Pete heard the stifled yawn coming from Sam's direction and smiled. They had been working on his house for hours, righting the furniture and boarding up the broken windows, and both were exhausted from the effort.
"Sam, why don't you head on home now?" Pete said. "I think I can take it from here."
"You sure?" Sam asked.
"Yes," Pete said with a smile. "I'm sure you've got enough mess of your own to clean up."
"I'm trying not to think about that," Sam said with a groan.
"Why don't you check up on your dad's place first? Get some moral support."
"Good idea," Sam said with a grin. "Maybe I can get him to help me clean up."
Pete laughed. "No doubt."
"I'll give you a call tomorrow...if the phones are working," Sam said as he took his jacket from the back of the chair where he had left it.
"Thanks, Sam," Pete said. "Say hello to Mac for me."
"Will do, Mr. Thornton," Sam said as he walked out into the night.
**********
People still filled the streets, even at this late hour, Sam was surprised to note. Many, it seemed, were afraid to be indoors and had set up tents and makeshift camps on their lawns and driveways. Others were still shell-shocked, walking around and staring at the devastation. The stillness of the night was punctuated every few minutes by the sound of sirens, and Sam felt his apprehension growing as he neared his father's neighborhood.
He breathed a sigh of relief when he pulled his motorcycle in front of MacGyver's apartment. The building was still standing and appeared to have suffered only minor damage, unlike some of its less-fortunate neighbors. Leave it to his dad to find the safest building on the street, Sam thought with a smile. The smile turned to a frown, though, when he realized that MacGyver's jeep wasn't in the garage, nor was it parked on the street.
Sam hurriedly climbed the stairs, knocking loudly on the door to his father's apartment. "Dad? You home?" Not waiting for an answer, Sam pulled out his keys and opened the door, flicking on the light hopefully as he entered the apartment. Luckily, the power was still working in this neighborhood and the light came on, illuminating the apartment.
It was obvious from the disarray that MacGyver hadn't been there since the quake had hit. Sam sighed as he prowled around the apartment, picking his way through the mess. Knowing his father, he was probably out helping somebody. He knew it was selfish, but Sam wished that his father wouldn't always go running off to the rescue every time someone asked. It would have been nice to find him safe at home for a change.
With a last look around, Sam turned to leave, but stopped short when he saw the light flashing on the telephone answering machine that lay on the floor next to the sofa. He picked it up and pushed the button. An electronic voice told him there was one message and that it was received at 5:58 p.m. Then the message began to play.
"Hello?" said MacGyver's voice.
"Mac? It's Willis..."
"Hang on a sec while I shut the machine off..." There was a shuffling noise and a click as the message ended.
MacGyver had been home before the earthquake hit. Maybe he was with Willis when it struck, Sam thought as he rubbed his hand over his eyes tiredly. He sighed as he set the machine back on the floor. Wherever MacGyver was, Sam hoped he had managed to stay out of trouble, but knowing his father, he wasn't counting on it. With a last look at the apartment, Sam shut the light and locked the door behind him as he left. The mess at his own place was probably just as bad and wasn't going to get any better with time, so Sam decided to go home.
**********
It wasn't as bad as he had feared. Sam stepped wearily through the door to his apartment a short time later, thankful that his electricity was still on. His books and photo albums had been thrown to the floor, along with most everything else that hadn't been nailed down. Fortunately, he always kept his photography equipment locked in a trunk in his bedroom, so he wasn't concerned about its condition.
Just as he shut the door behind him, another tremor started. Sam braced himself against the wall until it passed a few moments later. It took him a minute to realize that the tremor was over, and he started to understand why all of those people were sleeping outside, but he was simply too tired to let anything deter him from his bed. Giving the ceiling a last worried glance, Sam flopped onto his bed and, despite his worries, fell asleep immediately.
**********
Voices. He could hear voices. Phelps moaned and opened his eyes. It was dark, everything was blurry. Something moved into his field of vision and then out again.
"He's wakin' up!"
