“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 Doc
tor 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.
“Is this the same man that operated out of the warehouse we disassociated with the professor we were searching for?”
“Yes it is.” Pete spoke into the microphone. “Europa, the name Mary Kelly; please confirm for the director Professor Ellenshaw’s statement.”
“Mary Kelly, the last known victim of the mass murderer known to London at the time as Jack the Ripper.”
Niles had to sit down. “Who is this man who filed the report?”
“Frederick George Abberline, chief inspector for the London Metropolitan Police. The man in charge of the Jack the Ripper case,” Charlie said, knowing the story from memory.
“And the person he sent this letter to?” Niles asked.
“Europa, verify and report on the initials of the recipient of this letter dated November 8, 1888.”
“The initials are used for private communication when names are not permissible in official communiqués. The letters H.R.M.A.V. appear in many secret documents from the law enforcement and intelligence communities in various reports.”
“The name?” Pete insisted.
“Her Royal Majesty Alexandrina Victoria,” Europa answered.
“Ha!” Pete said loudly, making Niles jump and Charlie laugh.
Niles sat stunned.
“Queen Victoria herself!” Pete said even louder. “She knew our Professor Lawrence Jackson, or Jack if you wish, Ambrose.”
“The warehouse?” Niles finally managed to ask.
“That was harder, but once we knew he was our man, not too hard to confirm. Oh, he was an importer of tea alright, and where in the hell does the best tea come from in the known British Empire at the time?”
“India,” Niles answered sitting up in his chair.
“And what have we learned about dear professor Ambrose?”
“He was a botanist,” Niles said, and then his face froze as the reality hit him. “Poppies?”
“Correct, poppies from India and China. Both species smuggled into London hidden in barrels of tea shipments,” Pete said as he leaned against the desk.
“And what’s the strangest part of all this?” Charlie Ellenshaw asked.
“The queen knew about Ambrose and what he was doing. That means her people knew what Ambrose was doing and didn’t stop him.”
“Now look at this,” Pete said, “Europa, display paymaster record 191037462 dated July 1884 on the monitor, please.” He faced Niles. “This is another surprise Europa dug up at Charlie’s suggestion. It was an outlay for payment from the Ministry of Defense bearing this Ambrose’s name.”
On the screen Europa placed an old ledger document that had also been photocopied.
Payment delivered and signed for service rendered to Her Royal Majesty — Lawrence J. Ambrose, one million pounds sterling for investigation into military science on aggression.
“My God,” Niles said. “They created a formula that transforms men into superhuman soldiers, or possibly a weaponized agent that would send enemy troops into a self-destructive and murderous state against their own.”
“Or a dose fed to a soldier at just the right time would become what the old Viking tales called ‘Berserkers,’” Ellenshaw said as he slowly turned and looked at Niles and Pete. Both men just stared at Charlie, wondering how he came up with this information on ancient legends around the world. When they shook off Charlie’s observation it was the director who broke the silence in the room.
“Unbelievable,” Niles said for both men. Compton then rubbed the bridge of his nose, raising his glasses as he did. “There’s still a lot of speculation involved
here, gentlemen.”
“Yes, but as I am reading it right now, and until we get something that takes us in another direction,” Charlie said wiping his glasses on his white lab coat, “I would have to say that Ambrose tested his formula out on the foggy streets of Whitechapel, possibly utilizing smaller doses than what was witnessed in Mexico. In essence he used himself as a guinea pig, and the whole damn nightmare was paid for by the queen’s own military.”
Niles stood and looked at the two scientists.
“And together they created Jack the Ripper.”
At that moment a red light started flashing over the doorway leading to the hallway and an alternating tone sounded throughout the giant complex.
“A Code One contamination alert on level seventeen has been detected. All departmental personnel are required to gather in secure locations for possible complex-wide evacuation.”
Niles’s face turned white, as did those of Charlie and Pete, at Europa’s announcement. Niles Compton was the first to realize what it meant.
“Oh, God, level seventeen is the biological clean room.”
THE GOLD CITY PAWN SHOP,
LAS VEGAS, NEVADA
The black Chevy Tahoe was parked across from the pawn shop while the Black Strike Team waited to get into position. The plan was to hit the security gate hard and fast with overwhelming force to bring about the capitulation of the forces inside the building. The goal: to remove any threat from the security personnel stationed at the gate.
“I hope the men and women you utilize for security aren’t the brave or stupid kind,” Smith said to Sarah in the backseat as he pulled his cell phone from his jacket. “This could get real messy.”
Sarah remained silent, not liking the feeling of being close to the large man. Her mind was on Jack and Alice, and that was all she could focus on. She turned away from Smith and looked out of the darkly tinted window toward the well-illuminated Gold City Pawn Shop. She could see at least two of the Event Group security staff inside. One was speaking with a young man who looked to be haggling over a guitar that was displayed on the north wall of the building. As Smith made his call he saw what McIntire was looking at. Then his eyes moved to Sarah’s hands, which were folded in her lap. Without saying a word Smith reached over, removed her sunglasses, and tossed them on the floor.
Ripper egt-7 Page 29
