The Fourth Law

by Paul Stein

  Come to think of it…I don’t, either, he thought, feeling like he’d just been fingered for taking home classified documents. Jesus…this could become a nightmare if it leaks out. What the hell is going on?

  AUGUST FIFTH

  TWENTY-FOUR

  STANFORD

  10:00 HOURS

  RYAN MARSHALL patiently studied the surroundings from the seclusion of his rented SUV. He was parked in the farthest corner of the Quantum parking lot, designated for students and visitors. He watched intently as students and faculty were entering and exiting the building, hoping to spot his cousin. He was sipping coffee and eating a pastry, both of which he bought from the corner deli about three blocks from the entrance to the Stanford campus. He was restless, having slept badly following his lengthy drive from Pueblo. After an hour of watching, he decided to take a more direct route and desert the plan to casually await Jarrod’s arrival.

  Ryan pondered his next move, considering that Jarrod might not be coming back to his lab at all. There was no way to determine his state of mind, but he was certainly plotting revenge. No way would he accept present circumstances without retaliation. Jarrod would be trying to even the score after learning that Ryan was considered the prime suspect in the burglary of his lab. This would provoke yet another round in their endless feud.

  This was fine by Ryan; he had his own score to settle with Jarrod. Of all the vile deeds Jarrod had committed through the years, vandalizing the crane at the gorge was by far the worst. Even in his wildest imagination, Ryan couldn’t have conceived of anything worse than the prostitute Jarrod had concocted in New York City. But tampering with the crane could have easily killed at least half a dozen men if the side-loaded guy wire had not been discovered. Ryan shook his head in contempt of his cousin’s actions.

  Ryan grew impatient. He decided to locate his cousin’s house in a more forthright manner. Instead of waiting for him to appear and tailing him home, he’d risk asking the students if they knew the whereabouts of Professor Conrad. He sensed that this was not the ideal option; students might have heard about a family member involved in the break-in, which would expose his identity. Unfortunately, asking for help was the quickest method to determine Jarrod’s whereabouts, and he felt it was worth the risk.

  Ryan stepped from the SUV, stretched, straightened himself out a bit, and headed toward the entrance of the Quantum Building. “Excuse me, do you know where I can find Professor Jarrod Conrad?” he asked a group of three students walking toward the entrance, each toting a large pack of books.

  “Yeah, his lab’s on the fifth floor,” answered the lanky boy in the group. “But it’s too early, if you expect to find him up there. He works late, so he usually comes in around noon. His teaching assistant should be there, though; she can probably tell you more.”

  “Okay, thanks. I appreciate your help,” Ryan replied.

  “Hey, mister, are you investigating the break-in at Dr. Conrad’s office?” asked the frail black-haired girl, who looked barely able to support the large knapsack she was carrying.

  “Yes, I guess you could say that. I’m a friend of his,” he said, guarding his anonymity. “I heard he had a problem and came to see if there was anything I could do. Thanks again for the help.”

  His answer seemed to satisfy the students, as they moved toward the entrance without further comment. He followed them into the Quantum Building, and the boy turned abruptly.

  “Check the directory,” he said, pointing toward the wall, which contained an alphabetical list of all the professors and administrators in the building. There was a large photo of the founder of Quantum Corporation prominently displayed adjacent to the directory. The man looked scholarly in his white lab coat, and the oversized black rimmed glasses that dominated his face further conveyed this appearance.

  Ryan quickly scanned the directory and located his cousin’s office in room 539. He proceeded to the elevators, determined to speak to someone who might know how to locate Jarrod. Without delay, he arrived at room 539 and noted that the office was connected to a large lab that also carried the same number. He entered the room without knocking.

  “Can I help you?” asked a prim-looking young woman dressed in a white lab coat, her strawberry-blond hair severely pulled back into a ponytail. Ryan noticed that she was very plain-looking, and would do herself better by changing the green horn-rimmed glasses that gave her such a straitlaced look. “I’m Millicent Ormsby, Dr. Conrad’s teaching assistant,” she said, extending her hand.