"Quick, grab his wallet and let's get out of here!"
The two teenagers and a third friend dragged Phelps further into the alley and finished emptying his pockets, congratulating themselves loudly when they found the gun in his pocket. Phelps closed his eyes and moaned again. What was he doing lying on the ground? Why wasn't he in his car?
"He saw me, man," one of the teenagers whined.
"Take care of him then!" his friend said irritably.
The teenager took the gun they had liberated from Phelps and took aim at his head. As his finger tightened on the trigger, the little group was suddenly illuminated by the headlights of a car that had turned into the alley. Startled, the boy's hand jerked upward slightly as he fired the gun, the bullet only grazing Phelps' head. The three boys turned and ran, not looking back as they disappeared down the alley. Phelps heard the sound of their running footsteps as he sank once again into unconsciousness.
**********
He awoke suddenly to darkness. Momentarily forgetting where he was, MacGyver sat up quickly, but instantly regretted it when his ribs sent sharp pains of protest through his side. He blinked, blearily wondering why he was in such pain and why it was so dark in his apartment ...until he remembered what had happened. Instantly, he became aware of a shuffling sound a short distance away. MacGyver fumbled in the dark until his hand found the lantern and switched it on, flooding the room with light.
Murdoc was awake and watching him, shifting uncomfortably on the dirty floor. MacGyver stared at him for a moment, until Murdoc flashed him a grin. He turned away and began to survey the room. It was still intact, despite the two tremors that had occurred during the six hours that he had been asleep. Carefully protecting his damaged ribs, MacGyver got to his feet and limped his way slowly toward the door that was set into one wall. He tried the handle and found that the door was unlocked but wouldn't open. Running his fingers along the outline of the door, he determined that the frame had been bent during the quake, wedging the door closed.
"You didn't think it would be that easy, did you?" Murdoc commented sarcastically.
MacGyver ignored him as he hobbled across the room and picked up the old crowbar that Murdoc had used to free him earlier. Carrying it back to the door, he shoved it into the space between the door and the jamb and leaned his weight against it. The door creaked and groaned, but remained stubbornly in place.
Breathing heavily, MacGyver leaned against the wall and glared at Murdoc. "Are you going to just sit there?"
Murdoc simply smiled at him.
With a disgusted shake of his head, MacGyver turned back to the door. Ignoring the pain in his side, continued prying at the door. He was so absorbed in his task that he didn't hear Murdoc's approach until he spoke.
"Ordinarily, I would enjoy watching you struggle," Murdoc said casually as he gripped the end of the crowbar with his good hand. "But I *would* like to get out of here sometime this century."
MacGyver glowered at him, but didn't respond. Based on past experience, he knew that Murdoc was just trying to provoke him and would merely shrug and smile in response to any comment he might make. It just wasn't worth the effort to engage him in any verbal sparring. He had more important things to worry about.
After several minutes, the door finally gave way with a loud screech, opening inward to reveal what was left of a narrow hallway. In the dim light cast by the lantern, MacGyver grimly studied the jumble of debris that clogged the passage. The rubble was tightly packed, leaving only a few small openings, none of which was large enough accommodate them.
"Well, that was pointless," Murdoc said from beside him. "We can't get out that way."
"It's this or nothing," MacGyver said with a shrug. "We don't have a whole lot of options."
Murdoc stared dubiously at the tangled mess. "You call this an option?"
"You have a better idea?"
Murdoc looked at the rubble again for a moment then sighed resignedly and reached into the pile of debris and tugged a piece of drywall free, tossing it over his shoulder into the storage room. "Then we'd better get to work."
**********
He swept the last of the broken dishes into a trash bag and sank wearily onto his sofa, surveying his newly-cleaned apartment with a satisfied smile. Now, if he could only keep it this neat, Sam chuckled to himself. His father would probably agree, since his normal housekeeping habits were fair at best. Thinking of MacGyver, Sam picked up his cell phone and dialed his apartment hopefully, but the answering machine picked up after four rings and Sam clicked the phone off with a frown, not bothering to leave a message. The uneasy feeling he'd had the day before returned full force, and Sam toyed with the phone thoughtfully for a moment before dialing Pete Thornton's number.
