Resonance, part 3
"So she had a strong emotional reaction to the sounds on the tape?"
"Yeah, but we weren't affected," says Pete. He and Myka are still in the room where they interrogated the bank teller moments before.
Artie mulls this over as he paces back and forth across the Warehouse office. "See, what I'm thinking is that this is a limbic trigger. Yeah. The sound 'rings a bell' in the primal, the lizard part of the brain that connects to the pleasure centers, see?"
Pete frowns. "Yeah, but we heard it too, and my limbic's not... triggered. It's not even twitching. So..."
"Well, I would guess that you'd have to hear it through the robbers' equipment."
"The bank teller heard it here."
"Yeah," adds Myka, leaning into frame.
"She heard it there for the second time," points out Artie. "So clearly there is a sense-memory component."
"Okay, so what are we looking for, Artie?" asks Myka. "Are we looking for souped-up speakers or... Thomas Edison's wax cylinder?"
Artie snickers. So does Pete. "Thomas Edison's what?" Myka just gives her partner a Look.
"Ignore him." Artie resumes his seat in front of the monitor and double-checks the progress of the program that's analyzing the cellphone recording he procured for Myka. "Okay, I'm scrubbing the sound for the melody. All composers leave a DNA, a chromatic DNA inside their music. That's why the Beatles sound like the Beatles, that's why Copland sounds like Copland."
"And this sounds like my dad's favorite song."
"Whatever. What I'm doing here is, I'm taking the sounds and running them through a tonal deconstruction algo--" Artie stops short as Lattimer's statement registers in his brain. "Pete, what did you say?"
"What? No, I just--I said that it sounded like my dad's favorite song. 'Serve My Soul,' by the Birdtones, nineteen sixty-something--my dad was just nuts for those guys."
Artie's barely listening. He's already run a search for the band and came up with a name. "Eric Marsden."
"Yeah, yeah, that's him. He also wrote, uh--"
"'Angel's Kiss,' 'A Night In My Arms'..." reads Artie. The list goes on for pages, but the point has been made.
"Okay, are you saying that this is one of Marsden's songs??" says Myka incredulously.
Pete smirks. "Yeah, what, 'The Bank Robbery Remix'?"
"Uh, gimmie a second... give me one..." Artie works frantically to refine the parameters of the algorithm. If Pete's right, the time it takes to finish the analysis could drop from several hours to less than a minute.
He's peripherally aware of the two Agents talking quietly to each other as he works: "Y'know, I never heard of Eric Marsden." "Well, that's 'cause you were too busy dusting off Shakespeare at your dad's bookstore. When I was eight, my dad took me to the Blue Note in New York to see Marsden. He was into jazz then. Experimental stuff..."
There. The analysis is finished, and it's confirmed Artie's suspicions. "This is his music."
The other two Agents look up. "Are you sure?" asks Myka.
"With a ninety-eight point--" he squints at the screen-- "seven probability. I think this is a completely new score. Or it's a very old composition that's never been released until now. You're looking for an original recording of this song, okay? Start with Marsden."
"Well, where do we find him?"
"How about twelve miles south of the robberies? This guy's in Chicago."
Pete's eyebrows go up. "Is he playing somewhere?"
"He lives there. Uh, 432 Argyle Street. His music, local crime scenes? I'd say this guy just hit the top of your suspect chart, so... go, go, go." Artie thumbs the On/Off button on the Farnsworth and sits back in his chair with a satisfied sigh.
"And you're sure about this too?" Leena points to the world map. "You found the person who was hacking into the Warehouse?"
"Yep." If Artie looks smug, it's because he is.
"The network intrusion came from Washington?"
"With a ninety--" he pulls yet another scrap of paper off of his desk-- "-eight point three probability."
Leena shakes her head, faintly exasperated. "Do you have a suspect?"
Instead of answering out loud, Artie stands, picks up a photograph from a nearby table, and hands it to Leena. It's a surveillance photo of a man in his late forties, close-cropped hair already gone gray from stress.
"Who's this?" asks Leena.
"Pete and Myka's ex-boss."
Leena's eyes go wide. "Dickenson."
"Daniel Dickinson," echoes Artie darkly.
"So the breach came from Secret Service??"
"If I'm right--and I'm right--directly from his office computer."
"Artie, what are you gonna do?"
"Stop it," says Artie simply, and he strides out the door.
