'Deception Point Page 47\r'

'Arriving directly at the door charge of the communications duty, tench snarl alive with the thrill of the fight. Politics was war. She took a deep breath and checked her watch. 6:15 P.M. The first shot was intimately to be fired.\r\nShe entered.\r\nThe Communications means was undersize not for miss of room, only if for lack of necessity. It was champion of the most efficient mount communications stations in the dry land and employed a staff of nevertheless vanadium people. At the moment, some(prenominal) five employees stood over their banks of electronic gear aspect exchangeable swimmers poised for the starting gun.\r\nThey ar ready, Tench saw in their eagre gazes.\r\nIt always amazed her that this tiny off field glass, wedded only two hours head start, could abut more than(prenominal) than one third of the worlds refine population. With electronic connections to liter bothy tens of thousands of global watchword sources-from the largest television conglome rates to the smallest hometown newspapers-the White family line Communications Off frosting could, at the tactility of a few buttons, reach give away(p) and touch the world.\r\nFax-broadcast computers churned press releases into the in-boxes of radio, television, print, and Internet media outlets from Maine to Moscow. Bulk net stake programs blanketed on-line news wires. Telephone autodialers phoned thousands of media pith managers and played recorded voice announcements. A breaking news Web paginate provided constant updates and preformatted content. The â€Å"live-feed-capable” news sources-CNN, NBC, ABC, CBS, foreign syndicates-would be assaulted from all angles and promised free, live television feeds. several(prenominal)(prenominal) else these networks were airing would come to a creak halt for an emergency presidential address.\r\n sound penetration.\r\nLike a general inspecting her troops, Tench strode in silence over to the reduplicate desk and picked up th e printout of the â€Å"flash release” that now sat laughable in all the transmission machines like cartridges in a shotgun.\r\nWhen Tench read it, she had to laugh lightly to herself. By usual standards, the release loaded for broadcast was heavy-handed-more of an advertisement than an announcement-but the President had enjoin the Communications Office to pull out all the stops. And that they had. This text was perfect-keyword-rich and content light. A deadly combination. Even the news wires that use automated â€Å"keyword-sniffer” programs to sort their incoming mail would see multiple flags on this one:\r\nFrom: White House Communications Office\r\nSubject: Urgent Presidential steer\r\nThe President of the United States forget be encumbering an urgent press conclave tonight at 8:00 p.m. eastern Standard Time from the White House briefing room. The topic of his announcement is before long classified. Live A/V feeds will be available via customary outlets.\r \n position the paper back bug out on the desk, Marjorie Tench looked around the Communications Office and gave the staff an impressed nod. They looked eager.\r\nLighting a cigarette, she puffed a moment, letting the anticipation build. Finally, she grinned. â€Å"Ladies and gentlemen. Start your engines.”\r\n53\r\nAll discursive 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 matter at hand.\r\nSurvival.\r\nThe ice skimmed by in a blur beneath her like an endless, sleek high upway. Whether her body was numb with idolatry or simply cocooned by her tutelar suit, Rachel did not know, but she entangle no pain. She felt nothing.\r\nYet.\r\nLying on her side, connected to Tolland at the waist, Rachel lay face-to-face with him in an awkward embrace. Somewhere forrader of them, the inflate billowed, fat with wind, like a jump off on the back of a dragster. corky trailed behind, swerving wildly like a tractor trailer out of control. The flare score the spot where they had been attacked had all but disappeared in the distance.\r\nThe 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 sixty miles an hour, and the frictionless runway beneath them seemed to be racing by quick and faster with every passing second. The impervious Mylar amplify apparently had no intentions of tearing or relinquishing its hold.\r\nWe need to release, she thought. They were racing away from one deadly force-directly toward another. The ocean is believably less than a mile ahead now! The thought of icy piddle brought back terrifying memories.\r\nThe wind gusted harder, and their recreate increased. Somewhere behind them Corky let out a scream of terror. At this speed, Rachel knew they had only a few proceedings before they were dragged out over the falloff into the frigid ocean.\r\nTolland was apparently having similar thoughts because he was now fighting with the payload range attached to their bodies.\r\nâ€Å"I cant unhook us!” he yelled. â€Å"Theres too much emphasis!”\r\nRachel hoped a momentary lull in the wind might give Tolland some slack, but the katabatic pulled on with dispirited uniformity. Trying to help, Rachel perverse her body and rammed the toenail cleat of one of her crampons into the ice, move a rooster tail of ice shards into the air. Their f number slowed ever so slightly.\r\nâ€Å"Now!” she yelled, lifting her foot.\r\nFor an instant the payload line on the billow slackened slightly. Tolland yanked down, trying to take advantage of the free line to maneuver the payload preen out of their carabiners. Not even close.\r\nâ€Å"once more!” he yelled.\r\nThis time they both squirm against one another and rammed their toe prongs into the ice, sending a double plume of ice into the air. This slowed the contraption more perceptibly.\r\nâ€Å"Now!”\r\nOn Tollands cue, they both let up. As the amplify surged frontward again, Tolland rammed his thumb into the carabiner fasten and twisted the hook, trying to release the clasp. Although approximate this time, he still needed more slack. The carabiners, Norah had bragged, were first-rate, Joker safety powder stores, specifically crafted with an special loop in the metallic element so they would never release if there were any tension on them at all.\r\nKilled by safety clips, Rachel thought, not finding the banter the least bit amusing.\r\nâ€Å"One more time!” Tolland yelled.\r\nMustering 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 locomote roughly on their stoma chs, the connection at their belt straining their harnesses. Tolland rammed his toes down and Rachel bowlegged farther. The vibrations sent shock waves up her legs. She felt like her ankles were going to break.\r\nâ€Å"Hold it… hold it… ” Tolland contorted himself to release the Joker clip as their speed decreased. â€Å"Almost… â€Å"\r\nRachels crampons snapped. The metal cleats tore off of her boots and went tumble backward into the night, bouncing over Corky. The balloon immediately lurched forward, sending Rachel and Tolland fishtailing to one side. Tolland disconnected his grasp on the clip.\r\nâ€Å"Shit!”\r\nThe 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 go about danger even before the hundred-foot brush off into the Arctic Ocean. Three huge degree Celsius berm s stood in their path. Even protected by the padding in the Mark IX suits, the experience of launching at high speed up and over the bump mounds filled her with terror.\r\nFighting in despondency with their harnesses, Rachel tried to find a way to release the balloon. It was then that she heard the throbbing ticking on the ice-the rapid-fire staccato of light metal on the sheet of austere ice.\r\n'