  “Pleased to meet you, Millicent. I’m Richard Mason. I’m trying to locate Dr. Conrad. Can you tell me when he’ll be in today…or how I can contact him?” he innocently asked.

  Millicent looked closely at Ryan as if studying his sincerity. “Dr. Conrad hasn’t told me his plans. His lectures have been cancelled for the remainder of the week. I’m just here to keep the lab open for investigators who might need access. Otherwise, everything’s secured because of the break-in the night before last. Can you show me your credentials?” she asked, assuming he must be a detective with the Palo Alto police.

  “Oh, my goodness, no. I’m not with the authorities, Millicent,” Ryan replied, grateful that she didn’t appear overly concerned by his presence. “I’m a friend of Jarrod’s and stopped by to see if there was anything I could do. I heard he might be missing some research information. Are there any clues about who might’ve done this?”

  “The authorities believe his cousin had something to do with the break-in and Dr. Conrad was pretty upset when he found out. He’s been unavailable ever since. Can I ask how you know Jarrod?” she asked, her eyebrows pinching together with a slight look of uncertainty. Her demeanor was growing more suspicious by the minute.

  “Not at all,” Ryan answered. “I’ve known Dr. Conrad for several years. I’m an industrial engineer. I’ve followed his research publications on the potential for practical application of the grand unified theorem. I heard him speak in San Francisco several years ago and we struck up an acquaintance. He’s a fascinating physicist with an incredible imagination. Everyone’s pulling for him to somehow harness gravity.”

  “Well, ‘fascinating’ isn’t the word I’d choose to describe him, Mr. Mason,” she said, frowning and quickly averting her eyes. Ryan sensed that the young woman had experienced some trouble with Jarrod but was trying to conceal her true feelings. “But I’ll grant you, he’s clearly on to something that could change the world. He’s not easy to work for, but I’ve learned a great deal as his graduate assistant.”

  “Well, he can be a bit cantankerous…no doubt,” Ryan replied with cynical smile. “But aren’t most geniuses usually idiosyncratic?”

  “Don’t get me wrong, Mr. Mason,” she hastily added. “I’m proud to be Dr. Conrad’s assistant. But he has a lot on his mind…he’s very gifted. I don’t know where I’d be had he not agreed to mentor me. But enough about me. How can I help you?”

  “If you don’t expect him in today, can you tell me where he lives?” Ryan blurted out, flashing his best smile. He wanted it to sound spontaneous, and not alert Millicent to any reason she shouldn’t provide this information.

  “Well, I’m not sure I should give you his address. He may not appreciate you showing up unannounced. Will you promise not to let him know you got it from me?” she asked, returning his smile with a mischievous look in her eye.

  “Scout’s honor,” Ryan replied, holding up his hand like a Boy Scout reciting a pledge. Thinking quickly, he added, “He’ll never suspect you gave me the information if you don’t tell him I visited here first. We’ll protect each other, agreed?” he asked, giving her a playful wink.

  There was a pause, as if she was considering the propriety of keeping Ryan’s presence secret from her boss. “Okay…agreed,” Millicent finally answered. “Dr. Conrad lives on campus, in housing that’s reserved for visiting fellows and tenured professors,” she divulged. “He’s at 265 Lomita Lane. It’s a pretty green house with lots of roses in the fro
nt yard. You can’t miss it. It’s about a mile from here on the other end of the campus. The professor likes to ride his bike to work…so chances are, if he’s home, the bike will be on the front porch. He also has a black BMW that’s usually in the garage. That’s all I can tell you, Mr. Mason.”

  “Thanks, Millicent, you’ve been invaluable. And don’t worry about our little secret. Jarrod will never know I spoke to you,” he said, moving toward the door. “Have a good day, and good luck finding the people who broke in.”

  “Oh, I’m sure the police will get the information back. Besides… Dr. Conrad always backed up his research on a private computer. We’ll be up and running again in no time. It was a pleasure meeting you, Mr. Mason,” Millicent said, closing the door behind Ryan as he moved into the hallway.

