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It's the morning of July 2nd, 1982. Patrick Webb hurries through campus at the University of California, Berkeley.

His eyes dart left and right. He spots police cars, a crowd of students. There's yellow crime scene taped stretch across the computer science building.

In everywhere, onlookers point and murmur. They all seem to be saying the same thing that there was an explosion, a big one, might have been a bomb.

That's why Patrick Webb is here. Webb is a bomb expert who works for the FBI. He's 37 years old and normally he hasn't easy smile.

But today his expression is grim because he knows the onlookers are right. This could have been a deliberate act of violence and so he needs to move fast.

Webb needs to figure out what exactly happened and if there's any evidence of foul play, he and the FBI need to start looking for suspects before it's too late.

Webb reaches the computer science building and flashes his ID. The officers move aside and Webb ducks beneath the yellow tape. As he approaches the building, he's met by another FBI agent.

The two enter together and walk up a stairwell. They exit on the fourth floor and head for the faculty break room. There, Webb pulses and he stares in horror at the site in front of him.

Chairs lie tipped over, scorched, debris litters the floor. There's a faint smell of coffee in there but it's overpowered by the reek of gasoline.

Webb squats down and examines the floor. There are shards of glass and a metal pipe. He spots fragments of a battery and scraps of parcel paper.

There's no question that this was a bomb. Looking at the scraps, this could have been a plastic can filled with gasoline. It would have been wrapped in parcel paper as a disguise.

And for the detonator, a pipe bomb with batteries. When someone triggered it, the device would have exploded like one giant Molotov cocktail.

Webb rises and turns to the agent who let him in. So we had a victim. Yeah, a professor. He's got severe burns and might lose some fingers.

Oh God. Was there a note? Anything? The agent hands Webb a ziplock bag. Inside is a burnt piece of paper. It's a type written note. This is it. No ransom, no demands. Just...

Wu, it works. I told you it would. No, nothing else. Webb grits his teeth and gazes across the destruction. He's never heard of a bombing case without demands. Most bombers ask for money, the return of a political prisoner, something, anything. This is bizarre and not nearly enough to give him a read on the bomber's motivation.

As Webb surveys the room, the other agent speaks up. You know, this could be a unibomb. Unibomb? I heard about him at a conference last year. Remember that United Airlines bomb back in 79? Almost took down a plane in Chicago. That was unibomb. He also mailed a bomb to an executive at United Air.

What do airlines have to do with a break room at UC Berkeley? Well, that's where unibomb comes from, the name unibomb. We believe the same guy is also hitting university professors. He's sent bombs in Northwestern, Utah, Vanderbilt, so unibomb, university, and airline bomber.

Webb taps his foot, stares at the agent. That's a weird connection. You think he did this? I talked to some lab techs at the conference and this bomb here. Well, this looks exactly like what they described.

Webb exhales. If they're dealing with a serial bomber, then things just got a hell of a lot more complicated. But there's still something he can't wrap his head around. He turns back to the other agent.

Well, tell me something. He sets the explosive in front of a coffee machine. Yeah, right. I didn't plan to use so anyone could have been the victim. Yeah, he wasn't going after any single person.

So no target. Just a bomb in the break room. I don't know what the motive could be. Webb once again glances around the destroyed room. Then it hits him. Terror. He was going for terror.

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