Martin filed his report via GrapeVine, frowned, and turned his head first right then left.
Something buzzed in his apartment. He hadn’t noticed it before.
He walked through his bedroom cum office shutting off every electronic gadget he could find one by one.
Phone – check.
Microwave – check.
Computer – check.
Alarm clock – check.
Front to back, if it winked, blinked, or hummed, he shut it off.
A quiet, barely noticeable buzzing remianed.
“Where are you coming from?”
He went around again, this time unplugging everything he’d shut off.
The buzzing remained.
He unlocked a filing cabnet, pulled out a shiny, krinkly bag, dropped his watch in, and sealed the bag.
Buzz.
The shades and blinds blocked all external electronics. Croydon’s people modified the door, floor, walls, and ceiling so nothing could go in or out.
“Where is that damn buzzing coming from?”
Martin knew enough to recognize the sound of electronics from the sound of mchanics, the sound of fiber, of wood; he had a decent ear but this didn’t make sense. The buzzing came from everywhere, it was omnipresent, it was…
Martin raised the Cone of Silence, pulled back the drapes and opened the blinds.
The buzzing faded away.
He closed the blinds.
Nothing.
He pulled the drapes.
Nothing.
He instituted the Cone of Silence.
Nothing.
He activated the Bureau’s tunnel which uploaded through the three satellite dishes behind the store.
The buzzing grew from nothing to a faint irritation.
He deactivated the tunnel. The dishes grew silent.
The buzzing faded, a bee off to find a more interesting flower.
“Damn. I wonder if Croydon knows his dishes are out of whack?”
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