Deception Point Page 96

merely he heard the outburst.117The West Wing was usually quiet at this hour, moreover the prexys unexpected emergence in his bathrobe and slippers had rustled the aides and on-site staff out of their day-magaziner beds and on-site sleeping quarters.I cant find her, Mr. President, a young aide said, speed after him into the Oval Office. He had looked everywhere. Ms. Tench is non answering her pager or mobile phone.The President looked exasperated. Have you looked in the-She left the building, sir, another aide announced, hurrying in. She signed out about an hour ago. We think she may have gone to the NRO. bingle of the operators says she and Pickering were talking tonight.William Pickering? The President sounded baffled. Tench and Pickering were anything solely social. Have you called him?Hes not answering either, sir. NRO switchboard cant reach him. They say Pickerings cellphone isnt even ringing. Its like hes dropped off the face of the earth.Herney stared at his aides for a moment and then walked to the public house and poured himself a bourbon. As he raised the glass to his lips, a Secret Serviceman hurried in.Mr. President? I wasnt going to wake you, but you should be aware that there was a car outpouring at the FDR Memorial tonight.What Herney almost dropped his drink. When?An hour ago. His face was grim. And the FBI just identified the victim 118Delta-Threes foot screamed in pain. He felt himself floating through a muddled consciousness. Is this death? He tested to pass out-of-door but felt paralyzed, barely up to(p) to breathe. He saw only blurred shapes. His mind reeled back, recalling the explosion of the Crestliner out at sea, seeing the irritation in Michael Tollands eyeball as the oceanographer stood over him, holding the volatile pole to his throat.Certainly Tolland killed meAnd yet the searing pain in Delta-Threes just foot told him he was very some(prenominal) alive. Slowly it came back. On hearing the explosion of the Crestline r, Tolland had let out a cry of anguished rage for his lost friend. Then, turning his ravaged eyes to Delta-Three, Tolland had arched as if preparing to ram the retinal rod through Delta-Threes throat. But as he did, he seemed to hesitate, as if his own morality were holding him back. With brutal frustration and fury, Tolland yanked the rod away and drove his boot down on Delta-Threes tattered foot.The last thing Delta-Three remembered was vomiting in agony as his whole world drifted into a black delirium. Now he was coming to, with no idea how long he had been unconscious. He could feel his arms tied rotter his back in a knot so tight it could only have been tied by a sailor. His legs were alike bound, bent behind him and tied to his wrists, leaving him in an immobilized backward arch. He tried to call out, but no sound came. His mouth was stuffed with something.Delta-Three could not imagine what was going on. It was then he felt the assuredness breeze and saw the bright lights. He completed he was up on the Goyas main deck. He twisted to look for help and was met by a frightful sight, his own reflection-bulbous and misshapen in the brooding Plexiglas bubble of the Goyas deepwater submersible. The sub hung right in front of him, and Delta-Three realized he was fictionalisation on a elephantine trapdoor in the deck. This was not nearly as unsettling as the most obvious question.If Im on deck then where is Delta-Two?Delta-Two had grown uneasy.Despite his partners CrypTalk transmission claiming he was fine, the single gunshot had not been that of a machine gun. Obviously, Tolland or Rachel Sexton had fired a weapon. Delta-Two moved over to peer down the rage where his partner had descended, and he saw blood.Weapon raised, he had descended belowdecks, where he followed the trail of blood along a catwalk to the bow of the ship. Here, the trail of blood had led him back up another ramp to the main deck. It was deserted. With ontogeny wariness, Delta-Two ha d followed the long crimson smear along the sideboard deck back toward the rear of the ship, where it passed the opening to the skipper ramp he had descended.What the hell is going on? The smear seemed to travel in a giant circle.Moving cautiously, his gun trained ahead of him, Delta-Two passed the entrance to the laboratory section of the ship. The smear continued toward the back end deck. Carefully he swung wide, rounding the corner. His eye traced the trail.Then he saw it.Jesus ChristDelta-Three was lying there-bound and gagged-dumped unceremoniously directly in front of the Goyas small submersible. Even from a distance, Delta-Two could see that his partner was miss a good portion of his right foot.Wary of a trap, Delta-Two raised his gun and moved forward. Delta-Three was squirm now, trying to speak. Ironically, the way the man had been bound-with his knees sharply bent behind him-was probably saving his life the shed blood in his foot appeared to have slowed.As Delta-Two a pproached the submersible, he appreciated the rare luxury of being able to watch his own back the entire deck of the ship was reflected in the subs rounded cockpit dome. Delta-Two arrived at his seek partner. He saw the warning in his eyes too late.The flash of silver came out of nowhere.One of the Tritons manipulator claws suddenly leaped forward and secureed down on Delta-Twos left thigh with crushing force. He tried to pull away, but the claw bore down. He screamed in pain, feeling a bone break. His eyes shot to the subs cockpit. Peering through the reflection of the deck, Delta-Two could now see him, ensconced in the shadows of the Tritons interior.Michael Tolland was inside the sub, at the controls.Bad idea, Delta-Two seethed, block out his pain and shouldering his machine gun. He aimed up and to the left at Tollands chest, only three feet away on the other side of the subs Plexiglas dome. He pulled the trigger, and the gun roared. Wild with rage at having been tricked, Del ta-Two held the trigger back until the last of his shells clattered to the deck and his gun clicked empty. Breathless, he dropped the weapon and glared at the shredded dome in front of him.Dead the soldier hissed, straining to pull his leg from the clamp. As he twisted, the metal clamp severed his skin, opening a large gash. Fuck He reached now for the CrypTalk on his belt. But as he raised it to his lips, a second robotic arm snapped open in front of him and lunged forward, clamping around his right arm. The CrypTalk fell to the deck.It was then that Delta-Two saw the ghost in the window before him. A pale kisser leaning sideways and peering out through an unscathed edge of glass. Stunned, Delta-Two looked at the center of the dome and realized the bullets had not even come close to penetrating the thick shell. The dome was cratered with pockmarks.An instant later, the topside portal on the sub opened, and Michael Tolland emerged. He looked shaky but unscathed. Climbing down the a luminum gangway, Tolland stepped onto the deck and eyed his subs finished dome window.Ten thousand pounds per square inch, Tolland said. Looks like you need a bigger gun.Inside the hydrolab, Rachel knew time was running out. She had heard the gunshots out on the deck and was praying that everything had happened exactly as Tolland had planned. She no longer cared who was behind the meteorite deception-the NASA administrator, Marjorie Tench, or the President himself-none of it mattered anymore.They will not get away with this. Whoever it is, the truth will be told.The irritate on Rachels arm had stopped bleeding, and the adrenaline coursing through her body had muted the pain and modify her focus. Finding a pen and paper, she scrawled a two-line message. The words were blunt and awkward, but eloquence was not a luxury she had time for at the moment. She added the note to the incriminating stack of papers in her hand-the GPR printout, images of Bathynomous giganteus, photos and arti cles regarding oceanic chondrules, an negatron microscan printout. The meteorite was a fake, and this was the proof.