Fox’s Game Ch. 15: They Run Into a Dead End…Maybe an Economist Can Help?

Thompson Station

Kristoff emptied the contents of his beer glass and continued, “We’re looking for evidence of an organization that, at least to some degree, prided itself on being able to memorize absurdly large amounts of information.”

“Right.”

“Well, what if the Book of Shadows is the only text that we can track because the rest of their information would be transmitted orally?”

Robert took a deep breath, trying to follow his friend’s logic. “So you think that they would’ve resorted to simply telling each other what they wanted in person?”

“Yes, when they could. And when they couldn’t, they probably wrote letters in such coded terms, that to extrapolate meaning could take years. We’d have to find their letters, letters that were probably memorized then disposed of or we could search for evidence of their actions.”

A slow smile creeped across Robert’s face as he understood Kristoff’s point. “You’re saying we should see if the events of Harvel’s case is similar to other such cases?”

“Yes. It’s like physics. When you shine light on a subatomic particle, you change its position. This is frustrating because you can’t see without light. So what do you do?” Kristoff asked.

“I don’t know. Study how the particle moves and then use that as a starting point for guessing its structure and composition?” Robert said.

“Close. We study the movement, but we also study the effects of the movement. It works not just at the subatomic level. We look at black holes and see how matter reacts when close to them. That allows us to separate the unknown from the known.”

Robert appreciated his rationale, mostly because it would make looking for evidence easier. So far, all they could find was the information that Kristoff’s friend in Washington had sent them. It was like investigating the mob—the evidence somehow disappeared when examined.

The more Robert thought, the more Kristoff’s subatomic analogy fit because any lead vanished like a quark running from the light. They needed specific shadowy activity if they hoped to trace the organization’s movement.

This need to change tactics excited the two professors, it meant they were making some headway. Even a failed hypothesis brought them a step closer to the truth. But that also meant scrapping much of the work they’d done up until that point, which made them tired. Kristoff often admonished his physics students on the value of failed experiments with a quote from the legendary computer engineer John W. Backus, “You have to generate many ideas and then you have to work very hard only to discover that they don’t work. And you keep doing that over and over until you find one that does work.”

Kristoff kept that quote on the door of his office. But unlike a failed physics experiment, time seemed much more of the essence. Perhaps more lives than André Babineaux’s was at stake.

“What do you think we should do now, Robert?”

“I need a break. We’ve been at this for hours. We need to keep pushing, but I don’t know how effective I’d be.”

Kristoff laughed a laugh of exhaustion and relief, “Well, part of effective work is knowing your limitations. The mind needs breaks just like the body. What do you propose?”

“It’s late now. I’ll call Julian tomorrow to see if he’s made any headway with Dr. Morell. If she can devise some algorithms for us, that would allow us to use our energy more effectively.”

Kristoff agreed. “Yes, talk to Julian. And even if he hasn’t spoken to her, he could provide a different perspective.”

“I’ve worked with Julian on a couple of committees, he has a knack of approaching problems in an unorthodox but effective way.”

“Okay, so do you want to meet back here sometime tomorrow?” Kristoff asked.

“Yes, how does 1:30 sound? Right after lunch.”

“I’ve got a better idea. Why don’t you come over at noon, and I’ll make lunch. I sometimes do my best thinking while I’m cooking, and it’d be good to have someone there to bounce ideas off of.”

“Sounds good, Kristoff. See you then.”

********************

Tiffany and Julian agreed it best to arrive before Alyssa in order to lessen the chance that she’d catch on to their intentions. Tiffany was shocked when she called her and found that she had a young voice. For some reason, she expected her to sound older. And when she Googled her, Tiffany felt a twinge of envy at seeing her picture and reading her accomplishments. Although Tiffany had an accomplished resumé of her own, she found it hard not to compare herself to another woman in her city and her demographic.

As with most comparisons, she unknowingly downplayed her own strengths and overrated the other person’s. Knowing that she wasn’t doing herself any good, she logged out. In spite of herself, she felt a slight sense of jealousy at knowing she was going to help a guy that she’d just flirted with meet up with a girl who, irrational as it sounded, now seemed like competition, not even competition for Julian, just competition in that vague way in which young women sometimes found themselves.

