led to the basement hallway. Then he glanced up again to make sure the elevator was still fully perched on the top floor. He doubted anyone would be making the trip down to the underground security labs at four in the morning, but getting crushed by an elevator while attempting to commit a felony was not high on Jack’s list of ways he wanted to die.
When Jack left the pathology lab, he had come to the sudden conclusion that getting into the crime scene was his necessary next step. The police had already given him the impression that they had very little to go on, and Jack didn’t have the kind of personality where he could sit on the sidelines and wait for someone else to do the hard work.
Once he’d made the decision, it had seemed natural to involve Andy. Jack trusted his prized grad student with his life—had literally done so more times than he could count. But when Andy had first suggested they reach out to some of his contacts in the graduate community, Jack had balked at the idea. He was willing to take the risk, but he didn’t want to involve a bunch of college kids in something that could them all arrested.
Eventually, Andy had convinced him that it was their best option, and besides, MIT had a tradition of flouting authority; campus pranks were legendary, like the time a group of seniors had taken the Dean of Students’ car apart and rebuilt it on top of the big dome, a hundred feet above the studentcenter. Or the time a group of engineering students had rewired the windows in the physics building to play an enormous game of Tetris that the entire city of Boston could watch.
Once he’d given the okay, Jack had been amazed at how fast Andy had been able to find what they were looking for. Although Andy had done his undergraduate work in Princeton, he had been a fixture at the Academic Decathlon championships that were held at MIT every fall. You didn’t forget losing to a wiseass genius like Andy Chen every year.
The floppy-haired sophomore hadn’t been the only undergrad on Andy’s e-mail chain to respond to Andy’s request for help, but he’d been the most creative. He’d known exactly where to go to get past the security at the elevator; and he’d also had access to the hazmat suit. Jack was a little terrified about a kid with such ready answers to the task at hand, but he certainly wasn’t in the position to judge anyone. He’d been a bit creative as an undergrad at Princeton, too; the local police station had a cell unofficially dedicated to him when he’d graduated—only to see him return as a professor.
Confident that the elevator wasn’t going to come down on him, Jack turned his attention to the double elevator doors. He crossed the shaft in three steps, then placed his gloved hands on the seam between the doors. On the second try, he managed to get the toe of one of his boots into the seam along with his fingers, and with a burst of effort, forced the doors wide enough to slide his body through.
The hallway was dark, the only light coming from a pair of pale blue emergency signals attached to police call boxes a few feet from the elevator, and Jack waited a few seconds for his eyes to adjust. Then he was moving forward.
He spotted the uniformed police officer the minute he took the first corner in the hallway; the man couldn’t have looked more bored, leaning back as best he could in a metal folding chair, a school newspaper open on his lap. Directly behind him was a closed lab door, covered in bright yellowpolice tape.
Jack didn’t even pause. He took the corner at full pace, then pulled a small Geiger counter out of the backpack that held his oxygen tank, flicked it on, and headed directly toward the officer.
The man didn’t notice his approach until he was about two feet away. Then the cop looked up, saw the hazmat suit—and his eyes nearly bugged out of his head. He got up from the chair so fast the metal seat folded up into the frame, the entire thing clattering to the
When Jack left the pathology lab, he had come to the sudden conclusion that getting into the crime scene was his necessary next step. The police had already given him the impression that they had very little to go on, and Jack didn’t have the kind of personality where he could sit on the sidelines and wait for someone else to do the hard work.
Once he’d made the decision, it had seemed natural to involve Andy. Jack trusted his prized grad student with his life—had literally done so more times than he could count. But when Andy had first suggested they reach out to some of his contacts in the graduate community, Jack had balked at the idea. He was willing to take the risk, but he didn’t want to involve a bunch of college kids in something that could them all arrested.
Eventually, Andy had convinced him that it was their best option, and besides, MIT had a tradition of flouting authority; campus pranks were legendary, like the time a group of seniors had taken the Dean of Students’ car apart and rebuilt it on top of the big dome, a hundred feet above the studentcenter. Or the time a group of engineering students had rewired the windows in the physics building to play an enormous game of Tetris that the entire city of Boston could watch.
Once he’d given the okay, Jack had been amazed at how fast Andy had been able to find what they were looking for. Although Andy had done his undergraduate work in Princeton, he had been a fixture at the Academic Decathlon championships that were held at MIT every fall. You didn’t forget losing to a wiseass genius like Andy Chen every year.
The floppy-haired sophomore hadn’t been the only undergrad on Andy’s e-mail chain to respond to Andy’s request for help, but he’d been the most creative. He’d known exactly where to go to get past the security at the elevator; and he’d also had access to the hazmat suit. Jack was a little terrified about a kid with such ready answers to the task at hand, but he certainly wasn’t in the position to judge anyone. He’d been a bit creative as an undergrad at Princeton, too; the local police station had a cell unofficially dedicated to him when he’d graduated—only to see him return as a professor.
Confident that the elevator wasn’t going to come down on him, Jack turned his attention to the double elevator doors. He crossed the shaft in three steps, then placed his gloved hands on the seam between the doors. On the second try, he managed to get the toe of one of his boots into the seam along with his fingers, and with a burst of effort, forced the doors wide enough to slide his body through.
The hallway was dark, the only light coming from a pair of pale blue emergency signals attached to police call boxes a few feet from the elevator, and Jack waited a few seconds for his eyes to adjust. Then he was moving forward.
He spotted the uniformed police officer the minute he took the first corner in the hallway; the man couldn’t have looked more bored, leaning back as best he could in a metal folding chair, a school newspaper open on his lap. Directly behind him was a closed lab door, covered in bright yellowpolice tape.
Jack didn’t even pause. He took the corner at full pace, then pulled a small Geiger counter out of the backpack that held his oxygen tank, flicked it on, and headed directly toward the officer.
The man didn’t notice his approach until he was about two feet away. Then the cop looked up, saw the hazmat suit—and his eyes nearly bugged out of his head. He got up from the chair so fast the metal seat folded up into the frame, the entire thing clattering to the
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