Seeing his partner blush noticeably, Seth decided to do most of the talking. “We were told something about a stolen computer. Does that sound correct?”
Nodding, Manisha did her best to fully explain the situation. “I hope it’s obvious that I wouldn’t be asking for the FBI’s help if this were a simple property theft. It just that the information on the computer’s hard drive may be invaluable, and nearly impossible to replace.”
Intrigued, Seth wondered what kind of information on a school computer could cause such a stir. “Is the data dangerous or pose some sort of potential threat to public safety?”
“Well, when you put it that way I don’t see how. It’s just that when I explained the stolen data was being overseen by Administrator Kemp, the officer I was speaking to forwarded me to a Captain Fillion.” Noticing that the mention of her administrator elicited a look between both men, she wondered if they knew more than they were letting on. “Captain Fillion put me in contact with Assistant Special Agent Simpson at FBI headquarters. He was very sweet and offered to help.”
Wondering if his boss might have suffered heatstroke, Seth decided not to dispel her perceptions of the man. “That’s Bob all right. Sweet as the day is long.”
“At any rate, I was surprised to find that there were two agents already in Madison who had met with Doctor Kemp.” Manisha confessed, watching Seth’s facial expression change as he leaned back in his chair.
As strange as it was, Seth was careful to treat this investigation like any other. “I’m afraid we won’t be able to discuss our current assignment with you until we know more about your concerns, Professor.” Unconvinced that Doctor Kemp’s involvement was any more than a coincidence, he also couldn’t rule anything out.
Far more interested in future dealings with the attractive professor, Leo painted a more optimistic picture. “If the two cases are related, then perhaps we can work together.”
“That’s all I would ask,” said Manisha respectfully. She leaned further forward to scan the two men’s scribbled notes and was pleased to see that most of the information discussed in the class was accounted for. “The reason I wanted you each to take notes is because I feel it important that you have some basic reference points in genetics before I try to fully explain what’s concerning me.”
Wagging a thumb between them, Seth expressed his doubts. “We’re not scientists, Professor. How’s five minutes in one class going to help us understand your problem?”
“Maybe it won’t, but I had to start somewhere.” She shifted in her seat, concerned. “I won’t trust any of my colleagues with this and I surely can’t say anything to Doctor Kemp about it.”
Both men nodded in agreement, but Seth continued to take the lead. “We’ve had the pleasure of making her acquaintance— and we understand your hesitation,” said Seth, nodding in agreement.
Contemplating her next move, Manisha realized that it was likely now or never if she were to trust anyone with her theory. “Shall we go to my office? I’ll do my best to explain my concerns there.”
Looking around the empty room, Leo finally had his wits about him. “What about your students? Aren’t they waiting for you in a lab somewhere?”
“I left packets with detailed instructions for their next procedure. I like them to try new things on their own first,” she said calmly. “Shall we go?” She stood up and began to lead the agents out of the classroom. “Oh, just a second,” she said, and she leaned back into the room and flipped all of the light switches into the off position. The lecture hall went from a bright place of energetic learning to a dark cave of deepening shadow at the mere flip of a switch. “No reason to waste electricity.” She smiled, retaking the lead as they proceeded down the corridor toward her office, beginning to carefully explain her theory to the attentive agents.