 

Fox’s Game Ch. 11: A ‘Keep Out’ Sign is Not to Keep Us Out but to Remind Us that We Want In…and Other Obvious Facts

Vanderbilt University Research Facility

Kristoff Tulowitzki stood at the white board in his office, the symbols from his blue marker that covered the board would be comprehensible to only a handful of people in the world. He stood immobile, arms folded, mouth frowning. Not until the soft taps turned into sharp raps did he notice the knocking on his door, jumping slightly at the abrupt interruption.

“Come in,” he said.

Robert peeked his head in. “I hope I’m not disturbing you Kristoff.”

“Ah, Robert! I did not expect you. You are, in fact disturbing me, but it’s okay. I need to take a break. Our minds need periods of intense concentration followed by short rests. And social rests are the most healthy kind.”

“Good, good to hear. I was hoping you could settle something for me and Julian.”

Kristoff laughed. “I will try.”

“Well, it’s about Hoek’s record player riddle. What do you think? If a glass of water were on it, would it fall off or spill first?”

“Ah yes, I remember. It’s clearly an unsolvable equation.”

“That’s what I told Julian. I want to hear your rationale behind it, though.”

“It’s simple physical science. The centripetal force created by the circular movement is going to act differently on different glasses. A tall, thin glass will have a lower center of gravity and would thus get moved easier than a short wide one.” Robert tilted his head to the side. Tulowitzki continued, “and of course, the amount of water matters, too. A drop differs greatly from being filled to the rim. And how far away is the glass from the actual center of the circle, meaning the recorder?”

Robert smiled. “I agree with your answer. Although the rationale that led me there was remarkably different.”

“Oh, really?”“I took an historic approach. I focused on how the Romans viewed order and power, how they would’ve viewed the glass as something that needed to be controlled, but they would need to know the dimensions of that which they were controlling before they could exert any sort of power.”

“I love the way you see things, Robert. So…so…epistemologically.”

“Thank you, I think.”

“I meant it as a compliment. But tell me, you didn’t come all the way up here to ask me about a riddle. What do you really want?”

“I’m terrible at mind games.”

“Robert, I believe you are incapable of deception.”

“Well, my question is about Ben’s case. Julian and I have a question about secret societies. I figured you’d be able to put us on track.”

“I really don’t want to get into this, Robert.”

“I know, I just want to save dozens of hours of research by asking someone who might know. If you feel uneasy, I won’t pressure you.”

Kristoff knew he could trust Robert and that helping him in this matter would establish a stronger bond between them, which could be helpful in the future. “What’s the question? I’ll do my best.”

Robert unfolded a sheet of paper from his pocket. “Well, here’s a picture of one Harvel’s tattoos. It’s a Renaissance memory wheel. Seems like an odd thing to have. This particular wheel is interesting because it was the one used by Giordano Bruno, who wrote Book of Shadows. It’s a bit of a memory treatise, but it also has some information on the occult. He was also a known conspiracy theorist. He wanted to use his esoteric knowledge to control those in power. Let the Church and the State worry about controlling the masses. He’ll control the Church and the State. Have you heard anything about him?”

“That name is not completely unfamiliar. But I can’t place it. And I have never seen this image in relation to an organization.”

“That’s all I needed to know. Kristoff, I won’t take up anymore of your time. You’ve been very helpful.” Robert folded up the sheet and stuck out his hand.

“A bit of advice, Robert. Just because I don’t know about it, doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist. That tattoo could very well mean something.”

“I know, it’s just that this is all I’ve got. There are some things about the situation that are odd, but I imagine that, if I studied similar instances, I would see the same abnormalities.”

“True. Anomalies are far more common than we think both in the natural world and in human behavior.”

“I’m meeting with Julian tonight. He spoke with Ben’s former student, the Channel 4 producer who came to him with the story. We’ll compare notes. Unless we receive a new flood of information, we’ll try to wrap up our research assignment in the next day or so.”

“That’s probably a good idea. You and I are puzzle solvers, and part of solving them is understanding which ones are worth our time.”

