Wormhole (The Rho Agenda #3)(36)

“A hell of a lot more than the FBI.” James grinned.

“Explain.”

“Just like us, they put a sniffer on the IP traffic coming in through the network card. Funny thing is, not a damned thing came in through the network interface.”

“And?”

“And thank God for Denise’s Puff the Magic Dragon code in the laptop’s antivirus software. It recorded every bit and byte of data that changed on the laptop during the visual chat session, including sound and video.”

“Nothing came through the network card? How’s that possible?”

“It’s not. At least not with any technology we know about. But it fits with some of the stuff that caused Admiral Riles to send Jack Gregory’s team to Los Alamos.”

“So what do you make of it?”

James Blanchard looked at Levi Elias and shrugged. “I’ve been with my team all night and most of this morning going over the recorded audio and video streams at least two dozen times. Bottom line, boss, we’ve got nothing.”

“Nothing?”

“Whoever these kids are, they’re good.” James worked the jog shuttle, moving the recording forward five minutes. “Typical example, background is draped by thick plastic sheeting, common contractor material, made by hundreds of companies all over the world, mostly in Asia, my guess China.”

James zoomed in on a small section of the plastic, a tight shot that eliminated the foreground. He swirled a small circle with his laser pointer’s red dot.

“You can see small beads of condensation on the plastic, cool room, high humidity. This time of year you get those conditions in an air-conditioned room on about 37 percent of the planet, including the entire US gulf coast.”

He backed out of the zoom, selected a control on the electronic light table, and quickly drew a dotted outline around each of the young people in the frozen image. Another tool click and Heather McFarland, Mark Smythe, and Jennifer Smythe came up in their own frame, the sheet having been cropped out of the image so they were displayed against a pure white background.

“Notice anything peculiar about these three?”

“Nice tans. Muscular, taut faces. Just glancing at them I’d say they’ve been on a three-month vacation at a health spa. Either that or training for the Olympic beach volleyball team. What’s that they’re wearing? Togas?”

“Sheets.”

“Sheets?”

“Sure as shit. Plain old cotton bedsheets.”

“Let me guess. Kind you can buy anywhere, probably made in China. Looks like they were expecting to have their chat session intercepted.”

“As generic as it gets.”

“Give me a tight shot of each face, side by side. Keep the rest of the background clipped out. Then let the video roll.”

James Blanchard made the adjustments and started the video from the beginning, the display filled with three faces, the enhanced video so clear that Levi could see the moisture glisten on their teeth as they smiled.

“Amp up the audio.”

The audio volume rose until he could feel the vibration of the bass notes in Mark’s voice.

“Pause that.”

The video froze. The sound stopped.

“What did the voice stress analysis show? Are they under duress?”

“Inconclusive. There’s stress there, but it seems to be closely associated with the emotions of talking with parents they’ve been missing. I’d say they want to come home, but can’t. Lots of reasons for that, though. Doesn’t mean they’re being held against their will. Once more I go back to their physical appearance. That kind of muscle tone doesn’t square with being held captive. Neither does the tan.”

“Let the video roll again.”

The booming volume filled the room as Levi watched the facial expressions that went with the audio. Suddenly he sat up.

“Stop. Replay the last fifteen seconds. Five percent more volume.”

“There. You hear something?”

James nodded.

“Replay it again but mask out all the voices. I only want background noises.”

This time it took Blanchard fifteen minutes to manipulate the sound editor to achieve the desired effect.

When he played the audio again, a number of noises stood out. The sound of computer fans, the AC electric current humming in the lights, and four seconds of a chirping noise.

“Was that a bird?”

“Yes, sir. Definitely a bird sound.”

“What kind?”

Blanchard laughed. “Not my specialty.”

Levi didn’t laugh. “Then find someone whose specialty it is. I want to know exactly what kind of a bird that was, where it lives, its migratory patterns, and what color seeds it shits. One more thing. I want your team to reanalyze the whole thing, background noises only. Identify any animal or insect sounds, same drill as the bird.”

As Blanchard began moving toward the door, Levi called after him. “Oh, and James, get someone working on that AC electrical hum. I want to know if it’s fifty or sixty hertz.”

“I’m on it.”

Moving down the hallway at a brisk walk, James smiled. If he had to work for an analyst, it felt good to work for the best in the business.





President Jackson sat with his back to the towering windows, gold curtains pulled tightly closed, with only the wall-mounted candelabras adorning the cream-colored slices of wall that separated them. He glanced around at his national security staff seated in the burgundy leather chairs around the great table that filled the bulk of the White House Cabinet Room.