"Thornton," Pete answered.
"Mr. Thornton, it's Sam."
"Hey, Sam. How did your place hold up?"
"Not bad," Sam replied. "Just some broken dishes and things."
"Good, good. Did you get in touch with Mac?"
"No," Sam sighed. "He wasn't at his place last night and he wasn't answering the phone this morning either. I think he was going to see Willis last night." He explained to Pete about the message he heard on MacGyver's answering machine.
"Maybe he's still with Willis," Pete suggested. "It was kind of difficult to get around yesterday, so they probably just stayed wherever they were."
"Yeah, that makes sense," Sam agreed. "I'm going to run by his place anyway, maybe get started on cleaning it up."
"He'll appreciate that, I'm sure," Pete said. "Make sure you let me know when he gets back."
"No problem." Sam shut off the phone, feeling slightly better about the situation.
**********
David Markham sighed wearily as he eyed the disaster area that was his office. Books, papers, and nearly everything else that had been on his desk were strewn all over the floor and his pictures had all fallen off of the walls. Stepping carefully through the clutter, he made his way to his desk and sat heavily in his chair. He had had to wait for clearance from the safety crews in order to enter the building, but it was hardly the beginning of his day. Since the earthquake had occurred, he had spent most of his time on the telephone checking on various Phoenix facilities and personnel. But there was still much work to be done.
He reached for the phone, only to find that it had fallen to the floor and broken into several pieces. Shaking his head in disgust, Markham opened his briefcase and retrieved his cell phone. His first call was to Craig Phelps, whom he had been unable to reach since the quake happened. The phone rang eleven times before he gave up. His next call was to MacGyver, and again, he was disappointed.
"Dammit!" Markham cursed as he shut off the phone in frustration. A situation like this was going to require the efforts of a lot of people, especially his two troubleshooters, just to get things back to normal.
Without them, things were going to be much more difficult, especially since he would have to expend resources to locate them, resources that were needed elsewhere. Feeling the need to do something, he stood and began cleaning up the mess. This, at least, would have some concrete results, unlike his fruitless search for MacGyver and Phelps.
**********
For the fifth time in twenty minutes, Sam looked at his watch and then at the door to his father's apartment, which had not opened all day. The telephone as well, remained stubbornly silent, and he tried to tell himself that there was nothing to worry about, that MacGyver was fine, but it wasn't working. All day, he had tried to rationalize why his father had not returned or even called to check up on him, but had failed miserably. Repeated calls to Willis had also proved useless, since the telephone service was still apparently out in his neighborhood. Restlessly, Sam stood and straightened some books on the already-neat bookcase. He had managed to distract himself from his concerns for awhile by cleaning up the apartment, but there was nothing left to do, nothing to take his mind off of the fact that his father was missing. He was pacing the room worriedly when the phone rang.
"Hello?" he answered breathlessly, snatching up the receiver before it could ring a second time.
"MacGyver?" a voice asked hopefully.
"No, this is Sam, Mr. Markham," he replied, his hope fading when he recognized the voice of his father's boss, who had already called several times that day looking for MacGyver.
"No sign of him yet?"
"None," Sam said wearily.
"All right," Markham sighed defeatedly. "Let me know as soon as you hear from him."
"I will," Sam promised.
Hearing the strain in Sam's voice, Markham felt a pang of sympathy for the young man. "I've got all the resources I can spare looking for him and Phelps," he offered, knowing that it wasn't much help in easing Sam's mind.
"Thanks, Mr. Markham," Sam said, appreciating the man's efforts to make him feel better. It wasn't until after he had hung up that Sam finally registered all of Markham's words. Phelps was missing too? Somehow, that knowledge didn't improve his mood. The sense of dread in the pit of his stomach intensified and Sam knew that his father, wherever he happened to be, was in trouble.
