Let's see, he continues, glancing at the baking dish again, that takes care of dessert - or at least it will as soon as it cools a bit. The peas and carrots are okay, he checks the temperature setting on their respective warmers and nods, and the chicken is ready. That just leaves the rice.

Glancing over his shoulder to check on Dorothy as she stirs the rice on the stove, a serious look on her face as she inspects several grains of rice in the serving spoon, he smiles despite himself. I remember when she couldn't reach the counter even with a stool, he thinks. Now she's helping make dinner. His thoughts turn introspective for a moment, Where has all the time gone? That seems like it was only yesterday....

A smile crosses his face, as he checks the plates stacked next to the food, It feels good to be cooking for company again, it's been too long since anyone but Mom came over. He glances at Dorothy again, and Dorothy certainly is excited. Martin pauses, a thought striking him suddenly, I hope Mira won't get upset or anything - I just told her I'd handle dinner, not what we were having. She's probably just expecting pizza or something, not all of this.

The sound of the doorbell interrupts his train of thought, and R.G. stands up abruptly from where he's been watching the proceedings with the careful eye of a practiced kitchen scavenger, adding a bark to the bell. The movement catches Dorothy's eye, and she glances up to see the flashing doorbell indicator on the wall, then turns to look at Martin "I'll go," she signs quickly, setting the spoon down and turning the heat to its lowest setting, "Rice is done."

Martin nods, slipping the oven mitt off of his left hand to reply, "Okay, but if it's not Mira, and you don't recognize them, come get me."

Nodding, Dorothy hops off of the small stepstool she's been using and starts for the front of the house, R.G. following behind her with a frisky bounce. "I'm a big girl Daddy, I know." she signs on the way.

The door opens on Mira's second ring, a young girl of about ten with bright blue eyes and neatly combed shoulder-length reddish-brown hair smiling up at her. Beside the girl stands a large Chow that Mira recalls from her last visit, eyeing her watchfully. "Hello," Mira says, smiling. The dog is almost bigger than she is, Mira thinks with an inward smile. "You must be Dorothy. I'm Mira." Mira kneels down so that she is eye-to-eye with the girl. She puts out her hand, saying, "It's nice to meet you."

Dorothy smiles a trifle shyly, and shakes Mira's hand, then beckons her inside, opening the door wider so she can come in.

"Hi R.G.," she adds to the dog. "How are you doing you fuzzy dustbuster? Hmm." Mira holds out her hand letting R.G. get a whiff to identify her, remembering Martin's concern that the dog be able to identify her as a friend. Once he relaxes, she affectionately pats the dog on the top of the head.

"Well, I've got a box of paperwork her to bring," Mira adds, rising up from the front stoop. She grabs the carton and tucks it under an arm. "Shall we go bother your dad? Did he tell you that I invited both of you to go horseback-riding with me when you get a day off? We should go up the Napa Valley; there are some great trails out there. Mmmmmm......something smells wonderful in here."

Dorothy nods enthusiastically at Mira's words, a larger smile spreading across her face as she waits for Mira to enter before closing the door. Taking Mira's sleeve, she tugs her to the left of the entryway and into a formal den, then points first at the box in Mira's arms, and then through a set of partially open French doors into a large shelf-lined library beyond. A large table partially covered with papers is visible through the open door.

"Thanks, Dorothy," Mira nods and heads towards the library. She puts the box down on a chair and takes a quick glance at the documents scattered over Martin's desk. A frown creases her forehead.

From the back of the house, Mira can hear the clatter of dishes, and then Martin's voice calls out, "Is that you Mira? Come on back and fix your plate."

"Just a second," she calls, dropping her purse next to her box and then wanders into the kitchen.

"Looks like you got just as much paperwork as I did. Don't know if I came up with anything really good, but I certainly have a lot of info. That smells great. I didn't expect real food. I hope you didn't go to too much trouble. I would have been happy with pizza or Chinese. But this looks wonderful."

