Immune (54 page)

Mark’s gaze returned to Espeñosa. Reaching the shoulder holster, Mark removed the Beretta and slipped it into his own belt.

“And why do we need this piece of trash?” he asked.

“To take us to Jennifer, for one.”

Heather noted his eyes moving across her naked torso, the awareness bringing a flush to her cheeks, though it was completely hidden beneath a coating of blood. Spotting a rack of clean towels, Heather grabbed two, draping one over her shoulders while she scrubbed at her face and hair with the other.

Mark set the drug lord against the wall, standing over him in a posture that indicated his good luck might not continue to hold.

Heather grabbed more towels, handing some to Mark who began scrubbing at his own sticky body. They certainly weren’t going to come clean, and their clothes were ruined, but it helped.

“Someone will have heard the screams. They’ll come,” said Mark.

Heather bent down to stare into Espeñosa’s dark eyes. “They heard, but they’re not coming. People scream a lot in this room. And you don’t like to have your rough play disturbed, do you, Señor Espeñosa?”

The visions that filled her mind confirmed it.

Heather studied the drug lord. The rate at which his nanite-infested bloodstream repaired the damage to his body was amazing. Already, he was able to stretch his arms and legs, rolling his neck from side to side as if recovering from no more than a bad crick. The muscles in his chest had worked the broken ribs back into some semblance of their original alignment where they were rapidly being knit back together.

As incredible as that was, a glance to the mess in the room’s center showed that even nanites had their limitations. It was a fact that the look in Don Espeñosa’s eyes showed he was very much aware of.

“Okay, enough recovery time,” Mark said, yanking Espeñosa to his feet, the man’s grimace giving evidence that he had not yet completely recovered.

Heather stepped closer. “Now you’re going to take us directly to Jennifer. Believe me when I say I’ll know if you even consider doing something different than what we tell you.”

Espeñosa glanced at Mark, then nodded. “Then you’re going to kill me?”

“You heard what I told Mark. We need you alive. You just make sure you keep it that way.”

Don Espeñosa turned toward the inner door. “Walk with me. If we pass any servants, pay them no attention. They know better than to ask questions.”

The Spanish opulence of the wide room into which Espeñosa led them made Heather feel as if she had just stepped into a luxury resort, the rich tile floor, high ceiling, and huge windows giving it an openness that, under other circumstances, would have made her reluctant to leave. A tiled staircase led up to the second floor, and along this, Don Espeñosa led them. At the top of the stairs they entered a red-tiled hallway adorned with paintings of the conquistadors and standing suits of armor. Stopping just outside the third room on the left, Don Espeñosa rapped three times.

“Yes?” The familiar voice caused Heather’s breath to catch in her throat.

“I’ve brought you some guests,” Don Espeñosa said.

The sound of soft footsteps wafted out. Then the tall door opened inward.

“Guests?” Jennifer stood there frozen in shock, clad in a beautiful white peasant dress, looking pale and thin but incredibly beautiful.

Mark pushed Don Espeñosa into the wicker chair. “Don’t move!”

As Mark closed the door behind them, Jennifer rushed forward, throwing her arms around Heather’s neck, oblivious to the mess she was making of her beautiful white dress, great sobs shuddering through her body. Heather hugged back so tightly she felt they might become one. And as her own tears mixed with those of her lovely little friend, she felt Mark’s powerful arms circle them both.

“My God, Sis! I thought I’d lost you.” Mark’s voice choked off, his own tears dripping down his cheeks onto their heads.

For the longest time they just stood there, holding each other in an embrace they wished could last forever, experiencing a oneness Heather had feared they would never again share.

Jennifer was the first to release her hold, her eyes finally taking in the drying blood smears that caked Mark and Heather, along with Heather’s towel-draped torso.

“Jesus! What happened to you?”

With Mark keeping a watchful eye on Don Espeñosa, Heather rapidly filled Jennifer in on the day’s events, watching as shock turned to anger in her friend’s gentle face.

Jennifer stepped toward Don Espeñosa. “You did that to my family?”

The don shrugged. “You know what I am.”

Espeñosa stiffened as Jennifer’s eyes locked with his.

“Jen? What’re you doing?” The concern in Heather’s voice caused Mark to step closer.

“Jen?” Heather repeated, reaching out to touch her friend’s shoulder.

When Jennifer turned toward her, Heather released the breath she’d been holding. “It’s okay. Just making sure he wasn’t going to try anything like that again.”

“So what’s the plan?” Mark asked, also relaxing his stance. “We can’t stay here.”

Heather shrugged, a movement that almost caused the towel to slip from her shoulders.

“Actually, I think we are going to be staying here. We need to hear Jennifer’s story. But first, we need a shower and some fresh clothes.”

“I have a great shower and lots of clothes that will fit you,” Jennifer said. “I even have a robe Mark can use.”

“And then?” Mark continued.

“And then,” said Heather, glancing toward Jennifer’s laptop. “I think we need to re-establish contact with Jack and Janet.”

Music thundered in Raul’s head, not that pussy stuff he’d been forced to endure in his former life either. This was pure Nickelback, Chad Kroeger screaming out his rage at the world. Why he hadn’t thought of piping music into this prison, home, royal chamber that was his section of the Rho ship, Raul couldn’t fathom. After all, he’d had Internet access for ages. He could scan all the satellite frequencies of television and radio, even decrypting the most classified communications.

Maybe that was it. He’d been so down in the weeds scanning data, he’d overlooked the simplest of things to make his life better. Understandable considering how hard he’d been driving himself.

