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  "Much as I hate to break up the brother-sister love fest," said Heather, "I do have something important to tell you guys. I was late getting over here this morning because of the news. There was a terrorist attack last night, right here on the highway between Pojoaque and Los Alamos."

  Jennifer's eyes widened. "You're kidding."

  "No, I'm not. The government had Highway 502 closed for more than eight hours. It was a giant mess for all the people trying to get into town from Santa Fe this morning."

  Mark leaned forward, his attention suddenly fully focused on what Heather had to say. "The government? Don't you mean the police closed the highway?"

  "No, I mean the government. The news reporters were going nuts about it. A nine-one-one call was made to the Espanola police just before one a.m. last night. The caller claimed to be the terrorist Abdul Aziz."

  "The one that killed the scientist and his family in Los Alamos last fall?" Jennifer gasped.

  "Yep. Anyway, he claimed that a terrorist attack was about to happen and gave the location. The Espanola Police sent several squad cars toward the spot before calling the state police and sheriff’s department. Although the report said a member of the Santa Clara Tribal Police ended up getting there first."

  "So what happened?" Mark asked.

  "A truck had been ambushed on the highway and two people killed. It was a big mess."

  "Why was the government interested?"

  "They said the truck contained sensitive US government equipment. The military kicked the local cops off the site and took control of the entire area."

  "They kicked the local cops off the crime scene?" Jennifer asked.

  "Yes."

  "I bet they were mad as hell," Mark laughed.

  "They didn't say so, but the policeman being interviewed didn't look happy about it. The FBI agent wasn't looking too pleased either."

  Mark looked puzzled. "You mean they even had the FBI blocked? I didn't think that was possible."

  Heather shrugged. "It sure had the press spun up. The only thing they could get out of the military spokesman was the same line about the classified cargo on the truck requiring special security measures. But there was something else."

  Heather paused, rewarded almost immediately with a look of annoyance on Mark's face.

  "Which was? Christ, Heather, if I'm going to have to pull the story out of you piece by piece, this is going to take all day."

  "Someone in the Espanola Police Department leaked the nine-one-one tape to the media. They played it on the air. Talk about creepy. On the tape, Abdul Aziz mentioned that he was going to steal something from the Rho Project."

  A gasp from Jennifer reminded Heather of the other twin's presence.

  "And," Heather continued, "he said that the police should collect blood samples from the dead men. Aziz warned them not to share the samples with the government."

  Mark, whose mouth had fallen open, closed it with a snap. "Holy crap. Aziz must know about the nanites. Did they say any more about the blood or what was on the truck?"

  "The government spokesman just said that this was typical terrorist propaganda, lies designed to fool the Muslim faithful into believing wild conspiracy theories."

  Mark had begun pacing back and forth beside the cold fusion tank. "But how could Aziz know that the Rho Project is working with alien nanotechnology? His people couldn't have intercepted one of our messages. We put those directly onto the NSA SIPRNet using the subspace transmitter."

  "They must have an agent inside the NSA," said Heather.

  "Oh, that is just great," said Jennifer. "The NSA director and his top computer scientist are dead, and now you think there may be a double agent on the team?"

  Heather was surprised to see that her own hands were shaking. She clasped them together, hoping that Mark had not observed her nervous reaction to this line of thought.

  "I don't know." The probabilities that cascaded through her mind for each of the possibilities were small. "Something doesn't add up. I just can't put my finger on what’s wrong."

  Mark stopped pacing, turning to stare directly into Heather's eyes. "What about the quantum twin bug I put into Janet's laptop? Those two are bound to know something. I think it’s time we checked it out."

  Jennifer rose to her feet so rapidly that she almost knocked over her chair. "Are you insane? Jack and Janet won't be able to detect a transmission, but that doesn't mean they can't detect the fact that files on the computer have been accessed."

  "That's exactly why we have a computer whiz like you. Figure something out."

