Ripper (37 page)

“I just wanted to be here to meet your girl. Where is she?” Cally asked worriedly.

Jack looked up and released both of the women’s hands. He stood on shaky feet and then collapsed onto the table’s top.

“Oh!” Alice said as
she ran to get the phone. She lifted the receiver and dialed while Cally tended to Jack.

The United States government offices you are trying to reach are temporarily experiencing technical problems with their phone lines. Please try your call again at a later time.

“Damn it!” Alice cursed as she looked from the phone in her hand to Cally and then to Jack. She made a quick decision and dialed
a special number she knew by heart after so many years at the Event Group.

Cally looked up in confusion as she ran a hand over Jack’s face. She heard the words coming from Alice’s mouth, but couldn’t believe it.

“This is code 5656-01, Hamilton, Alice D. I need to speak to the president of the United States immediately.”

EVENT GROUP COMPLEX
NELLIS AFB, NEVADA

Gloria Bannister watched as the
spectrograph started printing out the known substances that were used in the synthesized production of Lawrence Ambrose’s chemical formula. As she read the printout she checked off the substances that had already been verified by the supercomputer Europa. She shook her head as she tore the printout away from the machine and then handed the report to her father. Those from the CDC crowded around the
list of names, matching them perfectly with what Europa had already told them. Colonel Bannister also shook his head.

“I’ve got to get me one of those computers,” he said as he looked up at the others dressed as he was. They all wore the same environmental chemical suit with hoods that attached but hung down the back, giving them a little breathing space. The chemical-genetic agent was placed
behind two separate panes of sealed glass, and that was behind a steel wall that completely closed the clean room off from the laboratory on the seventeenth level of the complex. “I wonder if they sell this Europa thingamajig at Best Buy.”

The seven biologists from Atlanta laughed as they surrounded the colonel.

“Can you imagine the advanced science this Ambrose used? I mean, splicing poppies
together as if he were doing nothing more than breeding roses? This was impossible science for that time period,” said Dr. Emil Harris, a brilliant man who headed the Viral section in Georgia. “The chemical properties alone would have made this man a giant in the field of chemical engineering.”

“Yes, but what in the hell was his goal? What was this genius after?” Gloria asked as she relieved
her father of the chemical analysis report and started going over it again. Something at the bottom of the page that the spectrograph picked up caught her attention: agent 00012—unknown. “What do you suppose this could be, and this, an organic substance that is unidentifiable?”

Colonel Bannister looked over her shoulder. “Maybe some sort of binding agent perhaps. Something to keep the chemicals
mixed—who knows? This other, the matrix of the substance, looks familiar. Almost like a DNA strand. But that would be impossible.”

“It’s something,” Gloria said, surprised her father wasn’t more concerned about it. As she looked over the printout, she walked to the far corner and sat down while the others started talking about the properties inherent in heroin and PCP. They all knew that the
two poppy species alone produced high-grade hallucinogens, but when spliced together what chemical properties did they produce?

As Gloria looked at the report, she happened to look up at the observation window and saw several people watching their procedures from the area next to the clean room. She saw a familiar face talking with the assistant director of this strange complex, Dr. Pollock.
Will Mendenhall happened to look up at the same moment she did. Their eyes met, and Gloria found she couldn’t help it; she smiled and then gave the lieutenant a quick wave of her hand. She was actually happy when Mendenhall returned the smile and waved back. Embarrassed when Dr. Pollock turned to see her schoolgirl gaze on the young black man, she quickly averted her eyes and looked down at the report.
She just as quickly looked back up to see Will still staring at her. He nodded at something the doctor said and with one last smile turned and left the observation room.

“Gloria, shall we run the agent through the Agilent atomic spectroscopy? We’ll destroy some of the formula, but we’ll get a much clearer picture of just what we’re dealing with here.” The others nodded their heads in agreement.

Gloria stood from her chair and, with one last look back at the observation window in the hopes that Will had returned, went to the window looking into the clean room where Perdition’s Fire was still sitting atop the stainless-steel table, held in place by the robotic arms.