“Well said. I will let you return to yours. Thanks as always.”

“Thank you, Robert.”

Robert closed the door, and Kristoff returned to his statuesque pose in front of the white board.

**********

“Julian, I greatly appreciate the irony of discussing potential secrets in such a public place,” said Robert after ordering his Cherry Coke. They took their usual seats in a secluded corner.

“It’s ironic, but since no one knows we’re working on this, we don’t have to keep it secret,” said Julian.

“Strangely enough, acting secretive often brings secrets to light,” said Robert.

“Sherlock Holmes said it best, ‘there’s nothing so well hidden as an obvious fact.’ It’s like if you act as if there’s nothing to hide, you can hide almost anything,” said Julian.

“People are interesting. Some things are naturally sensitive and need to be hidden. But how much information becomes valuable for no other reason than someone decided it needed to be hidden?” Robert said.

“It’s known in advertising as the Appeal to Snobbery. If you want your product to seem more appealing, simply show that it’s something that only a precious few are privy to. Then, no matter how accessible it is, if you have it, you’re part of a select group.”

“Who was it that said that the fence and the keep out sign is not to actually keep us out but to remind us that we wanted in?”

“I dunno, Robert. But I’ll have to steal that line.”

“So what’d you find after talking with Tiffany Saunders?”

“Well, the tattoo was a dead end. I found out that Harvel’s really good at disappearing. He leaves a boarder patrol job in Arizona shortly after 9/11 and just falls off the radar. He then pops up in Texas in ’04. Six months later he’s gone, and we don’t see him again until ’08. What do you think?”

“It could be part of a pattern. It’s impossible to understand without knowing more about his background. If he has a habit of disappearing for long periods, it could be nothing. But he was in the military where, by all accounts, he was a disciplined and dependable soldier. So that doesn’t really fit.”

Julian sighed. “Unless we get new information, doesn’t seem like we could do much. We’d have to question a large number of people who’ve already been questioned by authorities in hopes of finding something they missed. And I hardly doubt that’s what Ben had in mind when he asked us to do this.”

“Let me ask you: do you think Tiffany Saunders fell into the trap we were just talking about?”

“What trap?” said Julian.

“You know, the fact that things were secretive caused her to take an inordinate amount of interest in the case. As good as I’m sure she is, it’s not like she’s immune. Think about it, you ask a bunch of questions and get stonewalled. That makes you ask more, as if they’re hiding something. But maybe there’s nothing to hide, maybe they’re just making it more secretive because they can. There’s no upside in opening up to the press. Or maybe they’re trying to hide something else completely unrelated. There’re several possibilities. And given what we know so far, the problem is unsolvable.”

“Agreed. I think we should wrap this up. We put in our work. Let’s tell Ben that we simply don’t have enough information to move forward.”

Robert gulped his Coke. “This reminds me. What’d you get for the answer to Ben’s riddle about the glass of water and the turntable?”

“I forgot about that. You know, I think it was incomplete. Look at it this way: the turntable, the glass, the water, they’re all characters in a play. How can we predict how they will act once they’re set in motion if we don’t know anything about them? We’d need to know some backstory before we could move forward. You can’t have a story without conflict. The conflict, of course, is the movement, but you can’t have a story with only movement. You must have characters that we know something about. Does that analogy make sense?”

“Perfect sense. Kristoff had a completely different answer, same conclusion but different answer. I guess I should say he had a different reasoning process. And it’s in the spirit of our current dilemma. Like this case, that riddle has a dearth of facts to make any real sense of. Guess that’s why I like it.”

“We should stop by Ben’s office tomorrow and let him know what we came up with. I’ll call Tiffany and let her know.”

“Well Julian, it was good working with you. We really should collaborate on a project together. Kristoff and I were talking about doing something together, too.”

“I would like that. I admit I’ve been looking forward to these discussions more than I thought. I’m so used to just typing on a blank page that I forget co-authoring has its benefits as well.”

The two finished their drinks and left the coffee shop. Robert settled into his white, ’04 Camry. He took out his phone so he could charge it while he drove. He saw that he had a three missed calls and two voicemails from a number he didn’t recognize.