Frustrated, Sam picked up the phone and dialed Pete's number. The phone had barely rung once when Pete anxiously answered, "Hello?"
"It's me, Mr. Thornton," Sam said.
"Anything?" he asked in the same hopeful tone that Sam had just heard from Markham.
"No," Sam replied. "Markham just called and he hasn't heard anything either."
"I don't like it," Pete said after a brief pause. "He should have contacted us by now."
"I know," Sam said morosely. "Markham said that Phelps is missing too."
"Really?" Pete said with surprise. "That's the first I've heard of that."
"You think it means anything?" Sam asked.
"I don't know," Pete said thoughtfully. "Probably not. They weren't working on anything together... at least, not that I know of."
"Dad told me that he thought he saw Phelps following him last week," Sam said, suddenly remembering a brief conversation he'd had with MacGyver the previous week. "He said he didn't know what Phelps hoped to gain by tailing him to the laundromat."
"There's no telling, with that sneaky bastard," Pete said disgustedly, revealing his own dislike for the other troubleshooter. "I don't think Markham even knows what he's up to, half the time."
"Yeah. I just hope he's not the reason we haven't heard from Dad." Sam didn't think much of Phelps either.
"I'm sure he isn't," Pete said, hoping he sounded more certain than he felt. Sam didn't need any additional worries right now.
"I hate just waiting around for him to show up," Sam said, frustration evident in his voice. "I've already cleaned his apartment three times. I have to do *something*!"
"Have you had any luck reaching Willis?" Pete asked, sympathizing with Sam's feelings of helplessness.
"No, his phone service is still out."
"Why don't you go see him?" Pete suggested.
"Do you have his address?" Sam asked, immediately perking up at the prospect of doing something useful. "I checked Dad's address book, but all he had was a phone number."
"Hold on a minute." Pete set down the telephone and went over to his desk, switching on his computer. Speaking briefly into the attached microphone, he was rewarded a minute later by a synthesized voice reading the address aloud.
"Did you get that?" Pete asked as he picked up the phone again.
"Yeah," Sam said with a smile. "That's a pretty cool computer system."
"It is, isn't it? Mac helped me put it together," he said. "It's just lucky that my power was restored this afternoon."
"I'll head over to see Willis now," Sam said.
"Call me later. I don't want to lose track of you, too," Pete said with concern.
"Okay," Sam promised as he hung up the phone. Not sparing the immaculate apartment another glance, Sam hurried out the door.
**********
"Where is he?" Markham muttered as he hung up the phone. "MacGyver should be home by now. So should Phelps."
"I'll keep trying," his secretary said.
"We need everyone we can get our hands on, especially him and MacGyver."
"I know," she said, looking at him sympathetically.
"Thank you, Alice," Markham said, giving her a tired smile. "I know this is above and beyond the call of duty."
"I'll do anything I can to help," Alice said, returning the smile as she hurried back to her desk.
Markham watched her retreating figure with gratitude, making a note to give her a good raise at her next review. She had come into the office at five o'clock that morning at his request to help get things into some sort of working order, and had spent the day tirelessly helping him coordinate the recovery efforts for the Phoenix Foundation, a task which was proving to be especially difficult without the assistance of his two troubleshooters. MacGyver, especially would have been quite an asset, since he had designed most of the disaster plans for the Foundation in the first place. Markham had already fielded several calls requesting the assistance of Phoenix -- MacGyver, in particular -- in coordinating cleanup efforts for various municipal authorities. Apparently, the troubleshooter's somewhat 'unique' perspective on things was quite useful, since disasters didn't follow the rulebooks, either.
It was an area in which the Phoenix foundation had a lot of experience, though much of that skill had been downplayed during his tenure. Markham had been surprised to learn that they had been a primary consultant to the city of San Francisco after the large earthquake there in 1989, and to many other cities worldwide after earthquakes and other disasters had struck. The new management hadn't considered it important enough to bother telling him. He had only found out when he had begun receiving requests for the Foundation's services. It made him wonder what else the "powers that be" had neglected to tell him.
