Wormhole (The Rho Agenda #3)(96)

When she was on her game, she was by far the most brilliant scientific mind and computer scientist he’d ever known, including that pompous bastard Stephenson. But there were times when Nika was just plain unreliable. Like right now, for instance.

Stephenson had just handed him a list of upgrades he wanted on the stasis field controller software, and he expected the changes to be implemented and tested by this time tomorrow evening. A month’s work in twenty-four hours. But when Peter had shown it to Nika, she’d laughed her seductive laugh and said she’d sleep on it.

The anger had bubbled up inside him, but somehow, as he looked into those blue eyes, he’d gone all warm and fuzzy inside. He’d told her that was a good idea.

A good idea!

Now all he could do was watch the petite young woman in her tight jeans and white Tori Amos T-shirt walk away from him, several spears of her spiked blonde hair aimed straight at his heart. God. He was sixty-five years old, yet somehow this fascinating young woman had him wishing he were thirty again. Shit! Even if he were thirty, he’d never be able to handle a woman like that.

Looking at the sheaf of requirements in his hands, he walked over to the workstation, set the papers under the keyboard, and turned toward the stairs that would carry him up to his own bunk.

“Where are you going?”

Dr. Trotsky turned to face Stephenson. He wasn’t scared of Stephenson, like the others. He’d seen it all before, and knew the type. Nothing he could do would be good enough anyway, so he might as well just do what he thought best.

“First I design, then I code, then I test. Don’t worry. You’ll have your changes on schedule.”

Stephenson scowled at him. “I better.”

Trotsky shook his head, turned, and walked away. What choice did he have? He couldn’t program fast enough to get this done if he worked all week. Only Nika could. He’d just have to hope a fresh Nika could deliver tomorrow’s miracle. Otherwise the trip back to Vladivostok was likely to be unpleasant.





The blood drained from Denise Jennings’s face as she listened to what Eileen Wu had to say. Since she’d been listening for more than forty minutes, Denise thought that by now she must look like a starving vampire. She certainly felt like one.

The NSA’s newest prodigy had traced every one of Denise’s Big John queries and had figured out the same things Denise had. Worse, she’d kept digging and, despite Denise’s objections, was determined to bring her up to speed.

Why had she opened her door and let the young computer scientist inside her house? Denise had recognized how odd it was for Eileen to be in Columbia at nine p.m. Her house was in the opposite direction, in Annapolis. Plus the girl was a notorious loner. Still, Denise had invited her inside.

Now they both knew too much.

Dear God. Admiral Riles. Jack Gregory and his entire team. Now the Smythe and McFarland kids. All of them set up by their own government. That didn’t take into account all the top government officials who had been killed. All of it to protect the Rho Project. And although Dr. Donald Stephenson had a perfect alibi—he’d been halfway around the world when it happened—Eileen Wu believed he’d somehow generated the November Anomaly. Denise believed it too.

Denise didn’t want to join the others who’d fought against Stephenson’s Rho agenda, but unless she managed to divert Eileen, this headstrong young woman was going to get them both killed. And for what? The damage had already been done. Besides, Denise had already done her part. She’d tipped off that investigative reporter Freddy Hagerman. It was time for him to step up.

Suddenly Denise felt Eileen’s dark eyes on her. Maybe there was still a way out of this.

“Eileen, I’m stunned. The stuff you’ve uncovered goes far beyond what I found out.”

“Because you quit looking.”

Denise shook her head. “Not entirely. I’m not an investigator or a field operative. And for reasons I’m sure you understand, I couldn’t take this to anyone in the agency. So, rather than give up, I took it to someone who has managed to dig into the Rho Project and stay alive. I met with Freddy Hagerman.”

“The reporter.”

“Pulitzer Prize winner. He matches his reputation.”

“So you handed your responsibility over to him.”

“That’s not how I see it, but if you do, that’s OK with me.”

“And you want me to do the same.”

“I’m just saying you should think about it. It’s not your specialty, but it’s what he does. From all accounts, he’s quite good at it.”

“I’m not good at quitting.”

“Think of him as a teammate.”

Eileen stared at her for several more moments, then rose and turned toward the door.

“Think about it.”

Opening the door, Eileen paused.

“We’ll see.”

Then the night carried her away.





Charley Richardson, Paladin’s security team commander at the LHC site, didn’t like changes to his team this late in the game. But Bruce Conrad had gotten his ass kicked outside a bar in Meyrin. Charley would have liked to meet the man who could dismantle Bruce the way this one had. Paladin should find and hire him.

So now Charley was one man down. Worse, the company was sending him a woman as Bruce’s replacement. He stared down at the file on his desk. On paper she was dynamite. Charley had seen plenty of men who were dynamite on paper but didn’t stack up when the shit hit the fan. His men came from all over, all ex–special ops from a half dozen different countries. They’d earned their spots on this team. It didn’t matter that this job was crap, turning his warriors into a bunch of facility guards alternating shifts, mostly checking people’s paperwork, controlling access to the MINGSTER and the ATLAS cavern. He still needed people he knew.