The Golden Years of the Stainless Steel Rat

That morning I had stripped off part of the plastic covering of my battered wallet. And chewed it well. It had not tasted as bad as some of the meals we had consumed. It had reacted with my saliva and had softened to a nice doughy consistency. And had remained that way in the darkness of my pocket. Now I pressed it against the mold of the lock's interior. It should be shaped to duplicate the key that would open it. When I was satisfied with the effort I held the plastic in the warm sunshine. The catalyst it contained reacted with the light and it hardened instantly.

Logically I should have waited for the right moment to try to open that door. But I had to make a dry run. Get any problems out of the way so I could move quickly and smoothly at the decided time.

Burin was more than happy to help. We synchronized watches and at the precise moment I reached the door he stumbled and fell onto the table where the card game was in progress. There was a great crashing, shouts of anger and dismay as I slipped the homemade key into the keyhole. Turned and pressed.

Nothing happened. I took a deep breath, held it—then used every iota of skill acquired during a lifetime of lockpicking.

It grated slightly—and the door opened.

I was through in an instant, closing and locking it behind me. Listening for footsteps, shouts of alarm.

Nothing. Only then did I look around me. I was in a small storeroom piled high with reams of paper and mounds of forms so dear to the bureaucratic heart. There was enough light from the small window to see clearly. I memorized the layout of the room, then moved one box that blocked a direct path. Enough. Time to go. I was too close to D Day, H Hour, M Minute to get into any trouble now. Silence in the hall. Through the door, lock it, stroll back to the morning room, where a sort of antique fistfight was going on. I was sorry we had to spoil their game. No, I really wasn't. Burin glanced in my direction and I flashed him a sort of conspiratorial wink, or tic, then passed on.

Angelina and I had agreed on absolutely minimum contact this first meeting. And the timing was crucial. It had to be after dark for concealment—but not so late that we had been packed off beddy-byes. On the selected evening I was first through the door after dinner, stumbling swiftly in the direction of the heads. Past that door and up the stairs. I had cut it too close, only seconds left. Lock and relock the door, tread quickly the few steps along the memorized path—my watch ready in my hand.

Grasped in both hands so I could draw the watch strap back and forth across the window lock with a quick sawing motion. This stripped away the surface plastic that covered the far harder plasteel of the flexible saw inside. It rasped noisily until there was a sharp click. I stuffed the watch into my pocket, seized the window, and pulled it open.

Angelina, all in black, black gloves and blackened face, was outside. She pushed the package into my hands. Despite our agreement she could not resist a softly hissed "About time!" as I pushed the window shut.

I retired at once, the bundle concealed in my clothing, pushed under the pillow as I got into bed. I left it there after I had worked the detector out of it.

Soon after the lights were out I began to toss and turn.

"Can't sleep," I moaned. "Insomnia and arthritis got me down. Groan."

I thrashed a bit longer, then rose and stumbled about the room rubbing my leg. Rubbing the controls on the detector as well with gratifying results. There was only a single detector over the door. Which left at least two blank spots in the room out of its field of view. A good night's sleep was now in order, because there was plenty to do on the morrow.

It was almost noon before I went looking for Burin Bache, sat down next to him in the sun porch. He raised his eyebrows quizzically but I did not respond until I had moved about a bit with the detector.

"Great," I said. "Just don't talk too loud. Contact has been made."

"Then you have everything?" He was trembling with excitement.

"Everything. Most of it hidden where they can't find it. Let's go out into the garden in exactly twelve minutes."

"Why?"

"Because concealed in my mouth is an optical laser communicator." I opened my lips to reveal the lens. "I can hear through my hard palate."

"Hear what?" He was mystified.

"The dulcet tones of my dear Angelina, who even now is making her way to the upper floors of that office building that you can just see peeking over the wall in the distance. Untap-pable communication. Let's go."

I leaned back in the deck chair and at the proper moment smiled in the direction of the distant building. My aim didn't have to be too precise since she would have opened up a two-meter receiving lens.

"Good morning, my love."

"Jim, I'm sorry we ever got involved with this insane plan," her voice said squeakily through my head bones.

"Only way out now is full steam ahead."