are you from the future?”
“What? No. Why?”
“All this stuff, it’s what NASA has. Computers. I mean, who owns a computer?”
“I’m not from the future. Some of the things I have might be cutting edge, but you’ll see them within a generation.”
“But nothing really cool like a Dick Tracy wrist radio?”
“No.” Merlin turned to look at him, and Grant was pretty sure there was a grin beneath the mask. “Those would be pretty cool. Imagine if there was really a phone you could carry with you.”
“I think we’ll have flying cars before that.” Grant looked down at the various sketches for logos on the drafting table. “I see what you mean. Just the plain claw is good, but that could be Eagle or Hawk or Falcon. The bird just sitting there is okay, but some folks will look at that and say pigeon or dove.”
“My problem exactly.”
Grant tapped one that showed a merlin, claws extended, wings wide, coming in straight on. “You know, this one is the best but, maybe it would be more dramatic, if you put it in half profile. Kind of asymmetrical.”
“That might work. White on a dark background, it would actually draw the eye to the left. Shooters would be inclined to miss wide.” Merlin nodded. “I like that idea. I will work that up. Thank you.”
Enough sincerity came through Merlin’s voice that Grant’s anger slipped away. “So are you Lyttleton’s superhero? I mean, I guess, I don’t understand why you’re here unless you’re after the NVA.”
“Before I reply, let me caution you. If you were to share information about me, you might make yourself a target. I know this is not a concept foreign to you. I remind you of it for your sake, and the sake of your family, more than for my own.”
“Right.” Grants cheeks burned. “Got it.”
“Yes, I am Lyttleton’s hero. The criminal element, as it did in the Roaring ‘20s, finds it easier to prey upon small towns than to thrive in big cities. I have chosen to protect Lyttleton. If I say nothing more it is only to protect you and others with whom I might be associated.”
“That’s fair.” Grant frowned. “But I have to ask you why you had the lawyer bring me here. He could have taken me anywhere. Now I know your secret.”
“And I know yours. I wanted you to know mine as a sign that I trust you. If you were to betray me—by accident or otherwise—I’d lose equipment and time. Your secret might cost your family members their lives. As I am here to protect Lyttleton, and you are part of Lyttleton, I’ll die before your secret ever gets revealed.”
“Thank you.” Grant smiled grimly. He looked around the room, awed by the equipment and stunned by how much it must have all cost. And right here in the heart of our town, and I never knew.
He focused again on Merlin. “I guess I should be going. Are you going to… do you have a car? I mean, Puma has The Crusher. Do you…”
“I’m still working on that.” Merlin shrugged. “But I happen to know that while you live five miles out of town, that’s just a fast jog for you. I’d guess, after being cooped up in a cell for eight hours, that’ll go a long way toward making you feel right.”
“Yeah, I didn’t like being cooped up.” Grant took a last look around Merlin’s Sanctum. “Thank you, you know, for getting me out of jail.”
“Only fair.” Merlin gave him a nod. “Good night, Grant. When next I see you, I trust it will be under better circumstances.”
The jog home did help Grant’s mood, right up until the last turn onto his family’s property. He was thinking about just running upstairs to his bed, when he realized his father had expected him to remain in jail until Monday. He looked back at the road, tempted to speed to town and to demand to be put in jail again, but that would have been truly odd.
Grant realized disaster was in the offing, and did his best to forestall it. He’d never needed sleep the way his family did. He got tired, but seemed to recharge without sleeping, and quickly at that. Sleep just let his mind rest. As it wasn’t going to rest, and because he could see pretty well in the dark, Grant retreated to the barn and started doing chores without turning on lights that would wake his father.
Meeting Merlin had been pretty weird, but also cool. Grant recognized that Merlin’s knowledge of his abilities was a threat, but trusted him. In part it was because Merlin had shared a secret with him. Mostly, however, it was the way Merlin accepted his suggestion about the logo. Merlin had been genuinely thankful. That wasn’t a trait, in Grant’s experience, that the untrustworthy have in abundance.
The scrape of rasping an edge on disc-harrow blades masked the sound of his father’s approach just past dawn. “Is disobeying me going to be a habit now, Grant?”
Grant turned, surprised. He hoped to see anger on his father’s face. Instead, the tight eyes and slow slump of shoulders spoke to disappointment. “No, Dad, it’s not like that.”
“Like what, Grant?” Hank Stone shook his head. “You heard what Chief Peck and I discussed. You were to remain there until I came and got you out. I know you understood my wishes.”
“I did.”
“Yet here you are.” His father glanced down for a second. “Please tell me you didn’t escape.”
“No, Dad, I wouldn’t.” Grant set the disc and the file down. “It wasn’t like that. A lawyer came in and said you’d hired him to get me out, that you changed your mind. You can call and ask.”
“And you knew this lawyer?”
“No.”
“And after he got you out, he just abandoned you?”
“No.” Grant hesitated. “Yes.”
“Which is it, Grant?”
Grant froze. To answer, he would h
ave to reveal Merlin’s secret. He’d never kept a secret from his father. He didn’t want to start. His stomach started aching just at the prospect. But it wasn’t right to betray Merlin and…
What am I going to do?
The ping of gravel beneath a car’s tires, and the throaty roar of an engine in the yard, bought Grant a moment. A door opened and closed, then a tall, slender silhouette appeared in the barn’s doorway. The young man wore a three-piece suit of light gray wool, with a white shirt and dark blue tie. His platinum-blond hair had been cut as short as Hank Stone’s. He carried a manila folder, the expandable kind bulging with a lot of files.
Hank Stone held a hand out, not in welcome. “I don’t want to be rude, but this isn’t a good time. Family matter.”
“I know, Mr. Stone. I’m afraid it’s my fault.” The young man bowed his head. “I’m Lemuel Lyttle. You know my aunt.”
“I know of her, but I don’t know her.” Hank’s eyes tightened. “How is my family’s business any of your business?”
Lemuel handed Hank the folder. “In there you’ll find everything I’ve learned about your children, Polly and Grant. This includes a full report on Grant’s abilities.”
“Is this some sort of a shake down?”
“No, sir. Being aware of Grant’s abilities, I know he could hurt me severely.”
“It’s not him you have to worry about.”
“And it’s not me you have to worry about.” Lemuel opened his hands. “Your son has told you about the man in the vault. That’s me. I also stopped, with Grant’s help, the NVA who were trying to escape our jail. To protect Grant I had to implicate him. Had I not done so, your family would have been targeted, and I don’t have the resources to safeguard you.”
Hank set the folder on the workbench. “You were behind the lawyer who got Grant out of jail?”
“I was. After speaking with Grant, I realized I had put your son in a delicate situation.”
Hank turned. “You didn’t say anything about this, Grant.”
“Mr. Stone, I shared with your son a secret.”
A Hero By Any Other Name Page 20
