Wormhole (The Rho Agenda #3)(45)

Ten feet to her left, Jack’s black-clad form stared back toward the hacienda.

“Are you going back?” Janet’s voice seemed a whisper in her own ringing ears.

“No point,” Jack replied. “Either they’re already in the tunnel and will catch us or they’re dead.”

Janet shrugged off the wave of dread that clenched her heart, snuggled the M4 up against Robby’s front-pack, and turned to follow Yachay down into the outstretched arms of the Amazon.





“Mr. President, we have a solid update from Bolivia.” James Nobles pressed a button on the remote control, replacing the large-screen monitor’s map display with an infrared image showing some thatch-roofed buildings and a number of glowing figures spread out around the compound.

“Go on.”

“SEAL Team Ten has its Second Platoon on the ground at the Frazier compound. Perimeter is secure.”

“First Platoon?”

“I’m sorry, Mr. President. It’s not good. Fourteen KIA. Lieutenant Morrow, the First Platoon commander, has a broken arm, but remains on the scene coordinating with Second Platoon.

“Gregory?”

“No sign of him or Janet Price.”

“Damn it! What the hell went wrong?”

“We don’t know for sure yet, but early indications are that they managed to hack into a number of secure national systems.”

President Jackson felt the blood drain from his face. “How is that possible?”

“We don’t know.”

“Find out!”

His national security advisor nodded. “We’ve recovered two laptops from the Frazier compound. The information on those computers could prove invaluable.”

“Two laptops...” It felt like a hollow prize, especially considering the loss of life.

There was a pause. Then his advisor said, “But that’s not all, sir. The Ripper and Janet Price had help. Significant help.”

The president felt hope rise within him. Perhaps the mission hadn’t been a total disaster.

“We’re still getting an injury assessment, but SEAL Team Ten reports the capture of three terrorists. We think they might have been the hackers who inserted errors into the GPS feed and took control of our Global Hawk sensors. They also managed to retarget the B-52 payload, killing fourteen of our Navy SEALs. We’re bringing the terrorists and the laptops to one of our special facilities. Interrogation may take some time, depending on the condition of the detainees and the interrogation methods you authorize.”

President Jackson didn’t pause. “You have my direct authorization to use any methods required.”

As his advisor nodded and headed for the door, the president held up a hand.

“Oh, and James, in case somebody has forgotten, I want Gregory. Dead will be just fine.”





Dr. Louis Dubois sat in his office staring at the computer screen, his red-veined eyes testament to the fact he hadn’t slept in thirty-six hours. Despite the angry grip captivity had on the quarantined scientists, engineers, and technicians under his direction, their professionalism and love of their work had again produced spectacular results. First-phase analysis of Dr. Stephenson’s design had found no fault with his equations, which meant, considering the hatred the LHC team directed at the Rho Project physicist, Stephenson’s theory was correct.

True science revolved around peer review to validate a confederate’s work. The more controversial the paper, the harder other scientists and mathematicians tried to find its weaknesses. The fact that this massive collection of the world’s greatest minds couldn’t punch a hole in Dr. Stephenson’s work didn’t prove he was right, but it was good enough for Louis. And that frustrated the hell out of him.

As he stared at the engineering report, a cold sweat dripped down the back of his neck, dampening his once-dapper ponytail and staining his shirt collar. The project to build what Louis had dubbed the Rho Gate would require an effort that dwarfed the construction of the Large Hadron Collider. Not in physical size. The device itself would be contained within an expansion of the ATLAS chamber. But its complexity, the power required to generate the wormhole, and the seven-month timeline for its construction—that combination truly boggled the mind. It would take a project the like of which the Earth had never known.

Louis brought up the computer-aided design diagram of the Rho Gate. The exploded CAD diagram filled screen after screen. For the LHC engineering team to have produced this level of detail for the Rho Gate in such a short time represented a monumental effort, one that should have even impressed Donald Stephenson. Of course it hadn’t, but that hardly mattered. It meant the world had a chance, slim as it might have been, at survival. It was up to Louis to put together a draft proposal to the politicians of the world’s greatest powers that would get them all on board without delay.

Popping the top on another energy drink, Dr. Dubois tilted back his head and drained it. Staring down at the tiny bottle, he grinned. Another six of these and he should be just about finished.





Gil McFarland watched as the two FBI men walked up his driveway, a mixture of hope and dread preceding them through the open front door. Gil directed the agents, clad in identical navy blue suits, white shirts, and black ties, into the living room, where Anna and the Smythes waited expectantly. The agents remained standing as Gil took a seat beside Anna, taking her trembling hand in his.