Deception Point Page 0,108

a killer instinct. The question now was whether this shark was an innocent bystander-or a player.

Rachel stood, stretching her legs. As she paced the aisle of the plane, she felt frustrated that the pieces to this puzzle seemed so contradictory. Pickering, with his trademark chaste logic, had concluded the meteorite must be fake. Corky and Tolland, with scientific assurance, insisted the meteorite was authentic. Rachel only knew what she had seen-a charred, fossilized rock being pulled from the ice.

Now, as she passed beside Corky, she gazed down at the astrophysicist, battered from his ordeal on the ice. The swelling on his cheek was going down now, and the stitches looked good. He was asleep, snoring, his pudgy hands clutching the disk-shaped meteorite sample like some kind of security blanket.

Rachel reached down and gently slipped the meteorite sample away from him. She held it up, studying the fossils again. Remove all assumptions, she told herself, forcing herself to reorganize her thoughts. Reestablish the chain of substantiation. It was an old NRO trick. Rebuilding a proof from scratch was a process known as a "null start"-something all data analysts practiced when the pieces didn't quite fit.

Reassemble the proof.

She began pacing again.

Does this stone represent proof of extraterrestrial life?

Proof, she knew, was a conclusion built on a pyramid of facts, a broad base of accepted information on which more specific assertions were made.

Remove all the base assumptions. Start again.

What do we have?

A rock.

She pondered that for a moment. A rock. A rock with fossilized creatures. Walking back toward the front of the plane, she took her seat beside Michael Tolland.

"Mike, let's play a game."

Tolland turned from the window, looking distant, apparently deep in his own thoughts. "A game?"

She handed him the meteorite sample. "Let's pretend you're seeing this fossilized rock for the first time. I've told you nothing about where it came from or how it was found. What would you tell me it is?"

Tolland heaved a disconsolate sigh. "Funny you should ask. I just had the strangest thought... "

Hundreds of miles behind Rachel and Tolland, a strange-looking aircraft stayed low as it tore south above a deserted ocean. Onboard, the Delta Force was silent. They had been pulled out of locations in a hurry, but never like this.

Their controller was furious.

Earlier, Delta-One had informed the controller that unexpected events on the ice shelf had left his team with no option but to exercise force-force that had included killing four civilians, including Rachel Sexton and Michael Tolland.

The controller reacted with shock. Killing, although an authorized last resort, obviously never had been part of the controller's plan.

Later, the controller's displeasure over the killings turned to outright rage when he learned the assassinations had not gone as planned.

"Your team failed!" the controller seethed, the androgynous tone hardly masking the person's rage. "Three of your four targets are still alive!"

Impossible! Delta-One had thought. "But we witnessed-"

"They made contact with a submarine and are now en route to Washington."

"What!"

The controller's tone turned lethal. "Listen carefully. I am about to give you new orders. And this time you will not fail."

78

Senator Sexton was actually feeling a flicker of hope as he walked his unexpected visitor back out to the elevator. The head of the SFF, as it turned out, had not come to chastise Sexton, but rather to give him a pep talk and tell him the battle was not yet over.

A possible chink in NASA's armor.

The videotape of the bizarre NASA press conference had convinced Sexton that the old man was right-PODS mission director Chris Harper was lying. But why? And if NASA never fixed the PODS software, how did NASA find the meteorite?

As they walked to the elevator, the old man said, "Sometimes all it takes to unravel something is a single strand. Perhaps we can find a way to eat away at NASA's victory from within. Cast a shadow of distrust. Who knows where it will lead?" The old man locked his tired eyes on Sexton. "I am not ready to lay down and die, senator. And I trust nor are you."

"Of course not," Sexton said, mustering resolve in his voice. "We've come too far."

"Chris Harper lied about fixing PODS," the man said as he boarded the elevator. "And we need to know why."

"I will get that information as fast as I can," Sexton replied. I have just the person.

"Good. Your future depends on it."

As Sexton headed back toward his apartment, his step was a little lighter, his head a little clearer. NASA lied about