Rachel Running on Empty Pt. 02

Rachel Running on Empty Part Two

by G. Lawrence

Rachel's plans for Harvard grow complicated

This is not an erotic story, though it does have romance. It features family drama along with adventure, elements of fantasy, and science fiction (very understated, for this is not a science fiction book). And, as her family has discovered, Rachel can be frustrating, willing to go to any lengths once she sets her heart on a course. Life for our hero is never easy. This is part 2 of 8.

Recap: we pick up not long after Rachel has met Tom Harper for the first time.

* * * * * *

Chapter Three

SWIMMING WITH SHARKS

"I know. I'm not a very good golfer," Rachel said, standing near the trees while Rory, Pamela, and Oliver were making their way up the fairway.

"How long have you been playing?" Tom asked.

"About a year. When I have time."

"Take many lessons?"

"I'm taking one now," Rachel said.

They were alone where Rachel's ball had landed in the rough. The grass was thick and green, the sky blue. A light breeze flew in from the Pacific Ocean.

"Thank you for being my caddy today," Rachel said. "Mr. McLane usually caddies for me, but he scares the birds."

"It's lucky I ran into you."

"Lucky? And here I thought Rory told you where to find me so we could hook up again."

Tom's face turned red. "I didn't know she was going to rat me out."

"She rats me out all the time," Rachel complained. "Now how should I get the ball up to the green from here?"

Rachel positioned herself sideways, the five-iron raised up at an angle.

"You'll hit more trees doing it that way," Tom said.

"You better show me," Rachel said, motioning him forward.

Tom stood behind her, straightening her stance while adjusting her arms. She felt so good. Suddenly she pushed back against him.

"Maybe I should use that freebie you gave me?" she whispered.

"Miss Marbury, you are very bold," Tom said. "That card was a joke."

"No, it wasn't. But that's okay. I thought it was cute."

She felt his breathing growing heavier. Sweat appeared on his brow.

"Did you scan me?" he asked.

"What?"

"The night we first met, you scanned me, didn't you? Rory told me you do that."

Rachel broke free of his grip and turned around.

"I don't know what this scanning thing is that everyone talks about. It's ridiculous. No one scans people."

"It's something. I felt it."

"Just because I might like you doesn't mean I'd go around scanning you. I don't even know what that is."

"So, it's not a thing?"

"No, I don't know anything about you. I don't even know what part of Texas you're from."

"But you know I'm from Texas?"

"Accent," Rachel replied.

"Houston. My folks still live there. Dad's a flight engineer for NASA. Mom teaches at the university."

"Brothers or sisters?"

"Two of each. And more cousins than you can count."

"That explains why you're so grounded," Rachel concluded, sounding envious.

"Can I take you out to dinner tonight? A real date?"

"Will there be dancing?" Rachel asked.

"All the dancing you want," Tom replied.

"Okay, but fair warning. I'm not good at dating. I never have been."

"You just need to look pretty."

Rachel scrunched her nose and laughed.

"Did Rory tell you to say that?"

"Yes."

* * * * * *

"There it is," Rachel said, pointing to a large yacht docked at the end of the landing. "William named his new boat Tranquility."

"It's a lot bigger than you described," Tom observed. "You said your brother's boat was a sloop. That monster is sixty feet long, at least."

"Bigger than the last time I was here. Do they grow?"

"This one must have."

McLane had just dropped them off at the marina. A hundred boats bobbed at their moorings in the harbor. Seagulls squawked as they searched for food. Rachel saw the breakwater, and then the huge ocean under a summer sky. They walked down to the end of the pier and up a wooden ramp.

"Rach! You made it!" William shouted, greeting them as they stepped aboard. He was a few inches shorter and thinner than his late father but had Daniel's wavy auburn hair and hazel eyes. "Who's your friend?"

"William, this is Lt. Commander Thomas J. Harper, U. S. Navy. Thomas, this is my brother, William Benson."

"Former USN. Naval Reserve now," Tom said, giving a firm handshake. "It's good to finally meet you, William. Rachel speaks of you often."

"Call me Billy. Everyone calls me Billy, except Rachel."

"Why is that?" Tom asked.

"It's to show me a respect that I didn't deserve until I met her."

Recently turned twenty-five, William was a little under six feet tall, thin but muscular. He had his father's wavy auburn hair and hazel eyes. Tom quickly sensed the love William had for Rachel. It wasn't merely friendship, and it wasn't sexual. At least, not overtly. It was more like hero worship.

"Like my new boat?" William asked.

"It's big. What happened to your sloop?" Rachel said.

"Sailed it back to Maui. I need a more grownup home now."

"Why is that?" Rachel questioned.

"Her," William said, stepping aside as a graceful young woman approached. "Rach, this is Samantha Anders. We met during a tour of the USS Missouri in Hawaii."

"Hello, Miss Montgomery. I'm very honored to meet you. Very honored," Samantha said with a lilting New Orleans accent. She appeared to be about twenty-two years old, 5'5, and agilely built, with sandy blonde hair and light gray eyes. She wore an L. A. Rams windbreaker. Rachel knew the three Benson children had inherited their father's share of the famous football team, often going to big games.

"I'm Rachel Marbury now. Since William's mother adopted me," Rachel said, stepping forward to give Samantha a hug.

"WHD is a wonderful gift to the world. You should get the Nobel Prize," Samantha said.

Rachel stepped back in shock.

"I didn't invent anything. Level 12 is all drawn from existing theory," Rachel said.

"I'm sorry, but you were the first person ever to stabilize a Level 10 matrix when you were at Harvard. And then Level 12 at Marbury & Benson. And then the Level 12 extension that led to WHD," Samantha said, showing a better knowledge of Rachel's work than most. "You've broken ground that every researcher in the field is trying to catch up to."

Rachel noticed Tom giving her a deeper inspection. Apparently Rory hadn't told him everything about her.

"How do you know all this?" Rachel guardedly asked.

"My graduate class is apprenticed to the Navy's AMD department."

"AMD?" Rachel inquired.

"Advanced Medical Development. We're cutting edge. You're in our textbooks."

Rachel retreated to a bench on the stern, sitting with her head lowered. The long brown hair fell over her face. She wasn't speaking.

"What's wrong? Did I say something wrong?" Samantha asked.

At that moment, two more women came aboard. One was Rory. She rushed to Rachel, kneeling at her side.

"What's wrong, honey? Rach?" Rory said. It took Rachel a moment to gather her thoughts.

"I'm in a textbook," she whispered. "Why would they do that? I never even graduated from college."

"There's nothing wrong with that," Rory said. "You're a scientist. Scientists are supposed to be in textbooks."

"What if WHD turns out bad? What if my calculations were wrong? What if people get sick because I didn't know what I was doing?"

"Sweetie, it's all going to be good. Don't worry. Here, take my hands," Rory urged, sitting before her. "Now just take a moment to listen. This is no big deal. People write about you all the time. This is a good thing. Your program is helping lots of people."

"Are you sure?" Rachel asked.

"Yes, I'm sure. I'm your sister. You trust me, don't you?"

"Always."

"Okay, now we're here on Billy's yacht. A really big, beautiful, gigantic yacht. John and Allie are coming for dinner. You'll be with family and friends, and we're going to have fun. Do you understand?'

"Yes, I understand."

"You remember, Donna, don't you? My girlfriend?" Rory asked.

"Of course. Hello, Miss Bhatia," Rachel said, rising to give her a hug.

"Hi, Rachel," Donna said, a dark husky woman with short black hair. Rachel knew her as a successful athlete and business student.

"Donna is going below deck with you to dry those tears and fix your makeup. When you come back, we'll make drinks, and you can start dinner. Will that be okay?" Rory pressed.

"Yes," Rachel agreed, rushing down the stairwell.

Rory waited until they were gone.

"I'm sorry. I don't know what I said," Samantha apologized.

"Sam, you didn't say anything wrong," Rory replied. "Rachel is under a lot of stress. Ever since WHD went public, she's been getting more attention, and she hates that. She wants to go back to Harvard as an ordinary student."

"Who in the world thinks Rachel Montgomery is an ordinary student?" Samantha said.

"Rachel Marbury thinks so," Rory insisted.

"And it looks like she has a new boyfriend," William said with a grin. "Does she have a new boyfriend?"

"I hope so," Tom replied.

Rory took everyone into the saloon, mixed margaritas, and waited for them to settle in.

"It's not public, but Rach has a mental condition," Rory explained. "It's called a dissociative disorder. It was caused by an awful childhood trauma. That's why she drifts away sometimes. And it's why she avoids attention. Her whole life, this condition has caused her to be ridiculed and rejected. She can get a little crazy."

