Nick Stephenson - Panic

Mary groaned. “You definitely owe me a new pair of shoes.”

“I’ll get you two,” replied Leopold.

The group marched in single file down the passageway, pausing only as gusts of steam sporadically erupted from cracks in the pipe work that ran along the walls at roughly head height. The tunnel was dimly lit by bare light bulbs that hung from the ceiling, humming quietly to themselves in the wet air. Leopold could just about see ten feet or so into the distance and led the way, followed by Mary, with Jerome dragging Albert at the rear, protesting in short, squeaky breaths about how he should never have left the house. The consultant held up a hand and indicated they should pause for a moment.

“Albert, what seems to be the problem?” Leopold asked, not unkindly.

Their tour guide paused before replying and tugged his sleeve out of Jerome’s grasp, “I’m not going any further until you tell me what’s going on.”

The bodyguard scowled.

“No, he’s right, Jerome. Leopold, you should tell him why he’s here,” said Mary.

“Okay, I’ll tell you the truth if you think it’ll make you feel better. Though I’m not convinced it will.”

Leopold sighed and told Albert an edited version of everything that had happened, leaving out some of the more questionable details. As he spoke, the tour guide’s eyes widened in horror, but by the time Leopold had finished the tunnels expert was grinning with excitement.

“Fantastic!” He was bouncing up and down. “A real-life tunnelers mystery! This is probably the most exciting thing to happen to me since, well, forever! Count me in!”

Leopold was a little surprised by his response, but glad he no longer needed Jerome to drag Albert along by the scruff of his neck. It certainly made getting around a lot easier. He invited their guide to join him at the head of the group.

“Can you tell where we are?” asked Leopold.

“It’s hard to tell exactly,” replied Albert, “but I’d say we’re about fifty feet or so from Pupin Hall. If they haven’t completely sealed off the basement, we should be pretty close to getting in.”

“How will you know?”

“Oh, that’s easy. The stonework down here is well over a hundred years old; any recent work to close off the tunnels would immediately be obvious from the stone itself. See here?” he ran his fingers along the wall. “The walls are extremely porous, through decades of damp and dripping water. The consistency is also completely different; modern materials use entirely different mixtures. I’ll be able to tell straight away.”

“And if they haven’t tried sealing it off?”

“If it’s anything like the others, we’ll see the pipes branch off and disappear into the ceiling once we’re under the building. Pupin has to get its gas and electricity from somewhere.”

Leopold nodded. “Lead the way.”

A few minutes later Albert pointed excitedly as the group rounded a corner, where the tightly knit pipe work forked out into a complex mess of interwoven steel and copper lines. Leopold traced the pipes with his finger and noticed where the larger gas line disappeared into the ceiling.

“We’re here,” he said, turning to the guide. “I suppose there should be some kind of hatch that allows access.”

“Exactly. This part of the tunnel network was never designed to provide pedestrian access, unlike some of the more well-known areas. The only reason people would be down here would be to repair the pipes, so we’re looking for a small hatch, nothing fancy. Should lead directly up into the lower classrooms.”

Mary and Jerome began scanning the ceiling for an entry hatch, while Leopold and Albert went ahead in case there was evidence of a way in further along the tunnel.

“Found something!” the bodyguard’s deep voice boomed through the narrow passageway.

Leopold and Albert rushed back to find him pointing up at the ceiling. The consultant followed Jerome’s finger with his eyes and settled on an area of the ceiling where he could just make out a rusted metal panel, nestled in the damp stonework. The hatch was just large enough for a fully grown adult to squeeze through, and had no handle to keep it closed; instead there was a padlock securing the hatch to its frame. Leopold shot a sideways glance at Jerome.

“Don’t worry, I’ve fit through tighter spaces,” Jerome said, noticing his employer’s quizzical look. “I’ll just have to breathe in a little, that’s all.”

The bodyguard examined the security guard’s keys that Mary had managed to snatch and found one that looked like it would fit the padlock. With a little effort, the stiff lock snapped open and he lowered the hatch door carefully, interlocking his fingers to provide a boost for the others as they climbed through. Jerome followed shortly afterwards, hoisting his heavy frame through the hatchway with a surprising lack of effort. The group stood in the dark basement, each looking around for a light switch.

“Found it!” Albert flicked on the power.

Leopold looked around the room as his eyes adjusted to the bright lights. The walls, once white, were a speckled mess of gray dust and cobwebs. Running the length of the room were long wooden benches where scientists and students must have once scribbled notes on the piles of now-disused notepads; newspaper clippings; and various manuscripts. In the center of the room were a series of thick countertops at hip height, each complete with gas lines for Bunsen burners. A multitude of cracked and dirty microscopes filled up any empty spaces.

“Wow, this place is even better than I expected,” said Albert, glancing around the room with growing excitement. “I should have come down here years ago.”

“We don’t have time for sightseeing,” said Mary. “We need to find that computer and track down Cupid. It’s only a matter of time before we lose this lead.”

“Agreed,” said Leopold. “Let’s get moving. We’re looking for a storage room, so we can ignore any of the classrooms down here. That should narrow it down considerably. Follow me.”

He led the others out of the dusty laboratory and into the hallway, which was long and thin, with a number of wooden doors on each side. At the end of the hallway, the room split out into a narrow corridor that appeared to run the perimeter of the building. After a few minutes they found a heavy wooden door at the end of the corridor, about halfway around. Leopold stepped forward.

“This is the one. See where the handle has been used recently?”

The consultant pointed at oily marks that had tarnished the brass handle, then opened the door and stepped inside. Turning on the light, he smiled as he saw what waited for them inside. The room looked like it used to be an office, although now the dust and decay had rendered it useless. On top of the grimy desk in the center of the room stood an ancient computer monitor, taking up most of the space. Leopold strode over and found a keyboard and mouse hooked up to a battered desktop computer that was nestled underneath the desk. He tapped the keyboard and the monitor flickered to life, displaying simple green text on a black background asking for a recipient’s email address. The cursor blinked impatiently.

“This shouldn’t take too long,” said Leopold, typing feverishly. “I just need to access the root logs for the system and find the exact time this machine was last used.”

“And that will give us Cupid?” asked Mary.

“Not directly. But it will give us the exact date and time the last email to Christina was sent, which we can cross-reference with the security logs to find out who was nearby at the time.”

“Clever,” said the police sergeant. “But what if Cupid came in through the tunnels, like us? He wouldn’t be logged with security.”