He felt the door open before he saw it, just another of the mechanisms tied into his neural net, and he certainly didn’t need to see Dr. Stephenson to know who had entered his inner sanctum.

“Good morning, Raul.”

Letting the music fade from his mind, Raul waited, floating in the air just above the machine that had been the focus of his energies these last few weeks. Why Stephenson bothered to walk through the room was one of the mysteries that cloaked the scientist. After all, he’d shown he could override Raul’s manipulation of the stasis field whenever he desired. But instead of floating effortlessly, the man wove his way through the alien conduits and machinery until he reached the open central area where Raul waited.

“Going to a party?” Raul asked. He’d never seen Stephenson wear a business suit in the lab, although he’d seen him in one on television. This was a navy blue three-piece, tangerine shirt, gold cufflinks, a paisley tie, and chocolate Italian shoes.

Stephenson came to a stop before the machine. “The president’s arriving for a briefing in an hour.”

“Impressive.”

“That’s not what I came to talk about.”

“Fine. Spit it out.”

Dr. Stephenson’s eyes flashed briefly, giving Raul the pleasure of knowing he had managed to annoy the man.

Stephenson returned his attention to the device, running his hand lovingly along the surface of the thick coils that snaked in and out of the thing, coils within which whirls of glowing energy flashed, growing in intensity and then fading out with no apparent rhythm to the pulses. In the dim grayness that filled the room, the strange luminance failed to seep beyond the coils that contained it, providing no spot of light on Dr. Stephenson’s hands, even when they touched a glow spot.

“You’ve done well.”

The unexpected compliment caught Raul by surprise, sending a warm glow of pride through his entire body. Why the hell did he even care what Stephenson thought? After all, he hated the man.

“It’s not finished, yet.”

“I know, but we’re very, very close now. What about the power?”

Raul rubbed his hands together. As challenging as the repairs to the device had been, providing the huge increase in power that would be required to bring it online had proved the most daunting of his tasks.

“Eighty-three percent.”

“We need at least ninety-five.”

“You’re not telling me anything I don’t know.”

“You need to pick up the pace.”

“Why don’t you get your ass in here and help me then?”

“I’m sure you can handle it. Besides, I have other pressing matters to attend to.”

“Like the Bandelier Ship?”

Stephenson raised an eyebrow. “Among other things.”

Raul had been monitoring the news about the Enemy ship, the one they had all believed stone dead until it had unexpectedly come to life a few days ago.

“So that’s why the president is visiting.”

“Even I have to play tour guide sometimes.” The annoyance in the deputy director’s voice left little doubt what he thought about this interruption.

“You said I was doing well,” Raul returned to the original subject. “You know I’m working around the clock. Why are you pushing me to up the pace?”

“There’ve been some complications with the nanite distribution.”

“You mean the remotely programmable version you’ve been peddling around the world?”

Stephenson paused, as if considering what he would say. “You’ve been watching the news networks and spy satellite feeds. You know about our program at Henderson House.”

Although the confirmation that Stephenson had been monitoring his activities annoyed him, he got the sense that something big was about to be revealed.

“Not going according to plan, is it?”

“Just a technical problem. But with the world so new to the challenges of complete health, it would be a bad time for anything about Henderson House to leak out.”

Raul laughed. “I guess so. Lots of people are already upset about the total breakdown of birth control in the third world. Pill’s not working. Normal abortion methods failing. Little sperms have gotten hardy. All the world for a condom, eh?”

Stephenson shrugged. “Which brings us back to Henderson House. We already had one leak, which we were lucky to plug.”

“I don’t get it. What’s my work got to do with that?”

“All programs have leaks. Especially the most sensitive.”

A light dawned in Raul’s mind. “And you want to be able to instantly reach out and touch someone should that happen. By creating a gateway.”

“I need you to stop surfing the Internet and focus every ounce of your attention on the task I assigned you.”

“You know what I want.”

“I’ve known for a long time now. You want the McFarland girl.”

“Then you know why I’ve been searching the world’s data feeds.”

“You just focus on getting the machine working. You do that and I’ll tell you where to go get her.”

Raul was stunned. Was it possible that Stephenson could know where Heather was? He couldn’t really put it beyond the man. He’d surprised Raul before.

“You’d let me bring her here?”

“She’s a runaway known to be suffering from psychotic delusions. Nobody would even know what became of her.”

Raul stared into the deputy director’s face. There was something else there, something Stephenson was hiding behind those cold eyes. Whatever it was, the scientist wouldn’t be making him this promise if he couldn’t deliver.

Raul shifted his concentration and ten thousand tiny strands of force plunged into control panels around the room, the massive neural network directing the simultaneous repair work ramping up to full capacity.

Dr. Donald Stephenson grinned, then turned and strode from the room. His departure went entirely unnoticed.

Garfield Kromly strolled nonchalantly through the crowds on the vast open lawns of the Washington Mall, enjoying the first really nice Sunday morning in weeks. Pam would have loved it. He could almost feel her delicate little hand in his, her shoulder pressed against him as they stared out at the great spire of the Washington Monument.

“Ah, my sweet little darling,” he muttered under his breath. “I miss you.”

Someone jostled him, but when he looked to his left, he couldn’t tell who it might have been. All he knew was that the small brown paper-wrapped package he’d been holding in his left hand was gone.

Despite his best efforts and those of the few people he trusted at CIA, Kromly had been unable to fully break the encryption on the data disk. But the one thing he had learned was enough to give him chills.

The network of global positioning system satellites, more commonly known as GPS, had been compromised by a super-secret US government program, somehow connected to the Rho Project.