Hell's Gate Read Online Free PDF

to get over its sulking.
        He grabbed the first trunk, tested it for weight. Suddenly, it was floating several inches off the floor, doing some absurd Indian fakir's trick. A handle slid out of the end, appearing magically from the smooth metal. He grabbed that, tugged hard. A little too hard. The trunk moved as if it weighed all of three ounces. It knocked him down, sailed over him, and came to rest at the mouth of the cave, tilted as if it would slide down the embankment and into the creek, but still floating.
        He got up, pushed it aside gently this time, and moved out the opening onto the narrow ledge, grasping roots and rocks with one hand, towing the trunk with the other. Five minutes later, it was in the house, upstairs in the room he had slept in. He pressed it to the floor, where it remained when he let go. Smart piece of luggage. A suitcase with a built-in porter beats the hell out of tipping.
        He brought the second in without problems, went back for the 810-40.04. “I'll leave you here, I guess,” he said.
        Nothing.
        “I mean, if you won't talk-”
        Nothing.
        He wished he could tap the programmed part, wished he would start moving again with the swiftness and purpose of yesterday. At least, then, he would find out what was going to happen. Vacillating like this, confused, he felt he could easily go out of his mind. But the computer knew that he had a high curiosity index and would not leave it in the cave for fear of missing something. The computer knew everything there was to know about him. Everything…
        “Damn you!” Salsbury snapped at the computer, tugging on its proffered handle. It floated up to meet him. He walked toward the opening, dragging it behind. When he was nearly to the entrance, he heard the scrabbling noise outside, the sound of stones falling down the embankment. Iron Victor, though dying, flushed terror through Salsbury's body.
        He pushed the trunk behind, to the floor, to get it out of his way, then went on all fours against the cave wall. Quite chillingly, he wondered if his usefulness to the plan were up; perhaps another mystery figure in black scuba suit would kill him. Was that why the midget computer was no longer talking? Was he to become another Harold Jacobi?
        Nice thought.
        And he didn't have a weapon with him.
        The only thing good about the situation was that he had had the last traces of hangover frightened out of him. He was clear-headed enough to know not to move. He tried to release control of his body and let iron Victor command. But iron Victor was having none of that. He lay still and waited.
        For a while, all was silent. Then stones rattled down the embankment again, louder than before. Then a third time.
        Some of his tension began to ebb. Surely, if it was a black-garbed killer out there, he would not be so clumsy. It seemed more likely, on reflection, that it was nothing more than a child playing, a child who did not even know he was in the cave. In that case, it would be better to come into the open immediately rather than wait to be discovered and give the impression he had been hiding here. Cautiously, he moved to the opening, trying to think what to say.
        But even that problem evaporated when he looked outside. The intruder was not a playful child nor a black-hearted murderous villain. He was just an overgrown, black and tan mutt. The silly beast looked forlornly at Salsbury, his tongue lolling. He had every right to that expression, for he had worked his way along the narrow ledge to the cave mouth, evidently following Salsbury's trail. Now he had lost his nerve. He could not come farther, for the ledge disappeared for a space of three feet before continuing. Salsbury could step across it , but the dog would have to jump. This beast was a little too smart or cowardly to risk that. Yet he couldn't go back, for there was no room for him to turn