As the small group walked together down the hallway, their conversation drifted away until even the echoes of their voices and the sound of their footsteps ceased to be heard. For a brief moment, nothing stirred as if even the dust felt that effort was wasted when not being directly observed. Out of the darkness, the distinct sound of squeaking wheels and sloshing water could be heard coming from a storage closet immediately adjacent to the now desolate classroom. A frail-looking man with pale, weathered skin emerged like a specter from the darkened doorway. He leaned his slight frame against a long mop handle which was still resting in a wheeled, yellow bucket of murky water. His face bore more lines than any roadmap, but the fact that he was furrowing his leathery brow in deep concern was easily discernable. Straining slightly to push the mop and bucket back into the closet, he stood in the dark silence for a moment, regaining his strength. He rubbed his stubbly chin briefly with one hand, then turned and shuffled slowly to a nearby service elevator. Reaching for a large keychain hanging from his belt, his hand possessed a slight tremor, causing a light chorus of chiming metal until his grasp found the right key. As he turned the key with one hand, he reached into his back pocket with the other and retrieved a baseball cap, pulling it on over his thinning white hair. The whir of the elevator being pulled up by heavy cables grew ever louder until the doors split open, spilling light over the man’s tired face. Tilting his head down, he let the bill of his cap shield his eyes. He stepped inside and turned to face the empty hallway, soon disappearing behind the closing doors in front of him. The deep clanking sound of the closing elevator doors resonated through the silent hallway as they shut together.
As the elevator slid down the shaft and out of sight, the thin line of light still emanating from between the doors accompanied it downward and quickly vanished into the depths.
Chapter 14
Ready or Not
IN AN EXCEPTIONALLY remote storage room, a small, bare light bulb hung from the ceiling and poured modest radiance across a pair of metal chairs and a collapsible card table. The surrounding space appeared to stretch toward eternity as meager light failed to penetrate far beyond the first few rows of metal shelving and stacked boxes, completely concealing where outer walls may have been. A tattered army cot could be seen in the corner, partially illuminated by a small, covered lamp glowing atop a small cube refrigerator. Deep in the bowels of the Genetics–Biotechnology Center building, few people bothered visiting this place except to drop off a box or two of outdated supplies for indefinite storage. However, it was obvious that something other than boxes had decided to take up long-term residence in this forgotten location.
The chiming sound of metal keys playing off one another could be heard as the tumblers within the steel door broke what was left of the silence in the storage room. The door creaked open to reveal a slightly hunched man wearing blue coveralls, which hung slackly from his thin body. On his head, rested a dusty baseball cap which concealed his eyes in deep shadow.
Looking around the small room for a moment, his shoulders tensing as if expecting a wild animal to leap out at him. Apparently satisfied that no danger lurked in the recesses, the man’s shoulders sagged noticeably. With a weary sigh, he walked slowly to the card table and pulled out one of the light metal chairs with both hands. Letting gravity pull him most of the way, he sat down with an audible grunt. He leaned forward and stiffly brought his elbows to the table. Raising his weathered hands to cover his face, he gradually moved them up and down in an attempt to massage color back into his pale skin. Pausing for a moment, he took a few deep breaths before bringing his hands back down to the table.
The beleaguered man reached for the nametag hanging from a woven string around his leathery neck and lifted it gently over his head as he leaned slightly forward. Setting it down on the table, he looked thoughtfully at the small, square picture. “Charles Millburg,” he said aloud as if reading the name from a gravestone. His voice was sullen and possessed a distinctively Germanic-sounding accent. “It looks like your days are coming to an end, my old friend.”
“Don’t say that, sir!” spoke a concerned voice booming from a dark corner of the echoing room.
Charles jolt
ed in his chair, causing its metal feet screech across the floor a few inches. “Ach Walter!” Startled, his voice quivered noticeably. “How many times have I told you nicht to do that? Das herz fiel mir in die Hose!” he complained, unaware that he had reverted to speaking the language of his youth.
“I’m sorry, sir. I’m not sure how many times you’ve told me not to hide in here,” said Walter apologetically. With just one giant step toward the minuscule light source at the center of the room, his hulking form emerged from the shadows. The dramatic appearance of this man would have sent chills down the spine of even the bravest warrior. His considerable bulk drew the light, which deepened the impossibly black shadows from which he emerged. Wearing the same style and color of coveralls as Charles, the brutish man’s muscular arms and legs threatened to burst the seams like that of a child relegated to imperfect hand-me-downs. Instead of menace, however, his wide, steely blue eyes held apology as his young face looked down upon Charles with worry.
