Read Doctor Who for Free Online Page B

Bell’s offices in the middle of the night. He made a modest living selling cheap calls, ‘upgrades’ to phone services, and computer equipment that had taken a tumble from a truck. The Mystery of the Lisp Machine was just his kind of gig. I figured if he hadn’t done it, he knew who had.
    I spoke to him in his mom’s basement, a musty space filled with ‘borrowed’ phone equipment. Swan had an arcane set ofpersonal ethics that stopped her from messing up the phones or credit ratings of innocents, including Mrs Mond, so Ian was safe as long as he stayed under her roof. We sat on a couple of upturned milk crates while I filled him in.
    â€˜Isn’t it obvious?’ he said. ‘It’s either one of the staff in the college computer department, or a trusted student. Or both. You go for a walk through their compute centre and see if you can’t spot one of your suspects right away.’
    â€˜Already done,’ I said. Mondy nodded, satisfied that I was trying to help myself. ‘I’m pretty sure I know who at least one of Swan’s visitors was. Robert Salmon, the sysadmin, didn’t show up for work today. He’s a twenty-year-old blond.’
    â€˜I’ve talked to that kid a couple of times. He’s OK.’ Mondy peered at me through his thick, square glasses. ‘Don’t hand him over to her, Chick P.’
    â€˜Relax. I’m a journalist. I’m supposed to observe, not get involved.’
    He nodded, still peering at me worriedly. ‘Good. Good. Find out what he wants. Find out what she’s not telling you.’
    â€˜For that,’ I said, ‘I’ll need your help.’
    Mondy has a devilish smile. ‘All right,’ he said. ‘Let me get a few things together.’
    I listened in while Mondy coaxed the cable-and-pair number he needed out of an innocent worker somewhere in the telco. It was easy as pie: he picked a phone box at random (at least, I assume it was random), flipped open one of his collection of pocket-sized notebooks, and dialled up a number at the line assignment office. His voice became gruff. ‘Hi. This is Danny Heap from Repairs. I’m up a pole . . .’ A few moments later he had the info he needed. ‘Thank you kindly, ma’am.’
    The phriendly phone phreak made me wait in the car whilehe did whatever he did to the bridging box outside Salmon’s small house. It was for my own protection, he claimed, but I think he just didn’t want me to get a look inside his little black bag of goodies. He dressed the part, with denim overalls, a well-stocked tool belt, and what looked suspiciously like a Ma Bell ID badge.
    We’d parked where we could get a view through the study window. The venetian blinds were down, but half-open, giving me an occasional glimpse of silhouettes in the dull light of the computer screen. The glove box of the Escort was always well-supplied with junk foods, guaranteed kosher. I munched on a dark chocolate bar, my eyes scanning the suburban street. A couple of cars went by, but nothing suggested anyone had taken an interest in Mondy or his accomplice.
    At last Mondy slid back into the driver’s seat. He reached into the back and grabbed the handle of a large black tapedeck, hauling it into his lap. Up went the aerial. He fiddled with the dial until he heard the tone he wanted. ‘Hear that? That means the phone’s off the hook right now,’ he said. He pushed in a cassette.
    We sat in companionable silence for a long time. I stared at the little yellow spots on the back of his head. Mondy gave me a ‘What?’ glance. ‘The embroidery around your yarmulkah,’ I said. ‘Is that Pac-Man?’
    â€˜Did it myself,’ he murmured. ‘Aha!’
    The sound issuing from the tapedeck had changed. Ian thwunked down the ‘record’ button. My first ever wiretap had begun.

Two
    BOB SAID, ‘SO what’s the