Deception Point Page 47

Arriving now at the doorway of the Communications Office, Tench mat up alive with the thrill of the fight. Politics was war. She besidesk a deep clue and checked her watch. 615 P.M. The first shot was about to be fired.She entered.The Communications Office was lilliputian not for lack of room, unless for lack of necessity. It was unitary of the most efficient mass communications post in the world and employed a staff of only flipper people. At the moment, all five employees stood over their banks of electronic gear looking desire swimmers poised for the starting gun.They are ready, Tench dictum in their eager gazes.It always amazed her that this tiny office, given only two hours head start, could gather more than than unrivaled third of the worlds civilized population. With electronic connections to literally tens of thousands of global news sources-from the largest television conglomerates to the smallest hometown newspapers-the flannel House Communications Office coul d, at the extend to of a few merelytons, reach out and touch the world.Fax-broadcast computers churned press releases into the in-boxes of radio, television, print, and Internet media outlets from Maine to Moscow. Bulk e- air programs blanketed on-line news wires. Telephone autodialers phoned thousands of media content managers and played enter voice announcements. A breaking news Web page provided constant updates and preformatted content. The live-feed-capable news sources-CNN, NBC, ABC, CBS, foreign syndicates-would be assaulted from all angles and promised free, live television feeds. Whatever else these networks were airing would come to a screeching halt for an arrest presidential address.Full penetration.Like a general inspecting her troops, Tench strode in silence over to the model desk and picked up the printout of the flash release that now sat wet in all the transmission machines the likes of cartridges in a shotgun.When Tench read it, she had to laugh quietly to her self. By usual standards, the release loaded for broadcast was heavy-handed-more of an advertisement than an announcement-but the President had ordered the Communications Office to pull out all the stops. And that they had. This text edition was perfect-keyword-rich and content light. A deadly combination. even up the news wires that used automated keyword-sniffer programs to sort their incoming mail would see multiple flags on this oneFrom White House Communications OfficeSubject imperative Presidential AddressThe President of the United States will be holding an urgent press concourse tonight at 800 p.m. Eastern Standard Time from the White House briefing room. The government issue of his announcement is currently classified. Live A/V feeds will be available via customary outlets.egg laying the paper affirm down on the desk, Marjorie Tench looked around the Communications Office and gave the staff an move nod. They looked eager.Lighting a cigarette, she puffed a moment, let ting the anticipation build. Finally, she grinned. Ladies and gentlemen. Start your engines.53All crystal clear reasoning had evaporated from Rachel Sextons mind. She held no thoughts for the meteorite, the mysterious GPR printout in her pocket, Ming, the horrific attack on the ice sheet. There was one matter at hand.Survival.The ice skimmed by in a blur beneath her like an endless, sleek steepway. Whether her body was numb with fear or simply cocooned by her protective suit, Rachel did not know, but she felt no pain. She felt nothing.Yet.Lying on her side, attached to Tolland at the waist, Rachel lay face-to-face with him in an awkward embrace. Somewhere ahead of them, the heave billowed, fat with wind, like a parachute on the back of a dragster. Corky trailed behind, swerving wildly like a tractor trailer out of control. The flare crisscross the spot where they had been attacked had all but disappeared in the distance.The hissing of their nylon Mark IX suits on the ice grew h igh and higher in pitch as they continued to accelerate. She had no idea how fast they were going now, but the wind was at least sixty miles an hour, and the frictionless runway beneath them seemed to be racing by faster and faster with every passing second. The impervious Mylar balloon apparently had no intentions of tearing or relinquishing its hold.We need to release, she thought. They were racing away from one deadly force-directly toward another. The ocean is probably less than a mile ahead now The thought of icy water brought back terrifying memories.The wind gusted harder, and their stop number increased. Somewhere behind them Corky let out a scream of terror. At this run, Rachel knew they had only a few minutes before they were dragged out over the cliff into the frigid ocean.Tolland was apparently having similar thoughts because he was now fighting with the payload clasp attached to their bodies.I cant unhook us he yelled. Theres too much tensionRachel hoped a momentary l ull in the wind might give Tolland near slack, but the katabatic pulled on with relentless uniformity. Trying to help, Rachel ill-shapen her body and rammed the toe cleat of one of her crampons into the ice, sending a rooster tail of ice shards into the air. Their velocity slowed ever so slightly.Now she yelled, lifting her foot.For an sec the payload line on the balloon slackened slightly. Tolland yanked down, trying to take advantage of the loose line to place the payload clip out of their carabiners. Not even close.Again he yelled.This time they two twisted against one another and rammed their toe prongs into the ice, sending a double plume of ice into the air. This slowed the contraption more perceptibly.NowOn Tollands cue, they both let up. As the balloon surged forward again, Tolland rammed his thumb into the carabiner fastening and twisted the hook, trying to release the clasp. Although closer this time, he still needed more slack. The carabiners, Norah had bragged, wer e first-rate, Joker guard duty clips, specifically crafted with an extra loop in the metal so they would never release if there were any(prenominal) tension on them at all.Killed by safety clips, Rachel thought, not catch outing the irony the least number amusing.One more time Tolland yelled.Mustering all her energy and hope, Rachel twisted as far as she could and rammed both of her toes into the ice. Arching her back, she tried to lift all her weight onto her toes. Tolland followed her lead until they were both angled roughly on their stomachs, the connection at their belt straining their harnesses. Tolland rammed his toes down and Rachel arched farther. The vibrations sent shock waves up her legs. She felt like her ankles were going to break.Hold it hold it Tolland contorted himself to release the Joker clip as their speed decreased. Almost Rachels crampons snapped. The metal cleats tore off of her boots and went tumbling backward into the night, bouncing over Corky. The ball oon immediately lurched forward, sending Rachel and Tolland fishtailing to one side. Tolland lost his grasp on the clip.ShitThe Mylar balloon, as if angered at having been momentarily restrained, lurched forward now, pulling even harder, dragging them down the glacier toward the sea. Rachel knew they were closing fast on the cliff, although they face up danger even before the hundred-foot drop into the Arctic Ocean. Three huge snow berms stood in their path. Even protected by the padding in the Mark IX suits, the experience of launching at high speed up and over the snow mounds filled her with terror.Fighting in desperation with their harnesses, Rachel tried to find a way to release the balloon. It was then that she heard the rhythmic ticking on the ice-the rapid-fire staccato of jackanapes metal on the sheet of bare ice.