Wormhole (The Rho Agenda #3)(87)

Looking away, Eileen shifted her focus to making it to the stairwell without throwing up. If anything, the stairwell was worse, indicative of the pitched battle that had raged inside as the Delta team fought its way down to the bottom.

At the first sublevel, Eileen stepped through the open stairwell door and breathed a sigh of relief. The corridor between the labs was still wet, but the water wasn’t colored with blood. The doors to the labs had been propped open to let the halon gas dissipate, and although this had allowed some of the water from the hall to run down through the raised flooring, water damage to the electronics should be minimal.

Turning into her lab, Eileen made her way directly to the workbench that held the dissected Gregory laptops. At first glance it appeared undisturbed. Then she noticed it. One of the USB dongles was missing from where it had been connected to the electronic breadboard. Glancing to the other side of the table, Eileen muttered a curse through clenched teeth. Both dongles were gone.

Without thinking, she lifted the phone from its cradle. Shit. No dial tone. And she’d had to leave her cell phone outside the secure area.

She thought about walking back outside to call in a report, then discarded the idea. First she needed to do a thorough inspection to see if anything else was missing or had been tampered with. She had no intention of being unable to give complete answers to the questions that were going to be thrown at her. As busy as Balls was trying to figure out exactly what the hell had happened here, he wouldn’t be happy about getting a bunch of half-assed information.

Sliding into her chair, Eileen began the methodical analytical work for which she was famous. And as she worked, the disturbing imagery and smells from the rest of the building finally slipped from her head.





“Jack’s been busy,” Jennifer said as Mark and Heather stepped into the office.

“Nothing surprising about that,” Mark replied, noting the clarity in his sister’s eyes, something that was very good to see.

“Remember the Navajo cop who hid Jack and Janet on the Santa Clara Reservation?”

“Tall Bear.”

“Right. Apparently he’s become a real player in the Native People’s Alliance, a new federation fighting for tribal autonomy. With all the crap that’s going on out in the country, the NPA has declared independence. Tall Bear, as recently elected president of the Navajo Nation, pulls some serious clout. There’s talk of him becoming the first president of the NPA.”

Heather shook her head. “What’s this got to do with Jack?”

“He’s hooked us up with the American equivalent of the French Resistance. If we can make it to a reservation, the NPA has agreed to take us under its wing.”

Mark moved over to the window, glancing down the empty driveway, his mind on Jennifer’s words. “Why hasn’t the US government already stepped down hard on the NPA?”

“Things were getting out of hand even before we got ourselves captured. The government’s been able to establish good security in the Northeast corridor and in the major metropolitan areas, except for Detroit, which is pretty much a no-man’s-land. Most of the rest of the country is hit or miss. Some areas are well organized. Others not so much. It’s making it hard to get food and supplies around. The NPA’s a minor annoyance.”

“The chaos should help us.”

“Once we get out of the Northeast corridor,” said Heather.

“Our best bet seems to be the Seneca Nation in western New York. They’re a large, well-funded tribe that generates over a billion dollars a year from their casinos and retail operations. Heavy NPA ties.”

“We’re going to need some funds and IDs.”

“Taken care of. I’ve arranged for delivery of three of the identities we prepared in Bolivia. Passports and driver’s licenses will be express-mailed tomorrow. We just have to get to the Mail Boxes Etc. in Harrisburg, where I’ve set up mailboxes in those names. We also have bank accounts at Bank of America, Citibank, and Chase. I’ve transferred sufficient funds for our near-term needs. Good news. Our new selves have excellent credit histories.”

Jennifer reached over and grabbed a stack of pages from the printer, passing them to Mark and Heather.

“Here’s your new backgrounds. Take a second to scan them. You two can pack up the laptop. By the way, I replaced our digital fingerprints and DNA records in the federal databases with those of known criminals.”

Heather nodded. “We need this to look like a routine break-in. I’ll bag the jewelry on our way out. Then we’re going to need a car.”

“They’ll wonder about the clothes.”

“It won’t matter. By the time they figure it out we’ll be long gone.”

Mark glanced at the clock, took a deep breath, and let it out slowly. Eleven twenty-four a.m. As good a time to start the rest of their lives as any. “OK. Let’s do it.”





The US Food Service plant in Severn, Maryland, was a big operation, the main building really formed from two large buildings whose northwest corners connected. The plant had been built to facilitate big-rig loading and unloading, with employee parking on two sides, the northeastern lot surrounded by trees. It was exactly the kind of place Heather had been looking for. Early afternoon meant the parking lot was full of people back from lunch for the afternoon shift, too early for people to be thinking about leaving.