The Fourth Law

by Paul Stein

  The cleaners arrived in Trinidad to orchestrate a coup d’état. After months of painstaking infiltration, they successfully carried out a plan that made it appear as though the two drug lords succumbed to a bloody turf war. Both men were killed and a huge quantity of their product was simultaneously destroyed. Agent Henry had successfully interrupted the flow of coca paste from Bolivia, while Agent Palmer destroyed a dozen labs that were producing the pure cocaine. The operation was incredibly successful and the American public was none the wiser for their efforts. The cleaners considered it a textbook case.

  Agent Henry had fond memories of this highly successful triumph over one of the more despicable empires in the world. He’d gladly endure all the hardship and difficult planning for the opportunity to execute the bastards one more time. Burn in hell, you merciless sons-o’-bitches, he thought.

  Henry placed a call to his former partner.

  “Palmer,” he answered succinctly. It was approaching evening in Washington, D.C., but he didn’t hesitate to take the call.

  “Emerson, ol’ buddy, it’s Jason Henry,” he said, happy to hear Palmer’s voice after so many years. “What the hell are you doing calling me? From your message, it sounds like we could both be working on the same case, old man,” he said good naturedly.

  “Jason Henry…as I live and breathe, I never thought I’d get a chance to work with you again. Damn, it’s good to hear your voice. Still doing the joint chiefs’ shit work over at DOD?” he asked, hoping Henry’s return call heralded good tidings.

  “Yep, still doing the crap no one else will touch…nothing’s changed. Freeman still thinks he’s the smartest man in the world; he’s an even bigger asshole than before…if you can imagine that. What about you? Hell…I hear you’ve got a detective firm. Jesus, people really pay you as a peeping tom?” he asked jokingly.

  “Something like that,” Palmer replied, cutting him off short, wanting to skip the chit-chat and get to the point. “So, tell me all you can, buddy. Are you on assignment, or are you on government business?” Palmer was keeping his fingers crossed that Henry would confirm that the unit had been activated. How he responded would speak volumes. An assignment meant he was working with the cleaners; working for the government meant he was tracking something for the Department of Defense.

  “I’ve kept my antenna tuned for any sign of life from our old unit, but haven’t heard a thing until this morning. And that was unofficial. What’s cookin’, ace?” Palmer asked.

  “I wish I knew, dude,” Henry replied, “but unfortunately I’m not on assignment. Hell, there’s really only a handful of people who know we still exist…including the president, and sometimes I wonder if he even knows. But I’m working on something sinister, and it wouldn’t surprise me if we don’t all end up on this before it’s over. I may just need your help sooner than later.”

  “Can you tell me what you’re working on?” Palmer asked, hoping for some insight that might help him with the Coscarelli woman.

  “Yeah, sure, but you didn’t hear any of this from me,” he said, making certain Palmer knew he was divulging confidential information. “I’m working a case involving a Dr. Conrad out here in Stanford. He’s invented some sort of gravity machine the DOD has an interest in; General Freeman sees a future weapons potential. Anyway, he’s gone missing along with the theft of his research data and about twenty pounds of nuclear fuel the machine needs to operate. Conrad’s cousin, Ryan Marshall, also had his son abducted, and just this morning we find out about Dr. Coscarelli, who used to be romantically involved with Conrad. I know it sounds incestuous, but there’s a definite pattern here. And to top it off, you call with information that Senator Coscarelli is asking about the cleaners…we’ve got a situation on our hands,” Henry said.

  “Whew...blow me away,” Palmer replied, listening closely to Henry’s explanation. “How can I help you, Jason? The senator hired me to find his daughter, but I’m betting that the kidnappers are involved with your case in California. It seems we’ll be asking the same questions. We should team up, buddy…whether the old unit is activated or not. Got a problem with that?”

  “Hell, no,” Henry replied. “I’m working with Lieutenant David Morris out here in Palo Alto. He’s the lead investigator for the locals and is pretty sharp. I’ll need to bring him up to speed, but I don’t imagine he’ll have an issue, especially since you’ll be working the other end of the case. There’s a hell-ov-a-lot of questions, though,” he said, continuing to apprise Palmer on the connections of the parties involved.