“I hope there’s not some sort of emergency.” He went to his voicemail feature and turned up the volume.

“Robert, it’s me Kristoff. Benjamin Hoek gave me your number. I found something about that tattoo. You were right, it does belong to a secret organization. We need to talk. I know you were meeting with Dr. Daniels tonight. Maybe I can come, too? Call me back.”

Robert’s heart thumped against his chest like knuckles on a punching bag. He listened to the next message, “Robert, I see I’ve gotten your voicemail again. Call me back when you get a chance.” He set down his phone, closed his eyes, drew in his breath, counted slowly to four, held it for seven seconds, and exhaled for eight. He did this two more times before picking up his phone.

He texted Julian: Kristoff left me two voicemails. We just got some backstory on one of our characters.

Fox’s Game Ch. 10: The Journalist and the English Prof. Discuss Coffee & Conspiracies

Vanderbilt University
School of Journalism
8:30am

Debbie Hudson smiled as Robert walked into the office. She was glad to see someone who made her job easier. As secretary for the Dean of Liberal Arts, Hudson fielded a litany of phone calls and visits that could make her days as hectic and unpredictable.

An angry student looking for someone to blame because her 4.0 was ruined was likely to storm into her office and complain about an American Lit class before realizing that Hudson was merely the go-between. Situations like that made the day adventurous but exhausting. She enjoyed seeing faculty members like Robert who showed her respect. They knew that for every one emergency Dr. Ben Hoek had to solve, she stopped 10 from even going that far.

“He’s in his office, Robert. Just go in.”

“Thank you.”

Ben stood up. “Thanks for coming in. Did you and Julian find anything?”

“We think we have a lead, but we need more information. I want to know how you decided to put the folders together.”

“The folders from the cookout? Let’s see, I just printed off news articles that I found and typed up a brief page on what Tiffany had told me. Jonathan made copies of what the police had, so I added those. Why?”

“Well, we found a tattoo that could indicate Harvel was more than a mentally unstable loner. Again, it could mean nothing. I want more than a brief bio. Is there any way to find out his hobbies or what organizations he was in?”

Ben pressed the tips of his fingers. “There is a way to find out.” He paused for dramatic effect. Robert leaned forward.

“Kristoff.”

“You mean Kristoff Tulowitzki?”

“Of course.”

“I have no problem asking him, but what makes him so qualified?”

“He’s a conspiracy theorist, but he’s such an organized thinker, he can explain his theories without sounding like a crackpot. I’ve heard he can make you think that Lee Harvey Oswald, the CIA, the Cubans, or the Russians assassinated Kennedy.”

“Interesting. Well, if this is his wheelhouse, he probably won’t mind sitting down answering a few questions.”

“I don’t think you have to settle for a few questions. I think you could get him all the way on board. Let me ask you, what answer did you come up with for my turntable question?”

“Turn–oh yeah. It’s unsolvable. You didn’t give us enough information.”

“Go on.” Now Ben was the one leaning forward.

“It’s a variation of a logic puzzle the Romans developed. How fast would a chariot wheel have to spin before it begins to break apart? It’s about order versus chaos. The Romans were obsessed with unification. They wondered how much unifying they could one do before things would unravel. The answer was…it depends. It depends on the size of the chariot wheel and the strength of the tools that forged it. That’s the point. How much order can you bring to the world? It depends on how big the world is that you want to conquer and how strong the tools are that you’re using?

“So back to your question, it depends on what kind of glass you want to use and how much water is in it.”

Ben made a mental note to use that example in the future. “Great answer, Robert. That question is your opening. I feel like each of you will come to the same conclusion but with different types of reasoning. That question was my way of giving you all something to think about even if you said no. Maybe it’d stick with you enough that my request wouldn’t quite leave your mind.

“Call Kristoff. Begin by asking him what answer he got. Then tell him your answer. He’ll appreciate it. From there, ask him about the case. The idea that a small piece of evidence could link to something bigger will more than likely draw him in. At the very least, he can give you a few leads.”

“Thanks, Ben. I’ll call him when I get to my office.”

