The House Next Door

by James Patterson

  It takes me a solid few seconds to catch my breath.

  Was it just an LA Sheriff’s Department chopper on a routine patrol of this neck of the San Gabriel Mountains?

  Or was it someone else—tracking me, watching me?

  I tell myself I’m just being paranoid.

  But am I?

  Chapter 13

  Marty and I follow her father down the hall and into his private study, which is lined with mahogany bookshelves. On the walls hang a collection of framed, antique sketches of early airplanes. An original blueprint of NASA’s 1961 Saturn I module. And John’s many impressive degrees and awards, including his PhD in astrophysics from Stanford and the National Medal of Science bestowed on him by President Clinton.

  I should probably mention that brilliance runs deep in Marty’s family.

  About a decade ago, my father-in-law retired from a long and distinguished career as head of Boeing’s Advanced Space Access Team in nearby Torrance. He and Karen purchased this cozy cottage in the hills, where they’ve lived ever since. But John still does some consulting here and there on various top-secret aerospace projects for the government and private sector, which has kept him up to date on all the latest technological developments in the field, both domestic and foreign.

  Sure, the guy might hate my guts. But there’s nothing I can tell him about my research or discovery that John won’t at least know something about.

  “Now what the hell is going on?” he demands, slamming his office door.

  “Let me show you,” I say. “I just need remote access to my home system.”

  John flips open the MacBook on his desk and spins it to face me. “Go ahead.”

  I smile awkwardly. “Actually, that’s not going to work.”

  Whether the FBI confiscated my supercomputer’s hard drives this morning or not, I thankfully had the foresight a few months ago to set up a real-time, thrice-encrypted multivalent phantom server, encoded across a randomized network of dark-web server farms all around the world.

  In layman’s terms? I backed up all my files to a very top-secret cloud.

  Problem is, I’ll need an equally robust computer system to open them.

  Luckily, I know I’ve come to the right place.

  John understands exactly what I’m asking for. Grumbling under his breath, he heaves a moveable bookshelf to the side to reveal a hidden titanium-reinforced wall. He taps a code into a digital keypad and the wall slides open…exposing a small inner chamber lined with slim monitors, blinking server towers, and quantum processors.

  This is one of the few things my father-in-law and I have in common. His might be a little fancier than mine, but we’ve both built makeshift homemade supercomputers.

  I hurry over to a console and get to work, logging in to my remote portal with a series of thirty-six-digit alphanumeric passcodes I’ve committed to memory. Before long, I’ve pulled up the streams of data qubits I first saw early this morning.

  The repeating pattern is right there, clear as day.

  But the “meaning” is still an absolute mystery.

  “Have a look,” I say to my ex-wife’s father. “See for yourself.”

  John squints at his computer monitors, at first with extreme skepticism. But the anger creasing his face slowly turns to confusion…then astonishment.

  “Oh, my God,” he utters, eyes growing wide with amazement. “This…this is…I…”

  He’s so flabbergasted, he can’t even string together a complete sentence!

  Marty leans over his shoulder to see the pulsing data herself. She sits down, her eyes never moving from the screen; she’s even more incredulous than her father.

  “Where are you getting this from?” she asks. “What’s the source?”

  “It’s actually a synthesis of two different feeds,” I explain, typing rapidly and pulling up a spinning map of the globe on-screen showing a pair of blinking dots—one in central Russia, the other in South America. “A classified former Soviet listening station and a radio telescope within the Atacama Large Millimeter Array in northern Chile. That’s what makes this so unique.”

  John is still reeling. “Do you…do you understand…what this means?”

  “Not a damn clue,” I say. “That’s what I was hoping you could help tell me. But I do know…it means something. No way in hell this is just random cosmic noise. It’s a string of repeating signals aimed directly at us from deep space—from a part of the infinite night sky we haven’t fully probed. And that means…”

  I can barely contain myself as I finish the sentence.