"She's also a genius," William said. "Being so smart, but sometimes confused, is hard for her. If you see her reacting badly to something, just slow down. Be patient. Whisper her name. She'll come out of it after a moment or two."

"You guys have this down, don't you?" Tom said.

"My Mom figured most of this out, and Dr. Belcher has Rachel in therapy," William said. "Dr. Keller at the Swiss Institute prescribes medication for her."

"Rach is special," Rory said. "She's changing the world. Helping billions of people. And we get to help her. What can be better than that?"

"I still need to talk to her, Billy. You know why," Samantha said.

"I understand. Whatever you decide will be okay," William agreed.

Rachel and Donna emerged a few minutes later. Rory had a margarita waiting for her. Rachel looked apprehensive. Tom sat next to her, pressing close.

"You are so cute," Tom whispered, taking her hand.

"I'm sorry. Sometimes I--" she started to say.

"Rach, I get it," Tom said. "It doesn't change a thing. Not a thing."

He drew her into his arms for a kiss. Looks were exchanged among the audience. Rachel noticed, her face turning red.

"Mr. Harper, you're embarrassing me," Rachel said, adjusting her jacket.

"Excuse me, Miss Marbury. Tonight, when we're alone, maybe I can make it up to you?" he replied.

Rachel spilled her drink, making everyone laugh.

John and Alicia arrived just after sunset. Just turned thirty, tall and broad-shouldered like his father, John Benson had been practicing law in Boston since graduating from Harvard Law. Alicia Lodger, his fiancée, was William's age, attractive and athletic, with long golden hair. They knew she played shortstop for Boston College. Her family was one of the oldest in Massachusetts.

"Nice boat, Billy," John said. "Are you sure it's big enough?"

"The Navy had a used destroyer for sale, but it didn't have a hot tub," William replied. "Hi, Allie. How are the folks?"

"Doing great, Billy. They had a wonderful time in Aspen with your family. Are Rachel and Rory here?"

"Downstairs with my girlfriend. They'll be up soon," William said.

"How far will you be sailing out tomorrow?" Alicia asked.

"We haven't made a final decision. Rachel gets seasick," William answered.

"So do I," Alicia said. "Which is why we'll be staying onshore."

Below decks, Rory and Donna excused themselves. It looked like Samantha wanted to speak with Rachel alone. The cabin was luxurious, the yacht large enough for four comfortable staterooms.

"I need to ask you something. Something important," Samantha said. "But I don't want to upset you."

"I'm sorry about before. Boats make me nervous. I'm okay now," Rachel said.

Unlike the Bensons, who preferred pricy designer outfits, Rachel was wearing green gym clothes with a red sweater. Samantha wore casual Navy-blue woolens. No one would accuse them of being pretentious.

"First, I want to say I really like your brother. He's sweet, and even though he's ridiculously rich, he doesn't act like a snob."

Rachel was sipping tea. She didn't say anything, choosing to listen.

"I want a relationship with him," Samantha continued, "but there are questions. Serious questions. About you."

Rachel nodded, remaining quiet. Samantha needed to get this out.

"After his father died, Billy said terrible things about you in the press. Really awful things. About your motives, and your character. And then in Aspen, he was arrested for striking you. Some people say he did more. I don't want to believe that, but it's troubling."

"What does William say?" Rachel asked.

"He admits that he hit you, and that he's very sorry. He said there's nothing in his life he regrets more than that moment, and that nothing like that will ever happen again. I want to believe him."

"You can."

"How can I know that for sure? Didn't he beat you up?"

Rachel set her tea aside, rose from the bed, and took a bottle of Jack Daniel's Tennessee Fire from a cabinet along with two shot glasses. She sat down on the floor and waited for Samantha to join her.

And then something strange happened. Rachel straightened her shoulders, brushed back her hair, and stared at Samantha with an unrelenting furrow of her brow. Her dark brown eyes seemed to lighten, briefly, and then darken again. Samantha was suddenly out of breath, like she had encountered a physical presence.

"You just scanned me, didn't you?" Samantha said.

"I don't know what you mean," Rachel replied.

"I've heard about this. What did you see?"

"Don't be silly. No one scans people."

"Ordinary people don't scan people, but I know what I know. Tell me what you saw."

"It's not a specific thing. Only impressions."

"Okay, what impressions did you get?"

"That William is fortunate to have you in his life. And though you don't know it yet, this relationship will be good for you."

"Are you a prophet?"

"I do the math."

Rachel filled the shot glasses, gave one to Samantha, and took a sip from her own. Samantha drank her whiskey a little deeper. There was plenty in the bottle should it prove a long night.

"Let me tell you a story," Rachel said. "You probably remember the scandal. William's father liked playing bondage games. One evening, he tied me up, took me up to the terrace at Canby Place, and died on top of me while we were making love. I was trapped under his body for twelve hours. It started raining. I caught pneumonia.

"The media called me his slave girl. They joked that I had killed the great Danny Benson with both hands tied behind my back. I was sad, and heartbroken, and wanted to die. And I would have, if William's mother hadn't butted her nose into my business and rescued me."

"That was terrible. My girlfriends and I were so outraged at the way you were treated," Samantha said.

"The bloggers were very unkind," Rachel agreed. "They pointed out that Daniel was thirty-eight years older than me. He was rich, I was poor. The whole world knew who Daniel Benson was. No one had ever heard of me. So they called me a gold digger, and a whore.

"That was the story everyone heard. That's the story William heard. He didn't know his father loved me. And that I loved him. William only knew the awful rumors that were everywhere. Mocking, horrible rumors. It was destroying him. A few months later, when the Marbury family gathered in Aspen for the holidays, he got drunk and attacked me in my room. I got smacked around, and seeing the situation was only getting worse, I broke a lamp over his head and escaped.

"On Christmas morning, he came to me and apologized. In front of the whole family. He asked for my forgiveness, and I forgave him."

"But he hit you. It could have been worse."

"I don't want to sound condescending. If I do, please forgive me. But my father beat me when I was young. For years. My mother knew and did nothing about it. When I was thirteen and he tried to rape me, I ran away from home forever. In foster care, I was beaten again, and I was raped. It may have been horrible, but it's the world I grew up in. I didn't like William smacking me around, but I wasn't traumatized. I assessed the situation and acted according to my best interest. Forgiving William allowed us to become friends. Closer than friends. He's my brother. And it allowed me to have a family."

"It can't be that easy," Samantha questioned.

"Ephesians 4:31."

"Don't tell me you read the Bible?"

"I know it by heart. Let all bitterness, wrath, anger, clamor and slander be put away, along with all malice. Be kind to one another, tenderhearted, forgiving one another, as God in Christ forgives us."

Samantha finished her drink and took a very close look at Rachel. She couldn't scan her. She didn't even know what that was. But she saw an amazing woman. The kind of woman she wanted to be.

"Thank you. That couldn't have been easy," Samantha said.

"If it helps, it was worth it," Rachel replied.

The ladies went back up on deck, finding their party sitting on the fantail. Rachel was glad to see John and Alicia had arrived.

"I have to start dinner. We'll visit soon," Rachel said, heading for the galley.

"Shouldn't we help her?" Alicia said.

The Bensons laughed.

"Rachel thrives in the kitchen, and she doesn't appreciate interlopers," Rory said.

"She'll tolerate me," Tom said, going to join her.

The Bensons turned to watch, expecting an explosion. When Tom was allowed to stay, they shook their heads.

"What's with that?" John whispered.

"I think Rach finally found a guy she likes. Or rather, I found a guy for her," Rory said. "They've been glued at the hip for a month."

"Good work, Ro. He's cute," Alicia remarked.

"Yeah, if I wasn't gay, I'd have kept him for myself," Rory said, squeezing Donna's hand.

Half an hour later, Rachel emerged with a hot serving tray. Tom was carrying the salads.

"Here we go. In honor of our vegetarian guests, eggplant lasagna," Rachel announced.

While everyone helped themselves to the salad, Rachel went around the table serving individually portioned amounts. She seemed to know each person's needs. When she finished, she sat near Tom, eating only the salad.

"It's really good," Donna said. "How did you make so much so fast?"

"In high school, I worked at Melvin's Eatery. Out on Highway 14. When a customer ordered, we didn't have all day to cook it," Rachel explained.

"You aren't having any?" Alicia asked.

"Vegetarian? No thank you," Rachel said with a laugh. Then she leaned over to Tom. "Don't worry, sailor, I sprinkled hamburger in your dish."

"Thank you, darling. I appreciate that," Tom said.

Rachel dropped her fork, her face blushing. Rory noticed and grinned.

