Immune (The Rho Agenda #2)(132)
Halfway through Jennifer’s description of the man, the visions that assaulted Heather left her hands shaking so badly she was forced to grip the table to steady herself. Eduardo had tried on the headsets. The thought of what he was now in the process of becoming filled her with a thick dread. When Eduardo found out that Jennifer had escaped, he would pay a visit to White Rock and their wonderful parents would die.
“Dear God!”
Jennifer only nodded, her voice finally having failed her.
Heather turned toward Don Espe?osa. “Eduardo. Where was he going?”
The drug lord shrugged. “He didn’t say.”
Mark’s jaw tightened. “Bullshit! Just because we want you alive doesn’t mean I won’t hurt you.”
Espe?osa stiffened. “El Chupacabra has many clients. Whoever called him had more pressing need of his services than I did.”
“El Chupacabra?” Heather interrupted. “What is that?”
“A story mothers tell to scare their children. It’s Eduardo Montenegro’s favorite nickname. Most people know him as the Colombian.”
“So he’s a hit man?” Mark asked.
“The world’s most feared assassin.” Espe?osa grinned. “And the most expensive.”
“Last time we checked, the headsets were in D.C.,” Mark said. “What’s he doing in Washington?”
Again, the drug lord shook his head. “No idea. Maybe you should ask your government?”
Heather leaned forward, spinning the laptop to face Jennifer.
“We can do better than that, can’t we, Jen?”
A faint ray of hope dawning in her eyes, Jennifer licked her fingertips, then leaned forward and pressed the rectangular black power button. As the Window’s Vista logo splashed the welcome screen, Heather felt the first electrical pulse pass through the embedded special circuitry, a pulse instantly echoed in its quantum twin on the Mattaponi Indian Reservation, 2,300 miles to the north.
It took only minutes to discover the new message on Janet’s laptop.
“To Heather, Mark, and Jennifer. Jack and I know you are our secret Rho Project source. We also know about your connection to the Bandelier Ship and how it has altered you. Don’t be afraid. We need your help. I have placed the contents of an encrypted disk on my C-drive in a folder named Rho Project Data. The data was acquired from Dr. Donald Stephenson’s personal laptop, but we have not been able to decrypt it. Please respond.”
“Oh, shit!” Mark said leaning over Jennifer’s shoulder. “We’re toast.”
Heather scanned the text a second time. “I don’t think so. It only makes sense they would figure it out. I think they need our help as badly as we need theirs.”
Jennifer’s fingers moved across the keyboard so fast that Heather had to concentrate to follow her. “Let’s see what’s on the Stephenson disk.”
The monitor filled with binary data.
“It looks like a fractal encryption algorithm,” Heather said, leaning in close once more. “Can you make it auto-scroll?”
“No problem.” Jennifer touched a sequence of keys and the data began scrolling up from bottom to top.
There it was again, the same semi-random sequence Heather noticed earlier. “Faster please.”
“You’ve got it.”
The data stopped scrolling. Now each page flashed onto the screen for a fraction of a second before being replaced by the next. Suddenly, something clicked into place in Heather’s mind, the encryption fading from her awareness as she read. And as she continued, the meaning became clear.
Stephenson had designed a new type of nanite that could be remotely reprogrammed via a broadcast signal, assuming that the signal contained the correct encoding scheme. It was this new type of nanite that was now being mass produced and distributed, starting with the world’s poorest populations.
Even more shocking, an almost undetectable signal had been embedded in the worldwide GPS satellite broadcasts. And while the signal currently contained no reprogramming instructions, it was clearly intended to allow for rapid reprogramming of targeted populations.
Heather felt the future tilt on its axis, the shock pulling her into a vortex of competing realities. Something plucked at her shoulder, squeezing her arm so hard it hurt. But when she looked, there was nothing there.
Shift.
…She choked on the fetid smell of rotting vegetation. Campfires burned as semi-nude native dancers swayed in rhythm beneath the living bodies dangling from the trees above. With movements so precise that they seemed choreographed, the dancers sliced at their victims, the small cuts sending rich red rivulets running into pots below.
Shift.
…Screaming refugees pushed her to the ground in their frenzy to gather the few grains of rice that had leaked from the sacks at the distribution point. The sound of gunfire crackled overhead.
Shift…
…Clouds boiled overhead as she stared through the bars of a prison window.
Shift…
Shift…
Once again, the spectral hand gripped her, pulling her down into water so murky it felt like mud.
Heather struggled, but her strength was no match for the thing that held her, pulling her ever deeper into the blackness.
“Heather…”
The sound of someone calling her name came from such a great distance, she almost missed it. Like a whisper in the wind, she could almost believe she had imagined it.