by Phil Lollar
“Don’t do it, Richard!” Whit pleaded.
Blackgaard’s deep baritone voice turned smooth and persuasive. “I can’t believe you don’t care for this girl, Richard. You’re not that callous, that hard . . . look at her . . .” Maxwell glanced down at Connie. Her whole body trembled, her face was white with fear, and tears now streamed down her face.
Blackgaard inched her closer to Maxwell. “So scared . . . so vulnerable . . . so . . . diverting!” He pushed Connie right into Maxwell, and they both tumbled into some empty wooden crates. Wood splintered, Connie shrieked, Whit rushed to them, everyone talked at once, and chaos reigned.
“Don’t push!”
“Connie—get off of me!”
“Watch the gun, Richard!”
“Get out of the way!”
“Careful where you point that thing!”
“What are you doing?”
“Let go, Richard!”
“Connie, are you all right?”
As the three of them scrambled about, Blackgaard raced to a ladder attached to a nearby wall and shinnied up it like a lemur scaling a tree for a piece of fruit. Once at the top, he laughed uproariously, and it echoed throughout the warehouse.
Whit, Connie, and Richard looked up at him. He nodded benevolently. “Love to stay and chat, but you know the electronics business—rush, rush, rush! That’s why I’ve had these little escape hatches installed! Just push a button and—” He pressed it.
There was a loud electronic zap, the lights flickered, and Blackgaard screamed!
“AAAAAAAAHH!”
His hand dropped, his body went limp, and he plummeted into a stack of empty boxes.
Chapter Seventeen
“Hey—the hatch didn’t work!”
Connie pulled half a shattered crate off her legs with one hand and pushed Richard Maxwell away with the other hand. Whit helped her to her feet. Maxwell also extricated himself from the remains of a crate, rolled over, and hopped up. “That’s right, none of them will.”
“Ooooooo . . .” Blackgaard groaned, clambered out of the pile of empty boxes, and stood unsteadily. His normally dapper appearance was now a wreck. His slicked-back, jet-black hair was mussed and sticking out. His frock coat was torn in several places, and his waistcoat was askew. He was bruised, bleeding from scrapes on his forehead and hands, sweating profusely, and breathing hard. And his habitually pointy Vandyck was smushed against his chin.
Maxwell dashed over to him and said, “Feeble, Doctor, very feeble. I didn’t work for you all those months without learning a few things—like how to sabotage your remote-control gizmos.” He leveled the gun at Blackgaard’s chest once again. “You’re not going anywhere.”
Blackgaard tried to smile warmly, but the best he could do was a sort of grimace. “Let’s be reasonable, Richard.” His smooth baritone now cracked and croaked. “Surely there’s something we can negotiate.”
“Getting revenge on you was never negotiable,” Maxwell growled through gritted teeth. “You left me to die in a fire, remember?”
Blackgaard put his hand to his chest. “Poor judgment on my part. What do you want?”
Maxwell shook his head. “Not so fast.” He glanced at Whit and Connie. “You two, get outta here.”
Whit stepped toward him, and Connie followed and grabbed Whit’s sleeve, stopping him. “I’d like nothing better, Richard,” she said sympathetically. “But I’ve gotta tell you, I think it’s pretty dumb to throw away the rest of your life just for revenge.”
Whit nodded. “She’s right, Richard.”
“Actually, they both are—!” Blackgaard squawked.
Maxwell cut him off. “Quiet!” He glanced back at Whit and Connie. “Thanks for your concern. Now, both of you, get out of here!”
Connie tugged at Whit’s sleeve. “Come on, Whit. We’d better go.”
Whit didn’t budge. “No.”
Maxwell glared at him. “I’m not kidding around, Whittaker. You and Connie get out of here—now!”
Whit stood his ground. “I’m not going anywhere until you put that gun away.”
“F-forgive me for interrupting,” Blackgaard simpered, “b-but I’m terribly uncomfortable having that gun pointed at me while you talk.”
Maxwell raised it higher. “Don’t worry, it won’t be pointed for long.”
Blackgaard stooped and held out his hands. “What do you want, Richard? Tell me!”
Maxwell smirked. “Make me an offer. Just so I can hear it.”