Markham swiveled his chair and looked out at the sky, reddening with the approach of sunset. More and more he was beginning to feel like he was out of the loop, merely a puppet on a string who danced to a tune he could no longer hear. It also hadn't escaped his attention that Phelps, his supposed underling, was receiving his true marching orders from elsewhere. He had noticed Phelps's recent interest in MacGyver's whereabouts and could only speculate at his motives, since no one had informed him of any new surveillance orders.
Markham rubbed his forehead tiredly. It had been a long day and it wasn't doing him any good to brood about his own situation. It certainly wasn't going to help him find his two wayward employees. With a last look out his window, he turned his chair around and picked up his phone.
**********
The address Pete had given him belonged to a three-story apartment building on a quiet, tree-lined street that appeared to have survived the earthquake with little obvious damage. Sam parked his motorcycle at the curb and climbed the stairs to the third floor apartment where Willis lived. After knocking several times with no response, Sam turned to leave, and ran straight into Willis, who was fumbling with his keys in one hand while carrying a bag of groceries in the other.
"Hey!" Willis said as his bag fell to the floor, strewing its contents across the hallway.
"Sorry Mr. Willis," Sam apologized as he bent to retrieve the spilled items.
"Oh, hi Sam," Willis said, recognizing his visitor. "Come on in." He gestured to Sam to follow as he unlocked his door. Sam followed him into the apartment, depositing the grocery bag on the kitchen counter.
"I was helping my Aunt Eleanor get her house cleaned up -- she lives in one of those old Victorians -- and she insisted on sending a bag full of goodies home with me," Willis grinned and gestured toward the grocery bag, which was filled with plastic containers of cookies and other baked goods. "I think she's afraid I'll starve."
"Not anymore," Sam said with a smile. "You've got enough food there for a couple of weeks."
"No kidding," Willis said when they were both seated on chairs in the living room. "So, what can I do for you?"
"I was wondering if you knew where my dad was?"
Willis shook his head. I haven't seen him since Wednesday afternoon when he came by the lab to pick up some reports."
"What about last night? Didn't you guys get together?"
"No, I was here are all night cleaning up after the quake."
"Oh," Sam said thoughtfully. "Did he say anything about going out when you talked to him on the phone?"
"I didn't talk to him at all yesterday," Willis said, giving Sam a confused look.
"You didn't call him around six o'clock last night?"
"No."
"Aw man," Sam said, his concern for his father erupting into full-blown fear. If someone had called him impersonating Willis, it could only spell trouble for MacGyver.
"What's wrong?" Willis asked, sensing that he had just told Sam something he didn't want to hear. Sam explained to him about the phone call he had supposedly made to MacGyver on the previous night.
"I think," Willis said slowly, after a brief pause, "... we'd better take a closer look at that tape."
His stomach clenched with worry, Sam gave him a tight nod. "I think you're right."
**********
MacGyver stopped to rest for a moment, dropping his head forward onto his outstretched arms. They had been at it all day: digging, climbing, and tunneling their way through the rubble in their quest for a way out from under the collapsed structure. With a weary sigh, MacGyver resumed his progress, pulling himself through the narrow tunnel that he and Murdoc had uncovered earlier. He had no idea what, if anything, he would find at the other end, but they had little choice, since there were no other paths through or around the rubble. MacGyver prayed that he wouldn't run into a dead end, as they had done several times before. Crawling through the debris was difficult enough without having to do it backwards.
Luck was with him this time, though, as the tiny passage suddenly opened into a larger space. MacGyver switched on the lantern, which he had been pushing along in front of him, and illuminated a small pocket of space next to a wall that had remained standing. It wasn't large enough for him to stand up, but there was enough room for him to stretch out on the floor -- a thought which appealed to him immensely after twelve straight hours of scrambling through the ruins of the building.
