The bespectacled Robbins looked up and grunted. "I should have known."
"Look, Doc, we don't have time for all of this clean-room stuff. We shaved this morning and are ready to go," Carl said as Robbins slid his ID card into the electronic lock beside the door.
"Gentlemen, today you don't have to put so much as a lab coat on." He opened the door and then stepped aside to allow the two very shocked men into the sanctuary that housed the Cray supercomputer Europa.
"What happened, Doc, you get electrocuted or something? I mean, you're almost like the rest of us humans."
Robbins pulled out one of the eight chairs that sat in front of the thick glass that housed Europa and her automatic program-loading system. He hesitated for a moment and then removed his glasses to look at the two men.
"Colonel Collins, Captain Everett, I requested this detail from Pete Golding. Sergeant Sanchez was always kind to us when he was on duty in the comp center. You see, while you only suspect we are human, he actually treated us as such." He placed his glasses back on and almost choked on the rest of his words. "He was my friend."
Jack stood silent and Carl felt like an ass. He just nodded and sat next to Robbins.
"He was a better and kinder soul than most of us jerks, Doc."
Jack nodded at Everett and took his seat.
"Think we start by digging into the New York Police Department files on the attack at the warehouse? Then maybe their crime-scene computer reports, blood type, ballistics, things like that?" Jack asked Robbins, who was already logging in to Europa.
Before Robbins answered, the large steel partition behind the wall of glass slid up, and Europa was there in all her glory. The automated loading system was idle, but her brain used her enhanced optics to view the three men.
"Good morning Dr. Robbins. I see we have company from the Security Department today. Colonel Collins, Captain Everett, how may I help you?"
Carl rolled his eyes at the female auditory system. He still wanted to get to know the person whose voice had been synthesized, because she sounded just like Marilyn Monroe.
Jack leaned forward in his chair and spoke into the microphone.
"Europa, we have lost many people to an act of murder and have many things to investigate and we will need you to break the security guarding police systems. We must find the people responsible for the deaths of Event Group staff. Is this understood?"
Robbins was curious as to why she didn't respond directly. The automated loader sprang into action as the robotic arms manufactured by the Honda Corporation started sliding programs into the bank of hard drives.
"Europa is ready to seek out your requested inquiries, Colonel. Shall we begin?"
Robbins smiled and looked at Everett.
"Europa was well aware of the murders because she references every daily newspaper in the world. She obviously knew the names listed in the reporter's story as killed and crossed them with her data files. She knows Event personnel have been lost."
Jack gripped the small microphone in front of him tightly at its base. His knuckles turned white as the pressure increased, but his calm features never changed.
"Yes, let's begin."
Sarah McIntire was getting frustrated with the twenty-five people in her group. Theories, no matter how far out, were discussed, and one by one they all lost credence.
Most present were of the opinion that earthquakes could not be manipulated short of placing a nuclear weapon beneath a fault line. Sarah thus far had to agree. Every computer model that Europa had built for them had failed. It was beginning to look as if they'd hit a dead end.
Virginia came into the room and kneeled next to Sarah's chair, and listened to the current argument of hydrodynamics and its effect on fault lines.
"Most fault lines are stable to the point where we would almost have to call them extinct, just a gouge in the earth's surface. While others, like the San Andreas, for instance, are active as hell. But we still couldn't get it to move unless the forces beneath it forced her to, by pushing water through the strata, weakening it, or an outright eruption of magma."
Sarah listened to the young professor from Virginia Tech whom the Group had recruited to earth sciences over a year ago. Then she smiled when Virginia mouthed the words keep at it and then moved to the door.
Sarah saw the young, long-haired scientist stand and go to the wall and pull down a large chart. It was a color picture of the earth laid out flat. Several hundred red lines were depicted as they coursed through the continents and oceans. They swirled and eddied, going in no particular direction.
"As you see, it's not just the fault lines around the world. It is my opinion that you have to attack not the faults, but the very plates beneath them that make the faults on the surface unstable."
Sarah closed her eyes. Something about the professor's explanation danced in her memory. She opened her eyes and looked at the chart that showed the world's known fault lines, but couldn't for the life of her remember what it was she had seen that connected the dots for her. She let the thought slip her mind as disagreement exploded in the room.
Jack watched as Europa entered three programs. Robbins did not understand what it was Collins was digging for. Even Carl was growing concerned.
"Europa, query: the two weapons recovered from the crime scene. They are definitely not in the inventory of Department 5656?"
"According to armory records, one Beretta 9-millimeter, serial number 587690, one Ingram automatic pistol, serial number 153694073-2, were not listed as issued to Department 5656."
Jack had one answer after hours of dead ends.
"Query: are you still into the ATF mainframe, Europa?"
"Yes, Colonel Collins."
"Can you check serial numbers against the two weapons you just gave us for stolen data?"
"Items were listed by ATF as destroyed by reclamation, batch number 45786-B90, on December 3, 1999."
"Both weapons were listed together in the same destruct batch?"
"Now that's weird. What would you say the odds were on that?" Carl commented.
