Wormhole (The Rho Agenda #3)(32)

Denise paused. “Now we’ve learned that the FBI is set to monitor a computer chat session between the McFarland and Smythe kids and their parents tonight.”

The room was silent for several seconds. Then General “Balls” Wilson rose to his feet.

“Karl, I want that computer hacked, the computer that the FBI will be monitoring for tonight’s chat. Work with Denise. Use her antivirus back door. Bottom line, I want us in virtual control of that system when tonight’s chat session begins. Oh, and remember, that Smythe girl is supposed to be a talented hacker. Keep our data copy local, nothing goes out on the Net while the chat session is in progress.”

“But what about the FBI? Aren’t they going to grab that computer right after the session?

“Not likely. It would be a dead giveaway to their quarry. They’ll remain in stakeout mode.”

“OK. You’ve got it, boss.”

“Make damned sure I do.”

Then the general turned on his heel and was gone.





Mark watched Heather’s eyes go white, then brown, then white again, changing color so rapidly he could almost convince himself that he’d imagined it. But he hadn’t.

She shuddered, shook her head, and grimaced. “Screw it!”

“What?” Mark asked, taken aback by Heather’s unusual descent into vulgarity.

Her angry eyes centered on his. “Sometimes I make myself so mad I can’t stand it. In a few minutes we’re going to get a chance to chat with our parents, something I want so bad I can taste it, and all I can do is second-guess our decision.”

“Understandable,” said Mark.

“Bullshit! If we can’t trust our parents, whom can we trust?”

Mark paused for several seconds. “True enough. But we know that both our houses were bugged by Jack and Janet. Who’s to say those bugs aren’t still active?”

Much to Mark’s relief, Heather nodded and calmed down. “That must be it. What’s been worrying me, I mean.”

“We’ve taken appropriate precautions, made a backdrop for our camera position with plastic sheeting, dressed ourselves in these white sheet togas. As long as we stay focused on not revealing anything about where we are, and remember we might be monitored, we’ll be fine. It’s impossible to trace our subspace signal.”

Heather’s eyes momentarily faded to gray, staying that way just long enough to concern Mark before they refocused. “You’re right. No reason to worry.”

Just then Jennifer entered the lab, the outside door letting in a breath of summer night air, thick with humidity and smells that signaled the gathering storm.

Her eyes swept across them. “You guys all right?”

“Fine,” said Heather, putting on what Mark knew was a forced smile. “Just a little anxious.”

Jen smiled back at her. “No kidding. Me too.”

Sitting down at her laptop, Jennifer logged in, then engaged the program that would connect them to Linda Smythe’s laptop. Her middle finger paused just above the ENTER key.

“Well, here goes.” She tapped the key, activating the subspace transmission.

Nothing happened for several seconds, then a video window filled the screen. There in front of them were the visages of their parents, crowded together in front of the computer camera.

Sadness engulfed Mark as he saw the tears streaming down Heather’s face.

She still managed to be first to speak.

“Hi, Mom, Dad. I miss you so much.”

“We miss you too, baby.” Mr. McFarland’s voice brought a rush of memories to Mark, memories centered in more comfortable times, better days from the past. Mrs. McFarland stared into the screen, eyes misted, rendered completely speechless.

Then everyone spoke in a rush, Mark, Jen, and Heather competing for airtime even as all of the parents stepped all over each other’s words on the far end. The expressions of love gave way to questions about how each of them was doing. Gradually talk shifted to questions about their situation. Where were they? Did they need help? Could they come home?

Although they’d talked through these likely questions, Mark found them difficult to answer. With every question they dodged, their parents pressed for more details. If they needed help, they would get it. If someone was holding them against their will, just list the demands. Everything could be made all right again. Home was still home.

Then, seemingly before they’d even started the conversation, the wall clock indicated the time they’d agreed on had expired and Mark found himself taking the lead in telling his mom and dad good-bye. Another round of tears from the girls and their moms, another round of sad good-byes from their dads, and then Jennifer terminated the session.

Jennifer leaned forward on the desk, elbows on the table, face in her hands. Heather’s white eyes seemed to stare right through him, tears cutting narrow trails down her cheeks. As Mark stared down at the blank computer screen, the distant rumble of thunder marred the silence that had descended on the computer lab.

Standing there next to Heather and Jennifer, listening to the gathering storm, he couldn’t remember ever having been so depressed.





Fred Smythe put his arms around his wife, pulling her into a bear hug that was joined by Gil and Anna, a tiny huddle sharing the most difficult game of their lives. When he finally released her, he smiled.