  “Wow, you’ve got your hands full, pard’. Let’s see what I can pry loose out here. If anything cracks, I’ll let you know first thing,” Palmer said.

  “Okay, keep in touch,” Henry replied. “Call me anytime…I mean anytime, just like the old days, alright?” making reference to the cleaners’ maxim: It was never too late or too early to call when working a case.

  “I’m all over it,” Palmer replied, referencing a term he hadn’t used in what seemed an eternity.

  “Good man.”

  Well if that wasn’t a fortuitous turn of events, thought Jason Henry. Just when he thought the case was about as complicated as possible, he got a call from an old partner in whom he had unshakable faith. The winds of fate are starting to blow my way, he mused.

  He continued the drive toward Stanford to further his discussion with Dr. Penburton, wondering what the fallout would be of Senator Coscarelli asking about the cleaners. Regardless, the team hadn’t been officially activated, and it didn’t seem to matter if the two former associates independently worked a case together. They would learn soon enough if this case rose to the level of presidential interest.

  Agent Henry found himself hoping that it would.

  FORTY-EIGHT

  QUANTUM BUILDING

  STANFORD UNIVERSITY

  NILES PENBURTON was rifling through his office at the Quantum Building, gathering personal effects and mementos he didn’t want to leave behind. Ever since the latest discussion with Agent Henry and the subsequent call to Alastair Holloway, he determined the best course of action was to immediately leave the country. He made a last-minute plane reservation departing SFO at 7:55 p.m. for New York, where he would board an early morning flight to Athens. That was as far as he cared to plan. His primary objective was to evade further interrogation from Agent Henry and fleeing the country satisfied that purpose.

  Niles was also looking for any damning evidence that Agent Henry might find. He searched his files for stray bank records, notes about Holloway prior to selling him Conrad’s share of the company, anything incriminating that proved a link to Alastair Holloway. He resigned himself that when his phone records were scrutinized, their connection would be evident, but planned to be safely out of the country by the time that happened.

  Niles was stung by nostalgia as he prepared to depart Quantum for the last time. For the past two decades he had devoted himself almost exclusively to building the company, an endeavor he pursued with steadfast determination. He had started as a fledgling research physicist at MIT, but slowly attracted private investors hoping to capitalize on his singular knack for developing brilliant researchers. It was with this seed money that he first conceived of Quantum, where his reputation for initiating innovative science grew exponentially. He was ultimately wooed by the Stanford Regents and granted tenure as Professor Emeritus of the Physics Department, where his lifelong dream of leading one of the most prestigious teaching institutions in the world had been realized.

  At Stanford, he became acquainted with the brilliant, if acerbic, Dr. Jarrod Conrad, and the two of them set out to make history together. Conrad introduced a fresh approach to solving longstanding barriers in physics research, but his antigravity technology was going to revolutionize the world. With Quantum holding exclusive patent rights, it was just a matter of time before they realized worldwide acclaim and indescribable wealth. But the lure of immediate greed had occluded his vision, forcing him to abandon his d
ream. Niles regretted to the core of his being the day he made the feckless decision to associate with Alastair Holloway. This was the single biggest mistake of his life.

  Niles walked out of the Quantum Building and toward his 2006 Jaguar XKE in the faculty parking lot. He made two trips with small boxes he packed to take with him. Several students curiously observed him awkwardly loading the boxes in the Jaguar’s undersized trunk, but none asked him about what he was doing. Finally content he had collected everything of interest, he left for home, prepared to pack for his impromptu trip to Greece.

  Niles sat in his car, fastened his seatbelt, and inserted the key in the ignition. Once the car started, he checked the rearview mirror and slowly backed out of his parking place. Just as his vehicle began to move forward, the car went over the first of many speed bumps in the parking lot. As it did so, the trip switch on the bomb underneath the vehicle closed the circuit and a pound of plastic explosive ignited with a powerful explosion. The detonation rocked the Quantum Building, breaking glass and sending shrapnel 200 feet beyond the impact zone. The vehicle-ignited explosive device did its job; the XKE, with Niles Penburton inside, was consumed in a tremendous ball of flame, totally annihilating the driver.

