Free Tom Swift and His G-Force Inverter by Victor Appleton II

don’t think it’s a guard."
    Tom stood and fished out a cellphone. "Even if we sneak away, we’ve got to alert the police." In the heat of the moment he spoke aloud—and his voice was heard!
    " Drop it!" came a sharp command from the dark. "Throw the cell as far as you can! If I don’t hear it hit the wall, I’ll take you down where you stand! "
    Tom handed the cellphone to Bud, whose muscular arms pitched it across the dark. It clattered against the wall.
    "Look," Tom called out, "if you’re the basilica guard, we had nothing to do with whatever happened down here."
    "Oh, I know that."
    " You shot him?"
    "No. But I saw the muzzle-flash and heard the running steps—up on the other balcony across from where I am. Gone away now—since he hasn’t shot at you two."
    "T—er, Don—it’s Ociéda," said Bud bluntly.
    "I saw you two before," said the man in shadows. "Seems to me you want badly to say hello."
    "If your name is Rampo Ociéda," Tom said loudly, "we just want to talk to you. We have nothing to do with the law. We... we have a deal to offer."
    "Oh? But I already thought I had a deal, amigo. The man I came here to meet is surely dead. Maybe someone thought he was me. Makes me nervous, eh?"
    "But look, Mr. Ociéda—"
    "I’m looking, my friend. No pistólos drawn as you poke around. I think you’re unarmed. But safe? Even here in the sight of God and the Holy Virgin, no safety for me, it seems. Still—I’m used to it, señors . My life, eh?"
    "So who is this dead guy, anyway?" yelled Bud.
    "Should I tell you, if you don’t already know? Like a smart man with a romantic rendezvous, I look over my evening’s date from hiding before showing myself. I saw him enter, but before I could make out his face— bang bang . Shot while I was up here, before even a buenas nóches . I assumed it was Tezler who entered, the man I was to meet. But now... perhaps Tezler was dead first, somewhere, and now this man who shot him is the same. Too much for me, friends."
    "Please listen to us, sir," pleaded Tom. "You picked up something by accident that—it’s already putting your life in danger! Look, it won’t do you any good. It’s unique—it would be impossible to fence it."
    "To ‘fence’? Well! A fellow professional, I take it! But am I likely to take the word of a stranger?"
    "If you—" began Tom—interrupted by the crack ! of a gun!—not from Rampo Ociéda in the balcony, but from the shadowed altar at the front.
    " Down !" Bud commanded, yanking his chum to the floor. There were two more flashes from the front, but no answering gunfire from above, only the sharp sound of splintering wood and plaster.
    "You okay?" Tom televoc’d.
    "Yeah. Let’s worm our way out of here, Skipper. Think we dare cross the plaza?"
    "I doubt they’d risk shooting us in the open like that," Tom replied. "Anyway, it seems they’re more interested in Ociéda right now."
    After a hidden wait of ten minutes he boys returned to their scooters without incident and sped back to the hotel, stopping en route to make an anonymous telephone call to the polícia .
    As they parked the scooters at the hotel and dismounted, Bud suddenly hissed out. "Hey, look at this!" He had noticed a slip of paper tightly wrapped around a wire strut at the back of the scooter seat. "This wasn’t here before, Tom."
    Tom plucked it off and cautiously unfolded it. The message was crudely scrawled in pen.
PERHAPS, SEÑORS, WE SHALL SPEAK AGAIN—R.O.
    "Well," Tom said dryly, "I guess we’ve established diplomatic relations."
    "Want to try tracking him further?"
    Tom shook his head. "He’s going to run, if he’s smart—and I think he is. We can’t trail him halfway across Mexico."
    "What, then? Leave it in Asa Pike’s hands?"
    The young inventor stared musingly at the note in his hand. "Bud... for all we know, the other gunman was Asa Pike! You know how much I don’t like giving up, flyboy, but whatever The Picasso might be—I’m not willing to set the