Deception Point (34 page)

Ekstrom gazed at the huge charred mass of rock displayed prominently in front of him. His eyes moved to a standby monitor, where he watched himself, flanked by his most austere personnel, against a backdrop of a huge American flag and
NASA logo. The dramatic lighting made the setting look like some kind of neomodern painting—the twelve apostles at the last supper. Zach Herney had turned this whole thing into a political sideshow.
Herney had no choice.
Ekstrom still felt like a televangelist, packaging God for the masses.

In about five minutes the President would introduce Ekstrom and his NASA staff. Then, in a dramatic satellite linkup from the top of the world, NASA would join the President in sharing this news with the world. After a brief account of how the discovery was made, what it meant for space science, and some mutual backpatting, NASA and the President would hand duty off to celebrity scientist Michael Tolland, whose documentary would roll for just under fifteen minutes. Afterward, with credibility and enthusiasm at its peak, Ekstrom and the President would say their good-nights, promising more information to come in the days ahead via endless NASA press conferences.

As Ekstrom sat and waited for his cue, he felt a cavernous shame settling inside him. He’d known he would feel it. He’d been expecting it.

He’d told lies . . . endorsed untruths.

Somehow, though, the lies seemed inconsequential now. Ekstrom had a bigger weight on his mind.

•   •   •

In the chaos of the ABC production room, Gabrielle Ashe stood shoulder to shoulder with dozens of strangers, all necks craned toward the bank of television monitors suspended from the ceiling. A hush fell as the moment arrived. Gabrielle closed her eyes, praying that when she opened them she would not be looking at images of her own naked body.

•   •   •

The air inside Senator Sexton’s den was alive with excitement. All of his visitors were standing now, their eyes glued to the large-screen television.

Zach Herney stood before the world, and incredibly, his greeting had been awkward. He seemed momentarily uncertain.

He looks shaky,
Sexton thought.
He never looks shaky.

“Look at him,” somebody whispered. “It has to be bad news.”

The space station?
Sexton wondered.

Herney looked directly into the camera and took a deep breath. “My friends, I have puzzled for many days now over how best to make this announcement . . .”

Three easy words,
Senator Sexton willed him.
We blew it.

Herney spoke for a moment about how unfortunate it was that NASA had become such an issue in this election and how, that being the case, he felt he needed to preface the timing of his impending statement with an apology.

“I would have preferred any other moment in history to make this announcement,” he said. “The political charge in the air tends to make doubters out of dreamers, and yet as your President, I have no choice but to share with you what I have recently learned.” He smiled. “It seems the magic of the cosmos is something which does not work on any human schedule . . . not even that of a president.”

Everyone in Sexton’s den seemed to recoil in unison.
What?

“Two weeks ago,” Herney said, “NASA’s new Polar Orbiting Density Scanner passed over the Milne Ice Shelf on Ellesmere Island, a remote landmass located above the Eightieth Parallel in the high Arctic Ocean.”

Sexton and the others exchanged confused looks.

“This NASA satellite,” Herney continued, “detected a large, high-density rock buried two hundred feet under the ice.” Herney smiled now for the first time, finding his stride. “On receiving the data, NASA immediately suspected PODS had found a meteorite.”

“A meteorite?” Sexton sputtered, standing. “This is news?”

“NASA sent a team up to the ice shelf to take core samples. It was then that NASA made . . .” He paused. “Frankly, they made the scientific discovery of the century.”

Sexton took an incredulous step toward the television.
No....
His guests shifted uneasily.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Herney announced, “several hours ago, NASA pulled from the Arctic ice an eight-ton meteorite, which contains . . .” The President paused again, giving the whole world time to lean forward. “A meteorite which contains
fossils
of a life-form. Dozens of them. Unequivocal proof of extraterrestrial life.”

On cue, a brilliant image illuminated on the screen behind the President—a perfectly delineated fossil of an enormous buglike creature embedded in a charred rock.

In Sexton’s den, six entrepreneurs jumped up in wide-eyed horror. Sexton stood frozen in place.

