Wormhole (The Rho Agenda #3)(29)

The morning sun slanted through the sliding glass doors with a golden clarity that felt like something out of myth. That’s how Anna felt as she glanced out at her back deck before serving the pancakes, bacon, and freshly warmed maple syrup. As she looked at Fred, Linda, and Gil, arrayed around the breakfast table like knights and a lady at King Arthur’s court, an excitement bordering on jubilation hammered within her breast. And Linda was smiling.

With all her worry about Heather, somehow Anna had known her daughter was OK, a deep well of knowledge that came from her connection with her only child. But the loss of Jennifer and then Mark had wilted Linda like a two-week-old rose. Anna had looked into her friend’s eyes and seen suicide growing behind those empty green orbs. Fred had seen it too. Both of them had fought against it, but it was like Pickett’s Charge, more than a century-and-a-half after that bloody day at Gettysburg, Pennsylvania, and every bit as futile.

Linda’s late-night online chat with their kids had changed all of that. She’d been too frightened of losing the communications link to run to get Anna, and both Fred and Gil had worked all night at the lab. After Heather, Mark, and Jennifer had signed off, Linda had come running, banging on Anna’s door until she’d stumbled down the stairs in her purple nightgown and slippers.

They’d sat on the couch, talking, crying, laughing, and holding each other until dawn brought their husbands home. Then, after a quick synopsis of last night’s excitement, Anna had insisted on making a hearty breakfast to clear their minds and to give them all the inner warmth and strength she felt they’d need for the decisions that lay ahead. After all, their babies were out there, young adults, but their babies still, and they were in some sort of trouble.

There was no way in hell Anna, Gil, Fred, or Linda was going to let those lovely young people fend for themselves. Not in this lifetime or the next. They were much too young and inexperienced in the ways of the world for that.

“Looks great, sweetheart,” Gil said, motioning her to sit down.

“Wonderful,” said Fred, scooping a stack of steaming pancakes onto his plate.

“Yes it does,” said Linda. “I guess I’m just a little too excited to eat, though.”

“Nonsense.” Anna speared a golden pancake with her fork, placed it on Linda’s plate, added butter, and scooped a ladle of syrup in a lazy S pattern over the top. “No more talk of the kids until after breakfast. The sooner we all get to it, the sooner we can get down to business.”

Gil’s chortling laugh brought their heads around. “No use arguing. I’ve been through this before. Best enjoy a good meal and good company. Anna’s hard to redirect once she gets the bit in her teeth.”

Despite everyone’s desire to talk about what they were going to do about their children, they began to eat, and as they ate, the warm glow of the delicious breakfast amplified the happy knowledge that their kids were still alive and well.

After the dishes were rinsed and put in the dishwasher, all four adults retreated to the living room, settling onto the L-shaped couch, sinking into the soft tan leather as their minds worked on the problem at hand.

“OK, Anna. It’s time.”

Gil’s voice broke through her practiced comfort zone like a hammer hitting glass. He placed an arm around her shoulder, pulling her close to his body, her forehead brushing the brim of his One Fish, Two Fish, Red Fish, Blue Fish hat. Anna felt the world spin out of her control, something it never did. Not now. Not ever.

Then she was crying, her face buried in Gil’s strong shoulder, her arms wrapped around his neck, awash in a misery she’d denied for six months. For God’s sake, she was Anna McFarland, mother, caregiver, the one who fed strength to her friends and family. What was happening to her?

Then Linda was there. And Fred. Their arms wrapped around her and Gil, hugging them so close it seemed they would all become one.

Gil was the first to speak. “Anna. Are you ready for this discussion?”

Anna pulled back, bringing her head up to stare directly into her husband’s eyes.

“Yes.”

Gil nodded, his deep voice acquiring an authoritative note.

“As excited as we all are to learn that they’re still alive, it’s time to think about how we get our kids out of whatever they’ve gotten themselves into.”

“My thoughts exactly,” said Fred.

“And if we’re feeling like we’re in over our heads, imagine what Heather, Mark, and Jennifer are going through.”

Each of the others glanced around, catching the look in one another’s eyes before returning their gaze to Gil.

Anna felt the words pulled from her lips. “So what do we do about it?”

“We call the FBI. Obviously our kids have been kidnapped, coerced into a situation beyond their understanding. We need the best of the best to deal with this.”

Linda shuddered. “But I swore we wouldn’t contact the authorities.”

Fred reached over and placed his hand on hers. “They’ve gotten involved in something beyond their control. No matter what you told them, we need to bring in the professionals.”

The room fell silent. Then Anna’s and Linda’s eyes met. Anna nodded slightly, an action mirrored by her friend.

“OK. Whatever it takes to get our babies back.”

Gil reached for the wireless handset, lifted it from the cradle, and dialed 411.