The Interstellar Police Force, Book One: The Historic Mission by Raymond Klein (good books to read for women TXT) 📗

“We should go back to Compton Square and start looking around for other possible targets that Valda might find appealing.”

“Yes,” Genghis replied, rearing up on his hind legs. “We should also get another news-paper,” he said, while activating the wall unit to scan the outside of the cruiser for individuals too close for comfort. “See if we can find any more articles that might be of interest to . . . ” Just then the scanner alerted them to the fact that there were people around the cruiser. A lot of people!

“What the hell!” Genghis said, “There’s over two hundred people out there.”

“Is it a malfunction with the unit?”

Genghis, using his paws, made an adjustment, “No, everything is functioning normally.”

“Let’s get a visual,” Trent said, puzzled at the present information.

Genghis made another adjustment, and the small computer screen switched to the outside surveillance cameras. There were four cameras on the exterior of the cruiser. One on the bow facing forward, one on the stern, and one on the port and starboard sides. All had audio capabilities and could zoom in and out and pan with a command entered into the computer. Of course these cameras were now disguised – the front as the turquoise nose insignia of the Native American Thunderbird, the rear as a chrome bolt holding the bumper firmly to the frame, and the port and starboard as side mirrors.

Genghis activated the starboard camera and confirmed what the computer told them: Over two hundred people were milling about The Riverside Mall parking lot. Genghis panned the camera and zoomed in on a large white van that seemed to be the epicenter of the event. There were large speakers placed on either side of the open back doors. Chuck Berry’s “Maybellene” played loudly through them. On the side of the van was a banner that read “The Riverside Mall Car Show.” It was an event scheduled for every second Sunday of the month.

“The computer is accessing a lot of info,” Genghis reported. “Two hundred and two humans, seventy-five auto-mo-biles, ages ranging anywhere from thirty to eighty years. It appears this is something they do. Park older vehicles, then walk around like the zombies from the movie Zombies of Mora Tau and gawk at them.”

There was a section of the Riverside Mall parking lot cordoned off for the car show. The cars were parked throughout the lot in order of manufacturer. The cars ranged from 1928 to 1985. Jeff Trent and Genghis Khan just happened to have parked their 1959 Thunderbird, the previous night, in the designated Ford display area. The cruiser was in the middle of a semi-circle with four other Fords. To the left sat a shiny red and black 1969 Boss Mustang 302 with the hood opened, showing off its chrome valve covers and air filter. Parked next to that was a two-toned white and blue 1956 Fairlane Crown Victoria. On the other side of the cruiser was a very rare, deep blue 1967 Shelby Cobra, 427 Super Snake. Next to that was a classic black 1929 Model A.

Genghis panned the camera around and revealed two adolescent males, hands cupped around their eyes to shield the sun and faces pressed against the passenger window of their replicated 1959 Ford Thunderbird.

“Goodnight nurse!” Genghis said. “How the hell are we going to get topside without being seen? This damn hootenanny could go on all day!”

The sounds of “Maybellene” slowly faded and was immediately replaced with Danny and the Juniors' “At The Hop.”

The music and sounds of the event echoed throughout the IPF cruiser. Jeff Trent pondered how they were to get out from below decks. He thought for a moment, then said, “What about the Electronic Pulse Interrupter?” He looked down at Genghis.

“Yeah, that could work,” Genghis agreed. “I could make a few adjustments and send it out toward that audio array. That could get the attention of the crowd and give us enough time to exit.”

As they proceeded to the science lab, they could hear the violin open to “Twilight Time” followed by the smooth, tenor voice of Tony Williams as he started singing.

Genghis hopped up, placing his front paws on the counter in front of one of the computers. Trent stood behind him. He started to activate the necessary screens to set the Interrupter.

The Electronic Pulse Interrupter was a very useful device of the IPF, usually deployed in hostage situations. The Pulse it would send out would disable any surveillance and communication devices within the complex where the hostage standoff was being held. This would prevent the occupants from getting any outside communication or viewing any surveillance equipment that could compromise the movements of the IPF.

“Okay,” Genghis announced. “In three minutes the Interrupter will send out a six-second pulse. That should get the crowd's attention and give us time to exit.” Genghis and Trent then made their way to the top of the stairs to wait.

Outside, the crowds were milling about, the two adolescents still had their faces pressed against the windows of the Thunderbird, and The Platters were still singing.

The feedback sound that emitted out of the speakers was loud and ear splitting. Children screamed, men and women grimaced and covered their ears as they looked toward the large white van where the DJ was frantically trying to stop the sound. Six seconds after the mysterious sound started, it stopped. The Platters song resumed as it was coming to the end, Together, at last, at Twilight Time.

The speakers went silent for a second, and the DJ shook the cobwebs from his head, then started Commander Cody and His Lost Planet Airmen's “Hot Rod Lincoln.”

The two adolescents were rubbing their ears while turning back toward the 1959 Ford Thunderbird, and to their surprise right behind them was a tall man dressed in black. Standing next to him was a large Doberman Pinscher. “Crap! Mister, where did you come from?”

Jeff Trent reached into his trench coat pocket and put his Ray Ban sunglasses on and said, “Kid, you