Wormhole (The Rho Agenda #3)(62)
Tall Bear paused before responding. “Why the spy shit? I doubt the Los Alamos cops will be monitoring your real phone.”
“No, but the NSA sure as hell is. They were monitoring Dr. Sigmund and now they’re monitoring me. That brings me to why I called you. I made a digital recording of my interview with Dr. Sigmund. Then, after she killed herself, I dialed 911, walked out into the back yard, and hid the recorder under a rock. Since I’m sure to be watched, I need you to get it for me.”
Tall Bear laughed. “Why? Was I the closest Injun?”
“I know it sounds nuts, but I saw your news conference last year and you seemed like a guy that doesn’t have a lot of love for the feds.”
Once again Tall Bear considered ending the call. “What’s on the recorder that’s got the NSA so worried?”
“You know about the three Los Alamos kids that got killed in the black ops raid on Jack Gregory’s Bolivian ranch?”
“Yes.”
“According to Dr. Sigmund, at least one of them is alive and being held in an NSA psych ward. They took Sigmund there, made her help them convince Heather McFarland she was crazy, and then sent Sigmund back home. Only she couldn’t live with that. I think the NSA probably has the other kids, too, but those bastards told their parents they were all dead.”
“Even if I believe you, why do you think any of this matters to me?”
“Probably stupid, but I go with my hunches. You struck me as someone who hates that kind of abuse of power. I was hoping you hate it bad enough to stray an hour out of your way.”
Tall Bear let the silence stretch out until it hung heavy in the empty air. “Tell me how to find it.”
As he drove toward Los Alamos a few minutes later, the warm afternoon breeze blew through the Jeep Cherokee’s rolled-down window, whipping his long black hair behind him. It looked as if Jack Gregory had entered his life again. Strange how the world revolved around that man. It seemed like only yesterday that he’d led Jack and Janet to the high hogan. The image of Janet standing in that doorway flooded into his mind, her beautiful tanned face lit by a smile, her arms unconsciously resting on her round, pregnant belly.
How in hell had they linked up with the three Los Alamos kids? Of one thing he was certain. If the NSA was holding those three, then the whole story of the Bolivian raid was rotten. Jack Gregory was the finest man Tall Bear had ever met and he’d been screwed by his own government. That meant those kids were getting the same treatment. The question was, why?
Tall Bear decided he just might have to listen to that recording before he sent it off to Hagerman.
From atop his perch in the tree nearest to the thatch-roofed hut, the monkey jabbered, hopped up and down, then lost interest. Janet held Robby in one arm, pointing at the monkey with the other.
“Do you see the monkey, Robby?”
She studied Robby’s face, his clear brown eyes watching hers, then shifting up to the furry brown creature thirty feet away. Despite the fact that he was much too young to speak, Janet had the unshakable feeling that he understood her words, not just her gestures. She knew she shouldn’t be surprised at how fast her child was learning, considering what she knew about the effect the alien headbands had had on Mark, Jen, and Heather. Still, she found the pace of his development slightly unnerving.
Janet looked around at the grouping of Quechua huts sitting atop four-foot-high stilts, the ladders leading up to their doors, laundry hanging on lines beneath the thatched overhangs. Just down the road and beyond the hill lay the outskirts of Puyo, Ecuador. Yachay’s home. The native nanny had led them here, introducing them to the poor Quechan community where they were welcomed as if they had been long-lost relatives, disappearing from the wider world as thoroughly as if they’d slipped into a La Brea tar pit. No electricity, no running water, no indoor toilets, just a nice, safe hideaway.
Turning away from the monkey, Janet climbed the slanted ladder leading to her hut, the smallest in the village. Pausing just inside the door, she looked up at Cherise, the beautiful scarlet macaw that had become her pet.
“Awk. Robby. Robby.”
Janet laughed at the greeting. As smart as Robby was, the bird had learned to talk before he did. Too bad Jack wasn’t here to share the moment with her.
Setting Robby in the playpen Yachay had made for him, Janet walked over to the table where her disassembled H & K subcompact lay. One thing about the high jungle. The humidity meant her weapons needed even more daily maintenance than in Bolivia.
As she sat down and picked up where she’d left off, her thoughts turned back to Jack. He’d made sure she and Robby were set up in an adequate safe haven where it was unlikely their enemies could find them; then he’d filled a backpack with ammunition, basic survival gear, and one of their two subspace receiver-transmitter USB dongles and stepped out into the noisy jungle night. Janet could still taste his good-bye kiss on her lips, could feel the way his teeth playfully nipped her lower lip, could see the fire in those eyes.
She missed him, missed having his back. But her responsibility was to Robby first. If he’d been a normal little boy, she would have left him with Yachay and gone with Jack. But neither of them knew what challenges Robby would face in the coming months and Janet wanted to be there to guide his development. Besides, Jack was Jack. He’d find where Mark, Jennifer, and Heather were being held and then they’d have a fighting chance at freedom.