Immune (The Rho Agenda #2)(61)

“Boarding pass in hand, please.”

Dr. Stephenson scowled at the NTSA nobody, who awaited him on the other side of the LAX metal detector, then reached into his pocket to pull out the first-class boarding pass, holding it up to within an inch of the man’s eyes as he stepped through, gratified with the look of annoyance on the fellow’s face.

As Dr. Stephenson stepped away to retrieve his articles that had just passed through the x-ray screener, his cell phone rang. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled it out, glancing down at the caller-ID. Of course.

“Excuse me, sir.” The NTSA man was back in his face. “I’m sorry. All cell phones must go through x-ray screening. I’ll have to take that back through.”

Dr. Stephenson shrugged, handing him the ringing cell phone.

The NTSA man looked at the cell phone and then at the metal detector, a puzzled look on his face. Then he stepped back through the detector, which beeped loudly as he did.

As he placed the phone in a small round tub, the phone rang again.

“Why don’t you answer that for me,” Dr. Stephenson said. “Oh, and while you’re at it, tell the president why you feel it necessary to keep him waiting.

Glancing down at the caller-ID, the NTSA man saw just five capital letters, POTUS. The acronym, so common among the branches of government, jumped out at him: President of the United States.

When he glanced up again, his eyes caught the cold eyes of Dr. Stephenson, eyes that perfectly matched the cold grin that had spread across the scientist’s narrow face.





61


The tension in the cabinet room had grown so thick that it threatened to acquire a gravity all its own, pulling the entire West Wing of the White House over the gathering event horizon. Vice President Gordon shifted his weight slightly so that his chin rested in the crook of his palm, his elbow supported by the polished mahogany table. His eyes drifted from President Harris to the sharp, expressionless visage of Dr. Donald Stephenson and then back to the president once more.

President Harris studied the image projected onto the view screen on the far wall, his frown deepening. “So, am I to understand that it is the consensus of the Joint Chiefs that the special commission’s recommendation should be adopted?”

General Brad Valentine, the chairman of the Joint Chiefs, nodded slowly, his blue eyes locked unflinchingly with the president’s. “Yes, sir.”

Having just polled the members of his cabinet, the president was now faced with a dilemma. The special commission had been appointed directly by President Harris to fully assess all the national security and public safety issues associated with the impending worldwide release of the Rho Project’s nanite solution. Although far from unanimous, the consensus recommendation was that the release should be delayed by at least two years, a time period that would allow independent scientific study of potential unknown side effects of the treatment, as well as time to formulate a comprehensive national policy.

So far, the lone dissenting voice in the cabinet had been Conrad Huntington, the secretary of state, who argued that pulling back on the US commitment at this point would incite outrage throughout the United Nations, the ramifications of which could be disastrous for US foreign policy.

President Harris looked down the table at Dr. Stephenson. “Don. The ball’s in your court. I have to tell you that, based on the power of this report, I’m leaning toward delaying the release, despite the political capital that this is going to cost me.”

Dr. Stephenson paused, leaning even further back in his chair. “Mr. President, as anxious as I am to see an end to the horrible diseases that are the scourge of our planet, to see an end to the suffering of the poorest and most helpless populations of our world, I am forced to support the delay. Although all data points to tremendously positive results from the release, with an advance this radical, the potential risks are too great to be glossed over.”

The look on President Harris’ face matched the surprised intake of breath around the table. The president shook his head. “I must tell you, Dr. Stephenson, I’m stunned by what you’ve just said. Although my mind was pretty well made up already, this clinches the decision.”

Turning to his chief of staff, President Harris stood. “Andy, see me in my office right after this. And bring Michelle with you when you come. If there’s ever a time for her to earn that press secretary salary, this is it.”

Rising from his seat, Vice President Gordon watched Dr. Stephenson walk from the room with the others, looking like he’d just sat in on nothing more interesting than a high school physics lecture.

Interesting. Very, very interesting.





62


Mark glanced across the garage workshop at Heather, a lump rising in his throat. God she was amazing. All week she had been forced to endure visits to three different psychiatrists, each of which seemed to be intent upon drugging her out of her beautiful mind. Yet, despite the inner terror she must be feeling, she had managed to focus on the theoretical solution that would grant them new and improved subspace transmission capabilities.

And those efforts had been successful. Jennifer only had to finish the modifications to the controller, which would allow Jack limited remote access to the equipment, and they would be ready for a trial run.

"Bingo!" Jennifer's exclamation brought Mark's head around. "It's online."