Deception Point Page 98

Jesus Christ. The controller glanced back at the deck. Delta-Two despite everything hung in the Triton's paws, however now the sub was suspended over a vast gap in the deck. His feet dangled over the void. All Tolland needed to do was discharge the paws, and Delta-Two would be straightaway. â€Å"Okay,† the controller yelped into the CrypTalk. â€Å"Hold on. Simply hold on!† Rachel remained underneath on the deck and gazed up at the Kiowa. Indeed, even from this tallness the controller detected the purpose in her eyes. Rachel raised the CrypTalk to her mouth. â€Å"You still believe we're bluffing?† she said. â€Å"Call the fundamental switchboard at the NRO. Request Jim Samiljan. He's in P An on the nightshift. I revealed to him everything about the shooting star. He will confirm.† She's giving me a particular name? This didn't look good. Rachel Sexton was no bonehead, and this was a feign the controller could check very quickly. Despite the fact that the controller knew about nobody at the NRO named Jim Samiljan, the association was gigantic. Rachel could be coming clean. Prior to requesting the last slaughter, the controller needed to affirm if this was a feign or not. Delta-One investigated his shoulder. â€Å"You need me to deactivate the jammer so you can call and check it out?† The controller looked down at Rachel and Tolland, both on display. On the off chance that both of them made a move for a cellphone or radio, the controller knew Delta-One could generally reactivate and cut them off. The hazard was insignificant. â€Å"Kill the jammer,† the controller stated, pulling out a cellphone. â€Å"I'll affirm Rachel's lying. At that point we'll figure out how to get Delta-Two and end this.† In Fairfax, the administrator at the NRO's focal switchboard was getting anxious. â€Å"As I just let you know, I see no Jim Samiljan in the Plans and Analysis Division.† The guest was unyielding. â€Å"Have you attempted various spellings? Have you attempted other departments?† The administrator had just checked, however she checked once more. Following a few seconds, she stated, â€Å"Nowhere on staff do we have a Jim Samiljan. Under any spelling.† The guest sounded strangely satisfied by this. â€Å"So you are sure the NRO utilizes no Jim Samil-â€Å" An unexpected whirlwind of action ejected on the line. Somebody shouted. The guest reviled so anyone might hear and immediately hung up. Locally available the Kiowa, Delta-One was shouting with rage as he mixed to reactivate the sticking framework. He had made the acknowledgment past the point of no return. In the gigantic cluster of lit controls in the cockpit, a small LED meter demonstrated that a SATCOM information signal was being transmitted from the Goya. Yet, how? No one remaining the deck! Before Delta-One could draw in the jammer, the association from the Goya ended voluntarily. Inside the hydrolab, the fax machine signaled happily. Transporter FOUND†¦ FAX SENT 121 Execute or be murdered. Rachel had found a piece of herself she never knew existed. Endurance mode-a savage determination powered by dread. â€Å"What was in that outbound fax?† the voice on the CrypTalk requested. Rachel was diminished to hear affirmation that the fax had gone out as arranged. â€Å"Leave the area,† she requested, talking into the CrypTalk and glaring up at the drifting chopper. â€Å"It's finished. Your mystery is out.† Rachel educated their assailants regarding all the data she had quite recently sent. About six pages of pictures and content. Undeniable proof that the shooting star was a phony. â€Å"Harming us will just make your circumstance worse.† There was a substantial interruption. â€Å"Who did you send the fax to?† Rachel had no aim of addressing that question. She and Tolland expected to purchase however much time as could reasonably be expected. They had situated themselves close to the opening in the deck, on an immediate line with the Triton, making it inconceivable for the chopper to shoot without hitting the trooper dangling in the sub's paws. â€Å"William Pickering,† the voice speculated, sounding strangely confident. â€Å"You faxed Pickering.† Wrong, Rachel thought. Pickering would have been her first decision, yet she had been compelled to pick another person for dread her assailants had just wiped out Pickering-a move whose strength would be a chilling declaration to her foe's purpose. In a snapshot of frantic choice, Rachel had faxed the information to the main other fax number she knew by heart. Her dad's office. Congressperson Sexton's office fax number had been horrendously engraved into Rachel's memory after her mom's passing when her dad decided to work out a considerable lot of the specifics of the domain without managing Rachel face to face. Rachel never envisioned she would go to her dad in a period of scarcity, however today around evening time the man had two basic characteristics all the right political inspirations to discharge the shooting star information decisively, and enough clout to call the White House and extort them into canceling this kill crew. In spite of the fact that her dad was assuredly not in the workplace at this hour, Rachel realized he kept his office bolted like a vault. Rachel had, in actuality, faxed the information into a period lock safe. Regardless of whether the assailants knew where she had sent it, chances were thin they could overcome the tight government security at the Philip A. Hart Senate Office Building and break into a representative's office without anybody taking note. â€Å"Wherever you sent the fax,† the voice from above said. â€Å"You've placed that individual in danger.† Rachel realized she needed to talk from a place of intensity paying little mind to the dread she was feeling. She motioned to the officer caught in the Triton's paws. His legs dangled over the chasm, trickling blood thirty feet to the sea. â€Å"The just individual in peril here is your agent,† she said into the CrypTalk. â€Å"It's finished. Chill out. The information is no more. You've lost. Leave the zone, or this man dies.† The voice on the CrypTalk terminated back, â€Å"Ms. Sexton, you don't comprehend the significance â€Å" â€Å"Understand?† Rachel detonated. â€Å"I comprehend that you murdered blameless individuals! I comprehend that you lied about the shooting star! What's more, I comprehend that you won't pull off this! Regardless of whether you slaughter every one of us, it's over!† There was a long delay. At long last the voice stated, â€Å"I'm coming down.† Rachel felt her muscles fix. Descending? â€Å"I am unarmed,† the voice said. â€Å"Do do nothing ill-advised. You and I have to talk face-to-face.† Before Rachel could respond, the chopper dropped onto the Goya's deck. The traveler entryway on the fuselage opened and a figure ventured out. He was a plain-glancing man in a dark formal attire. For a moment, Rachel's musings went absolutely clear. She was gazing at William Pickering. William Pickering remained on the deck of the Goya and looked with lament at Rachel Sexton. He had never envisioned today would result in these present circumstances. As he advanced toward her, he could see the hazardous blend of feelings in his representative's eyes. Stun, double-crossing, disarray, rage. All reasonable, he thought. There is so much she doesn't comprehend. For a second, Pickering flashed on his little girl, Diana, thinking about what feelings she had felt before she passed on. Both Diana and Rachel were setbacks of a similar war, a war Pickering had pledged to battle until the end of time. Now and again the losses could be so barbarous. â€Å"Rachel,† Pickering said. â€Å"We can even now work this out. There's a ton I have to explain.† Rachel Sexton looked dismayed, disgusted nearly. Tolland had the automatic weapon now and was targeting Pickering's chest. He excessively looked befuddled. â€Å"Stay back!† Tolland shouted. Pickering halted five yards away, concentrating on Rachel. â€Å"Your father is accepting hush money, Rachel. Adjustments from private space organizations. He intends to disassemble NASA and open space to the private part. He must be halted, as an issue of national security.† Rachel's appearance was clear.