"First time you've called her 'darling', Mr. Harper?" Rory asked.

"Yes. First time. But not the last," he affirmed.

Rachel's head was completely down now, the hair covering most of her face. They could see her smiling.

As the evening wound down, Alicia and John prepared to take their leave.

"Four days in San Diego?" John said.

"The weather's perfect," William explained. "A day sailing down, two days in San Diego, and a day sailing back. What do you think, Rach? Your first sea voyage?"

"Okay," Rachel agreed, though she looked nervous. "Maybe I should turn in early. Goodnight everyone. Alicia, John, have a nice flight home."

Rachel disappeared down the stairwell, still surprised how large the staterooms were.

"Will she be all right?" Alicia asked.

"She's stressed out about the ocean. She's afraid the numbers will take over if she gets seasick," Rory said.

"Take over?" Samantha said.

"I'll explain later," Rory replied.

"Tell Rachel when she returns to Harvard, we'll meet her at the airport," John offered. "Mom's got an apartment lined up, and Allie is making sure it's girl-friendly."

As a cab whisked the couple away, Rory took Samantha back to the dining room. Donna and William already knew the story.

"Let me explain something about the numbers," Rory began.

* * * * * *

The yacht was made ready for sailing the next morning. Rachel stood at the helm as the moorings were released.

"Don't worry," Rory said. "Dad took us sailing every summer. We know what we're doing. Donna and Sam have sailed a lot, too. Tommy's in the goddamn Navy."

"I'm not worried about the crew. I'm worried about barfing," Rachel mumbled.

"You took your pills, didn't you?"

"First thing."

The boat made its way out of Los Angeles Harbor on engine power, then the sails were raised and turned south, catching a strong wind. After a time, Rachel found her sea legs, but was still a little woozy. She stood on the bridge, feeling the breeze. The shore was a few miles to the left, which everyone kept calling 'port.' To starboard, there was open ocean for as far as she could see.

"This will take the whole day, won't it?" Rachel asked. Samantha was at the wheel, William and Tom upfront fussing with something called a jib.

"We're making good time. Should reach San Diego before midnight," Samantha replied.

"Everyone looks so busy," Rachel said, watching the crew rush back and forth.

"This is great weather," Samantha praised, the wind blowing through her hair. "Want to learn how to steer?"

"No, I do enough of that. I should get some work done," Rachel said, going down the ladder.

"Work?" Samantha asked.

"I came prepared," Rachel replied.

"Donna! Donna! Come take the helm!" Samantha shouted.

The moment Donna took the wheel, Samantha hurried to the stern, finding Rachel on the fantail opening an aluminum suitcase.

"What is that?" Samantha asked.

"Testing kits."

"Testing what?"

"The ocean."

Samantha saw the boat was being well-handled. Less labor needed, at least for an hour or two. She waved Rory and William over. Tom followed.

"What's up, Sam?" William said.

"Rachel is doing an experiment," Samantha replied.

"Not exactly an experiment," Rachel corrected.

"Then what is it?" Tom asked, kneeling next to her.

"Getting an education," Rachel vaguely replied.

"But you're going to tell us, aren't you?" William pressed.

"You would be bored," Rachel demurred.

"You can bore us. We're your family. We're used to being bored," Rory said, squeezing her arm.

"These kits will take samples of saline levels, pollution levels, trace biological materials, and the effects of temperature variations on CI-, Na+, DO24-, Mg2+, Ca2+, and K+."

"What?" William asked.

"Sodium, calcium, stuff like that," Rory said.

"Are you becoming an oceanographer?" Samantha asked.

"Me? Oh, no. I have no interest in that. I'm a mathematician," Rachel quickly dismissed.

"Then why all the vials and gadgets?" William asked.

Rachel sighed, trying not to sound impatient.

"Give me a minute. And find me a beer," Rachel instructed.

A few minutes later, with her testing kits being towed behind the boat, Rachel sat down with her curious audience. Tom couldn't help thinking how sexy she looked in red shorts and an L. A. Dodgers T-shirt. She took a deep breath of the salt air.

"I want to propose a new project to Harvard. To get my doctorate. It could be the basis for a Level 14 matrix. Someday," Rachel said.

"An advancement on Level 12? Your healthcare program?" Samantha asked.

"This wouldn't be a healthcare matrix. It would address ecological issues," Rachel responded. "I'm not sure of the parameters. Repairing the planet's ecology may be beyond the reach of any matrix."

"Repair the planet? The whole planet?" William asked.

"Repairing half the planet would be inefficient," Rachel answered.

"Rach, that's a massive thing," Rory said.

"Gosh, Ro, thanks for pointing that out. I thought I was going to solve the problem this afternoon," Rachel replied, looking serious.

"Save the Earth? In one day?" Samantha sputtered.

"She's joking, Sam. You've got to watch out for her," Rory warned. "This will take years, won't it?"

"I'm afraid so. If it can be done at all. The math is very complex," Rachel confirmed, scrunching her eyebrows.

"Don't AIs already do things like this?" William questioned. Rachel looked shocked.

"Artificial intelligence systems are useless toys," Rachel contemptuously rejected. "They are subject to the whims of their programmers. A matrix only employs mathematical models. There are no prejudices. No errors are permitted."

"So, if you're not becoming an oceanographer, why all the gadgets?" Tom asked.

"Multilayer fractal interfacing can locate the necessary ecological data. New techniques can sort superfluous structures in search of desired solutions. But there is a required balance between the raw science, financial resources, organizational networks, and long-term commitment of vital authorities. Identifying issues and resolving them needs to be an integral part of the dialog. It will require trillions of intersecting sources with contingency options for each equation. By familiarizing myself with testing techniques, I hope to have a better understanding of the underlying process."

Rachel noticed the blank expressions staring at her.

"I warned you this was boring," Rachel defensively said.

"We're not bored, Rach," Tom said, taking her hand.

"You think of the most amazing things," Rory said. "I'm so proud to be your sister."

"Be proud if it works," Rachel insisted.

* * * * * *

Rachel was asleep when they docked at the San Diego Yacht Club. Despite her best efforts, the constant motion had been rough. Though she had avoided throwing up.

"Are you okay?" Tom asked, peeking into their stateroom.

William had not skimped on luxuries. Tranquility was designed for comfort, including a queen-size bed and private bath. Tom found Rachel just waking up, wearing nothing but a white T-shirt.

"Feeling better. Are we there?" Rachel said, rubbing her eyes.

"Docked for the night," Tom confirmed. "We can go ashore for a late dinner, if you're up for it. Or we can make something in the galley."

"Are we in a hurry?" Rachel said.

"No, not at all. We're on vacation."

Rachel motioned Tom to the bed, pushing back the bedcovers to show her bare legs.

"What are you going to do?" Rachel asked.

"What do you mean?"

"Aren't you going to take advantage of a half-naked girl trapped below decks on your pirate ship?"

"Maybe I should," Tom said, taking her in his arms.

"Maybe you should," she whispered, turning up for a kiss.

The crew didn't make it to shore until the next morning, dressed casually for a big breakfast. William wanted to take a cab to Mort's, but Rachel insisted on walking, setting a brisk pace.

"You are one spunky little girl," Donna said, huffing to keep up.

"Rach swims in the mornings. She hikes, plays golf, and tennis," Rory bragged. "And she can work twenty hours straight without blinking."

"I blink," Rachel said. "Come on, let's run!"

"No, no," Rory breathlessly said, grabbing her arm. "The rest of us are just mortals. Give us a break."

Tom wasn't talking. He was finding it increasingly difficult not to watch Rachel's every move. Rory fell back to talk.

"She's an eyeful, isn't she?" Rory hinted.

"It's not just her body, Ro. Every guy sees that," Tom replied. "She can be so shy, and yet so bold. Happy, but anxious. Insightful, and astonishingly clueless."

"Lots of intriguing contradictions there," Rory agreed.

"I could spend a lifetime exploring those contradictions," Tom sighed.

After the sea voyage down from Los Angeles, everyone decided to give Rachel a day on land to recover. After breakfast, they walked along the waterfront visiting the many tourist sites.

"That ship is really big," Rachel said, pointing upward.

"This is the U. S. S. Midway," Tom said. "A retired aircraft carrier."

"It's a museum now," William elaborated. "It's got all kinds of great old airplanes."

"I read there's a zoo in Balboa Park," Rachel suggested.

"Do you like zoos?" Tom asked.

"I love zoos," Rachel said, her eyes bright.

William finally got his cab. Half an hour later, they were walking through the front gates of the San Diego Zoo, a hundred acres of walkways, enclosures, habitats, and exotic animals.

"You'll need to shut me up," Rachel warned, so excited she was jumping up and down.

