Deception Point Page 0,103

This story had everything-science, history, political drama-an emotional mother lode. Nobody in the media was sleeping tonight.

"Gabs?" Yolanda's voice was sympathetic. "Let's get you back into my office before someone realizes who you are and starts grilling you on what this means for Sexton's campaign."

Gabrielle felt herself guided through a haze into Yolanda's glass-walled office. Yolanda sat her down and handed her a glass of water. She tried to force a smile. "Look on the bright side, Gabs. Your candidate's campaign is fucked, but at least you're not."

"Thanks. Terrific."

Yolanda's tone turned serious. "Gabrielle, I know you feel like shit. Your candidate just got hit by a Mack truck, and if you ask me, he's not getting up. At least not in time to turn this thing around. But at least nobody's splashing your picture all over the television. Seriously. This is good news. Herney won't need a sex scandal now. He's looking far too presidential right now to talk sex."

It seemed a small consolation to Gabrielle.

"As for Tench's allegations of Sexton's illegal campaign finance... " Yolanda shook her head. "I have my doubts. Granted, Herney is serious about no negative campaigning. And granted, a bribery investigation would be bad for the country. But is Herney really so patriotic that he would forgo a chance to crush his opposition, simply to protect national morale? My guess is Tench stretched the truth about Sexton's finances in an effort to scare. She gambled, hoping you'd jump ship and give the President a free sex scandal. And you've got to admit, Gabs, tonight would have been a hell of a night for Sexton's morals to come into question!"

Gabrielle nodded vaguely. A sex scandal would have been a one-two punch from which Sexton's career never would have recovered... ever.

"You outlasted her, Gabs. Marjorie Tench went fishing, but you didn't bite. You're home free. There'll be other elections."

Gabrielle nodded vaguely, unsure what to believe anymore.

"You've got to admit," Yolanda said, "the White House played Sexton brilliantly-luring him down the NASA path, getting him to commit, coaxing him to put all his eggs in the NASA basket."

Totally my fault, Gabrielle thought.

"And this announcement we just watched, my God, it was genius! The importance of the discovery entirely aside, the production values were brilliant. Live feeds from the Arctic? A Michael Tolland documentary? Good God, how can you compete? Zach Herney nailed it tonight. There's a reason the guy is President."

And will be for another four years...

"I've got to get back to work, Gabs," Yolanda said. "You sit right there as long as you want. Get your feet under you." Yolanda headed out the door. "Hon, I'll check back in a few minutes."

Alone now, Gabrielle sipped her water, but it tasted foul. Everything did. It's all my fault, she thought, trying to ease her conscience by reminding herself of all the glum NASA press conferences of the past year-the space station setbacks, the postponement of the X-33, all the failed Mars probes, continuous budget bailouts. Gabrielle wondered what she could have done differently.

Nothing, she told herself. You did everything right.

It had simply backfired.

74

The thundering navy SeaHawk chopper had been scrambled under a covert operation status out of Thule Air Force Base in northern Greenland. It stayed low, out of radar range, as it shot through the gale winds across seventy miles of open sea. Then, executing the bizarre orders they had been given, the pilots fought the wind and brought the craft to a hover above a pre-ordained set of coordinates on the empty ocean.

"Where's the rendezvous?" the copilot yelled, confused. They had been told to bring a chopper with a rescue winch, so he anticipated a search-and-retrieve operation. "You sure these are the right coordinates?" He scanned the choppy seas with a searchlight, but there was nothing below them except-

"Holy shit!" The pilot pulled back on the stick, jolting upward.

The black mountain of steel rose before them out of the waves without warning. A gargantuan unmarked submarine blew its ballast and rose on a cloud of bubbles.

The pilots exchanged uneasy laughs. "Guess that's them."

As ordered, the transaction proceeded under complete radio silence. The doublewide portal on the peak of the sail opened and a seaman flashed them signals with a strobe light. The chopper then moved over the sub and dropped a three-man rescue harness, essentially three rubberized loops on a retractable cable. Within sixty seconds, the three unknown "danglers" were swinging beneath the chopper, ascending slowly against the downdraft of the rotors.

When the copilot hauled them