“I don’t think we should jump the gun here,” she said looking at the simplified spectrograph report. “We just don’t know
how this will react to flame. And this other biological source, what in the hell is that? You’re right, it looks like a DNA strand, and we don’t know if the extreme heat will destroy it completely without getting it analyzed.”

They all knew that when the formula was burned by the atomic spectroscopy, it would release a momentary burst of evaporated material for the machine to pick apart and analyze.
The problem as Gloria was seeing it was that since they were dealing with an unknown agent as listed on the report, they didn’t know what reaction the flame would have on the chemicals. It was a minimal chance of contamination she knew, but in their business a minimal chance could be deadly.

“Oh, I think we can safely say that it is statically speaking very unlikely this Ambrose created something
that also reacts to heat. I mean the agent went through the spectrograph just fine, and that’s almost the same principle. As far as the second unknown is concerned, we always have more formula.”

Gloria Bannister bit her lower lip and then shook her head. “That was utilizing much less heat than the atomic spectroscopy. It’s just an unknown factor in all this. I think we need to study, and maybe
even postulate, just what in the hell this man Ambrose was trying to accomplish with this. We have time to find out, and coupled with his goal we may be able to see where it was he was going.”

The colonel looked from his daughter to the others. They were on his side as they wanted to know exactly what made up the complete formula.

“It’s my call, and I say let’s go for it.”

“Here, here,” said
one of the doctors. “I for one am certainly looking forward to seeing what this man has created and how.”

“Okay, let’s do it,” Bannister said, looking away from his daughter’s warning look.

Gloria didn’t like the shortcut, but she fell short on taking a stand. The combined brain power of the group standing inside the clean room outweighed her by about ten thousand pounds in degree and letters
after their names, so she decided to ride out the storm.

She just hoped that storm was not a hurricane.

*   *   *

Pete Golding was actually dozing at the clean room desk as Europa continued to cross-reference anything having to do with Professor Lawrence Ambrose. He had his hand resting on his cheek with his horn-rimmed glasses propped onto his forehead. He started to slip forward and the change
made him awaken with a start. He scratched his head and then rubbed his eyes. He looked down at the half-eaten sandwich that had been delivered to him by the stewards in the cafeteria. He gave the ham and cheese sandwich a dirty look and then stood from his chair just as the clean room door opened.

“Dr. Golding?” the young man asked as he stood just outside the clean room door looking in like
a curious child glancing through the windows of a toy store.

“Yes?” Pete said after stretching his arms over his head.

“Sir, I’m Scott Walton from Archives. I was told to give this to you.”

Pete looked down and saw the battered leather journal and his brows rose just below the paper hat he wore for clean room purposes.

“This was buried in files also.”

Pete stepped forward to look at the journal
and his flesh turned cold when he saw the initials on the front of the leather-bound volume. “LJA,” Pete said in a low tone as he reached out and took a rather thick and very old folder from the archivist’s hand. He read the bold print placed there by an old-fashioned typewriter almost a hundred years before. “Lt. Colonel John Henry Thomas—Department of National Archives.”

Pete knew they had
uncovered a great amount of material and he would have to start immediately because this was an eyeball job where Europa would be of no assistance to him. It was good old-fashioned paper-pushing detective work.

Pete nodded his thanks, closed the clean room door, and then turned and placed the found materials from one of the very first Event Group missions on the desk. He then pulled the microphone
down and leaned over.

“Europa, I’m going to take a break. Continue to—”

“Dr. Golding, excuse me, but I have a vague reference to a Dr. Ambrose listed in a Scotland Yard report filed November 8, 1888.”

Pete realized the time frame fit the earlier discovery about the Ambrose that owned the shipping company. They had rejected the possibility due to his profession. The company was mainly a tea
importer.

“This may be the same Ambrose as the person rejected earlier.”

“Would you like to see the Scotland Yard photographic report, Doctor?”

