Deception Point (7 page)

“So why hasn’t NASA gone public about this recent success?” Rachel challenged. “They certainly could use some good news right now.”

“NASA is being silent,” the President declared, “because I
ordered
them to be.”

Rachel wondered if she had heard him correctly. If so, the President was committing some kind of political hara-kiri that she did not understand.

“This discovery,” the President said, “is . . . shall we say . . . nothing short of astounding in its ramifications.”

Rachel felt an uneasy chill. In the world of intelligence, “astounding ramifications” seldom meant good news. She now wondered if all the EOS secrecy was on account of the satellite system having spotted some impending environmental disaster. “Is there a problem?”

“No problem at all. What EOS discovered is quite wonderful.”

Rachel fell silent.

“Suppose, Rachel, that I told you NASA has just made a discovery of such scientific importance . . . such earth-shattering significance . . . that it validated every dollar Americans have ever spent in space?”

Rachel could not imagine.

The President stood up. “Let’s take a walk, shall we?”

R
achel followed President Herney out onto the glistening gangway of Air Force One. As they descended the stairs, Rachel felt the bleak March air clearing her mind. Unfortunately, clarity only made the President’s claims seem more outlandish than before.

NASA made a discovery of such scientific importance that it validates every dollar Americans have ever spent in space?

Rachel could only imagine that a discovery of that magnitude would only center on one thing—the holy grail of NASA—contact with extraterrestrial life. Unfortunately, Rachel knew enough about
that
particular holy grail to know it was utterly implausible.

As an intelligence analyst, Rachel constantly fielded questions from friends who wanted to know about the alleged government cover-ups of alien contact. She was consistently appalled by the theories her “educated” friends bought into—crashed alien saucers hidden in secret government bunkers, extraterrestrial corpses kept on ice, even unsuspecting civilians being abducted and surgically probed.

It was all absurd, of course. There were no aliens. No cover-ups.

Everyone in the intelligence community understood that the vast majority of sightings and alien abductions were simply the product of active imaginations or moneymaking hoaxes. When authentic photographic UFO evidence
did
exist, it had
a strange habit of occurring near U.S. military airbases that were testing advanced classified aircraft. When Lockheed began air-testing a radical new jet called the Stealth Bomber, UFO sightings around Edwards Air Force Base increased fifteenfold.

“You have a skeptical look on your face,” the President said, eyeing her askance.

The sound of his voice startled Rachel. She glanced over, unsure how to respond. “Well . . .” She hesitated. “May I assume, sir, that we are not talking about alien spacecrafts or little green men?”

The President looked quietly amused. “Rachel, I think you’ll find this discovery far more intriguing than science fiction.”

Rachel was relieved to hear NASA had not been so desperate as to try selling the President on an alien story. Nonetheless, his comment served only to deepen the mystery. “Well,” she said, “whatever NASA found, I must say the timing is exceptionally convenient.”

Herney paused on the gangway. “Convenient? How so?”

How so?
Rachel stopped and stared. “Mr. President, NASA is currently in a life or death battle to justify its very existence, and you are under attack for continuing to fund it. A major NASA breakthrough right now would be a panacea for both NASA and your campaign. Your critics will obviously find the timing highly suspect.”

“So . . . are you calling me a liar or a fool?”

Rachel felt a knot rise in her throat. “I meant no disrespect, sir. I simply—”

“Relax.” A faint grin grew on Herney’s lips, and he started to descend again. “When the NASA administrator first told me about this discovery, I flat out rejected it as absurd. I accused him of masterminding the most transparent political sham in history.”

Rachel felt the knot in her throat dissolve somewhat.

At the bottom of the ramp, Herney stopped and looked at her. “One reason I’ve asked NASA to keep their discovery under wraps is to protect them. The magnitude of this find is well beyond anything NASA has ever announced. It will make landing men on the moon seem insignificant. Because everyone, myself
included, has so much to gain—and lose—I thought it prudent for someone to double-check the NASA data before we step into the world spotlight with a formal announcement.”

Rachel was startled. “Certainly you can’t mean
me,
sir?”