“Yes! Yes!” Blackgaard nodded profusely. “I have money, property! You could live anywhere in the world! Tell me where you want to go. Tell me what you would enjoy. Name it!”
Maxwell’s eyes narrowed. “You—on your knees.”
Blackgaard’s brow furrowed. “What?”
“Get down on your knees!”
“A-a-all right! If you wish.” With some effort, Blackgaard knelt.
Whit inched closer. “Richard. Stop this. Stop this now.”
Maxwell kept his eyes fixed on Blackgaard. “Stay out of it, Whittaker.”
Blackgaard looked up at Maxwell and swallowed. “I—I’m on my knees. What do you want?”
“I want you to beg for your life.”
Blackgaard’s eyes widened and his mouth opened. “Uh . . .”
“Richard—” Connie whispered compassionately.
“Beg!” Maxwell shouted.
Blackgaard raised his hands and lowered his head. “D-don’t . . . hurt me, Richard . . . Please.”
Maxwell scoffed. “You can do better than that!”
Blackgaard bowed lower and raised his arms higher. “P-please don’t hurt me. I’ll do anything you want, but please, don’t hurt me!”
“Say you’re sorry.”
“I—I’m sorry. I’m sorry you had to spend two years in the detention center.” He bowed all the way to the floor, his hands stretched out to Maxwell. “I’ll . . . I’ll make it up to you somehow . . .” He groveled, whimpering, sniveling. “Please . . . Just put the gun away . . . whatever you want . . . please . . .”
Whit moved slowly between Maxwell and Blackgaard. “Is this what you wanted, Richard? Is this the revenge? How does it taste?? Was it worth two years?”
“Get out of the way.”
“Don’t you understand? When you go out for revenge, you’ve got to dig two graves—one for the person you’re after, and one for yourself.”
“You’re in the line of fire!”
“That’s right,” Whit said defiantly. “And this is where I’ll stay until you put the gun away.” He reached out to Maxwell. “Richard, there’s no such thing as revenge. Not really. It never replaces what you lost. It never restores. It doesn’t even satisfy. You’re out of the detention center. You have your whole life ahead of you. Please, give me the gun.”
“Listen to him, Richard!” Blackgaard said frantically. “For pity’s sake, listen to him!”
Maxwell glanced from Blackgaard to Whit to Connie. Her face was ashen, and she was still trembling. His jaw hardened, and he looked back at Blackgaard. “No. You’ve asked for this. Look at me!”
Blackgaard slowly sat up, terrified.
Maxwell pointed the gun straight at his face. “Get out of my way, Whittaker, or I’ll shoot!”
“Richard!” Connie pleaded.
“Ready . . .”
Whit looked at Maxwell coolly. “I’m not moving.”
“Aim . . .”
“Somebody stop him!” Blackgaard bawled. “Please!”
Connie lurched forward and grabbed Whit’s sleeve again. “Whit, get out of the way!”
“Connie! Let go of my arm!”
“Fire!”
In rapid succession, Connie screamed, “Whit!” and pulled at him with all her might.
He yelled, “Connie!” as he tumbled to the floor with her.
Blackgaard wailed, “Nooooo!”
Maxwell fired, pulling the trigger rapidly—resulting in a jet stream of water bursting from the gun
nozzle and pelting Blackgaard’s face, soaking him. He spluttered and fell over backward. “Uuubbb-bblluubb!”
Maxwell laughed. “You know, sometimes you guys can be real drips.”
Whit and Connie stared, mouths agape. “It’s . . . water!” Whit exclaimed.
Connie looked at Maxwell. “A . . . water gun?”
He grinned. “Sure. You think I’d wreck my life on account of this creep?”
Whit fell back on the floor and heaved a huge sigh of relief. “Oh . . . thank God!”
“I didn’t even want to risk breaking parole by getting a real gun. It’s not worth it,” Maxwell added, squirting some water from the nozzle into his mouth. He swallowed. “Pretty funny, huh?”
Connie rolled her eyes and also fell back on the floor. “Oh, yeah . . . a laugh riot.”
Blackgaard wiped his face with his coat sleeve and glared at Maxwell, livid. “A water gun? A WATER GUN? AAAARRGH!” He shot up, bowled over Maxwell, vaulted over Whit and Connie, and dashed for the rear exit.
