If you didn't know better, the package tucked beneath the man's arm would have looked like a present.

A red box wrapped in brown paper and sealed with scotch tape.

Despite the steamy 93 degree and sealed with scotch tape.

Despite the steamy 93 degree weather outside,

he arrived at the physics building wearing a full suit, dark blue.

It was just past 9 a.m.

on July 14, in 1952 on Monday and the campus of Columbia University was still sleepy.

Inside a janitor was loading chairs into the elevator, so the man ducked into the

stairwell and started climbing. He gripped the package and grinned to himself.

Let's see if they ignore me now.

Up on the ninth floor, young Eileen Fehi was sitting alone in the office of the APS, the American Physical Society, a professional

group for physicists.

There wasn't a whole lot of work that morning.

So Fehe he poured herself a glass of orange juice and settled in to read some

letters from her boyfriend overseas. The man popped out on the fourth floor and

marched forward to meet his destiny.

He had a crew cut and indented temples.

His eyes were set too close together and he blinked a lot when he was confused. Like now. His grin faded as he realized

the fourth floor was empty. So he returned a ground level. Where's the APS?

He asked someone.

9th floor, they said.

So he returned to the stairwell and resumed climbing.

...