The Second Ship (The Rho Agenda #1)(21)
Hearing the crash, Heather turned with the long hot-dog fork still in her hand, the twin tines burying themselves in the flesh of the spinning Dr. Stephenson’s upper arm. The deputy director doubled over, cursing as he staggered away. Heather froze, watching the blood drip from the tongs of the fork in her hand.
Stunned, unable to move, Heather could only watch as Mr. Smythe was the first to reach the deputy director's side.
“Sir, are you all right? Here, let me take a look at that.”
With a violent thrust of his hand, Dr. Stephenson shoved the startled technician away. “I am fine. I don’t need your assistance. Thank heavens those tongs missed me. See? Not even scratched.” He pulled up the short sleeve of his shirt to reveal an undamaged arm.
Moving quickly back toward the grill, Dr. Stephenson angrily snatched the fork from Heather’s nerveless fingers.
“If you kids can’t safely operate this station, then you shouldn't be near it. Get away from it now,” he bellowed. “Try something your small brains can handle. And stay away from me.”
Without waiting for a response, the deputy director of Los Alamos National Laboratory stormed off, the hot dog fork still clutched tightly in his hand. The Smythes and McFarlands gaped after him.
“Dad, I’m so sorry,” Heather sobbed.
Her father moved over and hugged her. “It’s all right. You didn’t hurt the mean old bastard. The fork missed him.”
“It wasn’t your fault, anyway,” Jennifer said, her face burning a bright red. “What a jerk.”
Mr. Smythe nodded. “Too bad you missed him.”
Heather wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand, giving her best effort at a grin. “It’s okay. I didn’t mean to lose it like that.”
Mrs. Smythe patted her arm. “Anyone would have, dear. Come on, gang, the burger and hot dog station is now closed. Let’s go check out some of the other food.”
As they worked their way around the food circuit, Mark walked between Jennifer and Heather, his arms circling their shoulders.
“When we get a chance, we need to talk,” Mark whispered. “No matter what the good Doctor said, I saw that fork go knuckle-deep in his arm. I saw the blood. I can play it back in my mind. I don’t know how he did it, but he was sure as hell hurt. And he made damned sure he got that fork away from you before he stormed off. Three guesses as to how long it took him to wipe it clean.”
Heather stopped, shock prickling her scalp. She had seen the prongs stab him, had felt them penetrate the skin and muscle.
As their parents moved on toward the homemade brownie station, the three companions stood close together, their eyes gazing off to where the deputy director had disappeared. And as they looked, a sudden chill settled over them.
Chapter 13
Heather smiled. With church over, she was scheduled to link up with Jennifer and Mark for the afternoon, just as soon as she could get changed and hustle over to their house. It wasn’t that she minded church—quite the opposite. Her church was a positive and uplifting place filled with people of good heart; the weekly service was a pleasant escape from the myopic attitudes that presented themselves in day-to-day life. The singing was a wonderful side benefit.
While Heather’s family was happily Lutheran, Mr. Smythe referred to himself as nondenominational agnostic. Heather actually thought that both Linda and Jennifer Smythe would enjoy tagging along with the McFarland family to their church; they just hadn’t talked themselves into making time for it yet.
But today she and her two friends would finally get the chance they had not had in weeks: a chance to get back out to their starship. They were going to have to name it. Referring to it as “our starship” didn’t seem either appropriate or palatable to her. The Rho Ship was already taken. The Los Alamos Ship? The White Rock Saucer? If they left it up to Mark, it would be the Bandolier Bagel or the Taos Taco or some other God-awful name. Oh well, it would come to her.
By the time Heather had dressed in her jeans, tennis shoes, and an old pullover sweatshirt and lifted her bike from its hooks in the garage, the Smythe twins were waiting in the driveway. The hour-and-a-half ride out of White Rock and then along the rough mountain bike trail to The Mesa left her exhilarated, the excitement rising as they got closer to the spot where they would hide their bikes and proceed on foot.
After the picnic escapade, the three friends decided that telling anyone else about their ship would be foolhardy. It would probably lead to the ship being turned over to the loving mercies of Dr. Donald “Miracle Healer” Stephenson. Considering what they had seen using the headsets and Stephenson’s twenty-year hold on the Rho research, that seemed like something to avoid at all costs.
Heather hoped that her gut feeling was a byproduct of her personal dislike for the man. Still, caution seemed a wise course for the moment.
With that in mind, they proceeded carefully, checking over their shoulders as they rode through the backcountry. At the edge of The Mesa, they stopped to watch and listen. With the pungent scent of pine strong in the clear mountain air, the silence of the wilderness was undisturbed. Even the soughing of the wind that normally swept the high canyon country was missing.
After securing their bikes in thick brush, high on the slope, Heather, Mark, and Jennifer worked their way to where the holograph hid the cave entrance. Just outside of the cave, they paused, taking time to experiment with the illusion. Heather stepped forward until it looked like half her body was gone.