A beaproned Martin smiles a bit awkwardly, "We haven't had anyone over besides my mother in a long while, and when Dorothy found out you were coming over she insisted that we have 'real food' like we used to when Charlie," a brief flash of something painful crosses his eyes and then is carefully hidden, "my old partner, would come over twice a week."

"Well, I for one am thankful anytime I don't have to cook," Mira says, trying to smooth over the moment. "And I'm especially thankfully when someone else cooks very good tasting food."

Turning to the food on the counter a trifle too quickly, Martin continues, "This one of my grandmother's recipes that I haven't tried before, so I'm not making any promises, but it's supposed to be Chicken Serrano over Rice." He indicates the rest of the food carefully placed there, "Dorothy picked out the vegetables, so we're having her favorites, English peas and carrots, and there's a batch of brownies cooling for desert." He turns back, a trifle embarrassed, 'I'm afraid I went a bit overboard."

"No complaints here." Mira enthusiastically says eyeing the chicken.

Mira takes the plate that Dorothy hands her. "Dorothy, you're really lucky your dad can cook. My dad couldn't come up with a meal if his life depended on it. I think the reason why I still like Kraft macaroni and cheese is because it was the one meal I could cook myself when I was growing up."

Dorothy nods, and makes a quick series of hand gestures that Mira recognizes as some form of Ameslan, before patting her stomach gently. Martin chuckles and signs something back before smiling at Mira, "She says that we'd both be fat if I cooked like this every night, and I agreed with her."

"Yeah but what a way to go." Mira smiles. "Besides, with all the exercise we get running around in the desert, we wouldn't need to worry about gaining weight."

Like I could if I wanted to, Martin thinks to himself as he nods in agreement. God only knows how much I'd have to eat to gain any weight given the amount of food I go through in the average day now.

Offering her the spoon to the rice, Martin indicates that she should help herself. "Guests first - and don't let R.G. fool you into thinking he hasn't been fed in days - he's a past master at looking pitiful where table scraps are concerned," he nods at the Chow looking hopefully at Mira from the doorway.

"Thank you," Mira replies, piling a heap of rice on her plate. "So did you find out anything interesting?"

"Depends on your definition of 'interesting' I guess," Martin replies, waving Dorothy in line after Mira. Stepping up behind his daughter, he continues, out of sight of Dorothy's lip-reading trained eyes, "I do know that I'm not breaking into either of the facilities I checked out - I don't think prison would agree with me."

Pausing as Dorothy finishes filling her plate and carefully heads back towards the dining room, he continues, "I'm afraid we're dining at the table tonight - Dorothy set everything up and I can't disappoint her after she worked so hard." Indicating the other open doorway in the kitchen, he adds, "It's through there, I'll be along in a moment." He pauses, "What would you like to drink? We've got the usuals: fruit juices, milk, a soft drink or two, some raspberry iced tea...?"

"Milk is fine," Mira says , moving towards the dining room. "Dr. Emori gave me a stern lecture about eating healthy if I was going to run around exposing myself to massive quantities of radiation."

"Okay," Martin started, shuffling his stack of papers out of the way so Mira can spread hers out over half the table, "Let's start with the victims, since my problems pretty much started there. I've got a basic breakdown on all of them, but the Coroner's Records are sealed - hardly surprising considering what they died from. I'm guessing PRIMUS slapped a National Security label on the coroner's findings as soon as they hit paper, which pretty much blocks me out there."

"Don't suppose you're friendly with someone over at the coroner's office? You know, someone who might be able to slip you a copy of the report," Mira queries, pulling paperwork out of the box. "To get a coroner's file sealed they've pretty much got to tell the judge they think that there is something nefarious in the death. Murder, etc. I find that interesting because it means that someone is concerned. The way these bodies were dumped, it's like Rubicon figured no one would care."

