danbrown.deceptionpoint-第73部分

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the　back　of　his　boat；　as　if　he　were　traveling　in　an　arc　rather　than　a　straight　line。　Confused　by　this；　he　turned　his　head　to　follow　the　wake's　arc；　extrapolating　a　giant　curve　across　the　ocean。　An　instant　later；　he　saw　it。
　The　Goya　was　directly　off　his　port　side；　less　than　a　half　mile　away。　In　horror；　Corky　realized　his　mistake　too　late。　With　no　one　at　the　wheel；　the　Crestliner's　bow　had　continuously　realigned　itself　with　the　direction　of　the　powerful　current…the　megaplume's　circular　water　flow。　I'm　driving　in　a　big　friggin'　circle！
　He　had　doubled　back　on　himself。
　Knowing　he　was　still　inside　the　shark…filled　megaplume；　Corky　recalled　Tolland's　grim　words。　Enhanced　telencephalon　olfactory　lobes。。。　hammerheads　can　smell　a　droplet　of　blood　a　mile　away。　Corky　looked　at　his　bloody　duct…taped　leg　and　hands。
　The　chopper　would　be　on　him　soon。
　Ripping　off　his　bloody　clothing；　Corky　scrambled　naked　toward　the　stern。　Knowing　no　sharks　could　possibly　keep　pace　with　the　boat；　he　rinsed　himself　as　best　as　he　could　in　the　powerful　blast　of　the　wake。
　A　single　droplet　of　blood。。。　
　As　Corky　stood　up；　fully　exposed　to　the　night；　he　knew　there　was　only　one　thing　left　to　do。　He　had　learned　once　that　animals　marked　their　territory　with　urine　because　uric　acid　was　the　most　potent…smelling　fluid　the　human　body　made。
　More　potent　than　blood；　he　hoped。　Wishing　he'd　had　a　few　more　beers　tonight；　Corky　heaved　his　injured　leg　up　onto　the　gunwale　and　tried　to　urinate　on　the　duct　tape。　e　on！　He　waited。　Nothing　like　the　pressure　of　having　to　piss　all　over　yourself　with　a　helicopter　chasing　you。
　Finally　it　came。　Corky　urinated　all　over　the　duct　tape；　soaking　it　fully。　He　used　what　little　was　left　in　his　bladder　to　soak　a　rag；　which　he　then　swathed　across　his　entire　body。　Very　pleasant。
　In　the　dark　sky　overhead；　a　red　laser　beam　appeared；　slanting　toward　him　like　the　shimmering　blade　of　an　enormous　guillotine。　The　chopper　appeared　from　an　oblique　angle；　the　pilot　apparently　confused　that　Corky　had　looped　back　toward　the　Goya。
　Quickly　donning　a　high…float　life　vest；　Corky　moved　to　the　rear　of　the　speeding　craft。　On　the　boat's　bloodstained　floor；　only　five　feet　from　where　Corky　was　standing；　a　glowing　red　dot　appeared。
　It　was　time。
　　
　Onboard　the　Goya；　Michael　Tolland　did　not　see　his　Crestliner　Phantom　2100　erupt　in　flames　and　tumble　through　the　air　in　a　cartwheel　of　fire　and　smoke。
　But　he　heard　the　explosion。
　
　　
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　The　West　Wing　was　usually　quiet　at　this　hour；　but　the　President's　unexpected　emergence　in　his　bathrobe　and　slippers　had　rustled　the　aides　and　on…site　staff　out　of　their　〃day…timer　beds〃　and　on…site　sleeping　quarters。
　〃I　can't　find　her；　Mr。　President；〃　a　young　aide　said；　hurrying　after　him　into　the　Oval　Office。　He　had　looked　everywhere。　〃Ms。　Tench　is　not　answering　her　pager　or　cellphone。〃
　The　President　looked　exasperated。　〃Have　you　looked　in　the…〃
　〃She　left　the　building；　sir；〃　another　aide　announced；　hurrying　in。　〃She　signed　out　about　an　hour　ago。　We　think　she　may　have　gone　to　the　NRO。　One　of　the　operators　says　she　and　Pickering　were　talking　tonight。〃
　〃William　Pickering？〃　The　President　sounded　baffled。　Tench　and　Pickering　were　anything　but　social。　〃Have　you　called　him？〃
　〃He's　not　answering　either；　sir。　NRO　switchboard　can't　reach　him。　They　say　Pickering's　cellphone　isn't　even　ringing。　It's　like　he's　dropped　off　the　face　of　the　earth。〃
　Herney　stared　at　his　aides　for　a　moment　and　then　walked　to　the　bar　and　poured　himself　a　bourbon。　As　he　raised　the　glass　to　his　lips；　a　Secret　Serviceman　hurried　in。
　〃Mr。　President？　I　wasn't　going　to　wake　you；　but　you　should　be　aware　that　there　was　a　car　bombing　at　the　FDR　Memorial　tonight。〃
　〃What！〃　Herney　almost　dropped　his　drink。　〃When？〃
　〃An　hour　ago。〃　His　face　was　grim。　〃And　the　FBI　just　identified　the　victim。。。　〃
　
　　