"Why's that?" Samantha asked, staying close.

"Because I've studied all these animals. I can tell you everything about them, though half of it would be in Latin."

"You speak Latin?" Samantha asked.

"Of course she does," Donna said, no longer surprised by anything Rachel did.

After lunch at the Sabertooth Grill, Rachel begged her friends to enjoy their day, then rushed off to the tiger exhibit. Tom followed at a run.

"Rachel can be quite the spitfire," Donna said as they took a cab back into town. "I hardly ever see her so charged up."

"A month from now she'll be back at Harvard, buried in lab experiments and research reports," Rory said. "When Rachel is working, she shuts everything else out. And I mean everything. This vacation is really good for her."

"That sailor is really good for her," William said.

* * * * * *

"Are you getting tired?" Rachel asked as they finally left the zoo at sundown.

"Why do you ask?" Tom said.

"I'd like to walk back to town, but we can take a taxi if you're tired."

"Walk some more? Rach, where do you get all this energy?"

"Dissociative disorders can have a manic quality to them," Rachel said, growing subdued. "My medication suppresses it most of the time, but I think bobbing around on the ocean has set me off."

"I'm sorry, I didn't know."

"No, I'm the one who should be sorry. I haven't told you a lot of things I should. If you'd rather--"

"Let's get this straight, Rachel Marbury. There's no place in the world I'd rather be, and no one I'd rather be with. But I would rather take a cab, for now. Later, when we're alone, we'll try to do something about this extra energy you have."

The taxi dropped them off in the Gaslamp District. Tom checked his phone to find out where William and Rory were.

"I notice you don't carry a phone," Tom mentioned.

"Not usually. I have enough obsessions already without checking a phone every two minutes," Rachel explained.

As they walked along the busy sidewalk among old brick buildings, they noticed crowds pouring from the nearby convention center.

"Why are those people dressed for Halloween?" Rachel asked, seeing hundreds of colorful costumes.

"Comic Con," Tom said.

"Comic who?"

"You've never heard of Comic Con?"

"Like Bugs Bunny?"

"We'll fill you in over dinner," Tom answered, looking for a particular spot. "There it is. Over there on the corner."

They stopped outside an Irish pub. William and Samantha were out front waving.

"It's busy," Rachel said, seeing a long line to get in.

"We've got a table," William assured her. "The best one, on the balcony overlooking the stage."

"How'd you get such a great spot during the convention?" Tom asked.

"My Aunt Hattie owns the restaurant," William explained.

"Hattie Marbury? I've heard stories about her," Tom said. "Is she really the richest woman in America?"

"Hattie says she's only the fifth richest, but no one knows for sure," William answered.

Cohan's Pub was a lively establishment. Rory kept an eye on Rachel, making sure she wasn't overwhelmed. Rachel wasn't known for her ability to deal with crowds.

Rory, Donna, and Samantha talked about their afternoon shopping, William declining to comment on women's fashions. Pizzas were ordered. Rachel had the Shepherd's Pie. They went through several pitchers of Guinness.

"Look! There's dancing!" Rachel said as a band came on stage. In an instant, she was out of her chair and down the stairs.

"You've got to be kidding me," Tom said, getting up with a groan to follow.

"Tommy better watch out," Donna whispered. "A day at sea doesn't look half as tough as a day on land with Rachel."

"I've got a hunch Tom's going to be rewarded for all his hard work," Rory suggested, offering a toast.

* * * * * *

On Sunday morning their yacht cruised up San Diego Bay, then turned around and headed out of the harbor for a view of the coastline. The water was mildly choppy but didn't stop the fishing trawlers, touring boats, and pleasure craft.

"Doing better this time?" Samantha asked.

"I'm learning to adapt," Rachel said. "Though this outfit Rory bought me is awfully embarrassing."

"Outfit? It's a bikini," Samantha said. "And it looks great on you. At least, it would if you took that robe off."

"I'd be naked," Rachel protested.

"It's a bathing suit. We girls wear them all the time, and the guys love it."

Rachel's face turned red. Samantha tried not to laugh.

They sailed south for a few hours, then headed back.

"It's still early. Let's sail around a little more," Rory recommended, standing at the helm.

There were nods all around. Rory bypassed the entrance to the harbor, going northwest. Rachel was on the fantail again, reeling in her test kits. There were a dozen ships coming and going.

"The waves are big today," Rachel said.

"Oh, this isn't so bad. You should see it when the wind kicks up," Samantha replied, helping her with the lines.

They were just about to round Point Loma when two other ships attracted their attention going the opposite direction. One was a touring boat loaded with sightseers. The other was a cruise ship. It looked like they were being pushed towards each other.

"Why doesn't the smaller boat get out of the way?" Rachel asked. "Are they supposed to do that?"

"I don't think so," Samantha guessed, standing next to her at the stern. "Billy! What's going on with those guys?"

"Maybe they're having trouble with the rudder," William answered from the bridge.

Hardly a minute later, the tour boat reacted, suddenly turning to port as wake from the cruise ship shoved it aside. People standing at the railing struggled to hold on.

"Look!" Rachel shouted. "That little girl. She's falling off!"

They saw a petite passenger on the tour boat had been pitched over the side, splashing into the rugged water. The boat was moving too fast to stop, and Tranquility was sailing in the wrong direction.

Rachel didn't waste a second. She dropped off her robe, kicked off her deck shoes, and dove into the ocean.

"Rach! My God, Rach! Don't!" Rory screamed.

"She'll never make it. Not in that water," Donna said. "Billy, turn around. Turn around!"

"We're too close to shore. It's going to take half an hour," William said, turning the helm into deeper water. Everyone else crowded at the stern, wondering what to do.

"Do you see her?" Rory asked.

"No, I can't. Where is she?" Tom said.

"There! Over there!" Samantha shouted, pointing.

They saw Rachel wasn't floundering. She was swimming hard. Methodically. Using the waves to go where she wanted.

"Fuck, that girl can swim," Donna said.

"Her first semester at Harvard was on a swimming scholarship," Rory remembered. "Come on, guys! Let's get this tug turned about."

Rachel was able to see the little girl's head bobbing in the water at first, then only intermittently. She didn't give up, marking the spot in case she had to dive for her. She wasn't thinking about the danger, or the conditions. Focus, she thought. Focus. Shut everything else out. Only the goal matters.

Within a few yards, she saw the girl's head bob one last time and disappear. Rachel went under, too, grabbing a dark shape and ferociously kicking back to the surface. She couldn't tell if the girl was still breathing, and was in no position to administer CPR. She looked for a rescue ship, needing it to arrive before the buffeting caused her strength to give out.

The accident had not gone unnoticed. Boats in every direction were reacting. Rachel saw another tour ship headed right at them and started to wave, using her other arm to hold the girl while kicking hard to stay afloat. The ocean was being mean. Despite her best efforts, breathing also involved swallowing seawater, and she was getting tired. Oceans were not like swimming pools. She went under, fought furiously to get back up, and started to sink again. She needed both arms, but one was wrapped around the little girl.

Perhaps the ship's captain realized Rachel was in trouble. Rather than lose time by slowing down, two men stood on the stern in lifejackets attached to ropes. As the ship approached, the captain cut the engines and the rescuers leaped into the water, grabbing Rachel and the girl before the ropes went taunt. They were dragged fifty yards before the boat finally came to a halt. Passengers and crew joined together to reel the swimmers in.

Rachel was pulled on deck spitting water. Several women went to help, covering her with a blanket, for the bikini wasn't hiding very much. She crawled over to the girl lying motionless in a puddle. She wanted to help, but plenty of others were already giving aid.

"That was the bravest thing I've ever seen," a woman said, tucking the blanket tighter.

"I did the math," Rachel replied, still feeling seawater in her stomach.

"What does that even mean?" someone wondered.

Rachel had no more to say. She was exhausted, rolling to her side on the wet deck. Two men picked her up, carrying her to the ship's lounge. A minute later, doctors were poking her and asking questions. One helped her spit up the rest of the seawater. As the rescue ship entered San Diego Harbor, the captain came to see her.

"That was fine work, miss," he commended. "It's already going viral on the internet. May I have your name?"

"No."

The captain looked surprised, but declined to press her.

"We'll be docking in a few minutes. Ambulances are standing by."

"I'm okay. How's the girl?"

"She's breathing. Heart sounds good. Another few seconds and it would have been too late."

"I know."

"You must be cold. We found clothes for you," the captain said. "We have volunteers to help you get dressed if you need it."

"Are the volunteers men or women?" Rachel asked, making the captain laugh.