  “…my theory was correct all along! Someone or something is out there! Sending us a message, trying to make contact!”

  I look to John, who has turned white as a ghost. He puts a shaky hand to his head and sits down, struggling to process it all.

  “Okay, let’s just think this through,” says Marty. “Obviously the government is going to want to keep a lid on this. And that means, they’re going to want to keep a lid on you, Rob—if you catch my drift. The only way to protect yourself that I can think of…is to translate the message. Figure out what it’s actually saying, to give yourself some leverage. Which, of course, is easier said than done.”

  I nod gravely. I’m fully aware of the incredible danger I’m in—we’re all in—and the many challenges that lie ahead.

  “The question is, how?” I say. “We barely have the computing power to visualize these data qubits, let alone interpret them. If only there was some way—”

  “There is.”

  John slowly stands again and looks me square in the eye.

  “Northrop Grumman. They have a facility. Up in Antelope Valley. They call it Tejon Ranch.”

  “Sure, I know it,” I say. “Not far from Edwards Air Force Base, where I used to be stationed. I’ve seen sat-feeds of the place. Looks like nothing but an abandoned airstrip and a couple empty hangars…right?”

  John frowns and shakes his head.

  “Wrong. That’s just what they want you to think.”

  Chapter 14

  “If you really push the folks at Northrop,” John continues, “they’ll admit the place is an old research facility. But they’ll tell you it’s basically abandoned. In reality…”

  I lean forward, anxious to learn whatever tidbit he’s about to spill.

  “…it is. At least on the surface. But underground? It’s a massive system of buried tunnels, some a mile deep. They contain twenty-two levels of intergalactic communication and data analysis capabilities like you wouldn’t believe.”

  For a moment, I’m too startled to say anything. Truth be told, I don’t believe it. And apparently, my former father-in-law can read that skepticism all over my face.

  “I know it sounds improbable,” he says. “But it’s true.”

  “Dad,” Marty says, “how do you know? It must be just a rumor.”

  John shakes his head.

  “About a year ago, I consulted on an aerospace project for Northrop. I’ve been to Tejon Ranch. I’ve seen what it really is. The technology that place has is on the cutting edge of interstellar communication capabilities.” He gestures to the computer screens, still blinking with the patterned data message. “If anybody outside the government stands a chance of translating this, it’s them.”

  I consider what John is saying. It all sounds amazing.

  Except for one tiny little problem.

  “Okay, even if Northrop was willing to touch this thing with a thirty-foot pole,” I say, “how exactly do you expect me to get inside that place? Knock on the door and say, ‘Hi, I’m a disgraced scientist who just made contact with aliens. Mind if I borrow your nonexistent supercomputer system for the afternoon?’”

  “He’s right,” Marty says sullenly. “There’s just no way—”

  “There’s always a way,” John replies. “You just get to that ranch. Let me handle the rest. I still know a few researchers there. They’ll be waiting for you at the main gate. Once they recog
nize what you’ve discovered, they’ll help you—just like I did.”

  I’m overwhelmed with conflicting emotions. This man I admire so much, who was once family, whose daughter I used to love—and on some level still do—is not only showing me the professional respect I’ve always craved. He’s willing to go to bat for me. Risk everything. Because he believes in me. Because he believes in my discovery.

  “I…I don’t know what to say,” I stammer.

  “Say good-bye—to Marty and the girls. They’ll stay here with us, where it’s hopefully safer.”

  I nod. With federal agencies looking for me, of course that’s the wisest option. Still, the idea of being away from them again makes me feel awful—because being with them this morning has made me feel so wonderful.

  I’m overwhelmed with conflicting emotions from all sides. Marty and the kids. Being with them again reminds me of how much I love them, how important they are to me. What the hell was I thinking? I wasn’t. I buried myself in this crazy project that looks like it’s about to pay big dividends, good, bad, or otherwise.

  And the only way to justify my selfish isolation, my addiction to it, is to honor Marty and the kids, and my work, by seeing it through. Whatever it takes. It’s also about my professional integrity—if there’s any left to be had.

