“Well, last time, it was a bomb. Do assassins like to repeat themselves?”
“They tend to have their specialties. The people who hire them don’t.”
“Then let’s plan for everything. By the way, I’m having Dino and two outside guests over for dinner this evening, a young man and his girl, six-thirty.”
“I can plan for that.”
“I wouldn’t want anything to happen to them.”
“I understand, believe me.”
Huey Horowitz stood still while his girlfriend, Trish, tied his necktie. He was okay with suits these days, but ties still defeated him.
“Who’s this guy we’re dining with?” Trish asked.
“A very interesting man named Stone Barrington. The food and wine will be terrific — he has his own cook — and he’s very good-looking.”
“Will he have a date?”
“Absolutely, and if the past is any indication, she’ll be a knockout.”
“I like a little competition,” Trish said, buttoning his collar and affixing his cuff links.
“You need a non-compete clause in your contract.”
“We have a contract?”
“Well, I think so, but I’m not sure you do.”
She laughed and kissed him. “You’re sweet.”
Wow,” Stone said, when Brooke took off her coat.
“Well, you asked.”
“And I have received in abundance.”
“I’m not sure who this is for, Huey or you?” she said.
“It’s a sight any male human being would be grateful for.” He heard Dino let himself in and call out.
They met him in the living room then went to the study. Fred Flicker, Stone’s man, stood by the bar.
“Wow,” Dino said.
“Told you so,” Stone said to Brooke.
Fred made their drinks, then stood by the front door.
“Who’s Huey bringing?” Dino asked.
“We don’t know.”
“She’s going to be jealous,” he replied.
The bell rang, and a moment later, Fred appeared with Stone’s guests. “Mr. Horowitz and Ms. Trish,” he said.
“I’m Huey,” he said to Brooke, his eyes widening slightly.
“And I’m just plain Trish,” she said.
“She’s a model,” Huey said. “She doesn’t have a last name.”
“Not one that anybody could pronounce on the first try,” Trish said.
Fred dealt with their drinks, brought a tray of canapés, then disappeared.
They chatted through drinks, then dined on foie gras, pheasant, and mille-feuille, a light cake, then had port and Stilton in the study.
Okay, Stone,” Huey said. “What’s your insoluble problem?”
Stone tossed him the book. Huey looked at it and smiled. “This is your insoluble problem?” he asked.
“Huey, as you well know, I am computer semiliterate, no more.”
“I recall.”
“Can you translate that material into something I can use?”
“Stone,” Huey said, “I wrote this book.”
“Eh?”
“It doesn’t have my name on it, because my contract with the Times says that they get first dibs, but this was a freelance job that wouldn’t turn up in bookstores, and the money was fabulous.”
“Who was your client?”
“I’m not supposed to say, but he’s dead now, so what the hell? It was a man named Shepherd Troutman.”
“Who was also my client, and whose executor I am. Do you know how he died?”
“Something about an aircraft accident.”
“I was flying the aircraft, and it wasn’t an accident, it was a bomb.”
Huey blinked. “Oh.”
“He was murdered by — or on the instructions of — a man named Gregor Kronk, who bought the family business from the Troutmans but neglected to buy the patent rights to a lot of crucial equipment, in each of the seven plants, worldwide.”
“I know about the patent rights. That was what this book addresses. What’s the problem now?”
“Once, in earnest conversation with Kronk, I made a threat that if he harmed the Troutmans we would reduce his factories to smoking ruins, by manipulating the machines’ software. Now that Kronk has murdered both of them, I don’t know if I can actually do that. Can you?”
“I can make the machines run backward, if I want to,” Huey replied.
“Huey, I believe we’re getting somewhere,” Stone said.
Fifty-Seven
Stone was feeling better now, and an occasional glance at Brooke’s bosom was holding Huey’s attention.
“Here’s the important thing,” Stone said. “Can you teach me to do it at will? There will come a moment when I want to do it, but I can’t control when that will be, and you will not be available 24/7, right?”
“Absolutely, unalterably right,” Huey said. “Fortunately, you are not the first to need these skills.” He took hold of his book, held it by the spine and shook it. A folded sheet of paper fell from it and landed on the coffee table.
“What is that?” Stone asked.
“Instructions for idiots,” Huey replied.
“You’ve got the right man.”
“Fortunately, Shep Troutman was only slightly more semiliterate with computers than you. So, through repetition and following these instructions, he was able to control the software at will.” He unfolded the sheet of paper and handed it to Stone.
Stone found himself confronted with a page of ones, zeros, and various other gobbledygook. “I think I’d have to learn to read all over again,” he said.
“Do you have a computer at hand?” Huey asked.
“Downstairs in my office. Ladies, Dino, if you will all excuse us. We should be done by next Tuesday.”
“It won’t take as long as that,” Huey said, following Stone downstairs.
Stone switched on the lights and turned on the computer. “I hope this will do,” he said, “because it’s all I’ve got.”
“Let’s see,” Huey said, sitting down and letting his fingers fly around the keyboard. Various code and computer imagery bounced around the screen. Finally, he stopped.
“Is that it?”
“If you’re Bill Gates, yes. Unfortunately, you are you and require further instruction. I’ll make this as simple as I can: I taught Shep to operate the software that controlled the machines. He could turn them on and off, vary their performance, change the times and dates for auto-programming, after checking to see that the rental fees had been received, then turn them off if the fees had not been paid.”
“That’s a lot.”
“It is for you. My question is: Exactly what do you want the machines to do? If you can explain that to me, I can write a little program that, when activated, will do that and nothing else. Or, perhaps, give you an option or two.”
“I would like to be able to turn the machines on and off, just to demonstrate to Kronk that I can do it, then I’d like an option that will cause the machines to, in effect, commit suicide.”
Huey laughed aloud. “I’ve never been asked to make a machine take its own life,” he said. “That’s intriguing.”
Stone was happy to have something that could hold Huey’s interest, besides Brooke’s breasts. “Make it really, really simple,” he said.
“Can you type a single word, then hit enter?” Huey asked.
“Probably,” Stone said.
“All right, what I’ll do is write three programs. Give me three words.”
“Apple, Orange, Avacado.”
“Good. I’ll write a program that ‘Apple’ will turn on, ‘Orange’ will turn off, and ‘Avocado’ will turn the machinery into, effectively, guacamole.”
Stone laughed. “I like it.”
Huey typed fleetly for, perhaps, six or seven minutes. “Oh, and let’s give the program a one-word name.” He looked at Stone and waited.