Martin nods, "That's part of the problem I have with this whole thing - no corporation as slickly-run as Rubicon would be doing something as stupid as dumping these bodies in the Bay. They'd be doing something like incinerating them and dumping the ashes in with radwaste for interment at a disposal site somewhere." He runs a hand through his hair for a moment, then continues, "Disposing of the bodies this way reads more like the work of someone who doesn't have access to any other way of avoiding being linked to them - more like a single individual, or small group of individuals, in either case, someone without a great deal of resources."

Almost as an afterthought, he continues, "About your first question - no, no I don't have anyone in the Coroner's Office I can call. I haven't... spoken to anybody I knew on the force since I left." Not from lack of trying on a couple of their parts though, he admits to himself. Particularly Wilkie and Sanders. If I just knew who to trust....

"Unless there was a reason why they want them found," Mira suggests, pausing for a moment deep in thought.

"If so, I haven't figured it out yet," Martin sighs. "It just doesn't make sense unless I look at it in the context of a single individual, or small group of individuals, with limited resources - and I can't figure out how to hook that into Rubicon. Unless..." he pauses, "unless what's happening is being done by a small cadre of Rubicon employees on their own time without the company's knowledge maybe?

"My other problem," he admits, waving a hand at the stack of sheets on the deceased energy projectors, "is that I have no idea what to look for here. I need to talk to Emori and find out what kind of material these people are likely to need to do their tests. Do they need tissue samples? Blood samples? Both? Neither?" He shrugs, "Until I know, I have no clue as to how to try and connect these people together."

"Well, we know what connects them - they are all energy projectors. But how did Rubicon know about that? From your paperwork here," she gestures at the files strewn across the desk, "it looks like they had very little in common besides being energy projectors and being more than 25 years old. Well, at least they're not killing kids. Why do you think they're restricting their testing to people who are over the age of 25?"

"If I knew that, I'd already be knocking on the bastard's door," Martin sighs.

"I think we should call Emori and see if she has any more info on the victims," his partner suggests. "I've also got some questions related to the scientists. That gets into what I found out. We've got three scientists who work for Rubicon that I could track down - John Rosenthal, Marie Westeberg-Jones and Anneliese Randolph. I'm going to ask Tran if AI Inc subscribes to the various credit report services. If AI does, we should be able to get credit reports on these doctors, plus get addresses on all the property they own. Once we have that we can put them under surveillance."

"Sounds good," Martin says slowly, "but don't get wrapped up in the idea that Rubicon is the villain here and overlook other possibilities. I'll ask the Doc about these three when I call her," he glances at his watch, "at the lab - she should still be there now." Getting up, he steps over to a phone nestled in a wall-mounted bookcase and continues, "Go ahead, don't let me stop you."

"I also think we should check out a Dr. Julius Merrill," Mira continues, "He was the scientist in charge of Isaac's experiment and would have the knowledge to pull off something like this, but he disappeared more than a year ago. Also something Tran said strikes me as unusual. She said his experiments would have shamed Mengele. Sounds like he could do this virus without batting an eye."

"Okay - I remember that," Martin agrees, punching numbers into the phone. Didn't she say that rumor had it he was 'extracted' from his PRIMUS job by Viper or something? She did sound like there was something personal there too, now that I think about it, he continues to himself thoughtfully. I wonder if... no, I've got enough demons of my own to recognize when I'm about to rip the lid off of someone else's. I'll save that for a last resort.

"Talking to the scientists at UCSF would also help on another front," Mira adds, while Martin dials the lab. "One of their researchers, Trevor Hanson, used to work at Rubicon. He left Rubicon claiming that Anneliese Randolph got credit for his work. He would be good to talk to. Find out exactly what they were working on and then fish for additional information."

"Just remember that he's probably under a gag agreement of some kind," Martin cautions as the line begins to ring through. "Most companies hit departing researchers with them to cut down on 'idea-man poaching' - no matter what he feels about the issue, he may be unwilling to talk about it if he thinks doing so might jeopardize the rest of his career by getting him blacklisted." The phone on the other end picks up and Martin holds up a hand to forestall Mira's reply as he says, "Dr. Emori?"

