Programmed for Peril

distance he would watch the police, the National Guard, the army—whatever it took—subdue the man.
    Leaving the parking garage, he reminded himself vividly of his initial misadventure at the hands of Eddie and Zak. He wouldn’t be making those mistakes again. Not that it was possible. This was a better part of town. No hoodlums loitered by 2260 Manifold Boulevard.
    He wore heavy work boots, khaki chinos, an old plumbing services jacket, a cap to mask his dome—and the sullen air of a tradesman lucky enough to be in short supply. When an occupant left the apartment building, he entered before the door closed.
    He unsheathed his meter and got on the elevator. He pushed the button for the top floor, ten. He looked at the LED digits as the elevator rose. The reading increased as the car rose, then slid off as it passed the seventh floor.
    So floor seven was where Carson was.
    On the way down he got off at seven. In his costume with meter in hand he scarcely drew a glance from a couple he passed in the hall. He was in the best of moods! He drew the earphones up, set the headpiece carefully under his cap. Ben Webster’s sax crooned of approaching success, Nicholas triumphant! Chords and key changes sang of a grateful Trish on his arm one sunny, blue-skied day in the near future.
    He looked at the numbers and meter in turn. Apartment 712, 714, 718... The meter reading rose. Down the hall he went. It was deserted. His step turned jaunty. All he had to do was find out which of the apartments held Carson’s equipment and thus the man himself. This time there would be no need to go in. No, violent confrontations were not his strong suit. Leave such things for Dino Castelli. Those behaviors were the ones expected from men who couldn’t tolerate jazz. Couldn’t tolerate ... Such ignorance! He hummed along with Webster’s familiar soaring improvisation.
    Apartment 722... and 724. There! He kept walking right on past. But that was it. Seven twenty-four! At the end of the hall he turned back. No one was there to see him. He took his time returning, eyes again on the meter. Yes, Apartment 724. On his way past he looked more carefully at its door, thinking of the armored one with the electronic lock in the rundown tenement.
    This one was slightly ajar!
    He paused, lowered his tape player’s volume. Ben Webster subsided to background music. From Apartment 724 he heard no sounds. He looked up and down the hall. No one.
    He stretched out a hand. He touched the wood, gave a shove. The door swung wide. He angled his head to see inside.
    Yes!
    He saw electronic equipment, VCRs, a wide-screen TV, signs of habitation. He stepped closer, peered through the doorway. The two small, shadowy rooms could conceal no one. They were deserted. Plywood covered windows. His eyes turned back to the equipment. Some of it clearly carried the signs of one-of-a-kind fabrication, empirical evidence of Carson’s talent. In that one area they were brothers.
    Another quick look down the hall. Deserted. A further peer into the two rooms. Watch out for that closet! Oh, relax. Why would Carson hide when he had no idea Nicholas was on the way? Not to worry about the closet.
    He couldn’t resist a quick peek at the equipment—so much of it!—arrayed on rack shelving. It wouldn’t be wise to dally long, but... He thought of turning off the tape, but Webster’s sax nourished as breast does baby.
    Several of the handcrafted devices had no cases. Their innards were exposed, revealing, fascinating. Nicholas scanned boards, components, mapping their functions in the more exalted computer of his brain. He tore himself away and stuck his head out into the hall. No one. Back to the circuits! Their secrets unfolded like a wondrous origami flower. A few more minutes only, and he would be away to Trish, triumphant as Hitler in the railroad car.
    Instinct told him someone was standing behind him!
    He whirled. A man stood smiling in the doorway.
    Carson!
    Nicholas recognized him from the photo Trish had shown him. Trish, Carson, and Melody—together forever! Panic flew through him like a lightning bolt. “Where did you come from?” he asked.
    “The apartment across the hall.” Carson’s voice was such an odd croak that it had to be affected. “I followed you here. Then I sort of... slithered in.” Chuckling, he turned back and closed the door behind him. “Welcome to Resurrection Headquarters!”
    “You must let me leave.” Nicholas tried to level his