  "Figure something out? I've already figured it out. It’s okay for us to passively monitor what they’re doing on that computer, but there’s no way we can remotely browse the files on that system without leaving behind some evidence that it’s been accessed. That's all there is to it."

  Mark refused to be cowed. "Fine then. So they might be able to tell that someone browsed their system. They can't trace it, so what’s the problem?"

  Jennifer's forehead furrowed in frustration. "You don't get it. If they notice the system has been tapped, they'll tear it apart. When they do, they’ll find the little QT microchip. Even though they won't be able to determine what it does, they’ll know that it was put there by someone who was in their house."

  "Okay, so they’ll think it was that Priest fellow."

  "Maybe. Maybe not. You were there too."

  "I'm a senior in high school."

  "Yeah, whose dad works on the Rho Project." Jennifer's lower jaw jutted out like an English bulldog’s.

  Heather interrupted the argument. "Mark, I have to agree with Jennifer on this one."

  "What a shock."

  "Hey, I back you up too, when I think you're right."

  "Oh yeah? And when was the last time that happened?"

  "When we decided to explore the inside of the Second Ship, for one."

  "Hell, that was almost a year ago."

  Heather, feeling her own anger rising, took a deep breath. "All I’m saying is that Jack and Janet scare me. Even if they’re the good guys, they’re too dangerous to take unnecessary chances with…"

  Jennifer nodded. "Please, Mark. Just go along with us on this one."

  Mark looked from Heather to Jennifer, his eyes locking with those of his twin. "Okay, Sis. I'll go along with you, for now. But since you don’t like my idea, you two need to figure out another way for us to find out what’s happening. I have a bad feeling about this."

  Heather watched as Mark turned and stalked out of the garage, leaving her and Jennifer staring after him. Something in her un-remembered dreams tugged at the corner of Heather's mind as she watched the door close behind him.

  Like Mark, Heather had acquired a very bad feeling.

  10

  From the entryway, the Black Forest cuckoo clock squawked its 4:00 a.m. call, a sound that passed Mark's ears unnoticed.

  His breakthrough had come at 10:13 last night, and he had been unable to stop reading since then. For Mark to be engrossed in a book was almost unheard of. He had never really had the interest it required to make his way through them.

  Then, two weeks ago, he had seen a commercial advertising a new speed-reading course. The idea had hit him like a bucket of bricks. If he could learn to read as fast as the people in that commercial, he could knock out his studies in a heartbeat, leaving plenty of time for the things he loved doing. Plus he would have a secret advantage over Jen and Heather. That would be really nice for a change.

  True, he already had a perfect photographic memory. But scanning the pages of a book into memory was unsatisfying. Mark still had to go back in his mind and read through the material to find the information he needed. It was like buying a book for your library but never reading it.

  That is why he had paid the 350 dollars with his own money, waiting impatiently for its arrival by UPS. That wait had ended two days ago, and Mark had been there to meet the delivery man, spiriting the package off to his room without t
elling anyone else, especially Jennifer.

  It had taken only a few minutes for him to scan the entire set of course workbooks into memory. The books themselves had gone under his bed, no longer needed.

  After spending four hours that evening mentally practicing the exercises, Mark had given up in disgust. The big problem was subvocalization, or the sounding out of words in his mind as he read them. He couldn't seem to squelch the need to hear the words as he read.

  That problem was complicated by Mark’s ability to memorize a page by glancing at it. In an odd way, that ability made his mind lazy, reluctant to take the step that would allow him to understand phrases of text at a glance. Mark had gone reluctantly to bed, where he tossed and turned for the remainder of the night.

  Yesterday had started with similar results, but Mark kept at it, devoting every private moment to practice. Then, late in the evening, just as he was about to admit defeat, he stumbled upon a technique that worked.

  He began focusing on small phrases, allowing pictures to form in his mind as he looked at them. After his first few successes, he began working at seeing larger passages, letting his mind deliver pictures instead of the sounds. It was as if he had rubbed a magic lamp or whispered the magic words. All at once, he understood everything. And as he practiced, his speed increased. By 3:30 a.m., he had read every book in his room.

