The Second Ship (The Rho Agenda #1)(87)

“Thank you.” Jack grabbed a mug from the cabinet, paused at the coffee pot to fill it, and then sat at the table with Janet. “The cleanup?”

She shrugged. “They had a bit of trouble. The cave is spic’n’span, but the police had already towed the van.”

“And?”

“Our team didn’t have any trouble getting to it in the impound yard. No problem recovering most of the special gear. But Harry’s clothes and the laptop had been moved to the evidence room.”

“Damn it. Anyone they could get to on the inside?”

“Not in a way you’ll like. The night shift at the station had pretty good records. Our guys did manage to bribe one of them, who had some heavy debts he was struggling with.”

“So they got it?”

“No. That’s the bad news. He balked at taking the laptop out of the cage. Was scared that someone would be on to him. So the team got him to insert a floppy disk, boot the computer, and leave it running.”

“Shit. They wiped it?”

“Had to. It was that or storm the station. They figured we didn’t need that kind of attention.”

Jack rubbed his face with his hands. Now they had no record of what Harry had been working on. Jack had counted on spending the day going through that laptop with a fine-tooth comb. On the plus side, his to-do list had just gotten a whole lot shorter.

“Maybe I could put you to bed,” said Janet with a wink. “Unless you’re too tired.”

Jack raised an eyebrow as he set down the coffee. “If I’m ever that tired, just shoot me. Think I’ll grab a quick shower first, though.”

“Don’t take too long now, Jack.”





As he headed for the stairs, Janet’s mischievous laughter tickled his ear. The odds of a luxuriant, slow shower dropped precipitously as he listened. Suddenly, the day, among other things, was looking up.





Chapter 66





“Mark, Jen! It’s so good to see you.” Heather’s voice snapped Mark out of his sudden foul mood.

He walked rapidly across the room, leaned down, and hugged her. “Good to see you too. You had us worried.”

Jennifer tugged at his arm, and he moved to let her in to hug her friend. When she raised her head, there were tears in her eyes, which she dabbed at ineffectually with the back of her hands.

As Fred and Linda Smythe stepped into the room, followed by the McFarlands, Raul stood, then leaned down to kiss Heather on the forehead. “Feel better.”

Mark resisted a powerful urge to reach out, grab Raul by the back of the neck, and toss him out of the room. Instead, Raul said a quick good-bye and departed.

Heather smiled. “Wasn’t it nice of Raul to stop by? Dad ran into his father when he went out for coffee this morning.”

“It was sweet,” said Linda Smythe.

Mark’s smile was beginning to feel like the kind you held for a family photo as Aunt Betty fooled around with the digital camera, trying to figure out how to get the flash to work.

The talk in the room quickly turned to questions about how Heather was feeling, to which she responded that she felt fine, except for a residual headache. The doctors were planning to release her later this morning, so they apparently agreed with her own assessment of her condition.

Everyone in the room studiously avoided any reference to her ordeal the night before, the Smythes having already gotten a rundown on events from the McFarlands. Mark felt bad that he couldn’t tell Heather that the Rag Man was dead, but that would have to wait for a more private venue.

But something about Heather was not right. Despite her smiles and assurances to the contrary, her normal buoyancy was missing. When Mark looked into her eyes, the spark that had always been there seemed to have gone out.

The ride home inflicted a somber mood on the whole Smythe family. Something about a brutal attack on someone close left everyone feeling vulnerable and angry. Heather had come so close to dying. If it hadn’t been for Jack Johnson, Mark doubted that he could have saved her, but he would have tried.

Abilities like the Rag Man’s could have only come from the Second Ship. The realization hit Mark in the face like a hammer. The Rag Man must have been on the ship, possibly even before they had discovered it. He had tried on one of the headsets. What was it the Rag Man had said in the dream they had shared with Heather?

“I know what you are becoming.”

Perhaps the Rag Man had once been as sane as any of them. What if the becoming caused his insanity? Was it possible that they had it all wrong? What if the Rho aliens were the good ones and the Second Ship was from an alien race bent upon conquest and destruction? Perhaps Mark, Jennifer, and Heather were being turned into tools of that destruction.

Mark closed his eyes and leaned back so that his head rested against the back of the seat, letting the vibrations of the road pulse against the back of his neck. None of the scenario he had just imagined felt right. For one thing, the Second Ship was beautiful, its artistic flowing lines indicative of a race that cared about beauty enough to incorporate it where it wasn’t required.

The Rho Ship, both in the imagery from the headsets and from what he had seen on TV, was ugly. It was industrial in its stark efficiency. No. If he had to place a bet on which side to back, he would support the side that saw beauty in the universe against that which reminded him of the industrial revolution, with all of its smokestacks and grease-covered gears.