Two younger women came in the lounge as the captain left. They'd found gray gym pants and a San Diego Zoo sweatshirt. Rachel still felt chilly, keeping the blanket wrapped around her shoulders.

The boat docked at a short pier. There were two ambulances waiting. One whisked the little girl to a hospital with sirens blaring as anxious crowds gathered to watch. Rachel used the distraction to slip away, hurrying to the waterfront. Without money or a cell phone, there wasn't much she could do. She found a quiet corner at the end of the boardwalk, huddling on a bench to stay warm.

"Rach? Thank God we found you," Rory said an hour later.

Rachel looked up, her eyes glassy. She didn't respond.

"Stay back. She's in a haze," Rory said, kneeling down and taking Rachel's hands. "Rachel. Rachel. It's me, Rory. Rachel."

After a moment, Rachel started to respond. Her eyes focused. She started to say something, then stopped. She saw Rory and Tom.

"I'm okay," Rachel said.

"You look cold," Rory observed.

"I'm really cold. Can we get a hotel room? I'd like a hot bath."

"Let me carry you," Tom said, reaching out.

"I can walk. But I won't refuse help," Rachel responded.

The Pearl Hotel was close by. By the time they reached the lobby, William had already reserved a penthouse suite for them. Though they tried not to attract attention, heads were turned, and some took pictures.

"It's her," someone said.

"How can you tell?" her companion asked.

"The blanket. It's the same one in the video. She was almost eaten by a shark saving that child."

"A whole school of sharks. Great Whites," a skinny teenager said, showing photos on her phone.

"Were their sharks?" Rachel whispered. "I didn't see any."

"There weren't any sharks. People make things up," Rory explained.

"They don't know my name, do they? I don't want more attention."

"Not so far," Samantha said.

Rachel began to sag. Tom picked her up, carrying her to the elevator. A few minutes later, they were in an ornate suite overlooking the yacht club, the walnut walls decorated with nautical displays. The pennants were colorful.

"Donna is getting your bag from the boat," Rory informed, running bathwater for her. "We have tea, aspirin, and whiskey on the way. Do you need anything?"

Rachel looked around the brightly lit marble bathroom, still in a daze. Rory helped her into the tub, rubbing her down with a soapy brush. Tom looked in, then ducked back, not wanting to embarrass her.

"It's okay, Thomas. It's not like you haven't seen me naked," Rachel said, starting to come around. He sat next to the tub and gave her a cup of hot tea.

"That was very brave, and awful dumb," Tom said. "But if I say anything, you're going to say you did the math. Aren't you?"

"How did you know?"

"Rory warned me."

"I did do the math. The odds were good."

"And I believe you," Tom said. She relaxed, sipping the tea.

"Thank you, Nurse Benson. I can manage on my own now," Rachel said, taking the brush. "When are we having dinner?"

* * * * * *

Chapter Four

FEDERAL AGENTS

Rachel's suitcase was on the bed when Pamela entered the master bedroom. It was late August, the summer cooler than usual. Canby Place was quiet with Martha off visiting her grandchildren.

"Packing already?" Pamela asked, sitting on the bed with a copy of the Wall Street Journal tucked under her arm.

"I leave next week. It's hard to decide what to bring," Rachel replied, looking frustrated. Pamela saw she was in a mild state.

"Why is it hard?"

"The last time I went to Harvard, everything I owned fit in a duffel bag. Now there's stuff all over the place. Thirty dresses. Ten pairs of shoes. Sweatsuits in every color. And hats. I own hats."

"Honey, calm down," Pamela said. "You don't need to take everything. Just what you want. If you need more, buy it in Boston. You have the money."

"Yeah, how did I get so much money? That makes no sense. Oliver says my savings account has five million dollars in it. That's more than Daniel left me."

Pamela sighed, laid the newspaper down in front of her, and opened it to the financial section.

"Don't get excited. Have you read the news this morning? Or listened to the business channel?"

"This morning? No."

"When was the last time you saw a business report?"

"April. They made me file taxes."

"Now don't be distressed, but the IPO will be in December. It looks like the value of your shares of WHD are going to be substantial. And Sheila made sure you own the patents. You don't have to worry about buying a few necessities."

"How much money?" Rachel fearfully asked.

Pamela wasn't sure if she should say, but knew that once Rachel's curiosity was piqued, there was nothing she couldn't find out.

"Close to a billion dollars," Pamela finally said.

Rachel's eyebrows shot up. Her legs turned weak, forcing her to sit on the bed.

"That's a lot," Rachel said.

"Yes, dear. But no one says you have to spend it all at once."

Rachel was quiet. Pamela feared she might slip into a haze, but her eyes remained clear.

"The new medicine Dr. Keller prescribed has been working," Rachel said, reading Pamala's thoughts.

"I'm glad. Rory and I have been concerned."

Rachel fell quiet again. Her eyes grew misty.

"Okay, honey, what's wrong?" Pamela asked.

"My whole life, no one's ever worried about me. And now I have you, and Rory. And William. I'm going to miss you all so much."

"It's only for a few months."

"I'm scared. What if something happens?"

"Nothing is going to happen. Big Bob will be there to protect you. John and Allie live nearby. Time will go by so fast you'll hardly notice it."

"Actually, there's no difference in time dilation unless gravitational stress alters the relative position between two events as measured by observers at varying--"

"Rachel, my lovely near-perfect daughter, I'm going to miss you, too. We'll talk all the time. But I want you to socialize while you're at Harvard. Don't lock yourself up with your books."

"I'll try."

"What's happening with Tom? He seems like a nice man."

"I haven't talked to him in a few days."

"Why? Did you have a fight?"

"No. But I'm leaving soon. It's not fair to keep him hanging. And I've been stable since we met. More or less. He doesn't know ..."

"Know what, dear?"

"He doesn't know how crazy I am. One day he's going to find out, and that will be that. It will break my heart."

"You need to have a little more faith, dear. Peter 4:8."

"You're quoting the Bible now?"

"I have to keep up."

* * * * * *

"What do you think?" Pamela asked, stepping back from the firing line.

"It's fun. But why are you giving me shooting lessons?" Rachel asked.

The outdoor range only had a few patrons so early in the day. Pedestals held pistols and ammunition. Targets at various distances spread across a large grass field.

"You need to know how to protect yourself," Pamela answered.

Pamela was holding a Glock 43. Because of her small hands, Rachel held an M&P Shield. Both weapons could be formidable.

"Baby is a nice little gun, but I've never needed one before."

"Baby?" Pamela inquired.

"I gave her a name."

Pamela offered Rachel instructions while firing at a target twenty feet away. Rachel hit the target with all eight shots.

"You're very good," Pamela remarked.

"I do the math," Rachel replied.

They retired to a nearby bench, sipping cokes.

"Sweetheart, when we first met, you had just transferred the last of your savings to your mother's trust fund. All you had left was $4. Isn't that right?"

"$4.89."

"That was all the money you had in the world?"

"I was very ill, and very sad. I didn't expect to need any more."

"You've been poor your whole life, and even when you got a little ahead, you'd use the extra money to buy food for the homeless shelter."

"It's important to give back," Rachel defensively said.

"Sweetie, I understand. I really do. But you're not poor anymore. Your shares of WHD have grown in value, and they're growing more every day. Big Bob is a conscientious bodyguard, but sometimes that isn't enough. If something happens, you need to know how to defend yourself."

"Thank you, Mother. I won't let you down."

"Daughter, you have never let me down. Not ever."

Rachel reached for a hug, tearing up. Pamela dug in her pocket for a tissue. Everyone who spent time with Rachel kept tissues handy, her emotions always close to the surface.

"Are you excited about Harvard?"

"It's scary. I haven't been back since I dropped out, and no one knew who I was then. Now people follow me around. Some of them take pictures. They ask for autographs."

"That happens when you become famous," Pamela confirmed.

"Rory explained it. She's also teaching me about wigs, and extra makeup, and dark sunglasses. If I practice enough, no one will recognize me."

"Rachel, you are a pretty girl. Very pretty. Nothing you do is going to hide that."

"I can try."

* * * * * *

"Miss Marbury, there are people here to see you. Federal agents," McLane said through the intercom. "Verified their IDs."

"Please show them in, Mr. McLane," Rachel said, tidying her desk before going to the front door. The atrium, once filled with Daniel Benson's nude Greek statues, was now planted with herbs. Though she didn't tend the gardens herself, she loved the fresh smell of basil, rosemary, garlic, and thyme.

There were two visitors, a distinguished looking woman in her early-40's, smartly dressed in a khaki army uniform, and a younger man in his mid-thirties wearing a blue business suit. Rachel wore gray gym clothes.