“Don’t call him. Go see him like you came to see me. He’ll appreciate the effort. Plus the face-to-face contact will make your point more forceful. It’s Monday. He’ll probably be working in his office with the door closed. At first he’ll be grumpy that you interrupted him, but once you get talking, he’ll be fine.”

The two shook hands. “Thanks again, Ben. Talk to you soon.”

On his way out he waved to Debbie Hudson. She smiled, nodded and turned her back to her computer.

***********

 

Tiffany sat at the coffee table on her living room floor. A whole wheat turkey and cheese sandwich lay on a plate, half-eaten beside a bowl of Cheerios next to her computer, a bottle of water next to that.

She wanted to write an article about the need to understand Harvel without sounding too sympathetic. She knew what she wanted to say but not quite how. She took a bite of her sandwich, chewing while her fingers hovered aboard the keyboard. Her phone buzzed and she jumped nervously. She moved the papers that buried it and answered on the second ring.

“Hello, is this Tiffany Saunders?”

“Yes?”

“Hi Tiffany, I’m sure you’re busy, so I won’t take up your time. I’m Dr. Julian Daniels, associate English professor at Vanderbilt. I’m a good friend of Ben Hoek.”

“He’s doing well. I was calling because he asked me to look into the Christopher Harvel story you were working on.”

Julian looked phone to see if he hadn’t dropped the call. Tiffany’s silence meant something but he couldn’t tell what.

“Hello? Ms Saunders?”

“Sorry, yes I’m still here. What specifically did you need to know?”

“Well, long story short, a few professors here are very interested in the details of the case. I was wondering if it’d be possible to meet up with you to discuss it.”

“Sure. I’ve been trying to approach it from some fresh angle, but I can’t find anything worth pursuing.”

“Dr. McDonough from the Classics Department and I would like to meet with you because we may have something. Do you know where Fido’s on 21st is?”

“I do. Will Dr. Hoek be there?”

“No, but if you have any questions, feel free to call his office.”

“Should I bring anything?”

“Bring everything you can. What day and time works for you?”

“Well, since I’m suspended from work, I can meet whenever. How about this evening after dinner around 8:00?”

“If you get there before me, just know that Dr. McDonough has a large beard, and I guarantee you he’ll be wearing a white shirt. You’ll know him when you see him, even if there’re 10 guys who fit that description, you’ll just know. He looks like he spends his days in a library. I mean that in the best possible way.”

Tiffany laughed. Maybe meeting with two crusty professors wouldn’t be so bad. “Sounds good. See you then.” She hung up the phone and looked up the professors on the Vanderbilt website. Robert matched the description given to her, but she was surprised by how young Julian looked. She wondered if he was married but pushed the thought from her mind. She ignored the urge to do any further research, tied her shoes, and went for her run.

 

**********

Tiffany pulled her car into the cramped parking lot behind Fido’s. She stepped inside and scanned the area. She recognized Julian from his faculty picture and walked to where he sat.

“Dr. Daniels, nice to meet you in person.”

“Likewise. And call me Julian.”

“Sounds good. Where’s Dr. McDonough?”

“He couldn’t make it, but he did give me a few questions to ask.”

Tiffany felt a twinge of excitement at the news that it’d just be them. She enjoyed being out with an attractive member of the opposite sex, even if it were strictly professional.

“Well, ask me whatever you want. I brought my laptop. It has my notes as well as everything I collected.” She sat it on the table. “Before we get started, I’m gonna get something. What are you drinking, Dr. Daniels?”

“The Simple Summer. It’s got cucumber syrup, milk, & espresso. Here, try some.”

“Thanks but no thanks. I think I’ll try something sweeter.”

He chuckled, “More for me. Choose wisely.”

She returned holding a mug.

“What’d you get?”

“The Local Latte.”

“Good choice. Honey & cinnamon in a latte, right?”

“Local honey. Makes all the difference.”

“Of course.”

The two laughed and a moment of silence passed as the mood shifted from casual to business. “So is there anything specific you need me to clarify?” she asked.