The three spoke all at once: “Hey!” “He’s getting away!” “He’s heading out the back!”
At the rear door, Blackgaard turned and shouted at them. “You haven’t seen the last of me!” He pointed a long, thin finger at each of them. “None of you!” He kicked open the door, rushed out through it, and slammed it shut behind him.
Connie sighed. “They always have to have the last word.”
Chapter Eighteen
Whit sat up. “Wait—listen!”
Outside, a siren approached, tires screeched, and car doors slammed. Seconds later, Agent Phillips and Woody burst through the front entrance, guns drawn.
“Great timing.” Maxwell rolled his eyes.
Whit and Connie got to their feet. Phillips shouted, “Nobody move! Everybody against the wall! You’re all under arrest for conspiracy, treason, and espionage!”
He and Woody herded them to the wall, and Phillips commandeered Maxwell’s squirt gun. As they walked, Whit, Connie, and Maxwell all began talking at once, protesting their innocence. Finally, Whit managed to quiet down the others and said to Phillips, “You have the wrong people. The man you want just ran out the back door.”
Phillips scoffed. “Sure, he did. Woody, check it out.”
“Yes, sir!” He ran out the back.
Phillips put Maxwell’s squirt gun under his arm and fished the handcuff key from his coat pocket. “Here’s the key, Whittaker. The computer—off your wrist.”
Whit took the key and began working the cuffs. “Whatever you say.”
Phillips backed up to cover them all. “I’m not taking any more chances. You thought you could give me the slip at the college, did you?”
“He did give you the slip,” Maxwell retorted.
“Quiet, you!”
Whit scowled at Phillips. “If I wanted to give you the slip, why did I turn on the homing device so you’d find us here?”
“Another ploy to throw us off. I’m taking you all in.”
Connie tossed up her hands. “Good grief! I’m never going to get to see the Sears Tower!”
“You can count on that!” Phillips snapped. “You’ll spend the rest of your trip answering a lot of questions.”
Maxwell smiled slyly. “Not as many as you have to answer.”
Phillips’s brow furrowed. “What are you talking about?”
“Don’t give him the computer, Mr. Whittaker,” Maxwell said calmly.
Phillips glared at him. “You’d better stay out of this, young man! You’re already in a lot of trouble.”
Maxwell shrugged. “Yeah? Join the crowd.”
Whit finally unlocked the cuffs, which opened with a loud click. But he held on to the computer and looked at Maxwell. “Richard, what’s going on?”
“Remember I told you I’ve been following Blackgaard for the past few weeks? Well, sitting outside this warehouse let me see a lot of the people he met with.”
“Yes?”
Maxwell nodded at Phillips. “Surprise, surprise.”
Connie rolled her eyes. “No, not another surprise . . .”
“I thought Agent Phillips here looked familiar,” Maxwell continued. “He’s been coming and going quite a lot. Haven’t you, Agent Phillips?”
Phillips began to sweat. “I—I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Don’t you?” Maxwell pressed. “You and Blackgaard have been pretty chummy up until today. That’s how he knew when to get the computer from the courier!”
Whit turned to Phillips, who pointed two guns at them. “All right, nobody move!”
“Not again . . .” Connie whimpered.
Maxwell nodded at the pistol in Phillips’s left hand. “That’s my water gun.”
Phillips glanced at it and tossed it away roughly. “Yeah, but this one isn’t. Nobody move. Whittaker, the computer! Now!”
Whit took a breath. “If you insist.” He handed the computer over to Phillips.
Connie huffed. “After all this, we’re still losing the computer to the bad guys?!”
Phillips yanked the computer case out of Whit’s hand. “It was so simple. But, no, you two had to mess it all up. A small fortune. That’s what I’ll get for this computer.”
Whit’s eyes narrowed. “I had a feeling something was wrong. Most government agents aren’t as high strung as you are.”
“High strung?” yelled Phillips. “Who’s high strung?”
“Can I assume you’ll be meeting up with Blackgaard later?”