“My friends,” the President said, “the fossil behind me is 190 million years old. It was discovered in a fragment of a meteorite called the Jungersol Fall which hit the Arctic Ocean almost three centuries ago. NASA’s exciting new PODS satellite discovered this meteorite fragment buried in an ice shelf. NASA and this administration have taken enormous care over the past two weeks to confirm every aspect of this momentous discovery before making it public. In the next half hour you will be hearing from numerous NASA and civilian scientists, as well as viewing a short documentary prepared by a familiar face whom I’m sure you all will recognize. Before I go any further, though, I absolutely must welcome, live via satellite from above the Arctic Circle, the man whose leadership, vision, and hard work is solely responsible for this historic moment. It is with great honor that I present NASA administrator Lawrence Ekstrom.”

Herney turned to the screen on perfect cue.

The image of the meteorite dramatically dissolved into a regal-looking panel of NASA scientists seated at a long table, flanked by the dominant frame of Lawrence Ekstrom.

“Thank you, Mr. President.” Ekstrom’s air was stern and proud as he stood up and looked directly into the camera. “It gives me great pride to share with all of you, this—NASA’s finest hour.”

Ekstrom spoke passionately about NASA and the discovery. With a fanfare of patriotism and triumph, he segued flawlessly to a documentary hosted by civilian science–celebrity Michael Tolland.

As he watched, Senator Sexton fell to his knees in front of the television, his fingers clutching at his silver mane.
No! God, no!

M
arjorie Tench was livid as she broke away from the jovial chaos outside the Briefing Room and marched back to her private corner in the West Wing. She was in no mood for celebration. The phone call from Rachel Sexton had been most unexpected.

Most disappointing.

Tench slammed her office door, stalked to her desk, and dialed the White House operator. “William Pickering. NRO.”

Tench lit a cigarette and paced the room as she waited for the operator to track down Pickering. Normally, he might have gone home for the night, but with the White House’s big windup into tonight’s press conference, Tench guessed Pickering had been in his office all evening, glued to his television screen, wondering what could possibly be going on in the world about which the NRO director did not have prior knowledge.

Tench cursed herself for not trusting her instincts when the President said he wanted to send Rachel Sexton to Milne. Tench had been wary, feeling it was an unnecessary risk. But the President had been convincing, persuading Tench that the White House staff had grown cynical over the past weeks and would be suspect of the NASA discovery if the news came from in-house. As Herney had promised, Rachel Sexton’s endorsement had squelched suspicions, prevented any skeptical in-house debate, and forced the White House staff to move forward with a unified front. Invaluable, Tench had to admit. And yet now Rachel Sexton had changed her tune.

The bitch called me on an unsecured line.

Rachel Sexton was obviously intent on destroying the credibility of this discovery, and Tench’s only solace was knowing the President had captured Rachel’s earlier briefing on videotape.
Thank God.
At least Herney had thought to obtain that small insurance. Tench was starting to fear they were going to need it.

At the moment, however, Tench was trying to stem the
bleeding in other ways. Rachel Sexton was a smart woman, and if she truly intended to go head-to-head with the White House and NASA, she would need to recruit some powerful allies. Her first logical choice would be William Pickering. Tench already knew how Pickering felt about NASA. She needed to get to Pickering before Rachel did.

“Ms. Tench?” the transparent voice on the line said. “William Pickering, here. To what do I owe this honor?”

Tench could hear the television in the background—NASA commentary. She could already sense in his tone that he was still reeling from the press conference. “Do you have a minute, director?”

“I expected you’d be busy celebrating. Quite a night for you. Looks like NASA and the President are back in the fight.”

Tench heard stark amazement in his voice, combined with a tinge of acrimony—the latter no doubt on account of the man’s legendary distaste for hearing breaking news at the same time as the rest of the world.

“I apologize,” Tench said, trying to build an immediate bridge, “that the White House and NASA were forced to keep you unapprised.”

“You are aware,” Pickering said, “that the NRO detected NASA activity up there a couple weeks ago and ran an inquiry.”

Tench frowned.
He’s pissed.
“Yes, I know. And yet—”

“NASA told us it was nothing. They said they were running some kind of extreme environment training exercises. Testing equipment, that sort of thing.” Pickering paused. “We bought the lie.”

“Let’s not call it a
lie,”
Tench said. “More of a necessary misdirection. Considering the magnitude of the discovery, I trust you understand NASA’s need to keep this quiet.”

“From the public, perhaps.”