She glanced at his ringless left hand in spite of herself. She enjoyed meetings like this because she didn’t have to impress him, and everything was about the work. Any romantic energy they felt was muted by the work that they were here to discuss.

Julian set his phone on the table and pressed the record feature. “We’re really interested in Harvel. What’s his background?”

Tiffany pulled up her notes on him. “Let’s see, born 1970 in Muncie, Indiana. Graduated from Muncie High in ’88. Went to Purdue University, dropped out after three years and joins the Marines. While there, he was a sniper who fought in Operation Desert Storm. Spent some time in Kosovo in the mid 90s. Was honorably discharged in ’97. Awarded the Purple Heart.

After leaving the military, he worked in Arizona as a border patrol agent. He also took evening classes at Arizona State, got his degree but continued working his day job. He earned his Masters in History. Then all of a sudden, he just quits. Calls his boss says he’s not coming in.”

“Did he give a reason?”

“No. His boss just said that he called and matter-of-factly told him he was quitting. No yelling or any sort of emotion. This was in November. Apparently, after 9/11 he’d begun to behave erratically. Some of his co-workers believe he was experiencing some PTSD symptoms.”

“PTSD? Four years after being honorably discharged?”

“Yes, from what I gathered, we’re still learning about it. The illness affects people in different ways. Some control it better than others. Some experience it after certain events or hearing certain noises,” Tiffany said.

“Fair enough. So what next?”

“Well, he then showed up in Texas in ’04 where he leased an apartment for 6 months and paid some bills. He got a job adjuncting and working maintenance for Alamo Community College in San Antonio. No abrupt departures this time. He returned his apartment keys, he re-painted his apartment as stipulated by the lease, he even gave the college his 2 weeks notice…Does any of this help?”

Julian finished his drink and signaled to the barista that he wanted another. “Actually yes, we’d gotten some basic information about where he lived and what he did. But it’s sometimes hard to believe what you read online. Hearing it from you makes it much more credible. Also, you’ve been much more detailed about his behavior and the reaction by others to his behavior.”

“Okay good, I just don’t want to be repetitive.”

“No, you’re doing great,” he said.

Tiffany smiled, the two made eye contact.

“He left Texas and disappeared again. Showed up in Woodbury, Tennessee in ’08. He lived there until a week before Bissette got to town. That’s all the factual information I have on him.”

Julian nodded. He pauses a moment before speaking. “Debussy once said that music is in the silence between the notes. The same is true about stories. The brilliance is in what’s unsaid.”

“You’re interested in the years where he’s off the grid.”

“What do you think happened when he left in ’01?” he asked.

“I think he went to Mexico. I don’t think he went deep into the country, I think he traveled just far enough to disappear. If anyone were looking for him, they could’ve found him. You know what I mean?”

“I understand,” he said.

“I think he was following the War on Terror. He knew going back to the military wasn’t really an option, but he wanted to help. And so he stayed close, maybe doing some illegal things to make money but also observing and getting information.”

“Do you think he may’ve been working for our government?”

“I have that feeling. But if he was, the work he was doing wasn’t official.”

“So we have a smart, educated, dedicated, skillful guy possibly working off the grid in Mexico for the United States during a time of heightened suspicion about terrorism.”

“Maybe.”

“Maybe,” he echoed.

“So he resurfaced in Texas and took a reputable job in ‘04. Maybe he’s running from someone? If you’re on the grid, you’re easier to keep track of. But also, it’s harder for someone who’s after you to just run up and kill you.”

“I agree. He’s a veteran, so he has some credibility. He uses that to get another state job, one that allows him to lay low. But not too low because if he doesn’t show up for work one day, the police are going to look for him.”

“Okay, so he stays there until ’08. Then for the next three years he’s gone again, only to show up in Tennessee in 2011. You wanna hear my theory about ‘08 to ‘11?” she asked.

He sipped his drink. “Yes.”

“I think he was in Tennessee the whole time.” Tiffany waited the way you do when making a contrarian statement.

Julian took the bait. “Why?”

“I think he was on the run again. Maybe not for the same reasons or even from the same people. But he was definitely trying to keep himself safe. I think he saw that it’s better to get out of Texas but live somewhere rural enough to sustain himself.”

