Palm Sunday Read Online Free PDF

he took it apart, in case he forgot how to put it back together. He had removed everything he could, even unsoldering some connections, and had no more idea of what he was dealing with than before. He scratched his head and reached for his cup of tea.
    The back door slammed and Bobby walked into the kitchen.
    “Hi, Dad. Whatcha doin’?” He strolled over to the table.
    “I took it apart.” Stanley indicated the palmtop with a nod of his head, cup held to his lips.
    “Why?”
    “I wanted to see how it works,” said Stanley. He slowly put the hot cup on the table.
    “So…how does it work?” Bobby looked skeptically at the tabletop.
    “It…well, I’m not exactly sure. I think that,” he pointed to a flat, square module, “has something to do with communications; maybe a transceiver of some kind. Otherwise,” he shrugged his shoulders.
    “Can you put it back together?”
    “Oh, sure.”
    “Will it still work?”
    “You doubt my ability?”
    “Uh uh. Can I watch?”
    “Of course.”
    It took the better part of an hour, but he finally got all the pieces put back together. Bobby sat silently the entire time, fascinated by the internal workings of the palmtop. His father held it up triumphantly.
    “Now for the test,” said Stanley. He pressed the power button and the unit came to life. It seemed to be functioning normally.
    “It works.” Bobby stared at the device.
    “I still need to find out who this thing belongs to. I’m not having much luck in that department.” Stanley picked up the palmtop and brought it over to his computer, once again attaching the cable. “I think I need to focus on decoding the menu system itself.”
    He spoke out loud, but no one was listening. Bobby had left the room. 

    ***

    It was the third electronics store he had visited that day, and the last one within reasonable distance of the spot where the palmtop had been thrown out by Chico and Bobo. Slocum was going on the assumption that whoever had found it and had subsequently downloaded the file sent by the agency would have purchased the interface cable close to where the device was discarded. It was a long shot, and there were variables that could nullify the premise, but it was all he had at the moment. He walked into the electronics store.
    “Can I help you, sir?” The attention was immediate, as Slocum was the only customer.
    He smiled disarmingly. “Yes, I hope so. A friend of mine was going to have a cable made for me, for a palmtop. It was kind of unusual–it had to be specially prepared.”
    “Yes, I remember,” said the clerk. “He came in last Saturday with his son. Is there a problem with it?”
    “No, not at all. Actually, I was hoping you might be able to whip me up a second one. You can’t exactly buy them off the shelf.”
    “No problem, just bring in the unit and we’ll make another one.”
    “That’s great. I was just on my way over to his house, and…say, do you know this area?”
    “Sure, I live about a mile away.”
    “He told me how to get to his place,” said Slocum, “but I got all mixed up, stopping here and all. Could you look up his address and point me in the right direction?” It seemed a natural request.
    “No problem, Mr. Whipple’s a regular customer. Let’s see.” He punched a few keys on his register, and soon had the address. “One-fourteen Sycamore. If you take a right out of the parking lot, go out on the main drag, two streets up take another right. That’s Warren Road. The tree streets run perpendicular to Warren. I think Sycamore is about the fourth one up.”
    “Thanks very much.” Slocum offered a quick wave as he turned and left the store.
    The directions were good, and Slocum easily found the Whipple residence. He parked his car across the street from their house, observing from a short distance away.
    He sat there for an hour, watching the pattern of lights and the comings and goings inside. The occupants of the two-story dwelling seemed to settle into