  Ryan was amazed by his own resourcefulness. He had no idea that finding his cousin’s house would be so easy. Sure, he could have asked Sarah or Jeremiah for the address, but this would have divulged his strategy, and possibly alerted Jarrod to his plan. One thing was certain: When they came face-to-face, there was going to be a fight. The trick would be to subdue him without causing too much harm.

  What if Jarrod has a weapon? he mused. This thought was cause for alarm and further consideration. He couldn’t take anything for granted.

  The house at 265 Lomita Lane was easily identified by a beautiful rose garden that adorned the forest-green house. A professional gardener was obviously responsible for maintaining the roses, as everything was perfectly manicured along the entire block. Each home had a different character, with the theme of each residence enhanced by a unique landscape feature; some had fountains, others statuary, but each had an abundance of vibrant flowers that were resplendent with color.

  Ryan drove by the house at a normal pace, careful not to draw any attention to his presence. He noted with interest that the ten-speed bike that Millicent Ormsby described was on the porch, and, according to her information, if there was a black BMW in the garage, there was a good chance that Jarrod was home. The garage was closed, so he couldn’t confirm the presence of the BMW.

  The anticipation of facing Jarrod after so many years of pent-up hatred toward him released a rush of adrenaline. The thought of seeing him for the first time since his divorce sent a chill up his spine and made the hair on the back of his neck bristle. Even though he was incensed by the thought of facing Jarrod, he was impatient to learn why his cousin had vandalized the erection crane, and, further, why he thought Ryan broke into his lab.

  Ryan figured it was too early to make contact with Jarrod. To do so in broad daylight chanced neighbors or bystanders witnessing an undoubtedly hostile exchange between the two men; prudence dictated that he await nightfall to complete his objective. He needed to find a quiet place to rest. At the moment, he didn’t feel safe even staying on the same street. He remembered a movie theater near the shop where he purchased his coffee earlier in the morning, and decided to wait out the time in the security of the darkened interior. Late in the evening, he would return to confront Jarrod.

  Ryan hoped with every fiber of his being that the coming confrontation would bring an end to the years of hatred between the two men. He would face Jarrod unarmed; to do otherwise would be incredibly foolish. God willing, Ryan felt that the hatred between the two men would end before a new sunrise. This ends tonight...one way or the other.

  TWENTY-FIVE

  NASSAU, BAHAMAS

  CAPTAIN EDUARDO SUAREZ was true to his word. He sailed Jurassic through the night, nearing the cape of Florida south of Key West well in advance of Hurricane Hannah’s predicted arrival in Galveston Bay. Holloway had instructed the captain late in the evening to proceed toward Key West, and to report which direction the hurricane was heading. From Key West, they would steer either to his enclave south of Bannerman Town, one of the out islands of the Bahamas, or proceed on to his estate in Hilton Head, South Carolina. It was indeed auspicious that Holloway ordered they depart the area prior to Hannah’s arrival, as meteorologists predicted that 100-mile-per-hour winds would lash Galveston Harbor when she finally made landfall. Law enforcement agencies ordered evacuations because significant damage was expected throughout the Gulf Coast.

  Jurassic could have easily sustained the fifteen-foot swells in open water, but it would have been unpleasant for those aboard to endure such an onslaught when the practical solution was to relocate out of harm’s way. Fortunately, it was not difficult to convince Holloway to move his $100-million yacht out of the gulf; rarely did he disregard advice that protected his investments. The decision was clearly prudent because Hannah was expected to create considerable damage, even though it would be nothing compared to “the storm of the century” dating back to September 8, 1900, still considered the deadliest hurricane in United States history.

  Local Galvestonians still refer to “the storm” with a reverence that only survivors can truly appreciate. When a resident Galvestonian claimed their home survived “the storm,” they meant that it pre-dated 1900; a claim that a family member had died in “the storm” was proof they had roots in the city over 100 years old. Upwards of 6,000 people lost their lives in the aftermath of the tropical cyclone that left the city in ruins, an epic tragedy forever burned into the record of Galveston Bay.

