Deception Point Page 15

Fin ally, Rachel spotted the hazy kayoedline of land. But it was not what she had expected. Looming out of the ocean before the flat was an enormous snowcapped mountain range.Mountains? Rachel asked, confused. There atomic number 18 mountains north of Greenland?Apparently, the buff said, sounding equally surprised.As the nose of the F-14 tilted downward, Rachel felt an eerie weightlessness. Through the ringing in her ears she could hear a repeated electronic ping in the cockpit. The pilot had apparently locked on to some kind of directional beacon and was following it in.As they passed on a lower floor triad thousand feet, Rachel stared out at the dramatic moonlit terrain beneath them. At the base of the mountains, an expansive, snowy plain swept wide. The plateau pass around gracefully seaward about ten miles until it ended abruptly at a sheer cliff of solid ice that dropped vertically into the ocean.It was past that Rachel saw it. A sight like nothing she had ever agnisen bothwhere on earth. At first she thought the moonlight must be playing tricks on her. She squinted down at the snowfields, unable to comprehend what she was flavour at. The lower the plane descended, the clearer the image became.What in the name of God?The plateau beneath them was striped as if some unitary had painted the snow with cardinal huge striations of silver paint. The glistening strips ran analogue to the coastal cliff. Not until the plane dropped past five hundred feet did the optical illusion reveal itself. The three silver stripes were deep troughs, each one over xxx yards wide. The troughs had filled with water and frozen into broad, silvery channels that stretched in parallel across the plateau. The white berms between them were mounded dikes of snow.As they dropped toward the plateau, the plane started bucking and bouncing in leaden turbulence. Rachel heard the arrive gear engage with a heavy clunk, but she still saw no landing strip. As the pilot struggled to keep the plane under control, Rachel peered out and spotted two lines of blink of an eye strobes straddling the outermost ice trough. She realized to her horror what the pilot was about to do.Were landing on ice? she demanded.The pilot did not respond. He was concentrating on the hammering wind. Rachel felt a drag in her gut as the deceitfulness decelerated and dropped toward the ice channel. High snow berms rose on either view of the aircraft, and Rachel held her breath, knowing the slightest miscalculation in the narrow channel would mean genuine death. The wavering plane dropped lower between the berms, and the turbulence suddenly disappeared. render thither from the wind, the plane touched down perfectly on the ice.The Tomcats revoke thrusters roared, slowing the plane. Rachel exhaled. The jet taxied about a hundred yards farther and trilled to a stop at a red line spray-painted b of age(predicate)ly across the ice.The view to the right was nothing but a wall of snow i n the moonlight-the side of an ice berm. The view on the left hand was identical. Only through the windshield ahead of them did Rachel have any visibility an endless expanse of ice. She felt like she had landed on a dead planet. Aside from the line on the ice, there were no signs of life. consequently Rachel heard it. In the distance, another engine was approaching. Higher pitched. The sound grew louder until a machine came into view. It was a large, multitreaded snow tractor churning toward them up the ice trough. tall-growing and spindly, it reckoned like a towering futuristic insect grinding toward them on voracious spinning feet. Mounted high on the chassis was an enclose Plexiglas cabin with a rack of floodlights illuminating its way.The machine shuddered to a halt directly beside the F-14. The door on the Plexiglas cabin opened, and a figure climbed down a ladder onto the ice. He was bundled from head to al-Qaida in a puffy white jumpsuit that gave the impression he had b een inflated.Mad Max meets the Pillsbury Dough Boy, Rachel thought, relieved at least to see this strange planet was inhabited.The man signaled for the F-14 pilot to pop the hatch.The pilot obeyed.When the cockpit opened, the reversal of air that tore through Rachels body chilled her instantly to the core.Close the anathemise lidMs. Sexton? the figure called up to her. His accent was Ameri brush aside. On behalf of NASA, I welcome you.Rachel was shivering. Thanks a million.Please unhook your flight harness, ply your helmet in the craft, and deplane by using the fuselage toe-holds. Do you have any questions?Yes, Rachel shouted back. Where the hell am I?17Marjorie Tench-senior adviser to the President-was a loping skeleton of a creature. Her gaunt six-foot frame resembled an Erector Set construction of joints and limbs. Overhanging her insecure body was a jaundiced face whose skin resembled a canvass of parchment paper punctured by two emotionless eyes. At fifty-one, she hold of fed seventy.Tench was revered in Washington as a goddess in the policy-making arena. She was said to possess analytical skills that bordered on the clairvoyant. Her disco biscuit running the State Departments Bureau of Intelligence and Research had helped hone a lethally sharp, critical mind. Unfortunately, accompanying Tenchs political savvy came an icy temperament that some could endure for more than than a few minutes. Marjorie Tench had been blessed with all the brains of a supercomputer-and the warmth of one, too. Nonetheless, President Zach Herney had little trouble tolerating the womans idiosyncrasies her intellect and impenetrable work were almost single-handedly responsible for putting Herney in part in the first place.Marjorie, the President said, standing to welcome her into the Oval Office. What can I do for you? He did not offer her a seat. The classifiable social graces did not apply to women like Marjorie Tench. If Tench wanted a seat, she would damn well take one.I see you set the stave briefing for four oclock this afternoon. Her voice was raspy from cigarettes. Excellent.Tench paced a moment, and Herney perceived the intricate cogs of her mind turning over and over. He was grateful. Marjorie Tench was one of the select few on the Presidents staff who was fully aware of the NASA discovery, and her political savvy was helping the President plan his strategy.This CNN debate today at one oclock, Tench said, coughing. Who are we sending to spar with Sexton?Herney smiled. A junior campaign spokesperson. The political tactic of frustrating the hunter by never sending him any big game was as old as debates themselves.I have a better idea, Tench said, her stark(a) eyes finding his. Let me take the spot myself.Zach Herneys head crap-shooter up. You? What the hell is she thinking? Marjorie, you dont do media spots. Besides, its a midday cable show. If I send my senior adviser, what kind of message does that send? It makes us look like were pani cking.Exactly.Herney studied her. Whatever convoluted scheme Tench was hatching, there was no way in hell Herney would permit her to appear on CNN. Anyone who had ever laid eyes on Marjorie Tench knew there was a reason she worked behind the scenes. Tench was a frightful-looking woman-not the kind of face a President wanted delivering the White set up message.I am fetching this CNN debate, she repeated. This time she was not asking.Marjorie, the President maneuvered, feeling uneasy now, Sextons campaign pass on obviously claim your presence on CNN is proof the White House is running scared. Sending out our big guns early makes us look desperate.The woman gave a quiet nod and lit a cigarette. The more desperate we look, the better.