Stanford University
01:30 HOURS
The Quantum Building was swarming with activity. Crimson flashing lights rhythmically flooded the structure’s exterior. Response vehicles from every emergency service agency-from sheriff to coroner-had all responded to the 911 call from the chief security guard. Palo Alto police surrounded Quantum and completed a thorough search of each quarter of the building. The Santa Clara Sheriff’s SWAT unit coordinated a search along the streets leading from the murder scene; several more SWAT members took positions atop adjacent buildings. The crackle of sporadic radio transmissions permeated the surrounding area from the multiple jurisdictions responding to the incident.
The county EMS coordinating team was activated and quickly established a command center on the first floor. A single radio frequency was assigned to the multi-agency coordinating team so that each member could communicate directly with the incident command center. The MAC streamlined emergency response protocols that would be in conflict were it not for prior training amongst the members. The years of training paid handsome dividends at an incident like Quantum, and Captain Clay Hawkley swelled with pride at how well the MAC was functioning.
Captain Hawkley established the incident command shortly after his arrival on scene. He was well versed in the role, having been the chief architect who created the MAC in Santa Clara County. The IC was kept insulated from interference, but in direct contact with every ranking officer in the unit. In this way, information coming from the field was filtered, processed, and analyzed, making command decisions responsive to only the most current information.
Captain Hawkley awaited breaking information from his field commanders: Lieutenant Morris from division headquarters was investigating the crime scene; Sergeant Cristobel from SWAT was covering the perimeter of the building; Lieutenant Pomeroy from homicide was interviewing the surviving guard. Captain Hawkley patiently anticipated reports from these three seasoned professionals.
On the third floor, Lieutenant David Morris was busily taking notes from his first impression of the crime scene. The county coroner pronounced the victim dead at the scene and took possession of the remains. The scene of the crime was a gruesome affair, but not unlike most homicides that involved a shooting. The victim lay on his back in the middle of the corridor, immediately in front of lab 313. There was a large pool of blood surrounding the victim, which had discharged from a massive head wound. Looking down at the corpse, Lieutenant Morris recognized the amazed look on his face; the expression and open eyes conveyed surprise. He marveled at the surfeit of forensic evidence available from the initial examination of a murder victim. A trained eye could usually detect the circumstances immediately preceding the crime-whether an argument or struggle precipitated the murder, or as in this case, it was completely unexpected.
A small hole directly in the center of the victim’s forehead proved that the shooter was an expert marksman. Even though this was a close-range shooting, it was rare to see a murder committed in passion where a bullet hole was so perfectly centered. Morris concluded that the shooter was a professional, and while he had been clearly caught off-guard, he made an instant decision that killing the intruder was the most expedient course of action. Cold, calculating, and remorseless. All trademarks of a trained professional assassin, Morris thought.
The hole in the victim’s forehead confirmed that a small caliber weapon was used. But the massive exit wound suggested a hollow point bullet, meant to shred and kill, rather than wound or maim. Brain matter was splattered against the back of the wall in a diameter of about fifteen inches, confirming that the back of the victim’s skull had literally exploded against the impact of the hollow point. Lieutenant Morris also recognized a small hole in the wall. It was at the center of the crimson splash of blood and brains from the victim’s head. This small hole was unquestionably made by the slug that was fired through Frank Santos’s cranium. Retrieving the slug would provide the caliber of the weapon used, though it probably wouldn’t be of much use beyond that. If, as he suspected, the murderer was a professional, the gun used was most likely untraceable. Still, there was a good bit of information to be gathered from this crime scene.
“Got anything, Sergeant?” Morris asked as he entered Dr. Levassuer’s lab.
“Not really. It looks like an unplanned entry, from what we can determine,” responded Sergeant Chino. “Stuff’s been shoved around to make it look like they were searching for something, but Dr. Levassuer claims that nothing’s missing. We got his statement.”
“Anything interesting?”
Sergeant Chino shrugged, looking at his notes. “You be the judge,” he replied, peering over the rim of his reading glasses. Chino had a reputation for short, terse statements. “Levassuer says he was walking down the stairs and was overpowered by two men dressed in black and wearing hoods. Both men were of medium height and build. He claims they approached him from below, but before he realized what was happening, they knocked him out. He came to sometime later, but distinctly remembers hearing a helicopter above the building. His statement corroborates what we’ve discovered on the roof.”
