Immune (The Rho Agenda #2)(65)

Propped up against the kitchen wall, Darnell Freeman sat in a pool of iced tea and blood, his lifeless eyes locked in terror. Scrawled in red on his forehead were two words.

Raymond Bronson.





68


Vice President Gordon’s eyes opened at the soft knock at his bedroom door. Slipping silently from bed to avoid waking his wife, the vice president donned his bathrobe and opened the door. Sam Tally, the chief of his personal secret service detail, awaited, his square jaw clenched tighter than normal.

In a voice that carried only to the vice president’s ears, the secret service agent spoke. “Mr. Vice President. The director of the FBI has been found murdered in his home.”

“I understand,” Vice President Gordon said, instantly assuming the commanding demeanor for which he was famous. Closing the bedroom door behind him, he nodded his head toward his personal office. “Let’s take this conversation down the hall.”

“Is there any connection to the hit on the FBI agent in North Dakota last week?”

“We don’t know for sure yet, Mr. Vice President, but the MO looks the same.” Tally’s voice held an unusual edge.

“How so, Sam?”

“You remember that there was a name written on Agent Freeman’s head out in North Dakota?”

“Raymond Bronson.”

“Right. It was the name of one of the dead members of Jack Gregory’s team. Tonight, when they found the FBI director’s body, there was another name written on his forehead in red. Bobby Daniels.”

“Another of Gregory’s boys?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I just can’t believe Bill Hammond is dead.”

“It gets worse. Both special agents assigned to ensure his protection were found dead outside the house. I’m afraid that Mrs. Hammond is dead too.”

“Marjorie? Jesus Christ.”

“She must have stumbled on the killer as he exited the house. He cut her throat so violently her head almost came off. The house was a god-awful mess. The president wants you at the White House ASAP. He’s gathering the whole cabinet for an emergency meeting.”

“My driver?”

“He and the rest of your security team are already waiting outside.”

“Okay, Sam. Let the president’s people know, I’ll be on my way as soon as I throw on some clothes.”

The secret service man nodded, then turned and exited the room. Vice President Gordon waited until he was gone, then turned and picked up the encrypted Secure Telephone Unit, more commonly called a STU.

The STU secured call was answered by an odd-sounding voice, the slight delay and echo indicative of the heavy encryption on the line.

“Yes?”

The vice president spoke softly. “Is the cigar ready?”

“The Columbian, just as you requested.”

Vice President Gordon paused for just an instant, the code words that would change his life forever rising to his lips of their own accord.

“Smoke ’em if you got ’em.”





69


Surrounded by the machinery that filled this part of the ship, Raul hung in the air, suspended by the stasis field, which now responded to his mental commands as easily as his missing legs once had. His connection to the Rho Ship was better now, evolving in a way that changed with each of his repairs to the damaged shipboard systems. With each of the micro-power cells he managed to bring online, his abilities increased. Not his mental abilities; those were tied solely to the neural network that formed the starship’s computerized brain.

But each power increase allowed Raul to bring new systems online, giving him better control of the gravitational worm fiber technology with which he had been experimenting. Initially, the worm fibers had provided a tiny point of access to a distant location, so small that he could only tap into existing communication networks. The power required for even those tiny space-time singularities was monstrous, each attempt bringing him close to draining his shipboard reserves. If he totally drained the power, then the neural network would fail, leaving him without the knowledge to repair the system.

That danger should have been enough to stop him from trying anything else until he had totally solved the power problem. But a stronger impulse consumed him: Heather.

In his darkest moment of despair, while he had briefly been disconnected from his starship, one thought had saved him, giving him a reason to reconnect. A new purpose seized his mind, a purpose that drove him to restore much more of the ship’s former glory.

At this point, Raul didn’t even have a good plan of how he was going to accomplish what he wanted. He wasn’t worried though. He would figure it out. Somehow, Raul would get Heather to come to him. Then he would introduce her to the power that came from a true connection. He would perform the operation himself so there would be no need to sacrifice those lovely legs.

Raul glanced down at his own legless torso. It wasn’t so bad. He still had all the necessary equipment to slide between those legs. Then Heather would find out just how well he could manipulate the spectral fingers of the stasis field. It was a shame he hadn’t yet had any sexual experience to draw upon, but there would be plenty of time for practice when he had his soul mate. Once he hooked her into the ship, he would be able to monitor exactly what felt good and what didn’t. Raul took a deep breath. He’d have Heather begging for more before she knew what was happening.