  His excitement drove him downstairs to the bookshelves in the living room. Propped in his father's easy chair, with a pile of books on the end table beside him, Mark immersed himself. He could almost read each page as fast as he could scan it. It was like watching incredibly detailed movies unfold in his mind. Fascinating.

  The front door opened, startling him out of his concentration. Jennifer slipped inside, taking great care to close it silently behind her. Her clothes gave him another surprise. Jennifer was wearing a sweat suit and running shoes. As she turned toward the stairs, she spotted him, and a small gasp of surprise escaped her lips.

  "Mark. You startled me."

  "I startled you? What were you doing out there?"

  Jennifer bit her lower lip. "If I tell you, promise me you won’t breathe a word to anyone else."

  Mark set down the book and stood up. "What is it?"

  "Promise."

  "Okay, I promise." Mark folded his arms expectantly.

  Jennifer paused before answering. "I've been out jogging."

  Mark's snort of laughter brought an angry look to his twin's face.

  "I have been," Jennifer snapped.

  "Really? You've never jogged a day in your life, much less in the middle of the night."

  "I'm worried about my figure?"

  "You're kidding, right?"

  Jennifer's scowl deepened. "Mark, you better not laugh. Is it that unbelievable?"

  "Well, besides the fact you have never cared about boys, you're already skinny."

  "That's just it. I don't want to be skinny. I want my legs to look a little more defined. Like Heather's."

  Jennifer could not have surprised Mark more if she had slapped him in the face.

  “Like Heather? Since when have you wanted to look like Heather?”

  “I didn’t say I wanted to look like her. I just want to look a little better.”

  “Whatever you say.”

  "You'll remember your promise?"

  "My lips are sealed. After all, how would it look if it got out that my sister is normal?"

  The scowl faded from Jennifer's face. "Thanks."

  As she made her way up the stairs, Mark marveled at the fact that she had not noticed his late-night reading binge. Oh well. Mark, Jennifer, and Heather had all been acting a bit strangely lately. If his sister had decided to start exercising, it was hardly weirder than Mark becoming a speed-reader.

  Heather was the one who had been worrying him. Her claim that she couldn't remember her dreams bothered him. Mark didn't believe that for a second. Heather didn't want to remember them. Something about the dreams was scaring her so badly that she was suppressing them.

  Mark's heart ached at the thought of all that Heather had recently been through. As badly as he wanted to protect her, to make her feel safe, this was something that was beyond him. Since they had found the Second Ship, her premonitions had been uncannily accurate. The thought that these dreams might be another premonition scared the crap out of him.

  Ignoring the sudden chill that had crept into the room with Jennifer, Mark resumed his seat in his father's chair. But it was a long while before he regained his former concentration.

  11

  "Sergeant Pino?" The redheaded FBI man wound his way through the metal-legged tables in the Pueblo Diner, careful to avoid brushing his dark slacks against the table edges, as if he feared what Rosita might have missed with the wipe-down rag.

  Sergeant Jim “Tall Bear” Pino leaned back from the counter, ignoring the proffered hand. His eyes swept over the federal agent in a manner that communicated his annoyance. The agent wore shiny black shoes, somewhat dulled by a thin coating of parking lot dust, dark suit pants, but no jacket. His white shirt had sleeves rolled up to the elbows, intended to show he was willing to get his hands dirty. Tall Bear had seen the type before. An asshole.

  "My name is Special Agent Sullivan," the agent said, awkwardly withdrawing his hand and sliding onto a stool at the counter next to Tall Bear.

  Tall Bear took a sip of coffee, noting that it was well past time for Rosita to brew a new pot, the dark contents having taken on the awful burnt flavor so adored by all those white yuppies in their latte joints.

  "That's nice."

