Time Travelers Never Die Read Online Free PDF Page A

about to turn it on when the car behind him beeped. The light had changed.
    He rolled through the intersection, steering with his right hand. With his left, he flicked open the lid. The screen glowed and black letters appeared: ENTER ID.
    Best wait until he got back to the office. He laid it on the seat beside him and turned on the radio.
     
     
     
    HE put the Q-pods on his desk. Picked up one. Went back to ENTER ID. Spaces for seven characters appeared.
    He poked in michael .
    The Q-pod blinked. INVALID ID.
    He tried swifton .
    INVALID ID.
    What else? His father had gone through a phase of using their cat’s name as a code word for everything. He tried it. Clemmie.
    INVALID ID.
    He kept at it until he ran out of ideas.
     
     
     
    HE talked to Jerry that night. Jerry agreed they’d hold the stock, as long as the growth potential was reasonable. But he’d want to look at the earnings statements before committing himself.
    In the morning, Shel visited Swifton Labs. His father’s company. Everybody was jittery about the future. He informed Edward Markeson of his father’s wish that he take over. “At least until Dr. Shelborne returns.” Then he met with the staff and passed the news to them.
    Afterward, he went through the building, reassuring everyone individually, as best he could, that the laboratory would continue as always.
    He’d brought one of the Q-podswithhim.He showed it around, despite his father’s directions, to see if it rang any bells. But nobody was familiar with it. And nobody was able to suggest a code word to get into it.
     
     
    BACK at Carbolite, Shel’s distractions must have been showing because, toward the end of the afternoon, Linda called him in and advised him to take a few days off. She was a good boss, bright and easy to work for. “I know this thing with your father has been wearing on you, Shel,” she said. “Go home. Come back when you’re yourself again.”
    He argued that he was fine, but maybe he’d take the rest of the day anyhow.
    He lived in a town house on Wallace Avenue. It was a quiet area, with a park across the street. The town house was flanked by a pharmacy and a music store. There were a few trees, and a few kids, and he liked the place. He pulled into his garage and went in the side door and collapsed onto the sofa. That apparently set off his cell phone, whose ringtone was “Love in Bloom.” (He and his father had watched a lot of the old Jack Benny shows when he was growing up.) It was the FBI again. “Mr. Shelborne, do you have a few minutes? I won’t take much of your time.”
    They wanted more information on his father’s associates. How well did he know Lester Atkin? Did your father have any connection with James Greavis? Had Shel ever seen this gentlemen? And they flashed a picture of a guy with a mustache and dangerous eyes who looked like a hit man.
    “No,” he said. “I don’t recall ever seeing him.”
    It took more than a few minutes. He didn’t know any of the people they mentioned. When he asked whether the FBI was aware of a link between any of them and his father, they declined to respond. When it was over, they thanked him for his help and disconnected.
    He picked up the Q-pod. Raised the lid and watched the light come on.
    ENTER ID.
    His father had never been big on security. He thought people worried too much, and there was a good chance he’d have written the code word down somewhere. Probably, if he had, it would be among the materials the investigators had taken from the house. In fact, he recalled seeing Clemmie’s name on one of the cards. He called the police and identified himself. “I was wondering if you were finished with my father’s stuff.”
    The person at the other end asked him to wait, then informed him that the case was still under investigation.
    “I understand that. I was wondering, though, if my father’s personal effects could be returned?”
    That seemed to require a conference. A new voice, deeper, more