“Okay, good work, Sergeant,” Morris replied. “Who’s on the roof?”
“Sergeant Cristobel and his SWAT guys are up there. They found discarded climbing gear, rope, and two parachutes. Apparently the perps parachuted onto the roof, set an anchor, and rappelled into the fifth-floor office occupied by a Dr. Jarrod Conrad. Sergeant Reynolds is up there now,” Chino summarized so Morris could assess which location to check on next. “Let me know if I can help out on the fifth floor, Lieutenant,” he volunteered, hoping to get involved in the more exciting part of the crime investigation.
“No…I want this area to have your full attention, Sergeant,” Morris instructed. He was well aware of Chino’s ambitious nature. “I want everything documented before the coroner moves the victim; make sure nothing’s overlooked. After the victim is moved and the scene is cleared, you can join us on the fifth floor. Understood?” he said politely. But he had not meant it to be anything other than an order.
“Affirmative,” Sergeant Chino replied, not enthused with his orders but accepting them nonetheless. “I’ll make sure this scene is cleared by the book.”
As Lieutenant Morris made his way to the fifth floor, he called Hawkley to give his preliminary findings from the homicide scene. He reported that the murder was committed by at least two professionals while attempting to obscure their primary crime: the burglary on the fifth floor. Hawkley was intrigued and asked for an immediate report on the fifth-floor break-in as soon as it was available.
David Morris emerged from the elevator and proceeded to the open door about halfway down the long corridor of labs. The fifth floor of the Quantum Building seemed to be a little less clinical than the third floor. There were large photos adorning the walls along the full length of the corridor. One particularly striking photo dominated the area just off the elevator: the classic portrait of Albert Einstein-white hair a mess, chalk in hand, drawing complex equations on a blackboard. Another depicted Robert Oppenheimer at his lab in Los Alamos, New Mexico. At several locations throughout the corridor, placards displayed radioactive warning signs about the use of nuclear isotopes. There was little doubt that the fifth floor was conducting atomic energy research.
As Morris approached the lab, several SWAT officers in camouflage turnouts were just leaving. He questioned them briefly and was joined shortly by Detective Sergeant Mark Reynolds from inside the lab. The nameplate showed the office belonged to Jarrod Conrad, Ph. D.
“Evening, Detective,” Morris said, shaking Reynolds’s hand. “Got anything interesting?”
“Hi, Dave…another thrilling evening in Gotham, eh,” Reynolds said sardonically, trying for a bit of levity.
“Never a dull moment, Mr. Wayne,” Morris replied. “Tell me the Riddler hasn’t resurfaced.”
“Riddle me this…” Reynolds continued dryly. “Here’s the synopsis.”
Reynolds paused briefly, clearing his throat. “It appears that two men parachuted onto the roof and rappelled over the south side of the building. They then breached the office at the anterior of the lab, and hacked the main computer server from that office work station,” he said pointing to the computer terminal. “We haven’t determined what was taken, but they weren’t in the office more than about twenty minutes, tops. They had detailed reconnaissance of the building. Someone very connected put this together, Lieutenant.”
Sergeant Reynolds had a particular expertise for solving crimes involving industrial espionage and computer theft. When he believed something was a certainty, most high-ranking superiors in the department considered it an incontrovertible fact.
“Thanks for the update, Mark,” Morris replied. “No surprises, then?”
“Well…actually… yes, there is a surprise of sorts. We found a crumpled piece of paper under the sofa with a phone number on it. It was written on a scratch pad from a construction company in Bernalillo, New Mexico. It’s unlikely the perpetrators would have dropped this paper; they’re too well choreographed to make that mistake. If they left it behind, it had a purpose…they wanted it found.”
“Let me see the note,” Morris asked.
Reynolds reached for a large zip-lock bag containing the previously crumpled-up paper. It was lying on a service table at the side of the office. He handed it to Morris. “We haven’t had time to dust for prints but we’ll get on this first thing at the lab,” he said, watching Morris examine the contents of the bag, turning it back and forth several times trying to get a sense of why this note would be in the office.