Phillips smirked and stepped back, gun still trained on them. “Assume what you want. Tell Woody I’m sorry I had to rush off.” He snickered. “Arrivederci, amigos!” He guffawed and ran out of the front entrance. They heard the car door open and slam shut, the engine start, and the car peel off, tires squealing.
Connie put her hand to her head. “Good grief! I need to sit down for a minute!” She moved to a nearby chair and plopped down in it.
Whit followed. “Are you all right, Connie?”
“Are you kidding? I don’t get any of this! I mean, some of the bad guys turned out to be good guys, and the good guy was bad, and the gun was a water pistol, and . . . I’m all confused!”
Whit chuckled. “Well, let’s go back to the hotel. I’ll explain it all to you there.”
“The hotel?” Connie exclaimed. “How can you be so casual? Blackgaard’s escaped, and Phillips got away with the computer!”
Maxwell joined them, grinning. “Welllll, maybe . . .”
Whit glanced at him and also smiled. “And then again, maybe not.”
A few hours later, Blackgaard and Phillips stood over a table in a fleabag room in a run-down hotel somewhere in the wilds of Illinois. Phillips fiddled with the computer case, trying to open it, but he was all thumbs. Blackgaard scowled. “Hurry up, you dunderhead!”
“I’m hurrying! I’m hurrying!” Phillips finally managed to free the computer. He tossed the case on the floor. “There! It’s out!”
Blackgaard licked his lips hungrily. “Power it up! Let us gaze fondly upon the new source of our untold wealth.”
Phillips lifted the lid and punched the “on” button. The laptop instantly responded with beeps, buzzes, and whirrs, and the Department of Defense emblem appeared on the screen. “Sounds healthy. Yeah, there’s the DoD main screen and emblem, and—” He stopped. The screen dissolved into a different, and unexpected, image. Phillips frowned. “Wait a minute! What’s all this?”
The new image was of Maxwell and Whit. Maxwell waved at them. “Hi there, Richard Maxwell here.”
“And John Whittaker, as well.”
Blackgaard’s eyes bugged out at them. “What?”
Maxwell continued. “Sorry to disappoint you, but by turning on this computer, you actually erased everything that’s on it. Except this message, of course.”
Whit smiled. “A little precaution in case our plan didn’t work. Better the government loses its secrets completely than to lose them to you.”
Maxwell piped back in. “Hope you enjoy the message! Have a nice day!” He started laughing, and Whit joined him.
Phillips’s jaw dropped. “Ruined . . . totally ruined . . .”
Blackgaard’s eyes narrowed. “Laugh now, Whittaker, but I’m not finished with you,” he growled. “Not by a long shot.”
Whit and Maxwell continued to laugh uproariously.
Preview of Book Six
“What is this?”
Filby frowned as he sat in the communications van and watched the young man and the old one laugh at him from the computer screen. Blackgaard sat next to him and gazed at the screen benignly, gently stroking Sasha between her ears. She purred in his lap contentedly. The three of them were alone in the van. “It’s the American Department of Defense computer you wanted—as ordered.”
“What does this young man mean, the contents are erased?”
“Richard’s statement speaks for itself.” Blackgaard cocked his head slightly. “Are you unfamiliar with the term?”
“You mean, there’s nothing on here but this video?”
“Ah! Then you are familiar with the term.”
Filby slapped shut the laptop lid. “What good does a computer with no programs do us?!” he snarled.
“Not much, I would imagine.”
Filby exploded. “Is this some kind of joke?”
Sasha winced, but Blackgaard smiled. “Not at all. It is a completed mission. I followed your orders to the letter—bring this computer to you, which I have done.” Blackgaard shrugged. “Your orders said nothing about bringing any programs on the computer.”
Filby stabbed a finger at him. “You took them, didn’t you? You’re keeping them to sell yourself!”
Blackgaard shook his head. “Afraid not, though your American contact tried mightily to persuade me to do so.”
“Where is Phillips?”
“Fleeing for his life, I’d say. He is a traitor, after all. Perhaps he’s with Pinky.”
“We’ve recovered Pinky. He has been . . . reassigned.”
Blackgaard’s eyebrows rose. “Has he now? Good for him! I know we didn’t get along at first, but we ended up working very well together.” He frowned. “Too bad we can’t partner on my next assignment.”
