Wormhole
because you’ve already shown a remarkable penchant for digging up dangerous dirt.”
    Freddy flipped to the next page in his calendar. He didn’t know if she was NSA or not, but he’d check it out later tonight. For now, he’d keep an open mind and listen.
    “On Thanksgiving night, last year, just as your story about Henderson House was hitting the wire, an anomaly occurred within the ATLAS detector at the Large Hadron Collider near Geneva. What I’m about to tell you is the most closely guarded secret on the planet.”
    There it was again, the pause, the deep breath. Freddy turned another page. Her voice grew so quiet Freddy found it difficult to understand her words.
    “During a test at the LHC, what CERN scientists are calling the November Anomaly formed at the beam interaction point and continued to exist after the particle beam was turned off. The thing is currently contained within a redundant electromagnetic cage. The bad news is that it has a high probability of decaying into a black hole that can consume the Earth.”
    Freddy choked, hiding his reaction behind a series of small coughs.
    “That’s why the president pardoned Dr. Donald Stephenson and sent him to Switzerland. Apparently, he’s the only physicistwith a theory that correctly models the anomaly. They’re hoping he can come up with a way of stopping what’s happening.
    “If that had been all there was to it, I wouldn’t be here telling you this. But, God help me, I stumbled upon something, something far worse.”
    Dr. Jennings cleared her throat. “I’ve found evidence that Dr. Stephenson’s Rho Project may have caused the November Anomaly. Don’t look at me! I’m not going to prove it. I’m not going to give you a shred of evidence as to why I believe it. Do what you will with the information. I’ve already said far more than I should.”
    She closed her book and pushed back her chair.
    “One last thing. Ask yourself what Dr. Stephenson might be up to that would cause him to jeopardize the whole planet. I hope you discover something different, because the answers I come up with don’t lead to a good night’s sleep.”
    Suddenly the air in the grand old library seemed to grow colder, a winter witch’s icy nails tracing their way down his spine.
    Denise Jennings rose from her chair with one final whispered warning.
    “Don’t try to contact me...ever!”
    Then she was gone, her stern, slender figure strolling from the Main Reading Room as casually as if she’d just finished perusing Cannery Row .

One thing about not needing sleep, Mark had realized; you could get a hell of a lot done. It wasn’t that the three of them never slept. Sometimes, after a particularly stressful event or injury, sleep went a long way toward boosting their bodies’ spectacular recuperative mechanisms. But none of them slept often. And with their Jack-driven schedule, that was a good thing.
    Both Jack and Janet insisted on cross-training, that every member of the team be good enough at each other’s tasks that if one was taken out, the team could continue to perform all its functions. That didn’t just apply to military training such as combat medic skills, but to their own special talents. They’d spent weeks learning to work computers like Jennifer, to analyze situational outcomes like Heather, and to develop their language skills like Mark. And while the others would never be as good as the team’s expert, that didn’t mean they weren’t very, very good.
    Tonight was computer night, each of them assigned a different target. Mark let his eyes wander over the LCD monitor. Tonight he was hopping, hacking one system that led to another. The concept was simple and didn’t require the subspace receiver-transmitter, or SRT as they called it. He could hack in through any network using a wireless hot spot. However, for security purposes, they used the SRTs to provide them with a virtual network connection that appeared to originate wherever they chose.

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