Deception Point - Brown Dan - Страница 39

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Inside the habisphere's "staging room," Rachel Sexton felt like an astronaut as she slid into one of NASA's Mark IX microclimate survival suits. The black, one-piece, hooded jumpsuit resembled an inflatable scuba suit. Its two-ply, memory-foam fabric was fitted with hollow channels through which a dense gel was pumped to help the wearer regulate body temperature in both hot and cold environments.

Now, as Rachel pulled the tight-fitting hood over her head, her eyes fell on the NASA administrator. He appeared as a silent sentinel at the door, clearly displeased with the necessity for this little mission.

Norah Mangor was muttering obscenities as she got everyone outfitted. "Here's an extra pudgy," she said, tossing Corky his suit.

Tolland was already half into his.

Once Rachel was fully zipped up, Norah found the stopcock on Rachel's side and connected her to an infusion tube that coiled out of a silver canister resembling a large scuba tank.

"Inhale," Norah said, opening the valve.

Rachel heard a hiss and felt gel being injected into the suit. The memory foam expanded, and the suit compressed around her, pressing down on her inner layer of clothing. The sensation reminded her of sticking her hand underwater while wearing a rubber glove. As the hood inflated around her head, it pressed in on her ears, making everything sound muffled. I'm in a cocoon.

"Best thing about the Mark IX," Norah said, "is the padding. You can fall on your ass and not feel a thing."

Rachel believed it. She felt like she was trapped inside a mattress.

Norah handed Rachel a series of tools-an ice ax, tether snaps, and carabiners, which she affixed to the belt harnessed on Rachel's waist.

"All this?" Rachel asked, eyeing the gear. "To go two hundred yards?"

Norah's eyes narrowed. "You want to come or not?"

Tolland gave Rachel a reassuring nod. "Norah's just being careful."

Corky connected to the infusion tank and inflated his suit, looking amused. "I feel like I'm wearing a giant condom."

Norah gave a disgusted groan. "Like you'd know, virgin boy."

Tolland sat down next to Rachel. He gave her a weak smile as she donned her heavy boots and crampons. "You sure you want to come?" His eyes had a protective concern that drew her in.

Rachel hoped her confident nod belied her growing trepidation. Two hundred yards… not far at all. "And you thought you could find excitement only on the high seas."

Tolland chuckled, talking as he attached his own crampons. "I've decided I like liquid water much better than this frozen stuff."

"I've never been a big fan of either," Rachel said. "I fell through the ice as a kid. Water's made me nervous ever since."

Tolland glanced over, his eyes sympathetic. "Sorry to hear that. When this is over, you'll have to come out and visit me on the Goya. I'll change your mind about water. Promise."

The invitation surprised her. The Goya was Tolland's research ship-well-known both from its role in Amazing Seas as well as its reputation as one of the strangest-looking ships on the ocean. Although a visit to the Goya would be unnerving for Rachel, she knew it would be hard to pass up.

"She's anchored twelve miles off the coast of New Jersey at the moment," Tolland said, struggling with his crampon latches.

"Sounds like an unlikely spot."

"Not at all. The Atlantic seaboard is an incredible place. We were gearing up to shoot a new documentary when I was so rudely interrupted by the President."

Rachel laughed. "Shooting a documentary on what?"

"Sphyrna mokarran and megaplumes."

Rachel frowned. "Glad I asked."

Tolland finished attaching his crampons and looked up. "Seriously, I'll be filming out there for a couple weeks. Washington's not that far from the Jersey coast. Come out when you get back home. No reason to spend your life afraid of the water. My crew would roll out the red carpet for you."

Norah Mangor's voice blared. "Are we going outside, or should I get you two some candles and champagne?"

Gabrielle Ashe had no idea what to make of the documents now spread out before her on Marjorie Tench's desk. The pile included photocopied letters, faxes, transcripts of phone conversations, and they all seemed to support the allegation that Senator Sexton was in covert dialogue with private space companies.

Tench pushed a couple of grainy black-and-white photographs toward Gabrielle. "I assume this is news to you?"

Gabrielle looked at the photos. The first candid shot showed Senator Sexton getting out of a taxi in some kind of underground garage. Sexton never takes taxis. Gabrielle looked at the second shot-a telephoto of Sexton climbing into a parked white minivan. An old man appeared to be in the van waiting for him.

"Who is that?" Gabrielle said, suspicious the photos might be faked.

"A big shot from the SFF."

Gabrielle was doubtful. "The Space Frontier Foundation?"

The SFF was like a "union" for private space companies. It represented aerospace contractors, entrepreneurs, venture capitalists-any private entity that wanted to go into space. They tended to be critical of NASA, arguing that the U.S. space program employed unfair business practices to prevent private companies from launching missions into space.

"The SFF," Tench said, "now represents over a hundred major corporations, some very wealthy enterprises who are waiting eagerly for the Space Commercialization Promotions Act to be ratified."

Gabrielle considered it. For obvious reasons the SFF was a vocal supporter of Sexton's campaign, although the senator had been careful not to get too close to them because of their controversial lobbying tactics. Recently the SFF had published an explosive rant charging that NASA was in fact an "illegal monopoly" whose ability to operate at a loss and still stay in business represented unfair competition to private firms. According to the SFF, whenever AT T needed a telecomm satellite launched, several private space companies offered to do the job at a reasonable $50 million. Unfortunately, NASA always stepped in and offered to launch AT T's satellites for a mere twenty-five million, even though it cost NASA five times that to do the job! Operating at a loss is one way NASA keeps its grip on space, the SFF lawyers accused. And taxpayers pick up the tab.

"This photo reveals," Tench said, "that your candidate is holding secret meetings with an organization that represents private space enterprises." Tench motioned to several other documents on the table. "We also have internal SFF memos calling for huge sums of money to be collected from SFF member companies-in amounts commensurate with their net worth-and transferred to accounts controlled by Senator Sexton. In effect, these private space agencies are anteing up to put Sexton in office. I can only assume he has agreed to pass the commercialization bill and privatize NASA if elected."

Gabrielle looked at the pile of papers, unconvinced. "Do you expect me to believe that the White House has evidence that its opponent is engaged in profoundly illegal campaign finance-and yet, for some reason, you are keeping it secret?"

"What would you believe?"

Gabrielle glared. "Frankly, considering your skills for manipulation, a more logical solution seems that you are plying me somehow with phony documents and photos produced by some enterprising White House staffer and his desktop publishing computer."

"Possible, I admit. But not true."

"No? Then how did you get all these internal documents from corporations? The resources required to steal all of this evidence from so many companies certainly exceeds the grasp of the White House."

"You're right. This information arrived here as an unsolicited gift."

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