Dr. Reed made the introductions, starting at the top of the food chain with Dr. Phillip Bascomb, then working her way down the pecking order.
When she returned to Hangar Six with the Senator in tow, the woman rudely corralled the staff, then lined them all up in the hot afternoon sun for a military-style review. Her managerial skills had never been so clumsy, and pretty much everyone was mortified by the woman’s behavior — except for the oblivious Dr. Reed, of course.
What could have been a very uncomfortable few minutes was lightened considerably by Senator David Palmer’s charisma and easy charm. Unlike most VIP visitors to Area 51, the Senator from Maryland seemed to take a genuine interest in the people involved in the project, not only the project itself. He spent a few minutes with each member of the Malignant Wave team, quizzing them on their tasks, their credentials — though the conversation was not always on topic. When Palmer tried to grill Bascomb about his previous experience as a microwave specialist for NASA, the scientist found a way to switch topics. While most professionals loved to talk about their work, to Palmer’s surprise, Dr. Bascomb preferred to talk about his pro-basketball days.
So did Dr. Alvin Toth, who grinned up at the Senator while pumping Palmer’s hand. “You and Larry Bell were a hell of a team,” the paunchy pathologist said.
“We still are, Dr. Toth,” Palmer replied. “I’m having dinner with Larry tonight.”
Beverly Chang smiled nervously when the Senator complimented her on the efficiency of her security system. The thirty-something cyber specialist shook his hand, but seemed too shy to meet his stare.
Senator Palmer and Steve Sable spoke only briefly. Dr. Sable received a shock when the Senator cited his work on the F–22 Raptor’s highly-advanced computer control system.
“I read your report last year, Dr. Sable. Seems to me the Air Force owes you a debt of gratitude for ironing out a litany of technical glitches.”
“I’ll be sure to remind them, Senator,” the software engineer replied with a smirk.
“This is Dani Welles, the youngest member of our team,” Dr. Reed said, moving quickly past the acerbic Dr. Sable.
The Senator smiled at the young woman, and offered his hand. “Delighted to meet you, Ms. Welles.” When their hands met the woman nearly gushed. “Please call me Dani, Senator.”
“A pleasure… Dani.”
“This is Antonio Alvarez,” Dr. Reed said. “He’s our energy specialist.”
Senator Palmer hardly glanced at Tony. His attention was drawn to a sudden burst of activity a few hundred yards away, at the test site. A tow tractor appeared on the scene, dragging two wheeled carts carrying aluminum cages. In one cage, a pair of Rhesus monkeys were strapped to metal gurneys. The primates — a male and a female — had gray-brown fur and hairless pink faces. Rendered immobile, the monkeys snarled fearfully, lips curled back to reveal sharp teeth. Their dark eyes blinked against the sun’s glare.
Palmer moved closer, and noticed the animals’ heads were shaved. Electrodes had been implanted deep into the apes’ skull, wires running to monitors attached to the bars.
In the other cage, two small pigs squealed with fright. Unfettered, they sniffed the bars of their prison with their flaring snouts.
Steve Sable turned his back on the scene, glanced at Tony. “If you’re a card-carrying member of PETA, you better leave now, amigo,” he muttered.
“Ah, the test animals have arrived,” Dr. Toth said. “I’d better go make sure the monitors are working.”
Dr. Bascomb nodded. “If you’ll excuse me, Senator. I also have work to do.”
Both he and Dr. Toth hurried back to their instrument panels inside the tent. Within seconds, the entire team had dispersed to complete final preparations.
“Just be patient a little longer, Senator,” Dr. Reed said with a hint of pride. “Show time is just minutes away.”
The Senator glanced at Megan Reed, who watched as the cages were carefully unloaded by a group of airmen. Under Beverly Chang’s supervision, the cages were placed inside an invisible box bordered by four yellow poles pounded into the ground, about seventyfive yards away from the microwave tower.
“I wasn’t aware lab animals would be used in this demonstration,” Palmer said, unable to mask his distaste.
“I believe it’s necessary, Senator Palmer,” Dr. Reed replied. “In order to truly understand the power of this weapon, you must witness the Malignant Wave’s effect on actual brains and central nervous systems. I don’t believe a print-out of a microwave graph would be sufficient.” Palmer frowned. “I defer to your expertise, Dr. Reed.”
Morris O’Brian led Jack Bauer to the sub basement storage room. Hands quaking, the little man unlocked the steel door, pushed it open, switched on the overhead light.
“Over there, Jack,” Morris croaked, averting his eyes.
Jack stepped over two canvas bags filled with dusty Christmas decorations, moved around a row of unused roulette tables. The corpse was there, where Morris had pointed. Face down on the concrete floor, blood had oozed from the stab wound after death, staining the floor black.
“Who is it, Jack?”
Bauer crouched over the dead man, carefully turned the corpse onto its side. The skin was already spotted with purple blotches, limbs stiffening but not yet frozen by rigor mortis, so the man had been dead for several hours.
Jack used his pen flashlight to probe the floor around the body. Not enough blood on the ground, so Jack knew he didn’t die here. He tossed the corpse, fishing through the man’s pockets, under his belt, under the shirt and inside his pants. He’d already made a positive identification, so Jack wasn’t trying to find out who the dead man was. He just wanted to see what he found — a wallet, keys, loose change, a pack of matches and a couple of chips from Circus, Circus.
“It’s Ray Perry,” Jack replied.
Morris swallowed loudly. “That explains why he’s been missing. I guess we know it wasn’t Ray who killed Max Farrow in his cell, then.”
Jack lowered the corpse to the ground. “He’s been stabbed a couple of times, but the neck wound finished him. I think Perry was killed in the security room, before or after Max Farrow was murdered. His blood mingled with Farrow’s. I should have figured out that there was too much blood.” Bauer’s expression darkened. “In a scene like that, there always seems to be too much blood…”
Bauer stood, tucked the dead man’s wallet into the back pocket of his black Levi’s. “Why were you down here, Morris?”
“Blew a bank of cameras on the northeast side of the gaming room. I wanted to check the circuit breakers…” Morris pointed to the opposite wall. “That’s the box, over there. I found the problem, corrected it. Then, as I was leaving, I saw… him.”
“Did you tell anyone?”
Morris stared at the dead man, shook his head. “I was looking for Curtis… Found you instead.”
“Who else has a key to this room?” Jack demanded.
Morris shrugged. “Too many people, Jack. Curtis… Don Driscoll… Chick Hoffman. That guy Manny… what’s his name… The guy who works the night shift. I think the bartender has a copy, too.”
“How well was the body hidden?” Jack asked, his mind categorizing the likelihood of each man’s guilt.
“I wouldn’t have found Ray, except that I was taking a peek at those roulette tables over there.” Morris scratched his chin. “Saw his feet sticking out from behind the canvas bags.”
“Nobody comes down here much, anyway,” Jack said, thinking out loud. “Whoever stashed the corpse here knew it was only a matter of time before Perry was found. Which means the killer only needed to buy a few hours, maybe less…”
“What’s that mean, Jack?”