"We've got some open space up here," MacGyver called into the crawlspace from which he had just emerged. A grunt was the only response from Murdoc; faint scuffling sounds the only other indicator of his progress through the tunnel.
MacGyver closed his eyes, leaning wearily against the wall. His ribs had been unrelentingly protesting the strenuous activity to which they had been subjected all day, and now the rest of his body was joining in the chorus of complaint. His muscles ached from the strain of moving heavy debris and climbing around all of the obstacles in his path, and he had added some new scrapes and bruises to his already-numerous collection. He was on the verge of falling asleep when Murdoc finally poked his head out of the debris.
"Well, isn't this cozy," Murdoc said disdainfully as he eased himself into the small space.
"Home sweet home," MacGyver muttered, watching Murdoc slide himself wearily into the opposite corner.
"I suppose it *does* have a certain ambience." Murdoc grinned and waved his good hand around the room.
MacGyver grunted and shook his head. It never ceased to amaze him how Murdoc could maintain his warped sense of humor even in the most dire of circumstances. Nothing seemed to faze him. Even now, he was lying curled up on the floor, already asleep and snoring faintly. With a sigh, MacGyver reached over and switched off the lantern, stretching himself into a reasonably comfortable position. It was going to be another fun night in the Earthquake Hotel.
**********
"What have we got?" The white-coated doctor hurried to greet the paramedics as they rushed through the doors to the emergency room.
"Gunshot wound to the head," the uniformed woman said briskly. "Multiple contusions and lacerations."
The doctor looked at the dark-haired man lying on the gurney, taking note of his expensive suit. "Robbery?"
"Looks that way," the paramedic said with a nod as she hurried alongside the gurney as it was pushed down the car door of the hospital. "Looters are still running wild all over the city."
"Any history?"
"None," the second paramedic said. "No wallet or other I.D."
"Great," the doctor said with a tired sigh. "He's the twelfth John Doe we've had today."
"Day's not over yet, Doc," the female paramedic said with a sardonic grin.
"Don't remind me." The doctor paused and consulted a clipboard hanging on the wall. "Put him in treatment room three." Taking a fresh patient chart, the doctor penciled in 'John Doe 12' in the space at the top before pushing through the door to take care of the injured man.
**********
Since Willis' phone and his own cellular service were still out of order, Sam waited until they arrived at MacGyver's apartment before calling Pete with the latest bit of unwelcome information about his father's disappearance.
"It's Sam again, Mr. Thornton," he said when Pete answered the phone.
"What's wrong?" he asked, instantly detecting the distress in Sam's voice.
Sam told him about the phone call that hadn't come from Willis.
"If Willis didn't make the call, who did?" Pete asked worriedly.
"I don't know," Sam said, running a hand through his hair distractedly, unconsciously mimicking one of MacGyver's mannerisms. "We're going to take the tape over to Willis' lab to analyze it."
"Let me know the minute you find out anything. I'm going to start calling..." Pete paused, not wanting to worry Sam anymore than he already was. "... around, see if anyone has seen him."
Sam, already beside himself with worry, didn't notice Pete's reticence. "Thanks Mr. Thornton." Not wanting to waste a minute, Sam and Willis took the tape from the answering machine and headed directly for the Phoenix Foundation.
Sitting down at his desk, Pete leaned his forehead on his folded hands as he steeled himself for his next task. It was something he had had to do before, and he found it as difficult this time as it had always been. Finally, he collected himself and began the dreaded job of calling the hospitals -- and the morgue -- to see if MacGyver had turned up. And as he had done each time before, Pete prayed that he wouldn't find what he was looking for.
**********
The soft rumbling beneath him and a cascade of fine grit peppering his face roused MacGyver from his slumber. "Aw man, not again," he muttered to himself as the tremor's intensity increased. The aftershock way short-lived, however, and his current shelter remained intact as his cautious inspection revealed. In the dim light of the lantern, MacGyver glanced at his watch and was surprised to find that he had been asleep for four hours, since he still felt like he hadn't slept for a week.