  While John remains in his office to start making some calls, Marty and I head to the backyard. There we find Claire, Ellie, and Newton all splashing happily together in the pool. Karen is sitting on a chaise longue, watching her granddaughters and their dog.

  “Girls,” Marty calls to them, “come say good-bye to your father. Quickly.”

  Claire and Ellie hop out of the water and scurry over to me.

  I kneel down and wrap their little wet bodies in a giant hug.

  “So, listen,” I say, fighting the giant lump growing in my throat. “I just found out I’ve got to take care of some very important work stuff. I’m sorry I have to go, but—”

  “Will you visit us again?” Claire asks, her face bright with hope.

  “Of course!” I insist. “Before you even know it. It’s been so much fun being with you guys today. Listen to Mommy and Nana and Pop-Pop, okay? And always remember how much I think about you two. And how much I love you.”

  “We love you, too, Daddy,” Ellie says, and both she and her sister tighten their embrace around my neck.

  God…I would give anything to freeze this moment in time forever. The photos Marty sends me—and I send into space—are nice, but nothing beats the real thing. It takes everything I’ve got to tear myself away from them. I promise myself I’ll see my girls again soon. That I’ll be a bigger presence in their lives. A better father.

  And this time, I really mean it.

  After I hug Karen good-bye, Marty and I step out alone onto the front porch.

  “You’re sure you can handle this, Rob?” she asks, gazing up at me with those beautiful green eyes.

  How the hell did you let this incredible woman go?

  “Honestly? I’m not,” I admit. “Mar, I’m terrified. I’ve got a message from outer space and it’s up to me to decode it! But I have to handle this. For you and the girls. For myself. For…for the future of the human race.”

  Then I add with a little smile: “No pressure, right?”

  Marty chuckles, happy for this shred of comic relief. Then very tentatively, she leans in and gives me a quick kiss on the lips. I feel my whole body tingle like it was our first kiss all over again. Then we both pull away—just as John steps out onto the porch as well.

  “Ready to hit the road?” he asks.

  “Ready as I’ll ever be,” I answer, holding up my key to his old Jeep.

  “I don’t think so,” John says, snatching it right out of my hand. “Follow me.”

  Chapter 15

  John marches down the porch stairs and heads for the garage around the side. I hustle along after him, confused as ever.

  “You’re going to be racing across the desert,” he tells me, “then up some rocky foothills. Winding roads. Treacherous switchbacks.”

  “Right,” I reply as he yanks open the garage door. “All the more reason for me to take the four-by-four, no?”

  The inside of the garage looks like a tornado swept through. Tools, car parts, wires, old furniture, and boxes and boxes of computer equipment, floor to ceiling.

  Except in the back left corner.

  There, something is covered with a wrinkled gray tarp.

  “The Jeep is what they think you’ll be driving,” John says, heading for this covered object that stands about three feet tall. “They’ve got your plates. I’m sure they’ve put out an APB. You need speed and agility. But most of all, anonymity.”

  With a bit of a flourish, he pulls off the tarp to reveal a motorcycle so sleek and aerodynamic, it might as well be a mini spaceship.

  It’s a Ducati 899, a bike that was clearly designed to go fast.

  “Wow!” I can’t help but exclaim. I feel like a little kid on Christmas morning. The motorcycle is absolutely stunning. “How long have you had this thing?”

  “I bought it two years ago,” John answers. “Wasn’t easy convincing Karen to let me. It’s perfect for cruising through the countryside, or along the coast. Or in your case…outrunning the feds. Here. Try these on.”

  John hands me a black protective leather jacket and a pair of padded riding gloves. They all fit, well, like a glove.

  “Now climb on. Give it a try.”

  I do, instinctively squeezing the brake handle to stabilize the Ducati while I straddle its contoured leather seat. I rode a clunky old Honda Rebel in college, so I’m familiar with how to handle a bike. But this one is like nothing I’ve ever been on before. Even in park it feels nimble. And futuristic. Almost ethereal.