"Thank you for seeing us, Miss Marbury. I'm Colonel Rebecca O'Mara, U. S. Army Central Command, and this is Major Roger Strobel, Department of Defense Cyber Division," O'Mara introduced.

"Please come in. May I get you coffee? Tea? Have you had lunch?" Rachel said, guiding them through the foyer and up to the dining area.

"We don't want to trouble you," O'Mara replied.

"It's no trouble," Rachel said, seating her guests and going to the kitchen. She returned shortly with coffee and tuna sandwiches.

"Nice place," Strobel said. "I thought it would be fancier. Where are your servants?"

"I am a researcher, Major Strobel, not a duchess," Rachel answered, taking a seat. "I'm leaving for Harvard in a few days, where I'll be a student again. What can I do for you?"

"We have a problem. A computer problem," O'Mara said. "We've canvassed universities all over the country for help, and everyone puts you at the top of our list."

"Me? I don't understand."

"It's confidential," O'Mara said.

"A matter of national security," Strobel added.

"I don't have any special expertise with computers. I'm a mathematician. My field is fractal engineering,"

"People say you're a genius," Strobel said.

"That and $12 will get you a latte at Starbucks," Rachel answered.

"This is a special problem, and we're getting a bit desperate. Will you help us?" O'Mara asked.

"Of course. I have an excellent office computer, or we can go to the WHD offices in Santa Monica for a larger mainframe," Rachel offered.

"We need you to come to our own facility. A secure facility," Strobel said.

"Where is that?" Rachel asked.

"We can't tell you," O'Mara replied. "But you'll need to bring an overnight bag. And there won't be any outside communications."

"My private security isn't going to like that," Rachel said, worried what Big Bob would say.

"It can't be helped. And we wouldn't ask if it wasn't of vital importance," O'Mara pressed.

"What's in this sandwich? It's great," Strobel asked, munching it down.

"Just baked tuna with bits of pepper cheese and celery," Rachel said. "I would like to help, if I can, but Mr. McLane will need to decide."

Rachel pressed a red button on her phone, and a minute later, McLane entered the house wearing a gray suit and a Glock in his shoulder holster.

"This is Mr. Robert McLane, chief of my security," Rachel introduced.

"I thought you weren't a duchess," O'Mara said.

"Miss Marbury is a public figure," McLane replied. "We don't let her roam around like she did when she was an anonymous lab girl. Where do you want to take her? What is the security like?"

"We can't comment on that," Strobel said.

"Then she's not going," McLane replied.

"Miss Marbury?" O'Mara said.

"I'm sorry. I promised Mr. McLane to always take his advice. And I always keep my promises."

O'Mara and Strobel went out to the patio, conversing and making calls. They returned ten minutes later.

"What will it take to make this happen?" O'Mara requested.

"I accompany Miss Marbury at all times. And her personal nurse comes with us. You may know of her. Miss Rory Benson."

"The billionaire playgirl?" Strobel said. Rachel laughed.

"She's my sister," Rachel said.

The government officials conferred again, but already knew what their answer had to be.

"We'll have a jet waiting for you at L. A. Field in two hours," O'Mara said. And then they departed.

"What is this all about?" McLane asked.

"They didn't say. Will Rory be able to come?"

"She's already on the way."

A black town car owned by McLane's security company drove them to an airfield south of the Los Angeles airport. They were greeted at the gate by military police. McLane was in the back seat with Rachel, his assistant doing the driving.

"This is very strange," Rachel said, looking out the window at warplanes and attack helicopters.

"Not common for them to call in civilians out of the blue, Missy. It must be important."

"I don't know what I can do. Mother only started teaching me how to use a pistol a few weeks ago, and I still can't hit anything beyond thirty feet."

"Don't think you're being recruited for your shooting skills."

The heavy sedan pulled up outside a green hangar. They saw Colonel O'Mara and Major Strobel waiting for them. Rory was there, too, and an unexpected addition.

"Oh my God, it's Thomas," Rachel said, ducking out of sight.

"I thought you liked him," McLane asked.

"I do."

"Did you guys have a fight?"

"No."

"Do you want me to get rid of him?"

"No."

"So why are you hiding?"

"He makes me blush."

A sharply attired lieutenant opened the car door, guiding them toward the boarding ramp of a small jet with army insignia on the tail. Rory rushed to give Rachel a hug.

"What's this all about, little sister?" Rory asked.

"Some kind of secret project," Rachel answered. She glanced at Tom and shyly turned away, unable to say anything. He smiled but kept his distance. They were quickly approached by a group of high-ranking officers.

"General Hagen, this is Rachel Montgomery, as you requested," Colonel O'Mara said. Rachel didn't correct her, preferring to use her birth name for official business.

"What's with the entourage?" General Hagen questioned.

"Rory Benson, her nurse. Robert McLane, her private security. And Thomas Harper, her ... her what?" O'Mara said.

"Lt. Commander Harper is with the U. S. Naval Reserve," Major Strobel explained. "Apparently, he's Miss Montgomery's boyfriend."

Rachel's eyebrows went up. She didn't know how Tom got there, and he wasn't her boyfriend. Officially.

"Navy?" General Hagen asked.

"Special operations," Tom said, shaking hands.

"SEALs?"

"I'm not at liberty to discuss that, sir," Tom replied.

"See action?" the general questioned.

"Somalia. Ghazi. Sambisa Forest."

"We admire your service, son, but we only want Montgomery. The rest of you will need to stay behind," Hagen announced.

"Okay, folks, back to the car," McLane said, taking Rachel by the elbow to lead her away.

"Wait. Where the hell are you going?" Hagen protested.

"Canby Place," McLane answered without turning around.

"No, no stop," Colonel O'Mara intervened, glancing at her commanding officer. "It's a misunderstanding. Everyone goes. Isn't that right, sir?"

Hagen frowned but saw few options. The formidable bodyguard was going to protect his client come hell or high water.

"Everybody goes," Hagen conceded. "McLane, have you ever served?"

"Eight years, general. First Sergeant, U. S. Marine Corps. You're lucky I'll even fly on an army transport," McLane replied.

General Hagen laughed, thinking Rachel had surrounded herself with good men.

The jet could hold sixteen passengers, but there were only eight. Rachel's party, O'Mara, Strobel, and two junior officers. The pilot wasted no time getting airborne.

"We have refreshments," O'Mara offered, sitting with Rachel, Rory and Tom. McLane was upfront with Major Strobel.

"Just water," Tom said.

"Pretzels would be nice," Rory suggested.

Rachel was quiet, staring out the window.

"Miss Montgomery, are you all right?" O'Mara asked.

"Yes, ma'am," Rachel said.

"You don't need to ma'am me," O'Mara countered. "Call me O'Mara, or Colonel, or Becky."

"Yes, ma'am," Rachel replied, looking down.

"Do you not like me?" O'Mara asked.

"It's not you, Colonel. It's me," Tom explained.

"You?" O'Mara questioned.

"Miss Montgomery and I have been dating, and I think my presence is embarrassing her. All you're going to get from her is please, thank you, and I'm sorry," Tom responded.

"I say more than that," Rachel disagreed.

"Not much more," Tom pressed.

"You didn't complain when I was having sex with you," Rachel accused.

O'Mara leaned back, a bit shocked.

"Sorry, Colonel. My sister can be unfiltered when she's nervous," Rory said.

"Nervous about what?" O'Mara wondered.

"Yes, Rachel, nervous about what?" Tom said, scooting closer.

"You're horrible," Rachel said, turning toward the window again. She was flushed. Rory and Tom laughed.

"Care to clue me in?" O'Mara inquired, afraid she was missing something.

"Mr. Harper is the first man I've been with ... for a long time. He thinks it makes him special. It doesn't!" Rachel said, refusing to look at him.

"Rachel knows I've fallen in love with her. Head over heels in love. That's what makes her nervous," Tom clarified.

"You're a horrible, horrible man," Rachel muttered.

"I introduced them," Rory bragged.

"Want to know where we're going?" O'Mara asked.

"No," Rachel said, pulling up the collar on her jacket.

"I do," Rory requested.

"Everyone will need to take a national security oath," O'Mara warned. "That's not a problem, is it?"

"Not for any of us," Rory replied.

Everyone said yes, except Rachel, who nodded. Rory invited O'Mara to help find snacks in the back of the jet.

"I'm sorry to tease you, but you haven't returned my calls the last few days," Tom said.

"I'm about to leave for Harvard, Thomas. I have a degree to finish. This is no time to start a relationship."

"Am I that distracting?"

"I need to focus."

"You like me, don't you?"

"That's not the point."

"When you get back from school, we'll pick up where we left off. I'm not walking away."