[Dialogue from Warehouse 13 episode 1x03, "Resonance"]
"Yeah, but we weren't affected," says Pete. He and Myka are still in the room where they interrogated the bank teller moments before.
Artie mulls this over as he paces back and forth across the Warehouse office. "See, what I'm thinking is that this is a limbic trigger. Yeah. The sound 'rings a bell' in the primal, the lizard part of the brain that connects to the pleasure centers, see?"
Pete frowns. "Yeah, but we heard it too, and my limbic's not... triggered. It's not even twitching. So..."
"Well, I would guess that you'd have to hear it through the robbers' equipment."
"The bank teller heard it here."
"Yeah," adds Myka, leaning into frame.
"She heard it there for the second time," points out Artie. "So clearly there is a sense-memory component."
"Okay, so what are we looking for, Artie?" asks Myka. "Are we looking for souped-up speakers or... Thomas Edison's wax cylinder?"
Artie snickers. So does Pete. "Thomas Edison's what?" Myka just gives her partner a Look.
"Ignore him." Artie resumes his seat in front of the monitor and double-checks the progress of the program that's analyzing the cellphone recording he procured for Myka. "Okay, I'm scrubbing the sound for the melody. All composers leave a DNA, a chromatic DNA inside their music. That's why the Beatles sound like the Beatles, that's why Copland sounds like Copland."
"And this sounds like my dad's favorite song."
"Whatever. What I'm doing here is, I'm taking the sounds and running them through a tonal deconstruction algo--" Artie stops short as Lattimer's statement registers in his brain. "Pete, what did you say?"
"What? No, I just--I said that it sounded like my dad's favorite song. 'Serve My Soul,' by the Birdtones, nineteen sixty-something--my dad was just nuts for those guys."
Artie's barely listening. He's already run a search for the band and came up with a name. "Eric Marsden."
"Yeah, yeah, that's him. He also wrote, uh--"
"'Angel's Kiss,' 'A Night In My Arms'..." reads Artie. The list goes on for pages, but the point has been made.
"Okay, are you saying that this is one of Marsden's songs??" says Myka incredulously.
Pete smirks. "Yeah, what, 'The Bank Robbery Remix'?"
"Uh, gimmie a second... give me one..." Artie works frantically to refine the parameters of the algorithm. If Pete's right, the time it takes to finish the analysis could drop from several hours to less than a minute.
He's peripherally aware of the two Agents talking quietly to each other as he works: "Y'know, I never heard of Eric Marsden." "Well, that's 'cause you were too busy dusting off Shakespeare at your dad's bookstore. When I was eight, my dad took me to the Blue Note in New York to see Marsden. He was into jazz then. Experimental stuff..."
There. The analysis is finished, and it's confirmed Artie's suspicions. "This is his music."
The other two Agents look up. "Are you sure?" asks Myka.
"With a ninety-eight point--" he squints at the screen-- "seven probability. I think this is a completely new score. Or it's a very old composition that's never been released until now. You're looking for an original recording of this song, okay? Start with Marsden."
"Well, where do we find him?"
"How about twelve miles south of the robberies? This guy's in Chicago."
Pete's eyebrows go up. "Is he playing somewhere?"
"He lives there. Uh, 432 Argyle Street. His music, local crime scenes? I'd say this guy just hit the top of your suspect chart, so... go, go, go." Artie thumbs the On/Off button on the Farnsworth and sits back in his chair with a satisfied sigh.
"And you're sure about this too?" Leena points to the world map. "You found the person who was hacking into the Warehouse?"
"Yep." If Artie looks smug, it's because he is.
"The network intrusion came from Washington?"
"With a ninety--" he pulls yet another scrap of paper off of his desk-- "-eight point three probability."
Leena shakes her head, faintly exasperated. "Do you have a suspect?"
Instead of answering out loud, Artie stands, picks up a photograph from a nearby table, and hands it to Leena. It's a surveillance photo of a man in his late forties, close-cropped hair already gone gray from stress.
"Who's this?" asks Leena.
"Pete and Myka's ex-boss."
Leena's eyes go wide. "Dickenson."
"Daniel Dickinson," echoes Artie darkly.
"So the breach came from Secret Service??"
"If I'm right--and I'm right--directly from his office computer."
"Artie, what are you gonna do?"
"Stop it," says Artie simply, and he strides out the door.
[Dialogue from Warehouse 13 episode 1x03, "Resonance"]