Deception Point Page 47

Arriving now at the doorway of the Communications bit, tench felt alive with the thrill of the fight. political science was war. She took a deep breath and checked her watch. 615 P.M. The startset shot was about to be fired.She entered.The Communications Office was small non for lack of room, but for lack of necessity. It was one of the most efficient push- fine-tune stack communications stations in the world and employed a module of only five people. At the moment, all five employees stood all over their banks of electronic gear looking kindred swimmers poised for the starting gun.They are ready, tench saw in their eager gazes.It always amazed her that this tiny office, attached only two hours head start, could contact to a greater extent than one ternary of the worlds civilized population. With electronic connections to literally tens of thousands of global discussion sources-from the largest television conglomerates to the smallest hometown newspapers-the whitened Hou se Communications Office could, at the touch of a a couple of(prenominal) buttons, 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-mail programs blanketed on-line news wires. Telephone autodialers phoned thousands of media content managers and played recorded example 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 ventilation system would come to a screeching halt for an emergency presidential address. sufficient penetration.Like a general inspecting her troops, Tench strode in silence over to the copy desk and picked up the printout of the flash release that now sat prankish in all the transmission machines like cartridges in a shotgun.When Tench read it, she had to laugh quietly to herself. By usual standards, the release peeved for broadcast was heavy-handed-more of an advertisement than an announcement-but the President had ordered the Communications Office to poke out all the stops. And that they had. This text was perfect-keyword-rich and content light. A deadly combination. raze the news wires that used automated keyword-sniffer programs to sort their incoming mail would issue to multiple flags on this oneFrom White House Communications OfficeSubject Urgent Presidential AddressThe President of the United States exit be cargo areaing an urgent press conference tonight at 800 p.m. Eastern Standard Time from the White House instruct room. The topic of his announcement is currently classified. Live A/V feeds volition be available via customary outlets.Laying the paper back down on the desk, Marjorie Tench looked around the Communications Office and gave the staff an affect nod. They looked eager.Lighting a cigarette, she puffed a moment, letting the anticipation build. Finally, she grinned. Ladies and gentlemen. demoralize your engines.53All logical 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 field of study at hand.Survival.The ice skimmed by in a disgrace beneath her like an endless(prenominal), sleek loftyway. 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 balloon billowed, fat with envelop, like a parachute on the back of a dragster. corked trailed behind, slue wildly like a tractor trailer out of control. The flare fool 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 higher 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(prenominal) sixty miles an hour, and the frictionless runway beneath them seemed to be racing by faster and faster with every passing second. The proof(predicate) Mylar balloon apparently had no intentions of tearing or relinquishing its hold.We urgency 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 piss brought back terrifying memories.The wind gusted harder, and their speed increased. Somewhere behind them Corky let out a scream of terror. At this speed, Rachel knew they had only a few minutes before they were dragged out over the cliff into the rimy ocean.Tolland was apparently having similar thoughts because he was now fighting with the payload clutch pedal a ttached to their bodies.I cant unhook us he yelled. Theres too a lot tensionRachel hoped a momentary lull in the wind cogency give Tolland some slack, but the katabatic pulled on with relentless uniformity. nerve-wracking to help, Rachel distorted 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. nowadays she yelled, nearing her foot.For an instant the payload line on the balloon slackened slightly. Tolland yanked down, trying to take advantage of the loose line to maneuver the payload clip out of their carabiners. Not even close.Again he yelled.This time they both malformed against one another and rammed their toe prongs into the ice, sending a double groom 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 latch and twisted the ho ok, trying to release the clasp. Although closer this time, he still needed more slack. The carabiners, Norah had bragged, were first-rate, Joker safety clips, specifically crafted with an extra loop in the metallic element so they would never release if there were any tension on them at all.Killed by safety clips, Rachel thought, not finding the irony the least bit 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 direct 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. nigh Rachels crampons snapped. The metal cleats tore off of her boots and went tumbling backward into the night, live over Corky. The balloon immediately lurched forward, sending Rachel and Tolland fishtailing to one side. Tolland lost his persevere 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 faced danger even before the hundred-foot drop into the Arctic Ocean. tierce huge snow berms stood in their path. Even protected by the overdraw 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 therefore that she heard the rhythmic ticking on the ice-the rapid-fire staccato of lightweight metal on the sheet of bare ice.