Chapter 53
“So what is the report?”
Jack spoke into his cell phone as he moved across the parking lot toward the far end of the shopping mall.
“I’ve been monitoring home lines on all the scientists on the Rho Project.” Harold's voice on the far end was delayed and sounded slightly distorted, an annoying side effect of the encryption device. “Other than what is in the report I faxed you, we have nothing of great significance so far.”
“What about Dr. Anatole? She was mentioned in the New Year’s Day Virus message.”
“She’s a cold fish. Adheres to security procedures by the book. And forget about Stephenson. His phone calls consist of things like, ‘Get over to my office now.’ I’ve never heard someone less talkative on the phone.”
“So you’re telling me we've got nothing? What about the bugs?”
“If you mean the ones you planted in the McFarland and Smythe houses, there is the barest mention of some of the scientists calling for them to work weekends. They seem more excited by their kids' national science project than anything else.”
“What project?”
“Their kids have pooled their money, with help from both fathers, and are trying to build a home-sized cold fusion device.”
“Isn’t that dangerous?”
“Apparently not very. I did some checking, and several graduate students around the world are doing roughly the same thing. The papers on the subject are flying around the Internet.”
“Odd for high school students, though, wouldn’t you say?”
“In most places, yes. Not here in Los Alamos, though. Most of the parents have PhDs and work at the lab. Even the teachers are highly qualified. This school is first-rate.”
“So we have nothing.”
“I didn’t say that. We have nothing direct. However, I’ve been running some cross correlation algorithms against the recorded phone conversations of all of the scientists on the program.”
“Yes?”
“It looks like a small subset of them are working on something in a different wing of the Rho Project building.”
“Let me guess. Nancy Anatole is one of the ones working in that section.”
“Bingo.”
“A bit thin. Anything else?”
“One other thing. I ran a voice stress analyzer on every one of the recordings. The voice stress in the Anatole group is higher than the others, in every case.”
“Who had the highest measurements?”
“Dr. Anatole and Dr. Rodriguez.”
“What about Stephenson?”
“Cool as a cucumber. The man is completely calm and comfortable.”
“So you think Rodriguez is in as deep as Dr. Anatole?”
“Maybe. Maybe not. He has some other reasons for stress. His son has been in and out of cancer treatment for the last several years.”
“That would do it.”
“One final thing, Jack.”
“What?”
“I think you can pretty much rule out Gil McFarland and Fred Smythe. No voice stress, and they’re not part of the Anatole grouping.”
“That’s good to hear, although it’s what I expected. They seem to be just good, solid folks. Listen, I have to pick up Janet. Get back to me when you have something new.”
“Wilco.”
Jack flipped the cell phone cover shut and then, glancing quickly around, stepped into the Audi.