Wormhole (The Rho Agenda #3)(78)

Ground-floor cameras showed that the facility rapid response force, deprived of video intelligence, had broken up into three teams of five that moved to secure the elevator shaft and stairwells.

With a deep breath, Heather shifted her attention to Mark and Jennifer. They were being held on the third sublevel, just like Heather, but in separate wings. As they’d planned, both twins had remained in their cells, awaiting Heather’s contact. Now that she had a chance to devote the required level of concentration, Heather opened her mind to Mark and Jen.

“Ahh. There you are.” She felt Mark’s relief wash through her.

“You ready to move?”

“Just been waiting on you.”

“Jen?”

“She’s out of it again. I’m gonna have to go get her. You got a layout for me?”

Heather pulled forth the memory of the 3-D facility diagram.

“That’ll work.”

“I’ll unlock the doors along your route as you get to them, then lock them again behind you. Get moving.”

Heather dropped the link, refocusing her attention on the monitor showing Mark leaving his cell, then entering another camera’s field of view as he raced down the corridor.

Movement on the first monitor attracted her attention. One security squad had entered the elevator, headed down to her level. She stopped it between the first and second sublevels, killing all power to the elevator shaft, simultaneously sealing all doors shut. It wouldn’t keep a determined team from climbing down and forcing the doors open, but it would slow them down. Reconsidering her action, Heather restored power and the elevator’s downward motion, injecting a slight error into the elevator controls. Instead of stopping on sublevel three, it continued its descent to sublevel four.

As the doors opened, the security team suddenly found itself engaged in an all-out Al Qaeda firefight.





Jack listened to the military police alert go out, paused just a moment to confirm the location, and then reached for the remote device controller. Something big was going down at the top-secret NSA detention facility code-named the Ice House. Initial reports indicated a group of high-level Al Qaeda detainees had initiated an escape attempt, resulting in a call for all units to converge on the facility.

Well, if they thought this was Al Qaeda–initiated, Jack was happy to help support that theory. Checking the radio signal strength to each of the five remote devices, Jack flicked the first switch to the ARM position, waited for the green light, pressed the DETONATE button, and waited. The blast wave arrived seventeen seconds later, strong enough to rattle the windows. Now the MPs were going to have to get organized without any radio communications.

Flipping the second switch to ARM, Jack repeated the procedure and was once again rewarded with the delayed blast wave. So much for the main telephone trunk lines off base too.

The image of Janet slipped, unbidden, through his mind, little Robby perched on one hip as she stood beneath the jungle hut’s thatched overhanging roof, waving at him as he’d turned for one last long look at her. He missed his lover. He missed his partner.

Getting up from his chair, Jack walked to the sink and started a fresh pot of coffee brewing. The next three blasts needed a delay for maximum effect. One cup of java ought to just about do it.





The shock wave shattered the window, showering the bedroom with shards of glass. General Balls Wilson rolled out of bed, cutting his bare feet as he stood up.

“Was that a bomb?” His wife’s frightened voice helped clear the last of the sleep from his head.

“It’s OK, Maggie. It wasn’t that close.”

His hand reached for the light, then paused as he thought better of it. “Just stay in bed. I’ll get your slippers. Then I want you to walk down to the basement and stay there until I say different. Understand?”

“I understand.” This time her voice was steady. She hadn’t spent all those years as an air force officer’s wife without learning how to stay calm in tough situations.

He took a step and cut his foot again, cursing himself for leaving his own slippers in the closet. As he reached the closet door, a second blast shook the room, this one more distant and from a different direction from the first. Jesus H. Christ. The goddamned base was under attack.

The realization lent speed to his actions as he tossed his wife’s slippers onto the bed, picked out the embedded glass slivers, and slid his bleeding bare feet into his class-A dress shoes.

“Get on down to the basement.”

“I’m on my way.”

He felt her arms encircle his neck as her lips brushed his left ear. “Stay safe. I love you.”

“I’ll be fine. I love you too. Now go.”

General Wilson walked over to the phone and lifted it to the ear on which Maggie’s kiss still lingered. No dial tone. Picking up the mobile satcom phone, Balls pressed the first number on the speed dial list, listening to the hiss and warble as it established the secure connection.

“This is General Wilson. What the hell’s going on?”

“Sir, this is John Briggs. We don’t know the extent of the problem yet, but we got a report of an attempted prison break underway in the Ice House, followed by two explosions. We don’t know exactly where they came from, but someone’s taken out military police communications and the main phone lines. For some reason they haven’t gone after the power yet.”