"Yes?" the doctor answers absently, sounding somewhat annoyed. "Can I help you with something?"

"This is Martin DuQuense Doc. Sorry to bother you this late, but I had a couple of questions to ask about the case - is this a good time?" Martin checks his watch and thinks, Sounds like she's in the middle of something... Does she ever go home?

"Well, probably not, it's unlikely you'll find a better one." Definitely harried, but then, she is a doctor. "What is it?"

"I'm looking at the basic biographical data on the victims right now, and I was wondering exactly what kind of a sample the bad guys would need to make their test. Blood samples? Tissue? It would help narrow down how they're choosing their 'test subjects' a great deal if knew what I was looking for."

"What? What data?" she mutters. "Anything that would lend itself to genetic testing -- blood is best. But you have to understand, these people had nothing in common -- nothing but the fact they all had been vaccinated against smallpox, but then, everyone in their age group had. Of course, I'm basing this off of two people, which is not scientific unless you're a psychologist. Genetic testing takes a while, takes acquiring the samples in the first place, and requires that Rubicon know where to look. The only thing that would make sense is that Rubicon didn't find them, but they found Rubicon."

That's interesting, I hadn't considered approaching it from that angle, Martin thinks. "All right Doc - that actually does help," he replies thoughtfully. "Just one more thing from me to irritate you with and I'm done for the evening. We've got names for a couple of folks from Rubicon that we want to run past you and see if they ring any bells...." Stepping back over to the table, he tilts his head and reads off of Mira's list, "John Rosenthal; Marie Westeberg-Jones; Anneliese Randolph... and a long shot, Trevor Hanson."

"Trevor is an idiot," she pronounces with disgust, "Marie is a worm and Anneliese is not much better. John Rosenthal I know only by reputation, and is said to be brilliant, if not particularly socially adept. They're all quite good at what they do," she adds. "What," she asks, "Do you have in mind?"

"To be honest," Martin admits, "I'm not entirely sure yet. My gut is telling me to work on the selection process that these guys are using - once I get that figured out, it'll probably tell me where to go next." He pauses, then asks quietly, "Questions of idiocy aside, do you think that any of these people is ethically corrupt enough to be doing this?"

Glancing up at Mira, Martin asks, "Any other questions for the Doc?"

"Does she know which of these researchers has the knowledge and or qualifications to work on the virus?" Mira suggests. "Also has she ever heard anything in the scientific rumor mill about what happened to Dr. Merrill and would he be qualified to conduct this type of research?"

Martin turns back to the phone, "Stafford has two questions for you: One, she wants to know if any of these folks would be a standout as our virus-builder, or if we need to just keep looking at all of them until we can narrow the field down some more; and Two, she's dug up some missing scientist named Merrill as being qualified to do the work. He's supposed to have been 'extracted' from a government job on the Avenger program by VIPER or something. Is he worth pursuing?"

"Julius Merrill worth pursuing? You'll find him wherever you find Jimmy Hoffa," she says dryly. "I don't think he's alive, myself, but I don't know if it was VIPER who did it. He had his hands in a lot of projects, but I've never heard of him engaging in viral research."

"I don't think we're going to get Tran to buy a trip to New York so I can start digging up sections of Interstate looking for him, so we'll drop him to the back burner for now," Martin replies with a grin, leaning over to pick up a pen.

"As for who to look at of your group of doctors, I'm not sure. I think they're all qualified to work on parts of the project, if not the whole thing, and I wouldn't put anything past them, ethically speaking." She pauses, "Of course, I really don't pay attention to most of what goes on, and I was in LA when Trevor made his move. The person who would really be interesting to talk to about all of this is Edwards -- Jeremiah Edwards, the dean of the UCSF paranormal medicine residency program. He was a PRIMUS doctor, worked on the Cyberline project and knows everyone who's anyone in the field. And," she says somewhat grudgingly, "He's not a half-bad guy, either. I did a rotation as a third year medical student with him, and he's a fair man. Practically pioneered the field of paranormal biochemistry and genetics along with Merrill."

