The Second Ship Read online

  As Mark had already told them, the man had displayed incredible healing abilities. The lab tests on Priest's blood had revealed that it was permeated by millions of nanites, microscopic machines that read information from their host’s DNA and used that information to repair bodily damage. The data confirmed the information from Dr. Rodriguez’s computer that she and Jennifer had uplinked to the NSA.

  Heather had read many articles on current nanotechnology research, some of which had speculated that in the future, humans would be able to inject swarms of tiny machines into their bloodstream to do things like clean arteries and attack infections. But what these nanites did was far beyond any nanotechnology currently envisioned.

  There could be no doubt. The technology had come from the Rho Project. Apparently the report on the subject was being kept very classified, with only Jack’s team, one individual at the laboratory doing the testing, and two key people at NSA headquarters knowing anything about the report’s contents.

  Just as it looked like the press furor would abate, today had brought more tragedy to the Rodriguez household. Raul had disappeared, apparently having run away from home. Police had arrived to find Mrs. Rodriguez lost to a hysteria that required hospitalization.

  A cool breeze ruffled Heather’s hair. Brushing a strand from her face, she watched as the sky changed from red to purple.

  Raul. The knowledge that he had tried to drug Mark had destroyed whatever feelings she had held for him. But he didn’t deserve this. Shaking her head, Heather rose from the lawn chair, turned her back on the gathering darkness, and stepped back into the light and warmth of her own home.

  89

  Griffith Gym, the site of the Commencement Ceremony for the LAHS graduating class, was packed to near capacity. Heather didn’t particularly like graduation ceremonies of any type. Why Mark had been so keen on having their families attend this one was another of the mysteries that came together in the person of Marcus Aurelius Smythe.

  As far as she knew, the only seniors Mark knew were the ones who had tormented him during the year. But when she and Jennifer had quizzed him, he merely laughed and shrugged off those antics as an age-old high school rite of passage. Perhaps he was growing up after all.

  As the graduation speaker droned on endlessly, Heather smiled to herself. Considering all she had been through, all they had all been through, she was glad this year was coming to a close. Even the fact that she had missed the junior-senior prom could not dampen her mood.

  Mark’s elbow brought her focus back to the stage. The top scholastic leaders of the senior class had just been recognized, and the senior athletes and cheerleaders were next. Heather recognized Colleen “All Cars” Johnson along with the obnoxious quarterback, Doug Brindal, and his buddies.

  The group on stage raised their awards above their heads. As they did, Heather noticed Mark fiddling with something in his hand, a devilish grin on his face.

  A sudden gasp from the crowd snapped Heather’s head back toward the stage.

  “Oh my God!” Jennifer gasped.

  The graduation gowns of Colleen Johnson, Doug Brindal, and two of the other athletes came apart at the seams, the separate pieces fluttering to the ground beside them, revealing that none of the four were wearing pants or underwear.

  As they recovered from their stunned silence, the students in the crowd erupted into a wild fit of laughter. The objects of that laughter scrambled to cover themselves with the pieces of their robes before fleeing from the stage. Bedlam descended upon the graduation ceremony, lasting several minutes as the principal and teachers struggled to restore order.

  In an effort to get things over with, the remaining seniors were called across stage in near record time, although they received their rolled diplomas without further incident.

  As the ceremony concluded and the crowd made its way out of the gymnasium, there were some expressions of outrage, but the bulk of the audience thought it was the most entertaining graduation ceremony ever.

  Once in the parking lot, Heather turned to stare at Mark. Jennifer joined her.

  “How in the world did that just happen?”

  “Well, let’s just say that a few weeks ago I happened to overhear those four planning to moon the crowd after graduation ceremony. Anyway, I thought to myself, why should they go half ass when I can help them achieve the full monty?”

  “Happened to overhear? You planted a bug, didn’t you?”

  “‘Planted’ is such an unpleasant word. I think I’ll stick with my original description.”

  “But how did you get their gowns to come apart like that?”

  “You know, it’s amazing how a remotely directed heat source can affect certain thread types. Combine that with just the right stitching modifications, and the sky’s the limit.”

  It was Heather’s turn to gasp.

  “The old ladies’ sewing club! So that’s what you were learning.”

  Mark’s grin spread to epic proportions.

  “Viva POOTNAS!”

  90

  When Jonathan Riles passed through security and pulled his car into the White House parking lot, one of the junior White House aides, a prematurely graying man in his early forties, met him and offered to carry his briefcase. When Jonathan declined the offer, the aide nodded and led the way into the White House.

  That briefcase was not going to be leaving the NSA director’s hands until he opened it in the office to which he was headed. Riles had no doubt that he now had enough information to bring high-level scrutiny to the top-secret, compartmentalized activities that Dr. Stephenson was conducting under the umbrella of Rho Project research. He could certainly put the clamps on the overly aggressive research into alien nanotechnology.

  Riles smiled to himself as he walked. Normally, it would have taken even a man in his position considerably longer to line up the appointment at the White House. After all, the White House schedule was done up well in advance, and any changes to that schedule affected travel plans, appearance schedules, even the schedules of meetings with foreign leaders. You just didn’t get an off-the-cuff meeting, no matter how important the topic.

  It’s not what you know, it’s who you know. The old saying held a power that went beyond what it implied. They had been best friends since they had been roommates at Annapolis, since they had been stars on the Navy football team. It was funny how he had made vice admiral while his oldest friend had just made it to navy captain, only to have his buddy bypass him in rank once he transitioned to civilian life.

  The door opened to admit him, and Riles extended his hand, a grip that his old friend met heartily.

  Riles smiled as his old roommate ushered him into the office, dismissing the aide in the process.

  “Good of you to see me on such short notice.”

  “Jon boy, you know I’d see you anytime, even if you hadn’t said it was so important. Now show me what you’ve got.”

  Jonathan Riles flipped open his briefcase, spreading the pages of the report out along the small table in a fashion that made it easy to illustrate the report’s content. For the next hour, Riles ran through what he had hard proof of and what, at this point, he could only speculate on. The only thing intentionally omitted was any mention of Jack Gregory’s team. After all, it was just as important as ever to provide the president and his key staff deniability in that area.

  At the end of the briefing, he paused for comment.

  “Jon, I’ve never seen anything like it. I’m glad you brought this directly to me. I’d like you to keep it that way, just between the two of us, until I get a chance to brief the president when he gets back from Europe tomorrow. Then I’ll bring you in to see him.”

  “George, you know you can always count on my natural proclivity for silence.”

  “Good. Just leave all this stuff here. I look forward to getting you in to brief the president tomorrow.”

  Vice President Gordon rose from his seat, walked Riles to the door, and shook his hand once again. As
the door closed behind his old friend, the vice president turned back to the table, walked to the Secure Telephone Unit, and dialed a rapid sequence of numbers into the STU.

  “Yes?” The familiar voice on the phone was as cold as a January morning.

  Vice President Gordon ran his fingers over the thick folder. “Riles knows too much.”

  A slight hesitation at the far end of the line preceded the response. “You want me to activate the Columbian?”

  “He’s left us no choice.”

  The soft intake of breath barely rose above the encrypted circuit noise. “You’re the boss.”

  As Vice President Gordon broke the secure connection, he stared down at the report on his desk. He was sorry his old friend had to dig this up. But then, Jon boy always was too smart for his own good.

  To be continued in book two of The Rho Agenda.

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  To be continued in book two of The Rho Agenda.