Rebel in Time

'Steel parts galore, but I don't think any of them resembled gun parts. Of course if it were a new invention, why then I couldn't tell. But there was one portion of the plant that we didn't enter. Locked and sealed. An improved cotton gin was what he said. I remember thinking at the time that he must be lying, though I didn't know why.'

'That's it!' he said, striking me a stunning and enthusiastic blow on the shoulder. 'Do you think that your game leg can stand up to a little more riding? I want you to show me where this factory is, then give me some idea of the location of the sealed area. I'll come back tonight by myself and see just what that bastard is trying to hide!'

Chapter 27

The time must have been close to three o'clock in the morning; the night still and hushed. When the moon had set soon after two-thirty the sleeping city had sunk into an even deeper slumber in the warm darkness.

Troy slept in the hayloft, close to the outside wall of the stable, where the night sky was clearly visible through the wide gap between the boards. He had woken twice, looked out and squinted at the moon, then gone back to sleep. Now he was awake, dipping water out of the bucket and rubbing it over his face. One of the horses stirred in its stall when it heard the small sound, then blew restlessly through its lips. It quieted when the barn door opened and shut noiselessly and silence descended once again.

Damp, hot, dark, the enemy on all sides; it was so much like Vietnam that Troy's hands felt strangely empty, missing the M-16 that had been so much a part of him. At first he had intended to bring the revolver, but then had changed his mind. If he had to use a weapon it would mean that the mission had been a failure. He wanted intelligence — not a fire fight. The steel lockpick was the weapon of choice this night. He also had his clasp knife, as well as a candle stub and some matches. There was nothing else that he needed.

Moving through the darkness of the unlit streets he felt secure, knowing that he would see or hear anyone long before they could be aware of him. He was on familiar ground now, a night reconnaissance, a straightforward mission.

Once a dog barked, catching his smell on the warm breeze, but Troy was well past before it had detected his presence. Later on he became aware of approaching footsteps. He stood silently in the darkness as the two men passed just a few yards away, talking quietly to each other.

Less than half an hour later he stood with his back to a picket fence, looking at the outline of the wooden building against the stars. McCulloch's factory.

Troy remained there, motionless, for a long time, the constellations of stars above dipping and vanishing in the west, patiently waiting. Nothing disturbed the quiet of the night. There appeared to be no watchman, and no dogs. A horse whinnied in the distance, then grew silent. This small noise did not disturb the stillness of the night, deep and profound.

He was in the clear. Troy moved away from the fence and drifted silently across the road. The front door of the building was before him and he pressed against it, his fingers feeling for the outline of the lock. Getting through this was almost too easy, the lock too simple. And there were certainly no electronic alarms or detectors to worry about. The lock snicked open and he pushed into the office beyond.

All of the interior doors were unlocked. He felt his way into the larger, open space of the workshop, filled with forms barely visible in the starlight that filtered through the high windows. To the rear, Robbie had said, a door in the back wall to the right of the forge. He moved forward, step by careful step.

Though he could not see the forge he felt the radiant heat of its presence. Soundlessly he crept by it, running his finger tips along the wooden wall until he found the outline of a door frame. A hasp held it shut and it was sealed with a padlock. Troy ran his fingers over its face, finding the keyhole, touching the pivoted shackle where it went through the eye of the hasp. Feeling it move under his fingers.

It was unlocked.

He stopped, motionless, not breathing, not making a sound. This was an unexpected bit of luck.

But was it just luck?

While his conscious mind considered this logical problem he found his body growing tense. He became aware of a growing sensation of unease. It appeared to have no physical source, he had heard nothing, seen nothing. Yet there was this expanding fear whose existence could not be denied. It was a sensation that he had experienced only once previously in his life, on a night patrol. Just before they had been ambushed. It was a reaction at an instinctual level, far removed from any rational thought processes.