Wormhole (The Rho Agenda #3)(3)

“We don’t think that’s what it is.”

“You don’t think?” Dr. Gotlieb sputtered.

Rodger realized that he had also risen to his feet, although he found himself leaning on the table for support.

“And after three months of secret study, what have you learned?”

Dr. Dubois started to speak, paused, then began again. “The anomaly violates all accepted theory. We have pored over every paper published in the last fifty years that could remotely have bearing on this matter and have only found one that seems to describe what we are seeing. It’s a theoretical treatise titled ‘Quasi-Stable Quantum Singularities,’ published three years ago.”

“And what does the physicist who wrote the paper have to say about your anomaly?” Rodger pressed.

“I don’t know. We haven’t spoken to him.”

“What? Why the hell not?” Dr. Craig bellowed.

“Gentlemen, please sit back down. Thank you. I know you are all wondering why I have gathered you here instead of taking this directly to the world’s governing bodies. What we have here is something entirely beyond our current understanding of physics, something that for now appears quasi-stable. It has the potential to transform into something far more dangerous, possibly even a black hole that would consume our planet. If a government reacted to this out of fear, you can imagine what they might try.”

The table jumped as Dr. Craig’s fist slammed its surface. “They’ll nuke the bloody hell out of your goddamned science experiment. Should have been done before now.”

Rodger understood Dr. Craig’s anger. But all he could do was lean back in his chair, too stunned to respond.

Dr. Dubois leaned forward. “And if they do that, they will probably bring about the disaster that we all fear. According to our analysis of the equations in the paper I mentioned, an anomaly of this type occupies an inflection point between a number of more stable states, most of which are unpleasant. Even a relatively minor perturbation could tip it from its perch, sweeping away humanity in an avalanche of destruction.

“So we have determined that you four, as respected scientific representatives of the key governments of the European Union, Great Britain, and the United States, are best suited to bring this knowledge to your political leadership. After those governments have absorbed the facts, they can come to consensus on how best to proceed.”

Dr. Craig’s face had acquired a purple cast. “You still haven’t answered my question. Why haven’t you contacted the physicist who wrote the damned paper?”

“Because, until now, we haven’t been able to.” Dr. Dubois looked directly at Rodger. “We’ll need the help of the American government to reach him.”

Rodger inhaled softly. “And why is that?”

“Because he’s incarcerated in an American prison. The physicist to whom I refer is the famous Dr. Donald R. Stephenson.”





The foot caught Mark just below the solar plexus, knocking the wind from his body even as he twisted to avoid the blow. Pain exploded in his gut, but Mark channeled it, storing it away for later processing. Right now, he just needed to survive.

A funny thought. Only moments earlier, Mark had been focused on winning this fight. Now, as blood and sweat blurred his vision and lack of breath sapped his strength, that goal seemed a distant dream. Jack Gregory was taking him apart with an ease that defied belief.

Marshaling all his neurally enhanced speed, Mark swung his body into a spinning side kick that should have hurled his tormentor across the room. Instead he felt himself lifted, propelled by his own momentum in a judo flip that slammed his back into the floor and sent white flashes dancing across his vision. Blinded and stunned, Mark whipped his legs around, somehow managing to land back on his feet and stay there, even though his knees felt like rubber.

“Enough.”

Jack’s voice sounded distant, as if it came from one of those tin-can-and-string telephones that he’d made with Heather and Jen when they were kids.

“That’s enough for this session,” Jack continued, stepping forward to slap him smartly on the back. “Good workout.”

A small titter of laughter from across the room caused Mark to glance toward his sister. “Seriously, Mark,” Jen managed to get out between chortles. “There were a couple of times I thought you had him at your mercy.”

Struggling to regain enough breath for a sharp retort, Mark finally abandoned the attempt.

“That’s OK, Jennifer,” Jack said. “Your turn.”

As Mark stumbled to a seat beside Heather, he managed a smile. After suffering a major-league ass-whipping, it was nice to have something to look forward to.

The ten weeks that Mark, Jennifer, and Heather had spent at the Frazier hacienda had been the most difficult of their lives. Mark didn’t know what he had expected, but this hadn’t been it. Jack and Janet had immersed the three friends in a training program more intense than any imagined by the CIA. For twenty hours each day they had oscillated between physical training, weapons training, martial arts training, and a variety of classroom work on the how-tos of clandestine operations.

How to spot a tail. How to lose a tail. How and whom to bribe. How to establish a base of operations in continental Europe, the US, Britain, India, Pakistan, Africa, Russia, Latin America, China. How to blend into societies where you should stand out. How to purchase illegal weapons, documents, and equipment. And just when they thought it couldn’t get any tougher, Jack ratcheted up the intensity. It was exciting, but it also kept Mark too busy and tired to worry much about other things, like what his parents must be going through.