"I think I remember the name, Doc - wasn't he one of the guys called in after the disaster with the Golden Gate Guardians at the museum a while back?" Scribbling Edwards' name down, Martin writes "Dean - UCSF Par Med Program - worked for PRIMUS - pioneer in field with Merrill" next to it for Mira to see, and then asks, "Any suggestions as to how to approach him? Is he likely to give us more if we're up-front with what we're after, or should we try and work around to it?"

"Isn't UCSF consulting with PRIMUS on these deaths?" Mira points out. "If I remember that newspaper article correctly it was their research that lead to tests that determine if a person is a paranormal. Also I think they were offering PRIMUS help in these cases. Now whether PRIMUS ever took them up on this or not is another question. We should definitely go talk to them tomorrow."

"I agree," Martin concurs, covering the mouthpiece of the phone with his hand. "But let's finish up with this before moving on to tomorrow's material. Turning his attentions back to the phone, he uncovers the mouthpiece, "Sorry, Doc, Stafford asked a question there. Now, you were saying?"

She sighs. "You know, he's very press-savvy -- he was criticized in the past for being something of a glory hound. You may get more information just sending Mira in as her alter ego." She adds, "Not to mention he's something of a letch. Tell her to wear something low-cut."

"Right - I can do that," Martin replies. Now Mira on the other hand... "Anything else that might help?"

"Nope, that'll just about cover it," she says. "Call me and let me know what he says, would you?"

"You got it, Doc," he replies. "I'll try and keep the harassing phone calls down to a minimum. Thanks again."

"So what did the Doc suggest? And I hope that it doesn't involve syringes at 20 paces." Mira jokes, rather lamely after Martin has hung up. "Okay, I'm a journalist not a comedian," she replies, wincing at her own attempt at humor. "At least you don't have to worry about be at open mike night at the Comedy Club."

Martin shakes his head, "No duels - at least of the classical sort. She remembers him as very publicity conscious, almost publicity hungry. With that in mind, she suggested that you approach him as yourself - and since she also remembers him as something of a lech, she suggested you wear something... low cut."

Mira starts giggling. "Doc must have an inflated view of my assets," she jokes. "I'm not sure I've got enough there to peak the doctor's interest. Maybe if I wear the wonderbra?" More laughter. "Sorry," she gasps. "It's just so funny. Me seduce the Doctor. Well, I'm willing to give it a try. I guess tomorrow Lakota Whiteyes will be seeing the doctor about her new book"

"Ummm… I think the Doc was suggesting something a bit more along the lines of flirting Mira," her partner offers gently.

"Oh, okay, I can do that," she says quieter. "Flirt, kind of lead him on."

Martin looks at her for a moment, then sits down opposite her again and asks, "You're really uncomfortable with this aren't you?"

"Oh it's not that, it's just usually when I've interviewed people it's been one of two ways, straight-up reporter or antagonistic reporter," Mira says. "Neither of them involves flirting. To be honest, I'm not very good at it."

Martin looks at her skeptically for a moment, then asks, "You grew up with a house full of brothers or something like that, didn't you - no older sisters?"

"No, I was an only child," Mira explains. "Mike, Billy and Chris - they were our next door neighbors. I hung out at their parents' ranch all the time."

"That probably explains it then," he sighs. "Well… why don't you check with someone at the office? Maybe Tran or someone can offer a few suggestions that'll get the result you're after without compromising your personal ethics -or dignity?"

"Explains what?" Mira asks, puzzled. Then a horrified look passes her face. "You want me ask Tran about flirting?! Do you know how embarrassing that would be. I'd never be able to look her straight in the face and ask her for office supplies again. Oh no. No way, no how. I'd rather be embarrassed by this doctor."

