surmised that spinning a nuclear mass inside a magnetic field would produce gravitrons.
The results were nothing short of astonishing. His experiments successfully levitated the first of many small objects, but the results also confirmed the basic antigravity principle that would hold true for any object, regardless of size. The tricky part was figuring the exact amount of energy needed to stimulate the nuclear core. Given an object to levitate, Jarrod’s equations would calculate the amount of nuclear material required under varying degrees of electromotive force-more nuclear material meant less EMF to agitate the gravitrons; likewise, a small measure of nuclear material required a greater EMF to produce the same effect. Ultimately he developed the precise mathematical equation to be used on any object.
As a last step, Jarrod refined the model so that an object’s gravity could also be increased. By reversing the field, he could magnify gravity to a crushing force many times otherwise normal. Of particular importance, the results could be repeated and applied to all types of material, both solid and liquid. Through persistence and incredible determination, Jarrod had finally produced the desired result: Gravity had been conquered.
The remaining hurdle was to test the antigravity machine in real-world conditions. With the new equations, he looked forward to levitating objects with larger amounts of nuclear material and more electrical force. By extrapolation, the equations predicted that an entire building could be either levitated or crushed, depending on how the gravitrons were manipulated. It was this last possibility that was particularly intriguing to Jarrod.
As the test results of his gravitron generator became certain, Jarrod could hardly contain his excitement. He believed this breakthrough technology would be heralded as one of the greatest achievements of the modern world. He imagined receiving the Nobel Prize for his revolutionary discovery and figured to receive universal acclaim for his pioneering work. He was on the brink of making history.
But more important than any amount of wealth and notoriety, the greatest enjoyment would come from knowing that his cousin, Ryan Marshall, would be green with envy. He had bested him once again. It was the most satisfying feeling imaginable.
Dr. Niles Penburton, co-founder and principal shareholder of Quantum Dimensions, Inc., closely monitored the server time Dr. Conrad was racking up perfecting the gravitron generator. As the leading scientist for SRI, he alone had complete access to all of Conrad’s research files, equations, and engineering specs, an authority that infuriated his pompous and arrogant colleague. In exchange for Penburton’s unfettered access to his work, Conrad demanded he be made a general partner in Quantum, to which Penburton reluctantly agreed.
But mutual trust between the two scientists never developed. Conrad was certain Penburton would demand co-authorship when the time came to publish his research. Penburton believed that Conrad would jump ship at the first opportunity, leaving behind a wake of bills for Quantum to resolve. Their uncomfortable alliance grew more hostile over time, and Conrad’s surreptitious mood began taxing Penburton’s patience to the breaking point.
Equally interested in Jarrod Conrad’s research was the U.S. Defense Department, but for a distinctly different reason. Nuclear material wasn’t allowed for private research without formal authorization by the Nuclear Regulatory Agency. Special Agent Jason Henry had been assigned by General Blake Freeman to oversee the nuclear research conducted at Quantum Dimensions. He regularly submitted updates to the Joint Chiefs’ chairman, who had no intention of letting any theoretical application proceed to development without direct government oversight.
Agent Henry had been working closely with Niles Penburton these past months and was anxious to receive the final test results he’d been promised were pending. This type of technology was of tremendous interest to the government, which would seize its application if there were even a remote weapons capability. Penburton cautioned that the surly Professor Conrad wouldn’t tolerate anyone interfering with his research, Defense Department or otherwise. You don’t know the man…he’s capable of anything.
Agent Henry wasn’t concerned in the least about Conrad’s feelings on the matter. He’ll learn to see the practicality of working for the government…or he’ll simply cease to be a factor. ‘The cleaners’ will make certain of that.
ELEVEN
Taos, New Mexico
07:30 HOURS
The drive from Santa Fe to Taos along Route 68 was always spectacular, no matter the time of year. The highway followed the Rio Grande River for miles as the road bridged dozens of oxbows in the river’s flow from northern New Mexico to Albuquerque. In the winter months, skiers took this route to the Taos ski resort, one of the premier alpine ski destinations in the Southwest. The drive was especially spectacular in the fall, with Poplar and Aspen trees turning colors so striking it was hard to describe; but it was never an unpleasant drive, even in the summer months. From Santa Fe, the journey began at the 4,500-foot elevation and ended in the arctic alpine slopes of Taos.
Detective Raymond Westbrook’s assignment was straightforward: Drive to the new bridge at the Rio Grande Gorge near Pilar; pick up Ryan Marshall, the owner of Levitation Solutions, Inc.; deliver him for questioning about a case at Stanford University involving his cousin, Jarrod Conrad. As he understood the facts, incriminating evidence was discovered at the scene of a burglary at Dr. Conrad’s lab, implicating Marshall. This suspect was also wanted for questioning about a homicide in the building on the same night.
Detective Westbrook had a warrant for Marshall’s arrest, and was authorized to search the premises of his work site, hotel, and any other area where evidence of the break-in and homicide might exist. His orders were to arrest Marshall and take him to the Taos County jail for questioning. In all, this seemed a pretty routine investigation, but the fact that the suspect was also the ex-son-in-law of Senator Alfonse Coscarelli made the arrest that much more intriguing. It was probably the reason Bernalillo County Sherriff Ralph Paez had decided to reach outside their jurisdiction. Sherriff Paez was a longtime friend of the senator’s.
Regardless of the political ramifications, Westbrook figured this would be an easy pinch. He’d arrest the suspect, book him into the Taos County jail, conduct a preliminary interrogation, have green chili enchiladas at La Hacienda-his favorite Mexican restaurant- and drive home. What could be simpler?
Detective Westbrook pulled into the Tesoro service station on the outskirts of Pilar for gas. This filling station had the hardened look of neglect characteristic of most small-town, owner-operated establishments. There was a bluetick hound lying in the shade next to a tire rack. Some guard dog, Ray thought, chuckling to himself. This hound was the epitome of relaxed. The detective was also baffled that the station still had outdated pumps that required payment before dispensing the gas. Slightly put out, he walked into the office in search of the attendant.
“Hey, can you give me directions to the construction site of the new bridge?” he asked the freckle-faced kid behind the cash register, handing him twenty dollars. “Am I on the right track?”
“Yeah, man, you got it. Just stay right on this main road here,” he said, pointing east of the station. “You’ll see the big crane and all the steel they’re puttin’ up. It’s five or six miles up the highway. Ya can’t miss it,” he added, seemingly happy to have someone to talk with. “Hey, what are you…some kinda state inspector?”
“Not an inspector, son, but I’ve got reason to visit the site,” he vaguely replied. “What can you tell me about these guys?” he asked spur-of-the-moment, wondering if this kid could possibly shed any light on Marshall’s crew.
“I don’t see them much in here,” the kid replied, pushing his greasy ball cap farther back on his head “Most of the crew gets their trucks serviced at the construction yard. They eat at Marge’s Restaurant, though. I’ve seen ’em there for early breakfast. A big fella pays when he’s with ’em. He’s the owner, I think, ’cuz everybody calls him Mister… something or other. They’re pretty cool, but you never wanna cross iron guys or you take on the whole gang…know what I mean?” he said, giving the impression he knew more than he actually did on the subject.
“Okay, thanks for the tip, young man,” Westbrook replied, guessing that the kid must really be bored. “Have a good day.”
“Glad I was able to help out, mister. Just remember…don’t tangle with these guys if ya can help it. They can be mighty nasty to an outsider…or so I’ve heard,” he said, following the detective outside.
Westbrook gassed up his car and resumed his drive, heading east out of town. Just as the station attendant had said, about five miles up the highway, he began to see signs of construction activity. Then he located the new
