Deception Point Page 89

Gabrielle knew sexton was eagerly awaiting her arrival for a round rundown on the PODS situation. Unfortunately, she also flat effected that Sexton had dexterously manipulated her tonight. Gabrielle Ashe did not like being managed. The senator had kept occasions from her tonight. The question was how much. The answers, she knew, lay inside his office-just on the other side of this restroom w only. quintette minutes, Gabrielle said aloud, mustering her resolve. lamentable toward the behinds supply wardrobe, she reached up and ran a hand over the door frame. A learn clattered to the floor. The cleaning crews at Philip A. Hart were federal employees and seemed to evaporate every time there was a strike of any sort, leaving this bathroom with kayoed toilet authorship and tampons for weeks at a time. The women of Sextons office, tired of being caught with their boxers down, had taken matters into their own hands and secured a supply room key for emergencies.Tonight qualifies, sh e thought.She opened the closet.The interior was cramped, packed with cleansers, mops, and shelves of paper supplies. A month ago, Gabrielle had been searching for paper towels when shed made an unusual discovery. Unable to reach the paper off the top shelf, shed used the end of a broom to blab a roll to f each. In the process, shed knocked out a ceiling tile. When she climbed up to replace the tile, she was surprised to hear Senator Sextons voice.Crystal clear.From the echo, she realized the senator was talking to himself turn in his offices tete-a-tete bathroom, which apparently was separated from this supply closet by nothing more than removable, fiberboard ceiling tiles.Now, back in the closet tonight for far more than toilet paper, Gabrielle kicked off her shoes, climbed up the shelves, popped out the fiberboard ceiling tile, and pulled herself up. So much for national security, she thought, wondering how umpteen state and federal laws she was about to break.Lowering herse lf through the ceiling of Sextons reclusive restroom, Gabrielle placed her stockinged feet on his cold, porcelain sink and then dropped to the floor. Holding her breath, she exited into Sextons private office.His oriental carpets felt soft and warm.107Thirty miles away, a black Kiowa gunship chop shot tore over the scrub pine treetops of northern Delaware. Delta-One checked the coordinates locked in the auto navigation agreement.Although Rachels shipboard transmission device and Pickerings mobile phone were encrypted to hold dear the con decennaryts of their communication, intercepting content had not been the goal when the Delta pass pulse-snitched Rachels call from sea. Intercepting the callers smudge had been the goal. Global Positioning Systems and computerized triangulation made pinpointing transmission coordinates a significantly easier line than decrypting the actual content of the call.Delta-One was always amused to think that most cellphone users had no idea that ev ery time they made a call, a government listening post, if so inclined, could detect their position to inside ten feet anywhere on earth-a small hitch the cellphone companies failed to advertise. Tonight, once the Delta Force had gained access to the reception frequencies of William Pickerings cellular phone, they could easily trace the coordinates of his incoming calls. temporary now on a necessitate course toward their tar besot, Delta-One closed to within twenty miles. Umbrella primed? he asked, turning to Delta-Two, who was manning the microwave radar and weapons system.Affirmative. Awaiting five-mile range.Five miles, Delta-One thought. He had to fly this bird well within his targets radar scopes to get within range to use the Kiowas weapons systems. He had little doubt that psyche onboard the Goya was nervously watching the skies, and because the Delta Forces current task was to eliminate the target without gravid them a chance to radio for help, Delta-One now had to advan ce on his work without alarming them.At fifteen miles out, still safely out of radar range, Delta-One abruptly off the Kiowa thirty-five degrees off course to the west. He climbed to three thousand feet-small airplane range-and adjusted his speed to 110 knots.On the pad of the Goya, the Coast Guard helicopters radar scope beeped once as a new contact entered the ten-mile perimeter. The operate sat up, studying the screen. The contact appeared to be a small cargo plane headed west up the coast. probably for Newark.Although this planes current trajectory would bring it within quaternion miles of the Goya, the flight channel obviously was a matter of chance. Nonetheless, being vigilant, the Coast Guard pilot watched the blinking dot trace a slow-moving 110-knot line crossways the right side of his scope. At its closest point, the plane was about four miles west. As expected, the plane kept moving-heading away from them now.4.1 miles. 4.2 miles.The pilot exhaled, relaxing.And the n the strangest thing happened.Umbrella now engaged, Delta-Two called out, giving the thumbs-up from his weapons control seat on the user interface side of the Kiowa gunship. Barrage, modulated hindrance, and cover pulse are all mad and locked.Delta-One took his cue and banked hard to the right, putting the craft on a direct course with the Goya. This maneuver would be invisible to the ships radar.Sure beats bales of aluminium foil Delta-Two called out.Delta-One agreed. Radar jamming had been invented in WWII when a savvy British airman began throwing bales of hay wrapped in tinfoil out of his plane bit on bombing runs. The Germans radar spotted so many reflective contacts they had no idea what to shoot. The techniques had been improved on substantially since then.The Kiowas onboard umbrella radar-jamming system was one of the militarys most deadly electronic combat weapons. By bare an umbrella of background noise into the atmosphere above a stipulation set of surface coord inates, the Kiowa could erase the eyes, ears, and voice of their target. Moments ago, all radar screens on base the Goya had most certainly gone blank. By the time the crew realized they needed to call for help, they would be unable to transmit. On a ship, all communications were radio-or microwave-based-no solid phone lines. If the Kiowa got close enough, all of the Goyas communications systems would mark off functioning, their carrier signals blotted out by the invisible cloud of thermal noise broadcast in front of the Kiowa like a blinding headlight. staring(a) isolation, Delta-One thought. They have no defenses.Their targets had made a fortunate and cunning wetting from the Milne Ice Shelf, but it would not be repeated. In choosing to leave shore, Rachel Sexton and Michael Tolland had chosen poorly. It would be the last bad decision they ever made. privileged the White House, Zach Herney felt dazed as he sat up in bed holding the telephone receiver. Now? Ekstrom wants to spea k to me now? Herney squinted again at the bedside clock. 317 A.M.Yes, Mr. President, the communications officer said. He says its an emergency.108While Corky and Xavia huddled over the electron microprobe measuring the zirconium content in the chondrules, Rachel followed Tolland across the lab into an adjoining room. Here Tolland turned on another computer. Apparently the marineographer had one more thing he wanted to check.As the computer powered up, Tolland turned to Rachel, his mouth poise as if he wanted to say something. He paused.What is it? Rachel asked, surprised how physically drawn to him she felt, even in the midst of all this chaos. She wished she could block it all out and be with him-just for a minute.I owe you an apology, Tolland said, looking remorseful.For what?On the deck? The hammerheads? I was excited. Sometimes I forget how frightening the ocean can be to a lot of people.