"Wasn't trying to embarrass you Mira," Martin says placatingly. 'I was just trying to offer a suggestion about..." he pauses, "Ummm… you know…." He sighs, "Okay, I surrender - I can't think of any way out of this that doesn't make me sound like a more of a total idiot…."

Mira looks at Martin for a couple of seconds and then her face brightens with a huge grin. "I was just imagining you having this conversation with Dorothy in a few years. I hope it goes easier then."

Her partner glares at her for a moment, then laughs in turn. "Well, the big advantage there is that I can always terrorize unwanted loser boyfriends - you don't do that with partners...." Martin sighs, "We can come back to this later - how'd you do with the facilities Rubicon has?"

"Well," Mira says, pulling out paperwork and photos. "They've got six facilities: corporate headquarters and research facility in San Francisco, a warehouse in South San Francisco, a ranch in Plumas County, a research facility in LA, a subsidiary - Thorton Pharmaceutical which markets most of Rubicon's pharmaceutical findings - has offices in San Jose and they lease government land for a research facility in Ely, Nevada."

"No," Martin says abruptly with a shake of his head and a smile. "I can see the thought forming in the back of your mind already - just let it go. Just because they lease land in Nevada doesn't mean they're doing illicit government research there." He smiles again, "There are legitimate corporate interests there you know."

"They also own a fleet of vans, three corporate jets, and a yacht that is moored in the Bay," Mira adds, sipping on a cup of coffee. "All of them have power, gas, water, etc. However, the ranch doesn't get trash pick up. The research locations receive medical supplies and so does the warehouse. They are also licensed to store biohazardous waste."

"Another reason for the dumping in the bay to look weird," Martin observes. "Hmmm... On the other hand, has the yacht left dock recently? Like, say, around the times we're guessing the bodies were dumped in the Bay?"

"We'll have to check the harbormasters records to get that information," Mira responds, leaning back in her chair. "It would be good to know. However, I doubt they're doing research on their yacht. I don't think it would be big enough. But then you never know. They might be using it as transportation or as a place to hide people. What better way to make someone disappear than to put them on a boat that can easily leave the dock at any time of the day or night."

"I'm not sure it's that simple," Martin concedes, "but I think we ought to look it nevertheless. We might also want to check into any regularly-scheduled company or employee chopper flights over the Bay - no sense blinding ourselves to just one way to get the bodies to the water."

"From what I could see of their security, it's pretty enclosed," she adds. "Guards at the gate check everyone. They have their own internal janitorial service. I didn't really see any obvious openings to get in, if we need too."

"I didn't either," her partner agrees. "Too many access control points to get past for any real chance of infiltration to succeed."

"They've also kept a pretty clean record with OSHA and the Public Citizen Health Research Group. Even the Teamsters only had one labor contract problem with them. In 1983 there was an issue over health coverage and concern over biohazardous storage. It was resolved with pay raise and greater protection for workers."

Martin nods, "Wasn't that brought up after the two janitors were injured by needle sticks? That was the only Worker's Comp claim of note I saw. All the rest was just the occasional back problem and the like that you expect in any business."

"Yes, they've been fanatically clean, which is unusual in its own right," she says, nodding. "I don't know of any corporation - even the good ones like Ben and Jerry's - that are this squeaky clean. "

"Somebody has to be," Martin shrugs. "Why not them?"

"I also checked on Rubicon's grants from the government," Mira adds, pulling out what appears to be records printed while the computer had a Netscape browser open. There's no obvious funding from the DOD. But all that means is that much of their funding probably comes from the black ops budget which is approved through a special Senate committee and not open to the public. They've got a couple of grants, including one to investigate risks to PRIMUS personnel from biological agents, and another to determine weaknesses of Cyberline formula and for longitudinal studies. Don't you love how the government phrases things?"