Morris read the note aloud, “‘Check with Apache Steel about delivery of BigMo.’ It could belong to the occupant of the office, couldn’t it?” Morris guessed.
“Sure could…but I doubt it,” Reynolds shrugged. “We won’t know until we can question the owner-Dr. Jarrod Conrad. From notes on his desk, it looks like he’s conducting some kind of gravity research. I’ve also called Sal Palatino. He’s on his way. Let’s see if he can get into the server. He’ll be able to tell us if anything was copied or corrupted.” Reynolds concluded his statements succinctly, taking the zip-lock back from Lieutenant Morris. He slipped it into his jacket pocket.
“Okay. I assume you’ve assigned someone to contact this New Mexico Company about a connection to Dr. Conrad?”
“Already called dispatch,” Reynolds replied. “They have the number. We’ll know who owns this company and what they do by morning. Someone from the local PD will pay them a visit tomorrow. Conrad may also be able to clear the whole thing up.”
“Okay, tell me about this breach,” Morris questioned, walking toward the hole in the window. “Looks pretty clean. How’d they get past the alarm?” he asked, pointing to one of the deactivated sensors in the corner of the office.
“Again…these guys are pros, Lieutenant, and their recon is some of the best available. They knew beforehand the type of sensors they’d encounter. The breach took less than a minute or the sensors would have recalibrated. This is a very cool customer.”
Morris rubbed his forehead. He closed his eyes, trying to assimilate all the details from Detective Reynolds. “Alright, I get the picture,” he said drawing a big breath. “It’ll be interesting to find out what these two were after.”
Reynolds nodded. “I’ll bet it was something damned important.”
“You’re probably right. Let me see if I’ve got this straight,” Morris continued, still massaging his temples. He reverted to this habit whenever he wanted to focus his concentration. “We’ve got two perps dressed in ninja garb. They jump onto the roof, rappel down to the fifth floor, and enter this office to grab something from Conrad’s computer. Then they exit, but meet an eyewitness, which forces an unplanned diversion into the lab on level three. This alerts the security guards, one of whom responds and they blow him away. They immediately retreat to the roof, get picked off by helicopter, and are presently at large in the city. Does that about sum it up, Detective?” Morris asked, looking bemused by the recitation of facts.
“You got it-so far as we can tell, Lieutenant,” Reynolds replied. “Shall we visit the roof before heading back to the CP?”
“Yeah, let’s complete the circuit just in case Hawkley asks me something in particular,” he replied. He figured there wasn’t much to be gained since Sergeant Cristobel and SWAT had already investigated the scene. It wasn’t likely SWAT missed anything.
Of all the available evidence, he considered the crumpled-up note the most remarkable. There was something distinctly outof-place about it. Also intriguing was the debacle that became of the exit strategy that resulted in the murder of an innocent man. Reynolds was correct; this case had every appearance of being a well-planned, professional operation. They would be lucky to find a shred of evidence to trace to these guys. But killing Frank Santos was a big mistake, and would lead to their undoing. Morris relished the challenge of leading the investigation. There’s a pattern here…I can’t see it yet, but it’s here. The more complex the crime, the more opportunity for error.
Morris followed Sergeant Reynolds to the roof. As he suspected, there wasn’t anything new apart from what the primary investigators had already reported. He called Hawkley.
“IC, Morris,” he radioed downstairs. He looked down at the Stanford campus. Flashing lights from myriad EMS vehicles continued to saturate the area, magnifying shadows and casting surreal images across the landscape. Morris couldn’t help but feel saddened by the thought of the dead guard. He wondered if the man had a family that would soon learn the tragic news of his death. He was thankful he wasn’t the department chaplain, who would notify the family of the loss. What a waste, he thought.
“IC…report,” replied Hawkley from the incident command center. “Have you completed investigating the physical evidence?”
“Affirmative. I’m just leaving the roof. We’ve got a couple solid leads you’ll find interesting,” he said. “We may be able to piece something together.”
“I hope you’re right, Lieutenant,” Hawkley stated. “I haven’t seen squat so far. Get down here as soon as possible.”
“Ten-four.”
With that final transmission, Morris’s radio fell silent. He walked to the stairwell, wondering where this strange and confusing story would end. He remembered what his first partner had taught him: Don’t predetermine anything. It never ends up the way you first imagine.