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Michael Tolland was inside the sub； at the controls。
Bad idea； Delta…Two seethed； blocking out his pain and shouldering his machine gun。 He aimed up and to the left at Tolland's chest； only three feet away on the other side of the sub's Plexiglas dome。 He pulled the trigger； and the gun roared。 Wild with rage at having been tricked； Delta…Two held the trigger back until the last of his shells clattered to the deck and his gun clicked empty。 Breathless； he dropped the weapon and glared at the shredded dome in front of him。
〃Dead！〃 the soldier hissed； straining to pull his leg from the clamp。 As he twisted； the metal clamp severed his skin； opening a large gash。 〃Fuck！〃 He reached now for the CrypTalk on his belt。 But as he raised it to his lips； a second robotic arm snapped open in front of him and lunged forward； clamping around his right arm。 The CrypTalk fell to the deck。
It was then that Delta…Two saw the ghost in the window before him。 A pale visage leaning sideways and peering out through an unscathed edge of glass。 Stunned； Delta…Two looked at the center of the dome and realized the bullets had not even e close to penetrating the thick shell。 The dome was cratered with pockmarks。
An instant later； the topside portal on the sub opened； and Michael Tolland emerged。 He looked shaky but unscathed。 Climbing down the aluminum gangway； Tolland stepped onto the deck and eyed his sub's destroyed dome window。
〃Ten thousand pounds per square inch；〃 Tolland said。 〃Looks like you need a bigger gun。〃
Inside the hydrolab； Rachel knew time was running out。 She had heard the gunshots out on the deck and was praying that everything had happened exactly as Tolland had planned。 She no longer cared who was behind the meteorite deception…the NASA administrator； Marjorie Tench； or the President himself…none of it mattered anymore。
They will not get away with this。 Whoever it is； the truth will be told。
The wound on Rachel's arm had stopped bleeding； and the adrenaline coursing through her body had muted the pain and sharpened her focus。 Finding a pen and paper； she scrawled a two…line message。 The words were blunt and awkward； but eloquence was not a luxury she had time for at the moment。 She added the note to the incriminating stack of papers in her hand…the GPR printout； images of Bathynomous giganteus； photos and articles regarding oceanic chondrules； an electron microscan printout。 The meteorite was a fake； and this was the proof。
Rachel inserted the entire stack into the hydrolab's fax machine。 Knowing only a few fax numbers by heart； she had limited choices； but she had already made up her mind who would be receiving these pages and her note。 Holding her breath； she carefully typed in the person's fax number。
She pressed 〃send；〃 praying she had chosen the recipient wisely。
The fax machine beeped。
ERROR： NO DIAL TONE
Rachel had expected this。 The Goya's munications were still being jammed。 She stood waiting and watching the machine； hoping it functioned like hers at home。
e on！
After five seconds； the machine beeped again。
REDIALING。。。
Yes！ Rachel watched the machine lock into an endless loop。
ERROR： NO DIAL TONE
REDIALING。。。
ERROR： NO DIAL TONE
REDIALING。。。
Leaving the fax machine in search of a dial tone； Rachel dashed out of the hydrolab just as helicopter blades thundered overhead。
119
One hundred and sixty miles away from the Goya； Gabrielle Ashe was staring at Senator Sexton's puter screen in mute astonishment。 Her suspicions had been right。
But she had never imagined how right。
She was looking at digital scans of dozens of bank checks written to Sexton from private space panies and deposited in numbered accounts in the Cayman Islands。 The smallest check Gabrielle saw was for fifteen thousand dollars。 Several were upward of half a million dollars。
Small potatoes； Sexton had told her。 All the donations are under the two…thousand…dollar cap。
Obviously Sexton had been lying all along。 Gabrielle was looking at illegal campaign financing on an enormous scale。 The pangs of betrayal and disillusionment settled hard now in her heart。 He lied。
She felt stupid。 She felt dirty。 But most of all she felt mad。
Gabrielle sat alone in the darkness； realizing she had no idea what to do next。
120
Above the Goya； as the Kiowa banked over the stern deck； Delta…One gazed down； his eyes fixating on an utterly unexpected vision。
Michael Tolland was standing on deck beside a small submersible。 Dangling in the sub's robotic arms； as if in the clutches of a giant insect； hung Delta…Two； struggling in vain to free himself from two enormous claws。
What in the name of God！？
Equally as shocking an image； Rachel Sexton had just arrived on deck； taking up a position over a bound and bleeding man at the foot of the submersible。 The man could only be Delta…Three。 Rachel held one of the Delta Force's machine guns on him and stared up at the chopper as if daring them to attack。
Delta…One felt momentarily disoriented； unable to fathom how this possibly could have happened。 The Delta Force's errors on the ice shelf earlier had been a rare but explainable occurrence。 This； however； was unimaginable。
Delta…One's humiliation would have been excruciating enough under normal circumstances。 But tonight his shame was magnified by the presence of another individual riding with him inside the chopper； a person whose presence here was highly unconventional。
The controller。
Following the Delta's kill at the FDR Memorial； the controller had ordered Delta…One to fly to a deserted public park not far from the White House。 On the controller's mand； Delta…One had set down on a grassy knoll among some trees just as the controller； having parked nearby； strode out of the darkness and boarded the Kiowa。 They were all en route again in a matter of seconds。
Although a controller's direct involvement in mission operations was rare； Delta…One could hardly plain。 The controller； distressed by the way the Delta Force had handled the kills on the Milne Ice Shelf and fearing increasing suspicions and scrutiny from a number of parties； had informed Delta…One that the final phase of the operation would be overseen in person。
Now the controller was riding shotgun； witnessing in person a failure the likes of which Delta…One had never endured。
This must end。 Now。
The controller gazed down from the Kiowa at the deck of the Goya and wondered how this could possibly have happened。 Nothing had gone properly…the suspicions about the meteorite； the failed Delta kills on the ice shelf； the necessity of the high…profile kill at the FDR。
〃Controller；〃 Delta…One stammered； his tone one of stunned disgrace as he looked at the situation on the deck of the Goya。 〃I cannot imagine。。。 〃
Nor can I； the controller thought。 Their quarry had obviously been grossly underestimated。
The controller looked down at Rachel Sexton； who stared up blankly at the chopper's reflective windshield and raised a CrypTalk device to her mouth。 When her synthesized voice crackled inside the Kiowa； the controller expected her to demand that the chopper back off or extinguish