“So where in Tennessee was he at?”

“I think all over. The state’s not huge, but it’s big enough to hide in. I’m from Knoxville. That’s East Tennessee, all kinds of mountains there. And then West Tennessee is flat with plenty of farmland. And Middle Tennessee has a little bit of both. He could travel through the state for years and make no indelible marks and keep himself alive.”

“Fair enough. We’re filling in the gaps, the silent parts. But we have to make it fit with what we do know, the noisy parts. How do you think that works?”

The server returned to their table. As she removed their glasses, she casually asked, “we’re doing last call. Would you like anything else? Also, how do you want me to split the check?”

“Just one,” Julian said.

“It’s okay, make it two,” Tiffany said.

“You came out of your way to talk to me about the work you’ve done,” he said.

“No, it’s great to have someone listen to me about this stuff for once. I probably owe you. Let’s just call it even.” Tiffany wouldn’t have minded him paying had it not been for the eye contact earlier in their conversation. She wanted to avoid any sort of semblance of a date, especially since they clearly would have to meet again.

“One last thing,” Julian said. “Can you pull up a couple pictures of Harvel?”

She showed a headshot as well as the full body surveillance image of him getting into his car.

“That’s the one, the picture that was on the news,” he said. “What do you know about his tattoos?”

“Nothing out of the ordinary. There were a few common military style tats, and a few that seemed weird but nothing that would draw red flags, no gang tats or anything like that.”

“Someone like him wouldn’t have gang tats, but could he have tats that could give clues to the unknown parts of his story?”

“I’m not sure. Maybe. Is there something specific you’re wondering about?”

“Yes, look here.” He angled her computer so she could see what he was pointing to. “Dr. McDonough identifies this as a Renaissance Era memory wheel.”

“Memory wheel?”

“A circular object where you would store images, mental images. These mental images acted as pegs upon which you could place things that you wanted to remember. It was a loci or location.”

She nodded. “I think I get it,” she said.

“Here’s what people did before post it notes and cell phone reminders. They thought of a place they were familiar with like their homes. And they attached what they wanted to remember to the furniture in their homes. For example, if they wanted to remember that Harvel was from Indiana, they’d picture their living room and place something associated with Indiana, a basketball or an Indian, something that would help them think of Indiana. And if they wanted to remember that he was in the military, maybe a gun on their favorite table, et cetera, et cetera until they had everything they wanted to know.

“Speakers would use this technique to remember the order of their speeches, which is where we get the term ‘in the first place.’ Well, as you can see, it’d be easy to run out of places. How many buildings could you really be familiar with?”

“Right, so they invented the memory wheel to give them more places,” she said.

“Yeah, you just place things that you’re familiar with on the wheel. You and I might make a wheel that had the 26 letters of the alphabet. That creates 26 extra spots.”

“So he has a Renaissance memory wheel tattooed on his forearm. And you think this is some sort of clue as to what he was doing in Mexico or wherever he was when we couldn’t track him?”

“Yeah, it’s just not something you get a tattoo of unless you’re really interested in that time period. Dr. McDonough said it’s rare and specific, not the type of picture to circulate in tattoo parlors. One’s not likely to see it on a poster, point to it and say, ‘that looks good. Give me that.’ And it’s not something you would just stumble across haphazardly.”

“So you think it’s something you’d get a tattoo of if you were really into studying that kind of stuff?”

“Exactly,” he said.

“I’ll look into it. I have some friends in Metro I could ask,” she said.

“Good. McDonough seems to think that if others have the tat, that it’s rare. It may not turn up in any initial searches.”

“If nothing comes up, I’ll see if they could call in a favor with the TBI or FBI.”

“Thanks, Tiffany.”

They signed their checks and left. As he drove home, Julian thought about how difficult it’d be for him to disappear in the 21st Century. If he wanted to leave tomorrow, how long before he would leave a trace of his whereabouts? And could he just reappear in another state and get a job without arousing questions about his past?

One thing he knew: despite the erratic behavior, Harvel was not crazy. The apparent chaos of his life was not because of an unstable mind. Julian wondered if Harvel’s actions were rooted more in logic than instinct. If so, then what he did—both on the day of the shooting and the years leading up to it—could be understood.

