Deception Point Page 96

only if he hear the explosion.117The West denotation was usually quiet at this hour, however the chairmans unexpected emergence in his bathrobe and slippers had rustled the aides and on-site staff divulge of their day-timer beds and on-site sleeping quarters.I cant find her, Mr. President, a young aide said, hurrying after him into the ellipse Office. He had looked e reallywhere. Ms. Tench is not answering her pager or cellphone.The President looked exasperated. Have you looked in the-She left the building, sir, some other aide announced, hurrying in. She gestural out about an hour ago. We think she may have foregone to the NRO. One of the operators says she and Pickering were talking tonight.William Pickering? The President sounded baffled. Tench and Pickering were anything exclusively social. Have you called him?Hes not answering either, sir. NRO switchboard cant reach him. They say Pickerings cellphone isnt even ringing. Its standardized hes dropped off the face of the ea rth.Herney stared at his aides for a moment and therefore walked to the bar and poured himself a bourbon. As he raised the glass to his lips, a Secret Serviceman hurried in.Mr. President? I wasnt going to incite you, but you should be aware that there was a car bomb at the FDR Memorial tonight.What Herney almost dropped his drink. When?An hour ago. His face was grim. And the FBI just identify the victim 118Delta-Threes foot screamed in pain. He felt himself floating done a muddled consciousness. Is this death? He tried to move but felt paralyzed, barely able to breathe. He axiom only groggy shapes. His mind reeled derriere, recalling the explosion of the Crestliner out at sea, seeing the rage in Michael Tollands look as the oceanographer stood over him, belongings the explosive pole to his throat. sure enough Tolland killed meAnd yet the searing pain in Delta-Threes right foot told him he was very much alive. Slowly it came back. On hearing the explosion of the Crestliner, T olland had let out a cry of anguished rage for his lost friend. Then, turning his pillaged eyes to Delta-Three, Tolland had arched as if preparing to ram the rod through Delta-Threes throat. merely 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 past and drove his boot checkmate on Delta-Threes tattered foot.The last thing Delta-Three remembered was vomiting in paroxysm 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 retrieve his arms tied behind his back in a geographical mile so tight it could only have been tied by a sailor. His legs were also bound, bent behind him and tied to his wrists, leaving him in an immobilized reversive arch. He tried to call out, but no sound came. His talk was stuffed with something.Delta-Three could not imagine what was going on. It was hence he felt the self-possessed breez e and saw the bright lights. He realized he was up on the Goyas main prettify. He twisted to look for help and was met by a frightful sight, his own reproof-bulbous and misshapen in the reflective plexiglass bubble of the Goyas deepwater cuneusmersible. The sub hung right in front of him, and Delta-Three realized he was lying on a giant trapdoor in the deck. This was not tight 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 go over to peer down the surprise 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 growing warin ess, Delta-Two had followed the long crimson smear along the sideboard deck back toward the rear of the ship, where it passed the beginning to the original 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 capture to the laboratory section of the ship. The smear continued toward the stern 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. tied(p) from a distance, Delta-Two could see that his partner was missing a good stack of his right foot.Wary of a trap, Delta-Two raised his gun and moved forward. Delta-Three was wriggly now, trying to speak. Ironically, the way the man had been bound-with his knees sharply bent behind him-was in all probability saving his life the bleeding in his foot appeare d to have slowed.As Delta-Two approached the submersible, he appreciated the rare luxury of being able to remain his own back the entire deck of the ship was reflected in the subs round cockpit dome. Delta-Two arrived at his struggling partner. He saw the warning in his eyes too late.The flash of silver came out of nowhere.One of the Tritons manipulator claws on the spur of the moment leaped forward and clamped down on Delta-Twos left thigh with crushing force. He tried to bring out 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, pulley-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 plexiglass dome. He pulled the trigger , and the gun roared. Wild with rage at having been tricked, Delta-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 tear up 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, straight-from-the-shouldering 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 warrant 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 keep mum 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 aluminum gangway, Tolland stepped onto the deck and eyed his subs destroyed dome window.Ten thousand pounds per square inch, Tolland said. Looks akin 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 protracted 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 wound on Rachels arm had halt bleeding, and the adrenaline coursing through her body had muted the pain and alter 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 communication channel to the incriminating stack of papers in her hand-the GPR printout, images of Bathynomous giganteus, photos and articles regarding oceanic chondrules, an electron microscan printout. The meteorite was a fake, and this was the proof.