Pete shook his head to try to clear it of the fog of sleep. “Europa, where did you secure this report?”

“The Europa system is designed for computer mainframe penetration Doctor as you well know. The report is listed as an MI-5-1 coded secret.”

That
got Pete’s attention. Europa had actually gained access to the secure system inside of Scotland Yard and retrieved a top secret file originated through the intelligence services of Her Majesty’s government. What was most shocking was the fact that Europa did it all on her own without Pete’s guidance. The Cray computer after six years in operation was learning to analyze data and move in many directions
of tracking without being told.

“Uh, Europa, the Scotland Yard system mainframe didn’t detect the backdoor break-in, did it?”

At first Pete didn’t think Europa would answer.

“The protocols as set forth by Director Niles Compton, and yourself Dr. Golding, are clearly programmed into my system. I would be required to report such an occurrence immediately. The system being utilized by the British
government is far inferior to that of the Cray Corporation’s standards.”

Pete thought Europa, with her Marilyn Monroe voice synthesizer, sounded insulted.

“Just checking, no offense. Please bring up the Yard and MI-5-1 file please.”

“Yes, Dr. Golding.”

As Pete watched the main viewing screen, a document that had been catalogued and filed away by photographic means many years before came up.
The head of the Computer Sciences Division stood to study the document. To Golding it looked like a security report filed by a man named Frederick George Abberline. Below his name were scrawled the letters
CPI
.

“Europa, any guess as to the letters written below that of the reporting name?”

“The letters refer to rank: chief police inspector.”

“Makes sense,” Pete said as he read the brief report
directed to someone with the initials H.R.M.A.V. Pete read the words on the Photostat.

H.R.M.A.V—

Madam, on this night, 8, July, in the year of our Lord 1889, it is my sad duty to inform you of the demise of Colonel Stanley of Her Majesty’s Black Watch. His demise came at the hands of the man known in certain circles as Professor Lawrence Ambrose. It is now my suspicion that Ambrose has left
this country in favor of his homeland. I am also obliged to inform you that all material related to this professor’s work has been removed to a location unbeknownst to Scotland Yard. Since the discovery of the body of one Mary Kelly in the early morning hours of last year, this problem in Whitechapel should have been resolved. This is the final report that will be filed from this office on an official
letterhead concerning the case mentioned.

Your loyal and obedient servant,

Frederick George Abberline,

CPI, London

Pete read the letter once more and then a third time as he reached for the phone on the desk facing the now-still Europa handling system inside the protective glass cover of the clean room. He slowly removed the paper hat that covered the thin coating of black hair that remained
on his head. As the phone buzzed several levels up, Pete reread the woman’s name once more—Mary Kelly.

“Charlie, are you still teaching Lieutenant McIntire’s geology class?” Pete listened as his eyes scanned all the names listed in the Scotland Yard report. “Good, could you come to the Europa clean room? I think I have something here that you may be able to help me with.” Pete hung up the phone
and then studied the images on the screen more closely.

“No, this has to be a coincidence.”

*   *   *

Twenty minutes later Niles Compton, coming straight from a late dinner in the cafeteria, entered the clean room. He saw a crazed-haired Charlie Ellenshaw standing and looking at the large-screen monitor. Pete was pacing in back of Ellenshaw and looked up when he saw Niles.

“I think we found
him,” Pete said shaking his head. “And you’re not going to believe this one.”

Niles placed the hair cap on his head and Pete shook his head. “Never mind that; Europa is all finished except for a few questions. You can erase the screen Europa.”

“Yes, Dr. Golding.”

As the main monitor went blank, Charles Ellenshaw turned and smiled at Niles as he took his seat.

“Dr. Ellenshaw lent me some of
his obscure history knowledge and helped confirm what we found. Europa, please bring up the letter found in the archives of Scotland Yard.”

“Yes, Dr. Golding.”

As they watched, the photocopied letter was placed on the screen. Niles read the words and as he did Pete started to smile.