Fox’s Game Chapter 7: Jimi Hendrix and the Polish Immigrant’s Beer

Lenox Village
Nolensville, Tn

Understandin’ understandin’
Lord that’s all in the world I need
Understandin’ and a little bit of lovin’ baby
That’s all in the world I need
Misunderstandin’ an’ I know get a woman
Yeah, Lord they both have caused my heart to bleed

 Jimi Hendrix’s bluesy guitar played in the background as Kristof Tulowitzki carefully placed two steamed hotdog buns onto his plate. He then carefully grabbed his mixing bowl full of fresh broiled lobster, mayo, celery, scallions, spices, and his secret ingredient–pan fried Polish sausage. Tulowitzki enjoyed cooking more than most people enjoyed eating, especially when done to a 60s soundtrack.

Tulowitzki neatly set the table in his dining room and poured a bottle of local beer in a custom glass. He sighed satisfactorily as he sipped, swirling it in his mouth with a flourish before swallowing.

The 59 year old Chemistry professor was a mass of contradictions. His love of beer revealed not so much a desire for its affects but his appreciation of its complexities. Like all chemists he saw science everywhere, and like many chemists he saw beauty and poetry, not simply mixtures and equations. He saw food and beer as practical examples of science in use.

“We take something we use for sustenance and make it pleasurable. Some of the tastiest, most creative foods in the world come from the poorest societies in the world. Why? Because we are all scientists. Some of us just understand it better than others.” Tulowitzki’s friends heard him say this often. So did his students. The flavor combinations that animal fat, plant leaves, ground up roots, and heat could create was every bit the marvel he saw whenever he settled under his microscope to study the movement of atoms.

And though he also had a passion for beer, his love of that drink came not through chemistry but through pride in his homeland of Poland. He grew up watching his father Marek come home from work and before he would say a word to anyone, his father would open the icebox, pour himself a stein of homemade beer, and ease into his chair. It was like after that first relished sip, his family would become visible. Tulowitzki associated beer with fun times and his father’s kindness. For him beer was a connection to his past.

* * * *

On March 28, 1968, Marek Tulowitzki moved his family from Warsaw, Poland to Philadelphia, PA. He was a code breaker for the Russians during World War II. After the Eastern Bloc was formed, he worked as a high level statistician at the Polish state department. He slowly accumulated secrets and realized that if he didn’t leave, he and his family would eventually be the target of the persecution and suspicion that permeated Communist Europe.

Kristof inherited his father’s penchant for math as well as his distrust of government institutions. A week after they arrived in the US, James Earl Ray shot Martin Luther King at the Lorraine Motel in Memphis, TN. The 18 year old Polish student never forgot the violence and paranoia that would follow. And he never was able to fully disconnect what he’d experienced in his native country and what he witnessed in the first days in his new one.

Kristof became obsessed with the King assassination, trying to understand how something like this could happen in America. He followed the story, and his interest led to his fascination with US assassinations. He began to see that though the US was safer than Communist Poland, it certainly had its secrets. Tulowitzki spent his one and only year in American high school solving complex math problems and studying political conspiracies. The former shaped his future by ensuring him a scholarship to MIT, the latter shaped his worldview by showing him the possibility of the improbable.

Now a tenured professor, Tulowitzki spent his free time making the symmetry and logic he found through a microscope with his offbeat political theories. He loved discussing them, and although he articulated himself clearly, his Polish accent often made his ideas seem like the ramblings of a crank. Tulowtizki’s tall, thin frame and gray hair made him look authoritative. And his stern demeanor belied his gregarious personality. He loved to talk. And people often mistook his intensity for anger.

The chemist rinsed his dishes and placed them in the dishwasher. He then glanced at an unopened envelope on his kitchen table. His lips curved into a smile. “Fresh grilled Polish sausages and locally brewed beer, huh? This Dr. Benjamin Hoek must really want me to come.” He sat down the paper and wondered if this new research committee had anything to do with the Chemistry and Cooking course that he’d proposed for next spring’s semester.