  I turn the ignition key and a small rectangular screen lights up, displaying the bike’s data. It looks less like a motorcycle dashboard than the cockpit of a plane. I shift into neutral, press the starter button, and roll the throttle just a touch. The Ducati responds instantly with a low, throaty roar.

  “Tank’s about half full,” John says, reaching for one of two helmets hanging on a nearby hook. “You may need to top it off at some point before you get there.”

  He hands me the helmet. It’s neon-green DayGlo, full-face with a clear visor, so it offers not just excellent protection but a bit of a disguise, too. I slip it on, and adjust it so it’s snug and secure. Then I flip up the visor and give John a deeply grateful look. I realize in that moment that he’s the closest thing to a father I’ve ever really had.

  “John, I…I don’t know how to thank you.”

  “Not now,” he says, waving off my sentimentality with one hand while rummaging through a plastic bin with another. “You’ve got an opportunity here—no, a responsibility—to shine a light on something earth-shattering. Something history-making! That’s a major accomplishment you should be proud of.”

  I swallow hard, overcome with pride. Everything I’ve worked so hard for…all that I’ve sacrificed…all the mistakes I’ve made…the toll it’s taken on my family, my health, my life…

  “But you won’t be alive to enjoy it,” John continues, snapping me out of my trance, “unless you get your overeducated ass to Tejon Ranch in one piece. Do you hear me?”

  I nod, and see he’s been tinkering with what looks like a small GPS device, which he affixes to my handlebars next to the throttle.

  “This is a Garmin Zumo 350LM. Just follow the directions I programmed. It’s a pretty roundabout route, so it should help you avoid too much traffic and throw off anybody trying to follow you. You’re looking at a two-hour ride at least.”

  “Got it,” I say. “Good thinking.”

  “Oh, one more thing. Leave your phone here.”

  “That’s okay,” I say. “I turned it off hours ago.”

  “Do you really think that’s going to prevent the suits from tracking it? Gimme a break, Rob. You’re smarter than that. Take these
instead.”

  He thrusts into my hands a few cheap, disposable cell phones.

  “When I’m working on a top-secret consulting gig,” John explains, “I like to keep some lying around, just in case. They’ll do in a pinch. Then just toss ’em.”

  Nodding, I stuff the phones into my jacket pocket. “Anything else?”

  John gives my shoulder a firm pat. “Godspeed. Now get going.”

  I snap my visor shut, shift into first gear, give the bike some gas, let out the clutch, and roar—more like fly—out of the garage, down the driveway, and past the open gate.

  I’m about halfway down Glendora Mountain Road, just starting to get comfortable with this zippy little bike, enjoying the sense of freedom and the cool breeze whipping around my body, when I spot something that makes my stomach drop.

  Tearing across Foothill Road about a half mile down the hill is a convoy of three black SUVs. Their sirens are off but their blue lights are flashing.

  And they’re headed right for me!

  No way it’s just a coincidence. It’s gotta be the FBI. Maybe they really did manage to track my powered-down iPhone like John said. Or maybe they just checked my file and wagered that I’d turn to my former in-laws for help. Maybe that helicopter that flew overhead twenty minutes ago spotted me. Or maybe…maybe…

  Snap out of it! I scold myself. It doesn’t matter. I can’t let them catch me.

  Thinking fast, I apply the brake, then steer my bike off the road and down a slight embankment. I spot a dense grove of trees, and maneuver my motorcycle and myself behind them. As soon as I’m in position, I kill the engine—

  Seconds before the SUVs whiz past my hiding spot. They continue flying up the road, toward the family I left behind—once again.

  Have I lost my mind? No.

  I know I’m right, and that I’m doing the right thing.

  I also know I just dodged a bullet.

  I pray my luck lasts just a little bit longer.

  Chapter 16