"This is Special Agent Martinez. I'm sorry, my cellular phone quit working. Please stop the train from Boston to Providence. Now."
"When we didn't hear from you, Agent Martinez, we just waited. The train has already reached Providence."
"Damn!" Martinez said as he hung up.
He raced for the rental car and steered toward the train station in Providence. Luckily for Taft, the female porter, fresh from applying new makeup, decided to flirt with him one last time. Folding the mirror in her office back into the wall, she walked through the train to the sleeping cars. Stopping at cabin C, she noticed the door was ajar. Taft's shoes and part of his legs were sticking out on the floor. The train was barely moving as she pushed the door to the cabin farther open, then helped Taft to struggle upright. Taft was still drifting in and out of consciousness as the porter ran to get help. The train pulled to a stop at the station. The porter and sleeping-car attendant held an ice pack to Taft's head, trying to revive him. Slowly Taft's head began to clear. Rising unsteadily to his feet, he noticed the throbbing in his neck blended nicely with his various other aches. He stood on wobbly knees.
The anxious faces of the two ladies filled Taft's field of view. "Wrong guy, I guess," he managed to say before he passed out once again.
Taft was sitting in the back of an ambulance, holding an ice pack to his neck. He was arguing loudly with the paramedics.
"Just let us do a quick series of X-rays at the hospital," one paramedic pleaded.
"I have to go call my partner," Taft said as he walked unsteadily to a pay phone. He dialed the number but got only a busy signal. He stumbled back to the ambulance. Twenty minutes later, Martinez pulled into the station at Providence and walked through the crowd until he located Taft.
"He got away," Taft told him.
"What happened?"
"He clubbed me when I tried to grab him in his car," Taft said, rising.
"Then I guess we know he has something to do with this, don't we?" Martinez said as he led Taft toward the rental car.
Once Taft was safely in the passenger seat, Martinez slid behind the wheel.
"You look like you've been in a bar brawl," he said, staring at Taft. Taft stared over at his partner through a swollen eye. "I tell you one thing."
"What's that?" Martinez said as he slid the car into drive.
"The next time I meet that guy he's in trouble," Taft said slowly. "Real big trouble."
CHAPTER 25
Like most stereotypes, the stereotype of the bespectacled physics nerd with buckteeth and a slide rule stuck to his hip was undependable. Jeff Scaramelli was a brilliant sixfoot-seven-inch physicist who looked exactly like the athlete he had once been. Scaramelli had played college basketball, earning a full-ride scholarship to the University of Colorado for his efforts. It was his grades, however, that had gotten him his masters degree and which would soon earn him his doctorate.
The former basketball star was just completing his doctoral thesis on the Unified Field Theory, and that made him uniquely qualified to work with Einstein's much-maligned ideas. Current physics shunned the theory, considering it an antique. Most professors couldn't understand what little was known of the theory, much less teach it. The action now was in quantum theory and radicals and photonic band-gaps, but Scaramelli liked Einstein's theory just fine.
The call from the shadowy government organization was something new for Scaramelli. Usually he worked at his own pace, in his own direction, trying to pry open the covering hiding the clues to the forces in the universe. Now he was being asked to take a specific direction and get results by a certain deadline.
Scaramelli didn't know if he should be flattered or angry.
He stretched his long legs out on the carpeted floor to the side of his computer terminal at the Advanced Physics Laboratory in Boulder, Colorado. Swishing rootbeer around in his mouth, he looked out the window to the Flatirons, the string of uniquely shaped foothills that extended up from the city of Boulder.
Bouncing a racquetball repeatedly against the window, he began to think back to what his father had told him about Einstein.
He was deep in thought when the NIA agents brought in his new colleague.
"I'm Li Choi," the diminutive physicist said, smiling.
"I was told we'd be working together," Scaramelli said, rising and extending his hand to Choi. "I read one of the papers you published while you were at Berkeley."
"I'm honored," Choi said as he glanced around the laboratory. Scaramelli motioned to a computer at a desk nearby. "You can set up at that workstation over there."
Choi looked over at the computer then back to Scaramelli. "Where do we start? I haven't been told much."
"Me either," Scaramelli said easily. "Let's first record your formulas and any observations you have about the Unified Field Theory."
"After that?" asked Choi.
"After that we need to design a method to test the theory. The word I got was that the government is trying to recover a copy of the theory as we speak." Choi smiled, walked over to the computer, and turned it on. "Come on over, Jeff, and I'll show you what I know. If we are going to work together there can be no secrets." Eleven hours later, just before midnight Colorado time, Choi had completed his labors.
"That's the extent of the work I have completed," he said to Scaramelli.
"Interesting," Scaramelli noted. "Are you hungry?"
"Extremely," said Choi.
"Do you like Mexican food?"
"Absolutely."
"I'll ask one of the agents to pick us up some grub," Scaramelli said, reaching for the phone. "While we're waiting for the food I can explain my idea for a test device. I think we can build something ourselves with most of the parts available at a hardware store."
"Sounds good," Choi said cheerfully.
Four hours later, when the pair finished, the laboratory was cluttered with containers of half-eaten take-out Mexican food, wadded up sheets of paper, and a partially finished gallon of chocolate milk.
"That should do it," Scaramelli said at last.
Choi glanced again at the shopping list. "Looks good. When a hardware store opens in the morning we can start building the device."
Scaramelli reached for the telephone and buzzed the outer office. An agent entered the laboratory almost immediately. "You men need something?"
"We have a list of items we'll need someone to pick up for us tomorrow." The agent glanced at the list briefly. "Is there anything else you can think of that you might need?" he said, scratching his chin.
"Not really. The big hardware store in town is called McGukin's," Scaramelli said.
"They open at nine in the morning."
"We'll wake up the owner and have him meet us there. You'll have these items in two hours," the agent said as he walked toward the door.
"Unbelievable," Scaramelli said after the agent had left. "Are you getting the idea what we're working on is more than a little important?"
"Yes I am, Jeff," Choi said as he yawned. "What do you want to do while we wait?" Scaramelli pointed to a pair of foam pads stacked in a corner of the laboratory.
"I'm going to sleep a couple hours until the agents get back." Choi nodded. "That's the best idea you've had all evening." Five minutes later the pair was fast asleep.
CHAPTER 26
Martinez parked the rental car hastily in front of the Amtrak station and ran toward Taft.
"How's the neck?" he asked.
"I'm still seeing double, but it's starting to clear," Taft said as he tossed the cold pack to the ambulance attendant.
"I called the Providence police. They're sending down some officers to help us question the passengers."
"I saw a couple of unmarked cars arrive already," Taft noted. "Sorry I lost the guy, Larry."