“And please stop calling me sir,” sighed Charles, the color starting to come back to his hollow cheeks as he recovered from fright. He understood that Walter depended upon him, but the line between guidance and control seemed blurred when such a formal response was issued. “You needn’t worry yourself, my child.” Smiling reassuringly at his concerned friend, he curled his arms as if posing for a bodybuilding magazine. “I plan to be around for a while yet.”
Thoughts of others who had left him inexplicably throughout his life filled Walter’s thoughts as he tried to take comfort in Charles’s pledge. “That’s good to hear sir… ummm…I mean…Mister Millburg” Walter stammered as he rubbed his massive hands nervously against the front of his taut uniform.
“Just Charles is fine, too,” he nodded patiently, removing his cap. Charles arose from his metal chair with an involuntary groan and put his cap on the table. Joints popped and cracked, threatening to betray him despite the strength of his will to keep moving.
Resting on the green army cot was a heavy black flashlight. Picking it up, he clicked it on. Shining the beam into the dark like an unwieldy broadsword, the light came to rest on a small pile of brown boxes. With considerable effort, he pushed them aside and illuminated a distinctly different box hidden behind the others. This container was not meant for storing old papers and trinkets which had outlived their usefulness: This receptacle held together the inner workings of a powerful computer, with a motherboard, processor, and most importantly, to him a hard drive. Exposed wires hung from the back of the computer case, like veins long devoid of blood. It was apparent that this device was out of place in this damp, musty room. Its relatively dust-free surfaces evidenced its recent arrival.
“It seems that the young professor suspects something despite our efforts to keep her in the dark,” said Charles, his eyes narrowing as he turned off the flashlight. Turning from the darkness, his eyes struggled to readapt. Walter stood directly between him and the small hanging light bulb, veiling his young friend’s features with dim shadow as pale light haloed much of his body. “It appears that I’ve little choice except to accelerate the plan.”
Allowing light to trickle over the top of his back like sunrise over a gentle mountain range, Walter’s shoulders drooped in response. “But I took the computer box, just like you said to,” he frowned, furrowing his brow in confusion. “You promised it would keep anyone from bothering us!” Concern clear in his voice, he scowled down at the floor. His stature appeared to shrink as he pushed his chin down into his chest. “I did something wrong. It’s my fault.”
Placing a calming hand on his friend’s shoulder, Charles saw no need for self-recrimination. “It’s not your fault, my boy.” Smiling fondly at the young man’s powerful sense of responsibility, he tried to assuage any remaining guilt. “I know the professor is an intelligent person, but her knowledge isn’t nearly advanced enough to be on to us just yet,” he said, shaking his head confidently as he handed the flashlight to Walter. “Put that back on my cot, please,” he pointed at the exposed computer behind him, “I’ll take care of that.”
Walter returned the flashlight to its place as Charles strained to push with his posterior against the boxes, sliding them back into position to once again conceal the stolen computer. He stood up straight and cringed as his sciatic nerve protested the increased demands upon his aging frame, forcing him into a forward lean. Putting one hand on his lower back and the other on his hip, he turned and ambled painfully to the small cot and sat down with a slight whimper. “I keep forgetting to give you the heavy lifting jobs.” He leaned forward to stretch the muscles of his weary back and turned his attention toward the small refrigerator resting near the head of the cot. He opened the door, triggering a small light that accentuated the deep creases of his face, making it look like a puzzle with loosely fitted pieces.
Watching patiently as Charles peered into the open fridge for far longer than needed, Walter wondered if something had gone missing. “You ok sir?” he asked, clearly forgetting his elderly friend’s preference for how he wished to be addressed. “I took a soda earlier. It wasn’t yours was it?” Stepping toward the transfixed man, he strained like the shortest boy in a crowd to see what warranted so much attention.
“I’m fine, Walter. Everything of mine is still here.” Charles explained softly as his gaze shifted to his curious companion, “I just need to get some rest so that I am clear headed for work this evening.” He glanced once more at the contents of the small refrigerator as if it were protecting a viable human heart.