The President laughed. “No, this is not your area of expertise. Besides, I’ve already achieved verification through extragovernmental channels.”

Rachel’s relief gave way to a new mystification. “Extragovernmental, sir? You mean you used the
private
sector? On something this classified?”

The President nodded with conviction. “I put together an external confirmation team—four civilian scientists—non-NASA personnel with big names and serious reputations to protect. They used their own equipment to make observations and come to their own conclusions. Over the past forty-eight hours, these civilian scientists have confirmed the NASA discovery beyond the shadow of a doubt.”

Now Rachel was impressed. The President had protected himself with typical Herney aplomb. By hiring the ultimate team of skeptics—outsiders who had nothing to gain by confirming the NASA discovery—Herney had immunized himself against suspicions that this might be a desperate NASA ploy to justify its budget, reelect their NASA-friendly President, and ward off Senator Sexton’s attacks.

“Tonight at eight
P.M
.,” Herney said, “I will be calling a press conference at the White House to announce this discovery to the world.”

Rachel felt frustrated. Herney had essentially told her nothing. “And this discovery is
what,
precisely?”

The President smiled. “You will find patience a virtue today. This discovery is something you need to see for yourself. I need you to understand this situation fully before we proceed. The administrator of NASA is waiting to brief you. He will tell you everything you need to know. Afterward, you and I will further discuss your role.”

Rachel sensed an impending drama in the President’s eyes and recalled Pickering’s hunch that the White House had something up its sleeve. Pickering, it appeared, was right, as usual.

Herney motioned to a nearby airplane hangar. “Follow me,” he said, walking toward it.

Rachel followed, confused. The building before them had no windows, and its towering bay doors were sealed. The only access seemed to be a small entryway on the side. The door was ajar. The President guided Rachel to within a few feet of the door and stopped.

“End of the line for me,” he said, motioning to the door. “You go through there.”

Rachel hesitated. “You’re not coming?”

“I need to return to the White House. I’ll speak to you shortly. Do you have a cellphone?”

“Of course, sir.”

“Give it to me.”

Rachel produced her phone and handed it to him, assuming he intended to program a private contact number into it. Instead, he slipped her phone into his pocket.

“You’re now off-the-grid,” the President said. “All your responsibilities at work have been covered. You will not speak to anyone else today without express permission from myself or the NASA administrator. Do you understand?”

Rachel stared.
Did the President just steal my cellphone?

“After the administrator briefs you on the discovery, he will put you in contact with me via secure channels. I’ll talk to you soon. Good luck.”

Rachel looked at the hangar door and felt a growing uneasiness.

President Herney put a reassuring hand on her shoulder and nodded toward the door. “I assure you, Rachel, you will not regret assisting me in this matter.”

Without another word, the President strode toward the PaveHawk that had brought Rachel in. He climbed aboard, and took off. He never once looked back.

R
achel Sexton stood alone on the threshold of the isolated Wallops hangar and peered into the blackness beyond. She felt like she was on the cusp of another world. A cool and musty breeze flowed outward from the cavernous interior, as if the building were breathing.

“Hello?” she called out, her voice wavering slightly.

Silence.

With rising trepidation, she stepped over the threshold. Her vision went blank for an instant as her eyes became accustomed to the dimness.

“Ms. Sexton, I presume?” a man’s voice said, only yards away.

Rachel jumped, wheeling toward the sound. “Yes, sir.”

The hazy shape of a man approached.

As Rachel’s vision cleared, she found herself standing face to face with a young, stone-jawed buck in a NASA flight suit. His body was fit and muscle-bound, his chest bedecked with patches.

“Commander Wayne Loosigian,” the man said. “Sorry if I startled you, ma’am. It’s pretty dark in here. I haven’t had a chance to open the bay doors yet.” Before Rachel could respond, the man added, “It will be my honor to be your pilot this morning.”

“Pilot?” Rachel stared at the man.
I just had a pilot.
“I’m here to see the administrator.”

“Yes, ma’am. My orders are to transport you to him immediately.”