"Yo, Murdoc," he called out to the sleeping assassin, amazed to note that he hadn't stirred at all during the disturbance.
"What?" Murdoc grumbled sleepily.
"Nap time is over," MacGyver said as he started to examine the area for an exit. "I don't know about you, but I want to get out of here as soon as possible."
Murdoc scowled at him but joined MacGyver in his search for an escape route. It took more than an hour, but they finally uncovered a passage that looked promising under several layers of timber and metal. Murdoc peered into the opening, then turned to MacGyver. "After you." Grinning, he gestured toward the dark hole.
MacGyver had a sudden, childish urge to stick his tongue out at Murdoc, but wisely restrained himself. Crawling awkwardly into the cramped, dusty space, he decided that he had spent way too much time under this building if he was actually contemplating making faces at an armed killer who hated his guts. "How do I get myself into these situations?" he grumbled to himself as he clambered over broken drywall and concrete.
**********
"Here we are," Willis said, sweeping his hand around the room with a flourish. "Geek's paradise." The lab was large and brightly lit by narrow fluorescent lights overhead. Long tables lined the walls, and every surface was covered with computers and gleaming electronic equipment. It was a stark, functional room, whose only touch of personality came in the form of a row of colorful miniature dinosaurs that sat on the shelf above the large computer monitor on Willis' desk.
"Cool," Sam said with a grin, pointing at the toys, some of which had fallen onto the floor during the quake.
"Uh, yeah," Willis said sheepishly as he restored the dinosaurs to their perch. "The place needed a little character."
"I thought that's why they had you?"
"Smart alec," Willis grinned and cuffed Sam on the side of his head.
Sam rolled the chair alongside Willis as he started to type on the computer. "Have to get a few things set up..." he mumbled as he entered what Sam called his 'scientist mode'. After a few minutes, Willis turned and rolled his chair to a table behind his desk and flipped some switches on a piece of equipment.
"What's that?" Sam asked, curious about the unfamiliar device.
"This is the audio analyzer," Willis explained. "It's just a fancy tape deck that records the audio information from the tape and converts it into a digital format that the computer can deal with."
"Neat."
"Yeah," Willis agreed. "Once we have it recorded, we can run it against voice patterns in the Phoenix database and see if we find a match."
"So you can tell right away if it isn't your voice?"
"Yep." Willis put the tape into the machine and rewound it, then pressed the 'play' button. Immediately, the sound of his own voice came from the speakers. He frowned and turned to Sam. "Does that really sound like me?"
Sam nodded.
"Well, we'll find out soon enough." He punched a few more buttons then moved back to the computer. "Okay, we'll match it against mine first." He typed rapidly for minute then switched to his mouse, clicking on several points on the screen. Finally, the display changed and Sam leaned forward in anticipation.
"Well?" he asked.
"It doesn't match. Look." He pointed at the two clearly different patterns which were displayed one above the other on the screen.
"So it's not your voice?" Sam said hesitantly.
"No."
"How accurate is that thing?"
"We can match voice patterns with about ninety-nine percent confidence."
"Wow," Sam said appreciatively. "So what now?"
"Now, we'll try running it against the voice prints in the database." He turned to Sam. "It may take a while, since that database is huge. We're talking terabytes of data."
Sam wasn't exactly sure what size a terabyte was, but he knew it was really big. "What if it doesn't find a match?"
"Then we'll probably be out of luck. The only people with bigger databases are the FBI and the NSA. Maybe the CIA, too. What we have here is a subset of their data," Willis said apologetically. "If we don't get anything, I can contact some friends in those agencies, but it could take days, even weeks to get any answers."
"I don't think we have that long," Sam said gloomily.
"Come on," Willis said, trying not to betray his own fear for his friend's safety. "Let's see if we can scare up some coffee or something while we're waiting."
"Okay." Sam followed him out of the lab, hoping that they would find some answers, but at the same time dreading what those answers might be.
**********
To be continued