“Are you working overtime tonight?” asked Walter, standing up straight. “Did you remember to sign me up so we can work together?” Raising both eyebrows with worry, he hated the idea of being left behind.
“No, Walter,” said Charles, lowering his head and smiling like a frustrated but boundlessly patient parent. “We’re not sweeping floors and emptying waste bins tonight,” he replied with a tired smile. His young ward never seemed to remember that their work as custodians was simply a ruse. Charles looked directly at the young man’s questioning face to better gauge his understanding of the true circumstances. “We have other work to accomplish, just like we’ve been doing for a long while now. Do you remember?” he asked, his tired eyes still holding Walter’s innocent blue eyes in their gaze.
Recognition crossed his face as Walter nodded. “Yes, sir. I remember now.” Pleased to be entrusted with assisting Charles with his plan, he smiled happily.
Charles closed the refrigerator and took a deep breath. Pushing himself slowly into a sitting position, he swung his thin legs onto the army cot and pushed the breath forcefully out of his lungs to aid his effort. He leaned back, wincing, until resting flat on his back, eyes cast up at the dark ceiling. His breath labored at the exertion, showing his exhaustion from head to toe.
Not a young man by almost any definition, Charles could not stay active the way he used to. Having to repeat himself to Walter frequently didn’t help, but he appreciated the young man for the companion and friend he had become over the last few years. Fate had quickly forged an unbreakable bond between them when it saw fit to cast them together at a time when each was drifting aimlessly. He turned his head to see the familiar figure standing motionless in the dim light, waiting like a tree for the rain. “Walter, I need a favor.”
“Anything sir,” replied Walter, coming rigidly to attention just as his father had trained him to do at a very young age.
Try as he might to ignore the gesture, Charles had to fight back memories of a time in his own life when such overtures were blindly offered to those with too much power and too little compassion. “Go about your regular cleaning duties until later this afternoon. When everyone has left, then please prepare lab D the way we practiced. I will need it for one last night.” He sincerely hoped that he would soon have little cause to put Walter at even the most minimal of risks. “Oh, and stop calling me sir,” he pleaded, closing his eyes as exhaustion took control.
“Yes sir!” excla
imed Walter, too excited to keep himself from old habits at this point. “I’ll get it ready, just like you showed me.” Clasping his hands together, he did his best to contain his joy at being trusted with an important task. Taking just a few long, bounding strides to reach the door, his exuberance propelled his considerable weight like black powder behind a cannonball. Entering the hallway, he locked the door behind him, ensuring that the tumblers fell firmly into place before turning to leave.
Hearing the familiar echo of heavy soles methodically echoing against unforgiving concrete gave Charles a strange sensation of peace. As the sound vanished into the distance like a dying pulse, he smiled faintly, knowing that Walter, despite his simple nature, was reliable when set to a task—a fact that many people with far superior intellect could not boast.
With plans set in motion and his reserves at an end, Charles quickly drifted off for a much-needed rest, hoping his dreams would serve to ease his torment.
Chapter 15
A Picture Worth 500 Words
PROFESSOR SHUKLA’S OFFICE didn’t give the impression of excess. A plain wooden desk rested neatly in the center of the small room with two tall floor lamps emanating light from either side like a comforting blanket. A number of flourishing potted plants lined the sill of the lone window, while others populated the tops of several green filing cabinets lining the back wall. The few pictures on display were of her childhood in New York with her siblings, or of her parents as they emigrated from India. Diplomas were on display, but one had to search to find them hanging modestly in a dim corner of the room. Seth and Leo sat facing the desk in worn wooden chairs, placing them at eye level with the young professor.
Scratching the top of his head as he tried futilely to absorb information intended for someone with a background in genetics, Leo hoped repetition would kick-start his brain. “Can we start this again? I feel like my partner here when I swear at him in Spanish.”
Sequence 77 Page 13