"I wouldn't care to bet," answered Robbins.
"Europa, query: how many weapons in the ATF destruction batch dated 12-03-99?"
"Two thousand five-hundred, maximum weight allowance for melting furnace."
"Someone crooked at ATF, Jack?"
"Okay, we know where two of the weapons used against our people came from, but what in the hell does that get us?" Jack asked, instead of answering Carl's question.
"Europa, query: have you yet acquired access to the NYPD mainframe?" Collins asked.
"Yes, access was gained through unsecured backdoor in Albany, New York, used for the NYPD Widows Welfare Fund."
"Pretty good," Everett said, looking at Robbins.
"She has her ways," he said proudly.
"Has a ballistics report been issued on bullets removed from Event personnel?" Jack continued.
"A report has been generated by the team of officers assigned to case number 4564893-23 for Boston Police Department Robbery-Homicide Special Investigations Division."
"Why Boston?" Robbins asked, and then caught himself. "Europa, query: is there a case in Boston that warranted such a request for ballistics information?"
"Boston Police Department requested any ballistics match through the National Crime Database and received the NYPD report. Expended 5.56, 7.56 and 9 millimeter ammunition used in NYPD report matched exact specifications of ballistics report generated by Boston Police, Robbery-Homicide, dated this day."
"The bastards hit someone else up in Boston, Jack," Everett said as he leaned closer to the glass.
"Europa, query: is there a report of the crime filed by BPD?" Collins asked hurriedly.
"Formulating."
As the three men watched, crime-scene photos started to pop up at an incredible rate on the large monitor screen. Scenes of murder filled the frames. The corpses lay on bloodstained carpets in grotesque stillness.
"My God
," Dr. Robbins said aloud.
"Looks familiar," Jack said beneath his breath.
"Europa, query: what is the location of the Boston crime scene?"
"Crime committed at the law offices of Evans, Lawson and Keeler, Attorneys at Law, located at 4967 Wayland Avenue, Boston. Thirty-seven known deaths occurred at approximately one forty-five Boston time."
"Europa, query: any motive stated for the murders at this time?" Everett asked, heading Jack off.
"Robbery has been listed as motivation for the deaths."
"Round up Mendenhall and Ryan, tell them we're taking a quick trip out to Boston. I want to see could have been so important that these bastards committed another slaughter of innocent people. Tell them to draw side arms and ammo from the armory. Inform Alice we need ATF identification. That should get us through the front door of wherever we need to go."
"You got it," Everett said.
"Is there anything I can do, Colonel?" Robbins asked hopefully.
"You've done enough, Doc. Just get back to Pete and help him. He seems lost without you in the comp center."
"Colonel, you watch your ass. From the looks of things, whoever these people are, they don't let anyone get in their way."
"Hmm, I know some people just like that, Doc."
Robbins watched the colonel leave and knew exactly whom Jack had meant. Everett joined Collins at the door and the two men left together to meet up with Ryan and Mendenhall.
"Yeah, I guess we do have people that are just as serious as those murdering pukes," Robbins said to himself and then closed the terminal with Europa.
8
BOSTON, MASSACHUSETTS
Collins, Everett, Mendenhall, and Ryan stood outside the offices of the law firm Evans, Lawson and Keeler, easily identifiable to the public by the lines of bright yellow police tape surrounding the old brownstone. The Boston Police Department had several bright-light stands placed in front of the building and several uniformed patrolmen were watching the bystanders closely.
The black windbreakers the four men wore had ATF on the back and on the left breast. Jack walked to the front of the building and presented his identification.
"ATF out of New York," Jack began. He found that he didn't need even that small opening for the policeman standing on the large stoop leading into the offices. The man just pointed to the double front doors.
"Robbery-Homicide is set up right inside the lobby, mac. Coffee's there too."
"Thanks," Collins said and gestured for his three men to follow him.
The smell of death hit Jack as soon as he stepped inside. The fluorescent lighting illuminated the reception area of the prestigious firm and belied the fact that so much violence had taken place there less than twenty-four hours before.
"Coming onto scenes like this is getting to be a habit I can really learn to live without, Jack," Everett said, pulling his ID as a detective walked in from the long corridor behind the reception and eyed them.
"Still a hard world," was all Collins said in return.
"Can I help you?"
Jack looked at the man in civilian clothes with his shirtsleeves rolled up and saw that he was wearing a shoulder holster.
"ATF. Our people called today and spoke with a Captain Harnessy. We had a match hit on the ballistics report filed by your department."
"The warehouse thing, right?" the detective said.
"Can we have a look around?" Everett asked as he started to skirt the detective.
"We haven't finished the CSI yet, so--"
"Look," Jack leaned over and looked closer at the man's badge, "Lieutenant, we're willing to share our information and we do have a lot of it. Willing as long as we don't have to play any of these jurisdiction games. Believe it or not, we're on the same side here."
The lieutenant looked around and then nodded. "All right, but I go with you, and don't touch anything. My captain is a real stickler for this clean crime-scene stuff."