Pouting was not in the repertoire of men like William Pickering, and Tench sensed this was as close as he would get. “I only have a minute,” Tench said, working to retain her dominant position, “but I thought I should call and warn you.”

“Warn me?” Pickering waxed wry momentarily. “Has Zach Herney decided to appoint a new, NASA-friendly NRO director?”

“Of course not. The President understands your criticisms of NASA are simply issues of security, and he is working to plug those holes. I’m actually calling about one of your employees.” She paused. “Rachel Sexton. Have you heard from her this evening?”

“No. I sent her to the White House this morning at the President’s request. You’ve obviously kept her busy. She has yet to check in.”

Tench was relieved to have gotten to Pickering first. She took a drag on her cigarette and spoke as calmly as possible. “I suspect you may be getting a call from Ms. Sexton sometime soon.”

“Good. I’ve been expecting one. I’ve got to tell you, when the President’s press conference began, I was concerned Zach Herney might have convinced Ms. Sexton to participate publicly. I’m pleased to see he resisted.”

“Zach Herney is a decent person,” Tench said, “which is more than I can say for Rachel Sexton.”

There was a long pause on the line. “I hope I misunderstood that.”

Tench sighed heavily. “No, sir, I’m afraid you did not. I’d prefer not to talk specifics on the phone, but Rachel Sexton, it seems, has decided she wants to undermine the credibility of this NASA announcement. I have no idea why, but after she reviewed and endorsed NASA’s data earlier this afternoon, she has suddenly pulled an about-face and is spouting some of the most improbable allegations imaginable of NASA treachery and fraud.”

Pickering sounded intense now. “Excuse me?”

“Troubling, yes. I hate to be the one to tell you this, but Ms. Sexton contacted me two minutes before the press conference and warned me to cancel the whole thing.”

“On what grounds?”

“Absurd ones, frankly. She said she’d found serious flaws in the data.”

Pickering’s long silence was more wary than Tench would have liked. “Flaws?” he finally said.

“Ridiculous, really, after two full weeks of NASA experimentation and—”

“I find it very hard to believe someone like Rachel Sexton would have told you to postpone the President’s press conference unless she had a damn good reason.” Pickering sounded troubled. “Maybe you should have listened to her.”

“Oh, please!” Tench blurted, coughing. “You saw the press conference. The meteorite data was confirmed and reconfirmed by countless specialists. Including civilians. Doesn’t it seem suspicious to you that Rachel Sexton—the daughter of the only man whom this announcement hurts—is suddenly changing her tune?”

“It seems suspicious, Ms. Tench, only because I happen to know that Ms. Sexton and her father are barely civil to one another. I cannot imagine why Rachel Sexton would, after years of service to the President, suddenly decide to switch camps and tell lies to support her father.”

“Ambition, perhaps? I really don’t know. Maybe the opportunity to be first daughter . . .” Tench let it hang.

Pickering’s tone hardened instantly. “Thin ice, Ms. Tench. Very thin.”

Tench scowled. What the hell did she expect? She was accusing a prominent member of Pickering’s staff of treason against the President. The man was going to be defensive.

“Put her on,” Pickering demanded. “I’d like to speak to Ms. Sexton myself.”

“I’m afraid that’s impossible,” Tench replied. “She’s not at the White House.”

“Where is she?”

“The President sent her to Milne this morning to examine the data firsthand. She has yet to return.”

Pickering sounded livid now. “I was never informed—”

“I do not have time for hurt pride, director. I have simply called as a courtesy. I wanted to warn you that Rachel Sexton has decided to pursue her own agenda with respect to tonight’s announcement. She will be looking for allies. If she contacts you, you would be wise to know that the White House is in possession of a video taken earlier today in which she endorsed this meteorite data in its entirety in front of the President, his cabinet, and his entire staff. If now, for whatever motives she might have, Rachel Sexton attempts to besmirch
the good name of Zach Herney or of NASA, then I swear to you the White House will see to it she falls hard and far.” Tench waited a moment, to be sure her meaning had settled in. “I expect you to repay the courtesy of this call by informing me immediately if Rachel Sexton contacts you. She is attacking the President directly, and the White House intends to detain her for questioning before she does any serious damage. I will be waiting for your call, director. That’s all. Good night.”