Rachel turned to him with a hesitant smile.

"You can buy me dinner in Colorado Springs," she said.

"Colorado Springs? Is that where we're going? How do you know?"

"I know," Rachel said.

She turned back to the window, no longer nervous. The jet landed at Peterson Air Force Base in Colorado Springs.

* * * * * *

The Cheyenne Mountain Complex was under tight security as the unmarked vehicles approached the main gate. They passed parks, picnic areas, and barracks on the way in. A tunnel led deep into the granite mountain.

"Not many are allowed to get this far," O'Mara said.

"Who would want to?" Rory replied, finding the facility gloomy.

They disembarked near the elevators, followed by two officials. McLane was required to surrender his sidearm. Rachel had left her pistol at home.

"Going to tell us what this is about?" McLane asked as the elevator descended to an unknown depth.

"Perhaps Miss Montgomery already knows?" O'Mara replied.

"Rachel? Do you know?" Rory asked.

"They've stolen technology from WHD, but the implementation is flawed and they can't stabilize the matrix," Rachel absently answered, observing from far away. O'Mara looked impressed.

"Is she right?" Tom asked.

"We weren't exactly sure. I guess we are now," O'Mara said.

They passed through screening before entering a cavernous complex. One entire wall was filled with giant monitor screens. Eight independent consoles allowed tracking. Beyond the observation center was a control pod encased in thick shielding.

"Afraid of quantum trace?" Rachel asked.

"How did you know?" Strobel said.

"It would concern me," Rachel replied.

"What is quantum trace?" Rory asked.

"An unstable form of sub-atomic radiation," Rachel replied. "For the sake of everyone in this mountain, I hope your failsafe measures are in place."

She sat down at one of the control stations to study the panels. Rory, Tom and McLane were standing behind her. Rachel glanced at Strobel, who got the message. Rachel's entourage was led to a lounge area near the elevator.

"Just a minute, Miss Montgomery. There's an initiation procedure to review the protocols," a tech said, starting to reach over. Her name tag read Cynthia Miles. Rachel poked an input, and then a few more. The system activated.

"How did she do that?" O'Mara whispered.

"You asked for the best, Becky," Strobel answered, puffing up his chest.

Rachel spent an hour running through routines, subroutines, evaluations and firewalls. At one point, she translated the feedback into equations, and then substituted symbols for numbers. A score of technicians gathered around to watch, fascinated by the speed at which Rachel was manipulating the formulas.

"What do you think?" O'Mara whispered.

"It's goddam awesome," Strobel replied.

"No wonder we weren't getting anywhere," Dr. Miles said. "This isn't like anything we expected."

"Care to explain that?" O'Mara said, sounding annoyed.

"When she hits blocks, she inverts the equations and then flips them back, shaking out the ruffage," Strobel explained.

"Then the interlocking integers drive the next series," Miles added.

"I have no clue what you're talking about," O'Mara complained.

"We've only seen it in theory," Strobel replied. "Layering is all about the selection process. She's taking shortcuts that could otherwise take months to resolve."

"Will you be able to duplicate what she's doing?" O'Mara asked.

"Colonel, I don't think any of us even know what she's doing," Miles answered.

"I can rectify the modifications," Rachel said without letting them distract her. "But there are conditions."

"I'm sure there are," O'Mara said.

After another hour, Rachel put the console on pause. She looked tired but not stressed. This seemed like old business to her.

"May I have a cup of tea?" she requested.

Rory raced from the lounge, having anticipated her.

"I need access to the mainframe," Rachel said.

"That's highly classified, Miss Montgomery," O'Mara objected.

"Then we should go. There's nothing more I can do here," Rachel said, getting up to stretch her legs. O'Mara conferred with her staff. Phone calls were made.

"Access has been granted," O'Mara reluctantly agreed.

"There is another issue," Rachel said, her eyebrows scrunched. "The fundamental elements of this matrix have been illegally replicated. Permission is needed to use these patents."

"No one told me you're a lawyer," O'Mara objected.

"Personally, I don't care. But Sheila Marbury does," Rachel said. "These rights belong to WHD and the shareholders."

"What do you want?" O'Mara asked.

"Access needs to be negotiated with Miss Marbury."

"And if we don't agree?"

"The best I can do today is temporarily stabilize your matrix. If it collapses, it will take your control systems down with it."

O'Mara had to make more calls. Rachel went to the waiting area, sitting between Rory and Tom. Rory noticed the detachment.

"Are you okay?" Rory asked, taking Rachel's temperature and checking her pulse. She was warm. The heartbeat a little erratic.

"Their ambitions exceed their abilities," Rachel said.

"What do you mean?" Tom asked.

"They're laying the groundwork for a Level 13 matrix, but it's not going to work. The foundation is fundamentally compromised. What do you Navy guys call something that's really messed up?"

"A clusterfuck," Tom said.

"Yes, that's what this is. I'll warn them as best I can."

"You're going to help them anyway?" Tom asked.

"The damage will be worse if I don't," Rachel replied.

O'Mara arrived forty-five minutes later looking haggard. She wasn't pleased.

"My people say you've got us over a barrel," O'Mara reported. "The Solicitor General is on the phone with your legal staff now. How much is your share going to be?"

"My share of what?" Rachel asked.

"This is going to cost your country two billion dollars," O'Mara guessed. "What does that mean for you personally?"

"It means Rachel will be buying dinner," Rory said, getting in O'Mara's face. "Rach has given years of her life for this matrix. She had no family, no friends. She lived in poverty, and sacrificed her health to make a better world for us. And for ungrateful pricks like you."

Two of the guards approached. McLane and Tom stood up to get in their way. Rachel wasn't reacting, deep in other thoughts.

"This better work," O'Mara said, walking away.

Rory immediately turned to Rachel, took her hands, and whispered her name. Rachel gradually paid attention.

"You're okay, honey," Rory said.

"I know. I'm not in a haze," Rachel replied.

"Can you do this?" Tom asked.

"Oh, yes. But I don't feel like cooking tonight. Can we go to a restaurant?"

"We can go wherever you want," Rory assured her.

Rachel followed Major Strobel into the control pod buried behind massive steel walls and thick observation windows. The hatch looked like the door of a bank vault. Rachel dismissed the assistants and remained in the chamber alone. A dozen scientists watched her through the portals. Rachel began using small tools to adjust the headset.

"What's she doing now?" O'Mara impatiently inquired.

"Reconfiguring the input," an assistant said. "I always wondered why the feedback looped the way it did."

"She's cross circuiting the secondary sensor array. I didn't know we could do that," another observed.

"I hope everyone is taking notes," Strobel said. "Someday you'll be telling your grandkids about this."

Rachel spent two hours modifying equipment, prepping the subsystems, and verifying connections. She was quick, methodical, and undeterred by setbacks. Even O'Mara had to admit they were watching something extraordinary.

At last, it looked like she was ready. She ordered the pod hatch sealed as the first of several visual screens lit up, numbers and symbols flowing from left to right in rapid waves. Rachel donned the headset, her fingers dancing over an elaborate keyboard. Occasionally she used audio to provide instructions. Pads pressed against her temples allowed her to feel the program's rhythm. The speed of the flowing numbers increased, the symbols growing more intricate. And then subsidiary rows began flowing from right to left, often moving too quickly for her audience to follow.

"This is amazing," Strobel said, unable to take his eyes off her. The whole staff was silent, some hardly breathing. It went on for hours.

"This can't be good for her," Tom whispered.

"It's not," Rory said. "But it's what she does. It's her gift."

"It's a curse," McLane insisted.

"That, too," Rory agreed.

An hour before dawn, the program began to wind down. The numbers slowed, and then suddenly reformed into new groupings.

"We've got it!" Dr. Miles excitedly said. "The matrix is stabilized."

"Thank God," Strobel said, wiping his brow.

"Was it that bad?" Tom asked.

"Confidentially?" Strobel answered, taking Tom aside. "Yes, it could have been bad. Unlike Level 12, this isn't just a coordination matrix. It's a control matrix. If it failed, there's no telling what would have gone down with it."

Rachel used the console to unlock the pod. The massive door slowly slid open. McLane was the first in, finding Rachel slumped in the chair. He scooped her up.

"Where can I lay her down?" McLane demanded.

"We have a medical bay," Miles said, leading the way.

Strobel and his staff remained behind, assessing the revised systems.

* * * * * *

As September 3rd approached, it was time to go. Friends gathered at Canby Place to say goodbye, swimming, playing tennis, and shooting hoops. The terraced gardens going up to the top of the hill never looked better, with shady oak trees, flower gardens, and broad green lawns.

