David Golemon - Ripper

Gloria Bannister bit her lower lip and then shook her head. “That was utilizing much less heat than the atomic spectroscopy. It’s just an unknown factor in all this. I think we need to study, and maybe even postulate, just what in the hell this man Ambrose was trying to accomplish with this. We have time to find out, and coupled with his goal we may be able to see where it was he was going.”

The colonel looked from his daughter to the others. They were on his side as they wanted to know exactly what made up the complete formula.

“It’s my call, and I say let’s go for it.”

“Here, here,” said one of the doctors. “I for one am certainly looking forward to seeing what this man has created and how.”

“Okay, let’s do it,” Bannister said, looking away from his daughter’s warning look.

Gloria didn’t like the shortcut, but she fell short on taking a stand. The combined brain power of the group standing inside the clean room outweighed her by about ten thousand pounds in degree and letters after their names, so she decided to ride out the storm.

She just hoped that storm was not a hurricane.

Pete Golding was actually dozing at the clean room desk as Europa continued to cross-reference anything having to do with Professor Lawrence Ambrose. He had his hand resting on his cheek with his horn-rimmed glasses propped onto his forehead. He started to slip forward and the change made him awaken with a start. He scratched his head and then rubbed his eyes. He looked down at the half-eaten sandwich that had been delivered to him by the stewards in the cafeteria. He gave the ham and cheese sandwich a dirty look and then stood from his chair just as the clean room door opened.

“Dr. Golding?” the young man asked as he stood just outside the clean room door looking in like a curious child glancing through the windows of a toy store.

“Yes?” Pete said after stretching his arms over his head.

“Sir, I’m Scott Walton from Archives. I was told to give this to you.”

Pete looked down and saw the battered leather journal and his brows rose just below the paper hat he wore for clean room purposes.

“This was buried in files also.”

Pete stepped forward to look at the journal and his flesh turned cold when he saw the initials on the front of the leather-bound volume. “LJA,” Pete said in a low tone as he reached out and took a rather thick and very old folder from the archivist’s hand. He read the bold print placed there by an old-fashioned typewriter almost a hundred years before. “Lt. Colonel John Henry Thomas — Department of National Archives.”

Pete knew they had uncovered a great amount of material and he would have to start immediately because this was an eyeball job where Europa would be of no assistance to him. It was good old-fashioned paper-pushing detective work.

Pete nodded his thanks, closed the clean room door, and then turned and placed the found materials from one of the very first Event Group missions on the desk. He then pulled the microphone down and leaned over.

“Europa, I’m going to take a break. Continue to—”

“Dr. Golding, excuse me, but I have a vague reference to a Dr. Ambrose listed in a Scotland Yard report filed November 8, 1888.”

Pete realized the time frame fit the earlier discovery about the Ambrose that owned the shipping company. They had rejected the possibility due to his profession. The company was mainly a tea importer.

“This may be the same Ambrose as the person rejected earlier.”

“Would you like to see the Scotland Yard photographic report, Doctor?”

Pete shook his head to try to clear it of the fog of sleep. “Europa, where did you secure this report?”

“The Europa system is designed for computer mainframe penetration Doctor as you well know. The report is listed as an MI-5-1 coded secret.”

That got Pete’s attention. Europa had actually gained access to the secure system inside of Scotland Yard and retrieved a top secret file originated through the intelligence services of Her Majesty’s government. What was most shocking was the fact that Europa did it all on her own without Pete’s guidance. The Cray computer after six years in operation was learning to analyze data and move in many directions of tracking without being told.

“Uh, Europa, the Scotland Yard system mainframe didn’t detect the backdoor break-in, did it?”

At first Pete didn’t think Europa would answer.

“The protocols as set forth by Director Niles Compton, and yourself Dr. Golding, are clearly programmed into my system. I would be required to report such an occurrence immediately. The system being utilized by the British government is far inferior to that of the Cray Corporation’s standards.”

Pete thought Europa, with her Marilyn Monroe voice synthesizer, sounded insulted.

“Just checking, no offense. Please bring up the Yard and MI-5-1 file please.”

“Yes, Dr. Golding.”

As Pete watched the main viewing screen, a document that had been catalogued and filed away by photographic means many years before came up. The head of the Computer Sciences Division stood to study the document. To Golding it looked like a security report filed by a man named Frederick George Abberline. Below his name were scrawled the letters CPI .

“Europa, any guess as to the letters written below that of the reporting name?”

“The letters refer to rank: chief police inspector.”

“Makes sense,” Pete said as he read the brief report directed to someone with the initials H.R.M.A.V. Pete read the words on the Photostat.

H.R.M.A.V—

Madam, on this night, 8, July, in the year of our Lord 1889, it is my sad duty to inform you of the demise of Colonel Stanley of Her Majesty’s Black Watch. His demise came at the hands of the man known in certain circles as Professor Lawrence Ambrose. It is now my suspicion that Ambrose has left this country in favor of his homeland. I am also obliged to inform you that all material related to this professor’s work has been removed to a location unbeknownst to Scotland Yard. Since the discovery of the body of one Mary Kelly in the early morning hours of last year, this problem in Whitechapel should have been resolved. This is the final report that will be filed from this office on an official letterhead concerning the case mentioned.

Your loyal and obedient servant,

Frederick George Abberline,

CPI, London

Pete read the letter once more and then a third time as he reached for the phone on the desk facing the now-still Europa handling system inside the protective glass cover of the clean room. He slowly removed the paper hat that covered the thin coating of black hair that remained on his head. As the phone buzzed several levels up, Pete reread the woman’s name once more — Mary Kelly.

“Charlie, are you still teaching Lieutenant McIntire’s geology class?” Pete listened as his eyes scanned all the names listed in the Scotland Yard report. “Good, could you come to the Europa clean room? I think I have something here that you may be able to help me with.” Pete hung up the phone and then studied the images on the screen more closely.

“No, this has to be a coincidence.”

Twenty minutes later Niles Compton, coming straight from a late dinner in the cafeteria, entered the clean room. He saw a crazed-haired Charlie Ellenshaw standing and looking at the large-screen monitor. Pete was pacing in back of Ellenshaw and looked up when he saw Niles.

“I think we found him,” Pete said shaking his head. “And you’re not going to believe this one.”

Niles placed the hair cap on his head and Pete shook his head. “Never mind that; Europa is all finished except for a few questions. You can erase the screen Europa.”