“Hang on,” Alexis said. “Can you get that exact image back?”
Elise rolled her eyes. “Sure, but my time would be better used if I returned to hacking the older security records until I find the deleted parts of this time period.”
“This won’t take long,” Alexis said. “I was certain there was something familiar about that man — and I just worked out what it was.”
Elise brought the image back.
“There it is!” Alexis said.
“What?” everyone said in unison.
“He’s wearing a Harvard Medallion on his right hand — it denotes the highest achievement in science. There’s been fewer than fifteen of those given out in Harvard’s history!”
“So, what does that prove?”
“Don’t you see? There’s no way someone who scored the highest marks in decades at Harvard is going to find themselves working as a sales assistant on a cruise ship. It’s the same guy, I’m sure it is. He’s been going around locking all the doors, and removing the staff.”
“Maybe he had a good job and he lost it?” Tom suggested.
“No way!” Alexis said. “A guy like that doesn’t lose a good job. Do you realize that more people have become the President of the U.S.A than receive a Harvard Medallion in science?”
“Anyway, how could you tell he was the same as the other guys? Their faces were obscured and each time the person wore completely different clothes?” Elise asked.
“Because I saw the ring on his left finger, each time.”
“How could you be certain it’s a Harvard Medallion?” Sam asked.
Alexis held out her right hand. On her fourth digit a plain ring with a golden medallion over the Harvard crest glowed orange. “Because I have one of those rings.”
Chapter Seventeen
Sam shuffled in his chair. “Okay, so whatever happened here wasn’t an accident. Someone orchestrated it. Elise, can your facial recognition software get a good enough image of his face to identify him?” Sam asked.
“Shouldn’t be a problem.”
Elise slowed the security recording until she could flick frame by frame. She stopped on an image of the man’s face.
She then typed: Harvard Medallion Recipients.
“Hey, there’s only ever been eleven people in the history of Harvard who met the criteria for its Medallion.” She scrolled down; her eyes scanning the list of names. “Whoa! Alexis, you’re not lying. You were a recipient.”
“Why, Elise —” Alexis paused as she withheld a small smile. “Did you doubt my word?”
“Not for a minute.”
Harvard Medallion recipient? She’s smart. Sam made a note to find out what she does now for work once he had more time.
“Good,” Sam said. “That leaves just ten names to identify. I don’t suppose you know any of the other recipients?”
“No luck. I was the first in about ten years.”
“Okay, it’s back to you, Elise.”
“Just a second.”
A series of names flashed up on her laptop. Next to each name was a likelihood of a match, represented as a percentage. There were a total of forty names left taking into account a possible change of hairstyle, color, facial hair and aging. Elise added the additional Boolean operator to the search query: AND — Attended Harvard University. Five names were left. She then added one more Boolean operator: Not — Deceased. Results: zero.
“Hmm. That’s no good.”
“What’s wrong?”
“It says everyone who matches this image and attended Harvard is deceased.”
“Could he have stolen the Harvard Medallion ring?”
“Yes, but it seems strange to steal one and wear it when you’re committing a crime. More likely to think he’d always worn it and simply didn’t think to remove it,” Alexis said.
“Or that he was so confident he wouldn’t get caught that he didn’t bother removing it,” Tom suggested.
“All right,” Sam said. “Maybe you’re over thinking this. Can’t you just check a match with his facial recognition and winner of the Harvard Medallion?”
“Sure,” Elise said. “But we already know anyone who looks like him and went to Harvard is now deceased.”
“No we don’t. We just know anyone the computer thinks looks like him and went to Harvard is dead. I know your software is good. Now I want to see the images with my own eyes.”
Elise nodded. Then typed the elements of the search fields into her laptop and pressed enter. A moment later only one name came out.
Sam leaned over her shoulder and read the single name that came up — Randy Olsen. He stared at the picture. “That’s our guy. A little younger back then, but definitely the same person.”
Elise clicked on Current Status. A new page of information opened up. “There’s just one problem.”
“Now what?” Sam asked.
“It says here Randy Olsen died in a boating accident ten years ago. His body was never found. In his obituary, it’s noted he was pitched to be the leading mind in quantum physics in the future.”
“Oh great,” Alexis said. “Just when you think things can’t get any stranger, we find out our main suspect is a guy who’s been dead for the last ten years.”
Chapter Eighteen
“All right Elise, back to the priorities.” Sam said. “How are you going to find and retrieve the lost section of tapes so we can see where the passengers were taken?”
Elise sighed. “I have a program working on it now. It might take a while. Whoever deleted the original sections went to great lengths to make it appear normal.”
“If they were deleted, how can you retrieve them?” Alexis asked.
“It has to do with how a hard drive is built. You never really get to completely delete anything. When you click delete, all you’re really doing is removing the link to access the data,” Elise explained. “The trick is whoever’s responsible for this has placed about a million fake data locations for my program to search as well. It will take time, but I will get it eventually.”
“Good,” Sam said. “That’s one thing; now on to the next. How can we access the crew and entertainer’s levels?”
“It’s going to take too long to break the code to the elevator to the lower levels. The elevator system is managed on a separate system.”
“Meaning?”
“I can’t hack the elevator from in here.”
“Is there another way down?”
“No. Per the schematics, the crew and entertainment’s level is below the waterline and accessible by three single elevators. One at each end of the ship and one at the middle.”
Sam picked up the security phone sitting on the desk. “Can you find me the number for the bridge?”
Elise typed the name into her laptop, which was synchronized with the security computer. A moment later a number was displayed on the screen. “Dial 99.”
Sam dialed the number and the phone started to ring.
“Hello,” Veyron answered. His voice sounded irritated, like a typical engineer he didn’t appreciate being rushed or interrupted.
“Veyron. How are we looking?” Sam asked.
“Everything looks to be in functioning order. I’ll need access to the lower decks to get the screws turning again.”
Sam sighed. “Why?”
“They’ve been locked. It’s a normal procedure for a ship at anchor or at port. The system suggests nothing’s wrong with the propellers — just that someone’s locked them.”
“Let me guess. The locking section is inside the engine bay which is only accessible through the crew and entertainer’s level?”
“Now you’re getting it.” Veyron sounded like he was cheering up. “How did Elise go? Has she got the code for the elevators yet?”