"Yep," her partner agrees. "Hmmm... I guess 'longitudinal studies' is a euphemism for whatever project they're doing to improve the Cyberline series. Interesting in light of what we found out in Nevada, but probably not germane to the case in a direct fashion. It does mean, however," he sighs, "that PRIMUS and the rest of the 'alphabet agencies' will likely go out of their way to shield Rubicon if they are dirty in order to protect the legitimate projects they have underway."

"Then there's the private grants. Keeping Promises, you know, that far-right Christian's men's group? Well, they gave them a $2.1 million grant , and Gablespace, an aerospace corporation under the Gablesoft umbrella, gave them another $1.8 million. Purpose of the grants were unspecified in both cases."

"Keeping Promises?" Martin frowns, "They're not the sort of group I'd expect to see donating to a bio-research company. Gablesoft is at least a high-tech industry, they probably wanted some work on anti-acceleration drugs or something - but a bunch of right-wing Christian men holding hands and praying in a football stadium? Wonder what it was for...?"

"Who knows, but whatever it is, it's probably spooky," Mira says with a shiver. "Those guys give me the creeps."

Martin shakes his head, "I don't know about the 'creeps' Mira, but they certainly seem to have some disparities in what the group's leaders say in private and in public - I suspect that they've got some problems in there somewhere. I just can't figure out what they'd be doing giving money away to someone like Rubicon. Traditionalist Christian groups are generally far more likely to attack genetic and biological work as 'against God's will' or 'usurping the Creator's place' than support it."

"And of course Rubicon has been playing both sides of the political fence giving contributions to Republicans and Democrats. Nothing surprising their. I'm sure their CEO has slept in the Lincoln bedroom and their board of directors have attended tea at the White House."

'Heck, everybody else has, why not them?" Martin says wryly, "It isn't as if it's something unusual."

"Oh so true," Mira nods. "From what you were saying to Dr. Emori, it sounds like we've got a trip up to the UCSF campus tomorrow. Hopefully these guys will be cooperative. While I'm talking to Dr. Edwards, you want to tackle the rest of the department - especially that Trevor Hanson?"

"I can do that, although from what the Doc said he's probably not going to help much," Martin answers, shuffling a set of papers.

"You never know, plus there are the other researchers at UCSF - Helena Amory and Lisa Gardner. What about talking with them," Mira suggests.

"Actually, it might be better if you spoke to all of the people at UCSF - it would help perpetuate the illusion of book writing much better that way...." He looks at Mira questioningly, "You've had more experience with interviewing people on the sly than I have."

"OK, what will you be up to while I'm up at the campus?" she asks. "No breaking-in without me," she chides, wagging a finger at him.

"Oh, I wouldn't think of it," he chuckles. "I was thinking of doing some work on the victims actually. Dig into their backgrounds a little and see if I can figure out where Rubicon got to them. And after that..." his face twists uncomfortably, "I think... I think I'll try and talk to someone I know in the Department and see what I can do there."

"You might try the classified ads," Mira suggest. "Maybe Rubicon put out an ad. I know it sounds preposterous, but maybe Rubicon advertised looking for people to participate in a research study and they would pay."

Martin blinks, "You know… that's so obvious it's scary - thanks."

"OK well, I guess we're set," Mira shrugs. "I can't think of anything more to go over." Sighing she looks over the piles of paper. "You know I really have got to get a briefcase," she mutters piling her stuff back into the box.

"Want one?" her partner offers. "I have five or six I'm not using."

"Sure," Mira says eagerly. "I'm not one to turn down something for free."

Martin excuses himself for a moment, and returns a few minutes later with a pair of briefcases, one a hard-sided brown leather, and the other a soft-sided cordura nylon in green with brown leather highlights. "Wasn't sure which one you'd like so I brought 'em both," he says laying the two briefcases on the table. "I figured you'd pass on the aluminum one with the bloodstains."