Deception Point Page 1

PrologueDeath, in this forsaken place, could come in countless forms. Geologist Charles Brophy had endured the savage splendor of this terrain for years, and yet nonhing could prepare him for a fate as bestial and unnatural as the one about to befall him.As Brophys four huskies pulled his sled of geologic comprehend equipwork forcet across the tundra, the dogs suddenly slowed, looking skyward.What is it, girls? Brophy asked, stepping off the sled.Beyond the gathering storm clouds, a twin-rotor transport whirlybird arched in low, hugging the glacial peaks with military dexterity.Thats odd, he thought. He never saw helicopters this off the beaten track(predicate) north. The aircraft landed fifty yards away, kicking up a stinging spray of granulated snow. His dogs whined, looking wary.When the helicopter doors slid open, two men descended. They were dressed in full-weather whites, armed with rifles, and moved toward Brophy with urgent intent.Dr. Brophy? one called.The geologist wa s baffled. How did you know my evoke? Who are you?Take out your radio, please.Im sorry?Just do it.Bewildered, Brophy pulled his radio from his parka.We need you to transmit an compulsion communique. Decrease your radio frequency to one hundred kilohertz.One hundred kilohertz? Brophy felt perfectly lost. Nobody can receive anything that low. Has there been an accident?The second man raised his rifle and pointed it at Brophys head. Theres no time to explain. Just do it.Trembling, Brophy adjusted his transmission frequency.The first man now pass on him a note card with a few lines typed on it. Transmit this message. Now.Brophy looked at the card. I dont understand. This cultivation is incorrect. I didnt-The man pressed his rifle hard against the geologists temple.Brophys voice was shaking as he inherited the bizarre message.Good, the first man said. Now get yourself and your dogs into the chopper.At gunpoint, Brophy maneuvered his reluctant dogs and sled up a skid ramp into the c argo bay. As soon as they were great dealtled, the chopper lifted off, turning westward.Who the blaze are you Brophy demanded, breaking a sweat inside his parka. And what was the meaning of that messageThe men said nothing.As the chopper gained altitude, the wind tore through the open door. Brophys four huskies, still rigged to the loaded sled, were whimpering now.At least close the door, Brophy demanded. Cant you see my dogs are frightenedThe men did not respond.As the chopper rosaceous to four thousand feet, it banked steeply out over a series of ice chasms and crevasses. Suddenly, the men stood. Without a word, they gripped the heavily laden sled and pushed it out the open door. Brophy watched in horror as his dogs scrambled in vain against the enormous weight. In an instant the animals disappeared, dragged howling out of the chopper.Brophy was already on his feet screaming when the men grabbed him. They hauled him to the door. Numb with fear, Brophy swung his fists, trying to fend off the powerful hands pushing him outward.It was no use. Moments later he was tumbling toward the chasms below.1Toulos Restaurant, adjacent to Capitol Hill, boasts a politically incorrect menu of baby veal and vaulting horse carpaccio, making it an ironic hotspot for the quintessential Washingtonian power breakfast. This morning Toulos was busy a blaring of clanking silverware, espresso machines, and cell bring forward conversations.The maitre d was sneaking a sip of his morning Bloody Mary when the woman entered. He turned with a practiced smile.Good morning, he said. May I help you?The woman was attractive, in her mid-thirties, wearing gray, pleated flannel pants, conservative flats, and an ivory Laura Ashley blouse. Her posture was straight chin raised ever so slightly not arrogant, just strong. The womans hair was light brown and fashioned in Washingtons most touristed style the anchor-woman a lush feathering, curled under at the shoulders long enough to be sexy, unless short enough to remind you she was probably smarter than you.Im a little late, the woman said, her voice unassuming. I prepare a breakfast meeting with Senator sexton.The maitre d felt an unexpected tingle of nerves. Senator Sedgewick Sexton. The senator was a regular here and presently one of the countrys most famous men. Last week, having swept all twelve Republican primaries on top-notch Tuesday, the senator was virtually guaranteed his partys nomination for President of the United States. Many believed the senator had a superb chance of stealing the innocence House from the embattled President next fall. Lately Sextons face seemed to be on every content magazine, his campaign slogan plastered all across America Stop spending. Start mending.Senator Sexton is in his booth, the maitre d said. And you are?Rachel Sexton. His female child.How foolish of me, he thought. The resemblance was quite apparent. The woman had the senators penetrating eyes and refined handcart that polished air of resilient nobility. Clearly the senators classic good looks had not skipped generations, although Rachel Sexton seemed to carry her blessings with a grace and humility her father could learn from.A pleasure to have you, Ms. Sexton.As the maitre d led the senators girlfriend across the dining area, he was embarrassed by the gauntlet of male eyes following her slightly discreet, others less so. Few women dined at Toulos and even fewer who looked like Rachel Sexton.Nice body, one diner whispered. Sexton already find himself a new wife?Thats his daughter, you idiot, another replied.The man chuckled. Knowing Sexton, hed probably have sex her anyway.When Rachel arrived at her fathers table, the senator was on his cellphone talking loudly about one of his recent successes. He glanced up at Rachel only long enough to tap his Cartier and remind her she was late.I missed you, too, Rachel thought.Her fathers first produce was Thomas, although hed adopted his middle na me long ago. Rachel suspected it was because he liked the alliteration. Senator Sedgewick Sexton. The man was a silver-haired, silvery political animal who had been anointed with the slick look of soap opera doctor, which seemed appropriate considering his talents of impersonation.Rachel Her father clicked off his phone and stood to kiss her cheek.Hi, Dad. She did not kiss him back.You look exhausted.And so it begins, she thought. I got your message. Whats up?I cant ask my daughter out for breakfast?Rachel had learned long ago her father seldom requested her company unless he had some ulterior motive.Sexton took a sip of coffee. So, how are things with you?Busy. I see your campaigns going well.Oh, lets not talk business. Sexton leaned across the table, lowering his voice. Hows that guy at the State Department I set you up with?Rachel exhaled, already fighting the urge to check her watch. Dad, I really havent had time to call him. And I wish youd stop trying to-Youve got to make tim e for the important things, Rachel. Without love, everything else is meaningless.A number of comebacks came to mind, but Rachel chose silence. organism the bigger person was not difficult when it came to her father. Dad, you wanted to see me? You said this was important.