CHAPTER 1

The heating and cooling system of Great Rivers University (GRU)was in a small-scale war with the perfect weather. Indian summer insouthern Illinois can be as good as it gets. The chilled water for coolingwas turned off, always on October 15, and the steam turned on. Isurvived by turning off the system and keeping the windows open inmy corner office.

Joyful sounds flowed through the windows: students laughing,enjoying the privilege and hubris of youth. A flock of squalling starlingshad reoccupied the trees in the free forum area. I was as relieved as thestarlings that the "Stop the Killing" anti-stem cell demonstrators hadleft for the day. I mused if birds have second thoughts about heading south.No, they are probably as predictably programmed by nature as the universitybureaucrats are by its operating manual. Since spring, stem cell protestershad gathered each day.

The staccato of an M-16 firing on automatic was a familiar sound ina totally wrong context. The joyful sounds stopped—smart phonesemerged. The birds stopped singing.

A crescendo of voices returned: tentative, questioning, oh-wowing.Birds rejoined in squalling. My iPhone read 3:13. My mouth went dryand my adrenaline came to full alert.

I shouted orders—not to platoon commanders—to Kathryn. "CallArmstrong, Meadows, and Logan. Someone emptied a magazine froman automatic rifle on the central campus."

Images of Columbine, Virginia Tech, Aurora, and Newtown invadedmy mind. I stutter-stepped down the stairs. Tobacco exiles, likesunflowers, all pointed toward the west with their eyes. Students wereclinging to each other—students who often pointed my way.

Dread and confusion ricocheted in my mind like bullets fired into atitanium barrel.

My olfactory system played its tricks, sensing the stink of gunpowderand death where scores were kept by body count. My angst was barelyunder control—got to find the source.

Oh, my God! I was running toward Old Science—where my wife,Lynn, is an assistant. My stomach cramped. A student called out: "Dr.Noble—up there—top floor—fourth window."

"See where the shots came from?"

"The roof of Multimedia—maybe Business."

"Thanks." I tore inside the east entrance of Old Science, taking thestairs two at a time, praying that Lynn was safe. At the third floor, Iconfronted a combination keypad and card-reader—useless to me—asecure area since the stem cell research was focused there. I poundedon the door. A trembling voice from the other side asked, "Who is it?"

Breathless, I responded, "I'm Mike Noble. I'm vice president forstudent affairs, and I'm married to Lynn Noble who works on thisfloor."

A woman in a white lab jacket with that deer-in-the-headlights lookopened the door. She said, "Thanks for coming. Lynn is watching thedoor at the other end of the corridor."

"She all right?" I asked.

"As all right as any of us."

CHAPTER 2

I ran down the hallway—counting offices on my right and lookingin an enormous glassed-in stark white laboratory on my left. I passeda man standing and two women sitting on the floor. Small groupshuddled in the laboratory. My mind was laser-focused on Lynn. Asanxious as I was to get to her, I knew it was important for me to checkthe office hit by the rifle fire. I caught a glimpse of activity in an openoffice on my right.

I stopped and looked back. I was sure it was the fourth windowyet this clearly was the third office. I recognized Associate ProfessorWarren Beasley on the floor in a pool of blood.

Two men were attending Beasley. His face was ashen—he was lyingon his back, his feet slightly elevated—like the men attending himcouldn't decide whether to treat him for shock or for the bleeding fromhis right shoulder and arm. As one of those caring for Beasley lookedup, I recognized Frank Fairmont, the head of the stem cell researchteam. I didn't recognize the other man. They were using full rolls ofgauze in compression on his right arm and the upper part of his righttorso. Navy corpsmen treated combat wounded using the same methods. Iknelt down, being careful of the broken glass.

"How serious?" I asked Fairmont.

"Shouldn't be life threatening if we can get the EMTs here and gethim through shock. We're getting his bleeding controlled."

M-16 projectiles had sprayed the upper part of the room aboveBeasley's desk. The wall opposite the windows was peppered. Picturesand mementos littered the floor. The projectiles had not pierced theexterior brick up to the window level nor the block wall at the back ofhis office. Glass was everywhere. I grabbed a clipboard from Beasley'sdesk to scrape the glass toward the walls away from Beasley and themen caring for him.

Leaving his office, I checked the next office. It had Frank Fairmont'sname on the door. It was totally intact. There were no broken windowson the laboratory side. I saw Kevin Washington, a sort-of-friend fromthe previous year. He appeared to be inventorying his emotions. I sawLynn down the corridor and I called, "Lynn, are you all right?"

"Yeah, some prick fired into Beasley's office."

"You call 911?"

"EMTs and police are on the way. I called your office. Kathryn saidyou were coming."

Reaching Lynn, we embraced.

"Loan me your cell, Lynn." I dialed the president's office. "Noblehere. There's been automatic weapons fire on Old Science! One maninjured—fire could have come from the Multimedia building! I see nodamage to the lab! That's all I've got."

I turned to Lynn. "Tell me about it."

"The noise was intense and when Beasley screamed—it was bonechilling. I'm still shaking. Some son of a bitch!"

"I'm sorry. You see where the gunfire came from?"

"It had to come from one of two buildings north of here—probablyMultimedia. Come in here." The roof of Multimedia appeared to haveabout a four-foot parapet around the outside with the roof slopedslightly from a central core. There were four large satellite receivers,and five small antennas on the roof. Nothing appeared out of place.

Eight classrooms in Multimedia are served from a central core.Technicians control audio, projected video and reverse projection film,computer-generated graphics, etc. Lynn and I stood quietly, each lostin our private thoughts. Lynn draped her arm around my waist. Shebrought her hand to my head, mussing my hair, and finger-combing itback. We walked back into the hallway anticipating the arrival of lawenforcement and the EMTs.

I thought back to my conversation with the president after Lynn and Ireturned from our honeymoon. "Mike, it's good to have you back."

"Good to be back even if Lynn and I could have tolerated a few moredays in Colorado."

"I can identify with that. Depending on how this search works out,I'd like to get some skiing in at Beaver Creek this winter."

"A few years before she was killed, my former wife, Lou Ann, and Ihad visited Beaver Creek. It was gorgeous. We loved the huge DennisSmith sculptures."

"Mike, I've debated how to say this. You like a direct approach."

"What's on your mind?" I surmised this was about the permanentpresidency.

"You know I want this presidency. I'd like the `acting' to go away."

"We need more strong women leading universities," I responded.

"You were loyal and so good...