Jones’ hunch proved correct. The door to the server room was wide open and unguarded. It had been ransacked. Jones picked his way among overturned chairs and empty bags of fruit snacks to the server racks, trying not to trip in the dim light. The racks were empty, except for the cables that hung unplugged from the frame. The abandoned desks of the technical staff lay on their sides, drawers open. A few scattered paperbacks advertising an easier way to design databases lay on the floor, spines broken. Jones picked one up and rifled through it. Even to him, it seemed obsolete.
Jones spotted a plain cardboard notebook on the floor under one of the desks. He picked it up. One of the techs had been using it for notes. Jones squinted at the loose, looping scrawl, but couldn’t decipher it. He shoved the notebook in his pocket and took one last look around the room. Whatever Fran had wanted, she and Mad Crab had it by now. Jones decided to call Agent Moss.