  Stuart Farley was sitting in a non-descript car on the opposite side of the parking lot. He had carefully placed the magnetic VIED underneath Penburton’s vehicle earlier in the day. The bomb contained a failsafe mercury trip-switch that wouldn’t explode until the vehicle was jostled enough to cause the mercury to flow, completing the circuit. Satisfied his job was done, he proceeded to leave the campus before the fire department arrived. As he drove away, he called Kilmer.

  “Penburton’s history,” Farley said.

  “Good on ya, mate. How’d it go?” Kilmer asked.

  “Used a VIED,” Farley replied. “He’s still burning.”

  “Yer aces. How soon can ya join us?”

  “As soon as I gather my stuff I’ll be on the first plane out, probably not until midday tomorrow sometime. Best I can do,” Farley replied.

  “Good oh. Fly to Louisville…Colt’ll pick ya up. All ya need is personal gear…we got everythin’ else.”

  “See you then.”

  “Nice hit on the doc. I’ll let Holloway know it’s a done deal,” Kilmer said, ending the call.

  Another loose end clipped…Holloway should be stoked, Kilmer thought. No more stallin’…time to brin’ the woman to Kentucky. Hope to hell the old man knows what he’s doin’.

  FORTY-NINE

  GRAPEVINE, SOUTHERN CALIFORNIA

  15:00 HOURS

  RYAN AND SARAH MARSHALL had nothing to go on but a haphazard plan based on raw intuition. The last message from Jarrod had merely instructed them to head south. But how far south, and south of what were the obvious questions. Did he mean as far south as San Diego, or merely south within the greater Bay Area? Not knowing what Jarrod’s messages meant, they decided the best approach was to head toward Los Angeles and hope to receive more information along the way. Sarah regularly checked her email in high hopes of getting another message, although it was hard for either of them to concentrate on much beyond getting their son back safely.

  As they approached the Grapevine on Highway 5, Ryan pulled off the freeway before dropping into Los Angeles. As he fueled the SUV, Sarah again checked her email. The computer found an Internet connection, and several messages came through from Jarrod with only one word: Louisville.

  “Ryan,” Sarah called excitedly, rushing to show him the message on the laptop. “When Jarrod said to head south, he must’ve meant the southern states. It’s Kentucky…he means for us to head to Kentucky.”

  “Damnit! We’ve been wasting time. We could’ve been in Colorado by now,” he added, aimlessly kicking the rear tire of the SUV.

  “It’s okay, Ryan…it’s okay,” Sarah said soothingly. “At least we know where they’re heading. I’ll call Lieutenant Morris and give him the news. Maybe we should chance taking a plane,” she said as an after-thought. “It’ll take too long to drive to Louisville…don’t you think?”

  “Call Morris,” Ryan replied. “Let’s think about the plane. You may be right…that’s probably our best move.”

  Sarah made the call to David Morris and left a message on his voice mail. She simply said that they had heard from Jarrod and his latest message mentioned only the word: Louisville.

  “Okay, Morris is up to date with the news,” she said as Ryan returned to the car. “What shall I tell Jarrod? We need to let him know we’re still on the trail.”

  “Tell him we need more information…that anything he can give us is helpful,” Ryan said.

  He paused, and then continued, “the more I think about this, the better I feel about taking a plane to Kentucky. We’re not that far from LA International. I don’t imagine the authorities are looking for you, so your credit cards should still work to purchase tickets. The only dicey part will be getting past security, but if I get through we’ll be in Louisville by early tomorrow morning. I think it’s worth the chance.”

  “I’m so glad you agree,” Sarah replied, relaxing her shoulders. “I don’t think we can risk losing any more time. Somethin’s going to happen…soon.”

  Sarah composed the next message to Jarrod, reading it aloud before she sent it: “Flying to Louisville. Need 411 on your whereabouts.”