Rachel emerged from her bedroom dressed in a white blouse and flowing red skirt. Her hair was freshly washed. She'd put on light makeup.

"Congratulations, you made it to your own party," Oliver said, handing her a lemonade. Tall and lean, just over sixty with puffy white hair, Oliver Mendelson had been Daniel Benson's fraternity brother at Yale. And best friend. He was dating Daniel's ex-wife.

"Not mad that I fired you?" Rachel asked.

"You didn't fire me. Sheba did. And it was a smart move," Oliver replied.

"Have you proposed to mother yet?"

"How did you know ...? Never mind. Everyone's too busy now. There's time. Neither of us are going anywhere."

"You're old," Rachel said.

"Thanks for reminding me, little hurricane," Oliver responded with a smile.

Rachel went to the pool, kicking off her sandals to dangle her feet in the water. Rory came to join her.

"Recovered from what those government freaks did to you?" Rory asked.

"It took a day or two," Rachel replied. "The whole project needs to be scrapped."

"You could fix it," William said, swimming up to the steps.

"No, that's beyond even my power," Rachel disagreed.

Behind them, she saw Tom and Bob McLane grilling burgers while Martha mixed the salads. Pamela and Sheila were sitting at the picnic table drinking wine. Together. Rachel hoped they might finally bury their feud.

"Your classes wrap up in December," Rory said. "You can fly straight to Aspen for Christmas at Marbury House."

"I'll finally get to ski Devil's Run," Rachel said hopefully.

"Sweetie, you've spent one season on the bunny slopes. Maybe you should get a little more experience before whipping down Devil's Run?" Rory suggested.

"I'm getting old. I can't wait forever."

"You're twenty-six," William said.

"Yes, my best years are behind me," Rachel replied.

"I hope you don't really believe that. And don't tell me you've done the math," Rory protested.

"I won't. Tell you that," Rachel agreed with a smirk.

"Mom!" Rory called. "Rachel's being Rachel again."

Pamela came over carrying whiskey sours and sat down, giving one to each of her daughters.

"Now what's this all about?" Pamela asked.

"Rachel says her best years are behind her," Rory repeated.

"That's silly, dear. Your life is just beginning," Pamela insisted.

"I'm almost thirty," Rachel replied.

"Twenty-six is not almost thirty, and thirty isn't old, either. Thirty is young, and twenty-six is very young," Pamela said. "Look how far you've come in the short time since we've met."

"Things are better," Rachel admitted.

"Better?" Rory said. "When we first met, you were living in that horrible rat-infested apartment so introverted you couldn't talk. Now you talk to people almost normally. You're extraordinarily successful. And you have a family that loves you."

"Your math is good," Rachel confessed.

"I should hope so. And let's not forget that you're pretty," Rory said, bumping her with her shoulder and looking over at Tom.

Rachel turned, seeing Tom flipping burgers on the grill. Her heart beat faster. Pamela and Rory noticed, sharing smiles.

As the guests ate lunch on the covered patio, Sheila came to sit with Rachel under an oak tree.

"Any thoughts on our discussion?" Sheila asked.

"I haven't changed my mind," Rachel said, enjoying fruit salad sprinkled with tiny bits of thyme.

"You're a major shareholder of WHD. You can influence the company's direction."

"I'm a mathematician. I don't know anything about running a global organization, and I don't want to," Rachel insisted. "I trust you to do the right thing. I trust you completely."

Sheila started to tear up. Which would have surprised those who only knew her as a ruthless businesswoman.

"Do you need a tissue?" Rachel asked, reaching into her pocket.

"I'll survive. What about the money? As WHD grows, you're going to have a massive income stream."

"I don't know. Until Daniel left me Canby Place, I never needed much. Now I spend more on gardening than I lived on in an entire year."

"Being rich has its drawbacks, doesn't it?" Sheila chided with a big smile.

"Now you're teasing me."

"Yes, and it's fun."

"I should set up charities someday. Foundations. Scholarships. For now, just do smart things with it. Don't blow it on dumb stuff."

"Clear enough," Sheila agreed. "I get to Boston every month or two. I'll stop by Harvard and see how you're doing."

"My apartment has an extra bedroom. You're welcome to stay. But when I'm studying, I can't promise to be too social."

"I know. I've seen you in work mode. It's almost frightening."

"Wait until my next project gets going. That will be frightening."

"You have something new in mind?"

"I can't discuss details yet, but it will cost a lot of money," Rachel warned.

"I'll start filling my piggy bank."

Some friends went home as the evening grew late. Others used the many guest rooms at Canby Place. Rachel thought it had been a fun party. She was not disappointed when Tom agreed to stay over.

"Thank you for the dancing," Rachel said, nestling into bed.

"It helps burn off that extra energy, doesn't it?" Tom said, cuddling next to her.

"I haven't burned off all my extra energy," Rachel said, squeezing closer.

"We've only known each other a few months, but I'm going to miss you. I'm going to miss you a lot," Tom admitted.

"I'm going to miss you. I haven't felt this good since ... Well, for a long time."

"What were you going to say?"

"It would sound terrible."

"I'm not jealous of you and Daniel Benson."

"Oh, no, it's nothing like that. It's worse than that," Rachel protested.

"Okay, let's have it."

She sighed, her hand stroking the curly blond hair on his chest. He smelled good. And looked good. Rachel thought herself very fortunate.

"When I arrived at Harvard for my freshman semester, I was so scared. Everyone had these great educations. Money. Nice clothes. They were making friends. What was I doing there?"

"It's natural to be nervous in a new school. A new environment."

"I took an advanced theory course, and at the end of the first section, there was a quiz. I decided that if I failed, I'd drop out. Go back to Palmdale. Melvin's was still hiring. Everything I owned could be packed in five minutes."

"I take it you didn't fail?"

"Oh, no. I aced the test."

"Did you ace a lot of tests?"

"I aced all of them. But that first one was special. When I saw how easy the questions were, and how everyone else was struggling, I knew Harvard was going to work out for me. I was on top of the world."

"Why is that a bad story?" Tom asked.

"1 Samuel 2:3."

"Not everyone knows the Bible as well as you."

"Talk no more so very proudly, let not arrogance come from your mouth; for the Lord is a God of knowledge, and by him actions are weighed."

"I doubt you went around bragging about the test," Tom said.

"No, but there was arrogance in my heart," Rachel confessed.

"You have every right to be proud. You work hard. You care. You help others. I keep a copy of Desiderata on my wall. It says to enjoy your achievements as well as your plans."

"I'm enjoying my plans now," Rachel said, inching up for a kiss.

Half an hour later, they were sitting against the headboard sipping water. Both were out of breath.

"How do you see this working?" Tom asked.

"I would like you to visit me at Harvard," Rachel hesitantly said. Then she paused.

"But? There's a 'but' here, isn't there?"

"I'm afraid so."

"Okay, what's the 'but'?"

"When I first went to Harvard, I barely got in. My scholastic records were so messed up, I wasn't even on their radar. I wasn't on anyone's radar. I was a dirt-poor seventeen-year-old with a history of mental problems. Dr. Borowski discovered me, went to bat for me, and convinced the board to give me a scholarship."

"I remember you thanking him at the WHD announcement. The audience gave him a standing ovation."

"Which he deserved. My first year at Harvard, I worked really hard, and finished at the top of my department. Then I did it again in my sophomore year, and my junior year. I would have finished at the top during my senior year if my parents hadn't gotten sick."

"Parents you hated. Parents who left you living on the street."

"That didn't matter. They were my parents. I was obligated to help them, and I keep my obligations. Now I have one semester to complete. I'm going to give it all my energy. I won't have time for distractions."

"That's what I am? A distraction?"

"You are a big distraction," Rachel said, snuggling closer.

"I need to work on my male ego," Tom decided.

"How is that?"

"I'm a former SEAL. A lieutenant commander in the U. S. Naval Reserve. I'm studying at UCLA for a master's in psychology. By most standards, all pretty big stuff. But I'm dating Rachel Marbury, aka Rachel Montgomery, thought by some to be the most brilliant woman in the world."

"That's ridiculous!" Rachel objected, popping up on her knees. "I do a few things really well. Like cooking. And I screw up just about everything else. I don't see what's so brilliant about that."

"Someday they're going to hang a Nobel Prize on your wall."

"They do that for everybody," Rachel dismissed.

"Don't get your panties in a knot. My ego will survive. And it doesn't hurt to know that I'm your biggest distraction."

"Did I say biggest?"

"Yes, you did."

"I don't remember that. You may need to remind me."

* * * * * *

After many years, Rachel is returning to Harvard to finish her degree. But nothing is ever easy for our hero, and times are about to get tough.