It took a moment for the statement to sink in. When it hit her, she felt a stab of deceit. Apparently, her travels were not over. “Where
is
the administrator?” Rachel demanded, wary now.

“I do not have that information,” the pilot replied. “I will receive his coordinates after we are airborne.”

Rachel sensed that the man was telling the truth. Apparently she and Director Pickering were not the only two people being kept in the dark this morning. The President was
taking the issue of security very seriously, and Rachel felt embarrassed by how quickly and effortlessly the President had taken her “off-the-grid.”
Half an hour in the field, and I’m already stripped of all communication, and my director has no idea where I am.

Standing now before her stiff-backed NASA pilot, Rachel had little doubt her morning plans were cast in stone. This carnival ride was leaving with Rachel onboard whether she liked it or not. The only question was where it was headed.

The pilot strode over to the wall and pressed a button. The far side of the hangar began sliding loudly to one side. Light poured in from the outside, silhouetting a large object in the center of the hangar.

Rachel’s mouth fell open.
God help me.

There in the middle of the hangar stood a ferocious-looking black fighter jet. It was the most streamlined aircraft Rachel had ever seen.

“You
are
joking,” she said.

“Common first reaction, ma’am, but the F-14 Tomcat Split-tail is a highly proven craft.”

It’s a missile with wings.

The pilot led Rachel toward his craft. He motioned to the dual cockpit. “You’ll be riding in back.”

“Really?” She gave him a tight smile. “And here I thought you wanted me to drive.”

•   •   •

After donning a thermal flight suit over her clothes, Rachel found herself climbing into the cockpit. Awkwardly, she wedged her hips into the narrow seat.

“NASA obviously has no fat-assed pilots,” she said.

The pilot gave a grin as he helped Rachel buckle herself in. Then he slid a helmet over her head.

“We’ll be flying pretty high,” he said. “You’ll want oxygen.” He pulled an oxygen mask from the side dash and began snapping it onto her helmet.

“I can manage,” Rachel said, reaching up and taking over.

“Of course, ma’am.”

Rachel fumbled with the molded mouthpiece and then finally
snapped it onto her helmet. The mask’s fit was surprisingly awkward and uncomfortable.

The commander stared at her for a long moment, looking vaguely amused.

“Is something wrong?” she demanded.

“Not at all, ma’am.” He seemed to be hiding a smirk. “Hack sacks are under your seat. Most people get sick their first time in a split-tail.”

“I should be fine,” Rachel assured him, her voice muffled by the smothering fit of the mask. “I’m not prone to motion sickness.”

The pilot shrugged. “A lot of Navy Seals say the same thing, and I’ve cleaned plenty of Seal puke out of my cockpit.”

She nodded weakly.
Lovely.

“Any questions before we go?”

Rachel hesitated a moment and then tapped on the mouthpiece cutting into her chin. “It’s cutting off my circulation. How do you wear these things on long flights?”

The pilot smiled patiently. “Well, ma’am, we don’t usually wear them upside down.”

•   •   •

Poised at the end of the runway, engines throbbing beneath her, Rachel felt like a bullet in a gun waiting for someone to pull the trigger. When the pilot pushed the throttle forward, the Tomcat’s twin Lockheed 345 engines roared to life, and the entire world shook. The brakes released, and Rachel slammed backward in her seat. The jet tore down the runway and lifted off within a matter of seconds. Outside, the earth dropped away at a dizzying rate.

Rachel closed her eyes as the plane rocketed skyward. She wondered where she had gone wrong this morning. She was supposed to be at a desk writing gists. Now she was straddling a testosterone-fueled torpedo and breathing through an oxygen mask.

By the time the Tomcat leveled out at forty-five thousand feet, Rachel was feeling queasy. She willed herself to focus her thoughts elsewhere. Gazing down at the ocean nine miles below, Rachel felt suddenly far from home.

Up front, the pilot was talking to someone on the radio. When the conversation ended, the pilot hung up the radio, and immediately banked the Tomcat sharply left. The plane tipped almost to the vertical, and Rachel felt her stomach do a somersault. Finally, the plane leveled out again.