  “Okay, let’s see if we can board a plane to Kentucky without ending up in jail,” Ryan said, driving away from the truck stop. The couple stayed silent for the remainder of the trip to Los Angeles Airport, buoyed by the news that they were drawing ever closer to finding their missing family members.

  “Have I told you lately how much I love you?” he asked, glancing quickly in her direction. “Because as crazy as everything is, I can’t think of any time in my life I’ve been more grateful. I have a good feeling, honey…everything’s going to come out all right. Trust me,” he said, patting her hand.

  “I love you too, Ryan…more than I ever realized,” she said, holding his hand fast. “This will be the most important thing we’ve ever done.”

  FIFTY

  STANFORD UNIVERSITY

  17:00 HOURS

  LIEUTENANT DAVID MORRIS received the call from PAPD dispatch about another incident at the Quantum Building: A car bomb had exploded in the parking lot and the victim was thought to be Niles Penburton.

  When Morris arrived at the chaotic scene, scores of bystanders had gathered along the yellow-taped boundary cordoned off by the police. The Stanford Fire Department was still mopping up the incident; they had foamed the area surrounding the burning car, and the water used to extinguish the fire was still pouring into the storm drains. There was little left of the car but the frame, engine, and steering column, which sat in the impact crater caused by the explosion. The county coroner was standing by as paramedics labored to extricate what was left of the body. Morris couldn’t recall ever seeing such a ghastly scene, except maybe on TV when news correspondents showed the aftermath of deadly terrorist suicide bombings. Holy Mother…, he thought.

  After a cursory inspection, Morris sought out the chief of security at the Quantum Building, who had responded to the scene. The chief confirmed that several eyewitnesses had seen Professor Penburton getting into his car. One young woman had reported he started the car and proceed to leave when it exploded in a deafening blast that knocked her down, raining down metal and glass all around. The guard couldn’t offer a suggestion about who might be responsible, but presumed it was connected to the break-in of Dr. Conrad’s office from days earlier.

  “This job’s always been a piece of cake,” the guard said. “But, Jesus…if this keeps up, I’ve gotta find another gig. First, Santos is killed…and now a car bomb. What next?”

  What next, indeed, thought Morris. Every new day brings another set of problems on this case.

  Morris decided to call Agent Henry. Hellfire…Jason’ll blow a fuse. Penburton was his primary suspect

  “Lieutenant M
orris, tell me you’ve heard from the Marshalls,” Jason Henry said tersely, answering the call.

  “Sorry, Jason…more bad news. I’m at the Quantum Building. There was a car bomb and security is pretty sure it’s Dr. Penburton. Several eyewitnesses saw the professor loading boxes in his car. I just thought you’d want to know,” Morris said, pausing to give the agent a chance to respond.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me,” Henry moaned, emphasizing his surprise. “I’m on my way back from the San Jose courthouse right now. I just picked up the court order for Penburton’s records. You’re telling me this just happened?”

  “I’m on scene right now. The fire department is still tying to remove the body. It’s nasty,” he said, looking over at the blast site again, repulsed by the gruesomeness of the bomb’s aftereffects.

  “Son-of-a-bitch!” Henry exclaimed, enunciating each word. “Well, at least I know my hunch about this guy was right…he was about to skip out. Hopefully the court order will help us find what he was hiding. Are you going to be there awhile? I’m about fifteen minutes out.”

  “Sure, you bet. I’ll wait for you.”

  Morris hung up and noticed he had a voicemail message that had come through while he was talking to Agent Henry. He retrieved the message and was elated to hear it was from Sarah Marshall. She had received another message from Dr. Conrad, who was now presumably in Louisville. He returned her call, not expecting an answer, but wanting to confirm he got the news.

  “Mrs. Marshall, this is Lieutenant Morris. I got the message about Louisville. That’s good news, ma’am. We’ll shift our investigation. Please, ma’am, take my advice and have Mr. Marshall turn himself in. We’re getting closer to finding your son. It would be much easier if we knew you two were safe. Let us do our jobs, ma’am,” he said, ending the call.