A sudden flurry of activity erupted on the line. Someone yelled. The caller cursed aloud and promptly hung up.
Onboard the Kiowa, Delta-One was screaming with rage as he scrambled to reactivate the jamming system. He had made the realization too late. In the huge array of lighted controls in the cockpit, a tiny LED meter indicated that a SATCOM data signal was being transmitted from the Goya. But how? Nobody left the deck! Before Delta-One could engage the jammer, the connection from the Goya terminated on its own accord.
Inside the hydrolab, the fax machine beeped contentedly.
CARRIER FOUND… FAX SENT
121
Kill or be killed. Rachel had discovered a part of herself she never knew existed. Survival mode-a savage fortitude fueled by fear.
"What was in that outbound fax?" the voice on the CrypTalk demanded.
Rachel was relieved to hear confirmation that the fax had gone out as planned. "Leave the area," she demanded, speaking into the CrypTalk and glaring up at the hovering chopper. "It's over. Your secret is out." Rachel informed their attackers of all the information she had just sent. A half dozen pages of images and text. Incontrovertible evidence that the meteorite was a fake. "Harming us will only make your situation worse."
There was a heavy pause. "Who did you send the fax to?"
Rachel had no intention of answering that question. She and Tolland needed to buy as much time as possible. They had positioned themselves near the opening in the deck, on a direct line with the Triton, making it impossible for the chopper to shoot without hitting the soldier dangling in the sub's claws.
"William Pickering," the voice guessed, sounding oddly hopeful. "You faxed Pickering."
Wrong, Rachel thought. Pickering would have been her first choice, but she had been forced to choose someone else for fear her attackers had already eliminated Pickering-a move whose boldness would be a chilling testimony to her enemy's resolve. In a moment of desperate decision, Rachel had faxed the data to the only other fax number she knew by heart.