Jack smiled and started through the reception door. "I know what you mean; our director can also be a stickler for rules."
As they passed through the door, Carl stepped up and whispered, before the Boston cop caught up to them, "Especially if he knew we were here."
"Oh, man," Ryan hissed, as he saw the first bloodstain on the carpet, where the first victim had been killed.
"They capped the security guard here. The rest of the victims were split into six different offices and shot execution-style."
Jack walked through the first door he came to, which was the main conference room. It looked to Collins that four or five people had been killed in the large room. There were stains on the carpeted floor and on the wall.
"The second batch of people died here, we think. One man, three women, all popped once in the head. The ladies were shot execution-style against the wall."
"Jesus, who in the hell are we dealing with here?" Ryan asked as he stepped from the room.
Mendenhall didn't say anything as he joined Ryan. The exact same thoughts had crossed his mind when he saw the death at the warehouse, and after two days he still could not fathom the type of man who would kill so callously.
"You claim the motive was robbery?" Jack asked as he followed the detective out of the room.
As they entered the hallway, several crime-scene people walked past with large cases. At the end of this line was a man in a white coat who snapped several pictures of a large bloodstain on the wall. As the five men walked off, the police photographer took several more shots and then left. He did not hurry or otherwise attract attention to himself as he made his way to the front after picking up a black case. He nodded at the uniformed officers outside and then moved past the onlookers, walked easily across the street, and disappeared.
Collins and the others were led into a very well-appointed office. A large bloodstain had soaked into the beige carpet in front of the oak desk. The detective pointed to a large portrait that stood out from the far wall. Jack saw the open safe built into a cavity behind it.
"The safe was found like that with only the fingerprints of the senior partner...." He looked into a small notebook. "Mr. Jackson Keeler. Twenty thousand dollars in cash was found, along with several keepsakes and legal papers."
"What was missing?"
"We don't know at this point. Mr. Keeler has no living relatives, and his partners were among the dead."
"It had to be something pretty good to have murdered this many people," Ryan said as he looked into the safe.
"At this point it could have been anything, or nothing. Whoever killed Mr. Keeler took a lot of pleasure in doing it. He was shot ten times."
"So maybe they didn't get what they wanted. Maybe that's why he angered his killers," Everett commented as he looked at the large bloodstain.
"Did the bullets from Keeler match those of the others?"
"We don't know yet; he hasn't been autopsied yet. The coroner seems to be a little bit behind schedule. Guess he wasn't ready for the rush."
"Anything caught on security cameras?" Jack asked.
"No, the cables were--"
"What in the hell are you doing, conducting tours?"
Jack and the others turned at the sound of a booming voice with an Irish lilt. A large man stood in the office doorway with his hands on his hips, glaring at the detective.
"Captain, these men are from ATF and wanted--" 'I don't give a damn what they want. Get them the hell out of here! Did you know you have more people in here than Fenway! One of our CSI photographers was mugged outside just twenty minutes ago. We found him beat to hell. Now, all deals are off. You ATF guys go through channels."
Three minutes later, Jack and the others were standing on the other side of the police cordon.
"What now, Colonel?" Mendenhall asked.
"The coroner's office--maybe he has something we can use."
Their false ATF IDs worked again with no difficulty. The office of the coroner was packed with next of kin and extra medical examiners brought in from
other towns to assist the Boston office with the massacre victims. Jack grabbed the first harried-looking white coat he could stop.
"Jackson Keeler--has he been autopsied yet?" Collins shouted above the din of crying family members and tired medical examiners.
The young woman wanted to pull away from Jack's grip, but when she found it locked around her wrist, she quickly looked at her clipboard.
"Number three. They're just starting."
Collins let the woman go and she dashed into a mob of people and started explaining the hold-up on the identification process. The four men watched for a moment and felt for the families suffering from this cold-blooded tragedy.
They turned away and went to two side-by-side doors. One said EXAMINING ROOM 3 and the one next to it was marked VIEWING.
Jack chose the latter. As the four men entered, they saw two medical students standing at the glass. They looked at the four men in black wind-breakers with the curiosity one would show a bug that had just crawled onto ones' sandwich. Everett held up his ID and the two students swallowed and stepped to the far side of the glass.
Inside, the autopsy had already started. On a chalkboard in front of the stainless steel table was a hastily written identification: JACKSON KEELER, 78 YEARS, 4 MONTHS.
The speaker inside the viewing room was connected to the microphone used by the ME as he started to work on the elderly attorney.
Twenty minutes later, Everett leaned toward Jack.
"Well, I guess all we're going to get is the cause of death."
"Dammit. I was hoping something would come out of this," Collins said as he turned and sat in a chair next to Will and Jason.
None of the four men paid any attention to one of the medical students when she stood up and walked to the intercom.
"Dr. Freely, when your assistant removed the subject's dentures, something fell out of his mouth."
Everett watched as the assistant in the autopsy room bent over, retrieved something from the floor, and held it up to the light.
"Jack, you may want to see this," Carl said as he watched closely.
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