Science to the rescue, he mumbled as he scooted on his knees and one handthe other clasping the wadded sheaf of paper against his chestacross the floor and toward the aluminum.
The intruders must have heard him maybe only a rustle of his old coat and the fast scrape of his boots as he scrambled out of the way, but they fired
in that direction anyway, aiming wherever they guessed he might be heading.
They didnt hit too close. The noise from the printing apparatus disoriented them. Sometimes Gideon forgot how unsettling it could be to people who werent accustomed to it.
He ignored it, fully and happily embracing the sound as cover as he knocked over a chemistry set on a repurposed tea tray. More confusion. More gunshots. But here was the aluminum. Hed have to stand for just a second to get the chlorate.
He put the printout down by his leg. Hed need both hands for this.
He closed his eyes and mentally checked the layout of the cabinet; he knew everything in it, every bottle on every row. Positioning himself as close to the right spot as possible, he counted back from three two one and reached up to pop open the small door, hoping like hell that the morons with the guns wouldnt shoot up the contents and blow them all to Maryland.
He nicked the bottom edge with a fingernail and the metal door flipped open. With a turn of his wrist, he seized the potassium chlorate without looking, simply trusting his memory.
To his casual delight, his palm was not aerated by bullets.
Over by the printer, his visitors had finally stumbled upon the plaque hed left behind, which stole their attention at a convenient moment.
Look at this!
What is it?
Its a sign, see? This goddamn piece of junk it is the Fiddlehead!
Gideon objected to the junk part, but not too strongly, given that these people couldnt tell a sophisticated calculating device from a relatively mundane printing apparatus. Idiots, he mumbled softly as he unscrewed the powders lid.
Its huge, one gunman correctly observed.
Sure is making a lot of noise.
While they talked over the printers racket, Gideon found an empty measuring glass and filled it with the aluminum powder. Then, with exceptional care, he added the chlorate.
Dont worry about it: Its only noise, not a weapon or nothing. Now whered that nigger get off to?
Gideon paused, lifting an eyebrow. Just for that He reached over his head, jabbing his fingers into the cabinet again, this time nabbing a vial of sulfur. With a gentle tap, he dumped the yellow substance into his mix, jostled it oh-so-gently, and turned once more to the map in his mind.
Now he needed a spark.
He considered the printing apparatus. He mentally examined the console and dismissed it, knowing it was too well sealed. The most obvious target was across the room where the wires emerged from the basement. They were hot now, their uninsulated ends casting small fizzes of light all along the switch box.
The printer slowed. Its keys pounded down with less regularity, coming to the end of its instructions, to the very end of the answer Gideon needed and the room fell quiet.
Even Gideons ears were ringing, so he knew how strange the silence must feel to the men who werent accustomed to the outstanding drone of the metal keys. Still, hed have only a few seconds while they shook their heads and found their bearings and a few seconds more than that before their ears calmed down enough to hear the hum of the big machine downstairs.
He couldnt let them notice.
You got the dynamite?
Gideons back straightened when he heard that word. He didnt like it. Shouldve expected it. But would have to work around it now, and analyze the meaning of it later. His brain needed to stay on track, just the one track, which hed narrowed down from many.
He retrieved the paper, bundling it up under his arm and clamping it against his ribs. He tore off a blank strip from the edge, wadded it into a ball, and used it to stopper the small glass cup.
The sound of tearing paper got the gunmens attention again. One of them shouted, Hes over there!
But before the words were out of the mans mouth, Gideon was on his feet. He flung the glass across the room and immediately turned his back, dropping back down behind the table.
His aim was better than the gunmens, and his concoction was true. The glass shattered against the fuse panel and the powdered mixture explodedand the room went blank with fire, a blinding chemical light, and a terrible smell.
It threw a shadow so strong that Gideon squinted, even though he was crouched down on the floor and facing the other direction.
My eyes! Jesus Christ, my eyes!
He had a bomb!
Give me your dynamite!
I cant see! I cant see anything!
I can, a little bitgive me your sticks!
The idea of two half-blind fools playing with dynamite was not the sort of thing to
make a man dally, so while the gunmen struggled with their explosives, Gideon seized the trapdoor ladder and withdrew into the unfinished cellar. At the bottom he kicked the final rung, bringing the ladder down with him. If the gunmen wanted to follow him, they could jump and break a leg.