  Captain Suarez stood on the bridge of the ship, alternating his gaze between the horizon ahead and the radar weather pattern displayed from the iridescent instrument console. He checked his watch and decided it was time to check in with Holloway, hoping his temperament was more congenial than last night. They were fast approaching a course correction toward the destination where they would berth Jurassic, so risking an early morning squabble was necessary. Captain Suarez preferred to berth in Nassau. From a nautical perspective, staying in open water would be best in case the hurricane took an unexpected turn back out to sea. He had the feeling, however, that Holloway would likely choose his alternate port in Hilton Head. Either way, they were at a point where he needed to change direction for the appropriate port of call.

  The captain made his way from the bridge down one flight through a smaller corridor until he arrived at Holloway’s stateroom. He paused at the door, poised to knock, cautiously listening for any interior noise that might suggest his interruption would not be welcome. He decided to take a chance, preparing for an early morning dose of Holloway’s rude behavior.

  He rapped lightly on the door. “Mr. Holloway, it’s Captain Suarez. Do you have a moment, sir?”

  “Please, come in,” he heard Angelina’s voice call from behind the door.

  Captain Suarez entered the luxurious stateroom, his face reddening from embarrassment when he realized that he was alone in the room with Angelina Navarro. She was scantily clad in a tight-fitting chartreuse exercise bra and matching bikini bottom with the word Bitch written in hot pink letters across her shapely derrière. She rode an elliptical machine that was unobtrusively placed to one side of the spacious sitting room. A light sweat made her body glisten from the workout. Angelina was reading Heart of a Woman, the latest Oprah bestseller, which was carefully secured atop the machine. She appeared to have an iPod ready, as the device was strapped to her left bicep, but the ear buds dangling around her neck were not in use. Suarez almost wished Angelina had been listening to her music, making it impossible to hear his knock. But his male libido completely appreciated viewing such a lovely woman almost naked before his eyes.

  He scrutinized the room, which appeared in disarray. The ship stewards had not yet cleaned; they dared not interrupt Mr. Holloway except when specifically asked to perform their housekeeping duties. Dirty dishes had not been collected from last night’s dinner, miscellaneous papers were strewn about, and several pieces of Angelina’s clothing lay around the room. There was a red lace bra, which was partially hidden between a seat cushion of a brown leather recliner facing the large plasma TV screen. A rhinestone-decorated stiletto was lying sideways under the glass coffee table in front of the semi-circular couch. Her r
ed negligee was dropped carelessly on the floor in front of a full-length mirror that reflected the ocean beyond. One article of clothing absent in the stateroom was her underwear. Probably because she wasn’t wearing any, the captain thought.

  Although enjoying the view of Angelina’s bountiful breasts bouncing to the cadence of the machine, Captain Suarez grew exceedingly uncomfortable in her presence, deciding he had best leave before Holloway caught him in the stateroom.

  “Good morning, Captain,” Angelina said, greeting him while looking over her shoulder without breaking stride. “Alastair is just finishing his shower; he’ll be out shortly. Make yourself comfortable, please,” she said with a smile. “Would you like some orange juice? Just help yourself. I’d get it for you but I have another fifteen minutes to go.”

  “Thank you very much, Ms. Navarro, but, no…I should wait in the hall for Mr. Holloway.” he replied.

  “Oh, nonsense, Eduardo,” she said, using his proper name for effect. “He’s not such an ogre. You just stay right there and I’ll get him out here.”

  Calling loudly, she said, “Alastair, the captain’s here to see you. Can you come out, or shall I have him return later?”

  “Oh, please, no, Miss Navarro. Don’t bother Mr. Holloway. I can surely come back when he’s expecting me,” the captain protested in a hushed voice, upset for not immediately taking his leave when he first realized Holloway was indisposed.

  “What in God’s name are you yelling about, Angel?” they both heard Holloway respond from beyond the stateroom. “Tell the captain to wait right there. I’ll be out in a minute. And put some clothes on,” he loudly demanded.