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　Delta…Three's　foot　screamed　in　pain。　He　felt　himself　floating　through　a　muddled　consciousness。　Is　this　death？　He　tried　to　move　but　felt　paralyzed；　barely　able　to　breathe。　He　saw　only　blurred　shapes。　His　mind　reeled　back；　recalling　the　explosion　of　the　Crestliner　out　at　sea；　seeing　the　rage　in　Michael　Tolland's　eyes　as　the　oceanographer　stood　over　him；　holding　the　explosive　pole　to　his　throat。
　Certainly　Tolland　killed　me。。。　
　And　yet　the　searing　pain　in　Delta…Three's　right　foot　told　him　he　was　very　much　alive。　Slowly　it　came　back。　On　hearing　the　explosion　of　the　Crestliner；　Tolland　had　let　out　a　cry　of　anguished　rage　for　his　lost　friend。　Then；　turning　his　ravaged　eyes　to　Delta…Three；　Tolland　had　arched　as　if　preparing　to　ram　the　rod　through　Delta…Three's　throat。　But　as　he　did；　he　seemed　to　hesitate；　as　if　his　own　morality　were　holding　him　back。　With　brutal　frustration　and　fury；　Tolland　yanked　the　rod　away　and　drove　his　boot　down　on　Delta…Three's　tattered　foot。
　The　last　thing　Delta…Three　remembered　was　vomiting　in　agony　as　his　whole　world　drifted　into　a　black　delirium。　Now　he　was　ing　to；　with　no　idea　how　long　he　had　been　unconscious。　He　could　feel　his　arms　tied　behind　his　back　in　a　knot　so　tight　it　could　only　have　been　tied　by　a　sailor。　His　legs　were　also　bound；　bent　behind　him　and　tied　to　his　wrists；　leaving　him　in　an　immobilized　backward　arch。　He　tried　to　call　out；　but　no　sound　came。　His　mouth　was　stuffed　with　something。
　Delta…Three　could　not　imagine　what　was　going　on。　It　was　then　he　felt　the　cool　breeze　and　saw　the　bright　lights。　He　realized　he　was　up　on　the　Goya's　main　deck。　He　twisted　to　look　for　help　and　was　met　by　a　frightful　sight；　his　own　reflection…bulbous　and　misshapen　in　the　reflective　Plexiglas　bubble　of　the　Goya's　deepwater　submersible。　The　sub　hung　right　in　front　of　him；　and　Delta…Three　realized　he　was　lying　on　a　giant　trapdoor　in　the　deck。　This　was　not　nearly　as　unsettling　as　the　most　obvious　question。
　If　I'm　on　deck。。。　then　where　is　Delta…Two？
　　
　Delta…Two　had　grown　uneasy。
　Despite　his　partner's　CrypTalk　transmission　claiming　he　was　fine；　the　single　gunshot　had　not　been　that　of　a　machine　gun。　Obviously；　Tolland　or　Rachel　Sexton　had　fired　a　weapon。　Delta…Two　moved　over　to　peer　down　the　ramp　where　his　partner　had　descended；　and　he　saw　blood。
　Weapon　raised；　he　had　descended　belowdecks；　where　he　followed　the　trail　of　blood　along　a　catwalk　to　the　bow　of　the　ship。　Here；　the　trail　of　blood　had　led　him　back　up　another　ramp　to　the　main　deck。　It　was　deserted。　With　growing　wariness；　Delta…Two　had　followed　the　long　crimson　smear　along　the　sideboard　deck　back　toward　the　rear　of　the　ship；　where　it　passed　the　opening　to　the　original　ramp　he　had　descended。
　What　the　hell　is　going　on？　The　smear　seemed　to　travel　in　a　giant　circle。
　Moving　cautiously；　his　gun　trained　ahead　of　him；　Delta…Two　passed　the　entrance　to　the　laboratory　section　of　the　ship。　The　smear　continued　toward　the　stern　deck。　Carefully　he　swung　wide；　rounding　the　corner。　His　eye　traced　the　trail。
　Then　he　saw　it。
　Jesus　Christ！
　Delta…Three　was　lying　there…bound　and　gagged…dumped　unceremoniously　directly　in　front　of　the　Goya's　small　submersible。　Even　from　a　distance；　Delta…Two　could　see　that　his　partner　was　missing　a　good　portion　of　his　right　foot。
　Wary　of　a　trap；　Delta…Two　raised　his　gun　and　moved　forward。　Delta…Three　was　writhing　now；　trying　to　speak。　Ironically；　the　way　the　man　had　been　bound…with　his　knees　sharply　bent　behind　him…was　probably　saving　his　life；　the　bleeding　in　his　foot　appeared　to　have　slowed。
　As　Delta…Two　approached　the　submersible；　he　appreciated　the　rare　luxury　of　being　able　to　watch　his　own　back；　the　entire　deck　of　the　ship　was　reflected　in　the　sub's　rounded　cockpit　dome。　Delta…Two　arrived　at　his　struggling　partner。　He　saw　the　warning　in　his　eyes　too　late。
　The　flash　of　silver　came　out　of　nowhere。
　One　of　the　Triton's　manipulator　claws　suddenly　leaped　forward　and　clamped　down　on　Delta…Two's　left　thigh　with　crushing　force。　He　tried　to　pull　away；　but　the　claw　bore　down。　He　screamed　in　pain；　feeling　a　bone　break。　His　eyes　shot　to　the　sub's　cockpit。　Peering　through　the　reflection　of　the　deck；　Delta…Two　could　now　see　him；　ensconced　in　the　shadows　of　the　Triton's　interior。
　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　a