Chapter 1: Introductions

The day began like any other. I was sitting at my workstation, reviewing my notes on algorithm enhancements. The algorithm had been my master thesis I developed when I was in graduate school. Additional work on the algorithm enabled me to obtain my PhD in theoretical mathematics. I now was Dr. James Whitcomb Mercer IV, PhD, associate professor in mathematics rather than just plain old James Mercer.

The algorithm not only secured me a teaching position, but also a side revenue stream. A software company out of Seattle had licensed the algorithm to be part of their poll prediction software. My algorithm enhanced the computational speed of the software program. The company gladly paid the royalties due to license my algorithm, According to them, it added extra value to their already successful application. The news networks almost lined up to purchase it to forecast election results. There was no need to wait for computer computations as they were almost instantaneous due to the algorithm enhancement. It was all in the ratings, who ever got there first in predicting election results and most accurately won the ratings race. The networks gladly paid the cost of the software in order to win the ratings game. So, the networks paid the cost of the software, the company made a profit and I earned a nice royalty from the algorithm license.

My wife, Karen, and I flew to Seattle several times each year. We stayed in an apartment that the software company leased on our behalf. Karen would go shopping while I was at the software firm looking over their wish list. Despite her best efforts, I was able to generate more income than she could spend. Seattle was a refreshing change from the hectic pace of Chicago, and we enjoyed our time there.

The university was happy to have me as a faculty member. My research recognition benefited the school’s bottom line. The university loved the recognition it received for its faculty’s excellence. It helped fund scholarships and donations from successful alumni. I thought it all boring and disregarded it as academic politics. As a faculty member, I showed up to do my research and taught the appropriate amount of classes as required by my employment contract. I occasionally even had office hours. At 4 pm though, I left no matter what. When I left campus, I either rode my motorcycle or drove my beloved VW Beetle the few blocks to our town-house near the university.

Karen and I had been married for three years, almost four. Ginny B had passed, and her memory was rarely mentioned. I enjoyed my academic career, which involved numbers and mathematical calculations. Karen could have been a stay-at-home wife, but she chose instead to continue working as an emergency department nurse. Both Karen and I could have retired early and lived on the algorithm royalties. But, we both like our careers and wanted to continue working. We enjoyed a pleasurable existence.

I often kept my door closed and locked so that I could work uninterrupted. When I heard someone knocking, I rose to answer the door, grumbling to myself about being interrupted. I went to open the door and saw my friend, FBI Special Agent Lawrence Foster, and two gentlemen waiting there. Their appearance suggested that they were government minions rather than FBI agents. Before returning to my desk, I gestured to them to enter my private domain.

Lawrence did not look me in the eye or greet me like he usually did. He seemed to be uncomfortable and embarrassed to be there. This wasn’t a social call, I concluded. I waited for someone to speak. We sat there for a few seconds, looking at each other.

“Gentlemen, do you have something you want to discuss with me? Or will we spend the afternoon staring?” I asked, gazing back at the two officials. “I have work to do. Unless you want to explain why you’re here, I’ll say goodbye. Agent Foster can show you the way out.”

“Dr. Mercer, we understand you work with the FBI as an asset when needed. Is this accurate to the best of your knowledge?” questioned one of the bureaucrats.

“How about that? They can talk,” I said in a lighthearted tone. “You want to show me your ID and explain why you’re here? Looking at you, I am certain you are not from the FBI. If I had to guess, I’d say you two are from one of Washington’s alphabet agencies. I am unable to determine which one as they all have offices on the outskirts of DC.”

No response.

“Gentlemen, unless you tell me why you are here, I will ask you to leave. Campus security can escort you off campus.”

“Dr. Mercer, there is a need of your talents. The agency is willing to pay quite handsomely for your expertise,” added the chatty bureaucrat. “The subject is of a rather sensitive nature and top secret.”