  Agent Sullivan's fake smile melted from his face. "I want to ask you some questions."

  "Fire away."

  "Can we go somewhere more private?"

  Tall Bear glanced around the nearly empty diner, shrugged, then reached into his pocket for change. Tossing seventy-five cents on the counter, he led the way out the door, his worn cowboy boots leaving clear imprints in the dust of the parking lot.

  Walking around the side of the diner, Tall Bear stopped by his battered Jeep Cherokee squad car. He reached into his hip pocket and pulled out a small can of Copenhagen. Tapping it twice against his wrist to settle the tobacco, he twisted off the lid and was rewarded with the familiar pungent smell.

  Only when he had finished packing a large pinch firmly into his cheek did he glance up at the FBI man. The sight of the fading wrinkle of repulsion on Agent Sullivan's face gave Tall Bear his first enjoyable moment of the day.

  "Well, here we are," Tall Bear said, indicating that the empty dirt parking lot was as private as it was going to get.

  Agent Sullivan's eyes acquired an angry glint. "Fine. I'll get started then."

  "Please do."

  "I'm here to find out what you were doing at the murder scene on Highway 502 before the proper authorities arrived."

  Tall Bear adjusted the brim of his hat, enjoying the fact that the New Mexico sun had already brought a sheen of sweat to the face and neck of the federal agent. The tribal policeman had been anticipating a visit like this since the night of the murders.

  The only odd thing was that he hadn't already been visited by New Mexico state authorities. If there was one thing that pissed off the New Mexico attorney general's office, it was tribal policemen getting involved with anything on public highways, even if they passed through tribal lands.

  Tall Bear spat a thin jet of tobacco between his teeth, hitting the dust close enough to Agent Sullivan's feet to cause the man to glance down. A splatter check.

  "Just looking for survivors."

  "You know you're required to wait for official permission before getting involved in a crime scene outside your jurisdiction."

  "I thought it was an accident scene."

  Agent Sullivan frowned, wiping sweat from his brow with a handkerchief. Already, twin damp spots darkened the white shirt at his underarms.

  "You didn't call when you saw the murder victims?"

  "I told you. I w
as looking for survivors."

  "They had their heads cut off."

  "Yeah. But there might have been others."

  "Bullshit. You should have made a call as soon as you saw what went down."

  "Look, I'm just a tribal cop. We don't get the big-city training."

  Agent Sullivan's Irish face had taken on a shade of red too deep to be attributable solely to the high desert sun. He leaned in close.

  "Don't fuck with me, Sergeant Pino. This case is under federal jurisdiction, and if I want to, I can get a search warrant that will let me tear your tribal police station apart, along with your house."

  Tall Bear spit again, this time sending the brown stream much closer to the FBI agent's foot. "You mean my hogan."

  Agent Sullivan nodded. "One way or another, you will cooperate."

  As the agent turned and walked angrily away, Sergeant Pino called after him. "Bring a four-wheel drive. It's a ways back on the res."

  12

  Vice President Gordon didn’t like Garfield Kromly. The old CIA trainer was a uniquely dislikable man, which was precisely the reason why Kromly had been put in charge of new field operatives instead of rising through the ranks. Unlike the military, the CIA had a place for people who would rise no higher than their current station. Kromly might suck at kissing ass, but he was very, very good at everything else.

  Besides Kromly, two others sat at the briefing table across from the vice president: Bert Paralto and Bridget Dunn, both senior NSA staffers who had worked closely with Jonathan Riles.

  George Gordon leaned back in his chair. “Okay, Kromly. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

  Kromly clicked a button on the remote control and a list of names appeared on the flat-panel display at the end of the table.

  “As you requested, sir, this is a list of all the operatives capable of pulling off the Los Alamos truck hit. On the left is a list of contract mercenaries who could have been in the service of Jonathan Riles, before his unfortunate demise.”

  “In other words, you haven’t been able to track down those people’s recent activities,” said Gordon.