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'Mings lungs were screaming for oxygen. He held his breathing spell, still trying to kick toward the get hold. pass off! He fought the reflex action, clamping his insensate lips together. Breathe! He tried in vain to float upward. Breathe! At that instant, in a deadly battle of hu worldly concern reflex against reason, Mings breathing instinct overcame his ability to custody his m bug outh closed.\r\nWailee Ming inhaled.\r\nThe piss crashing into his lungs felt equivalent scalding oil on his sensitive pneumonic tissue. He felt like he was burning from the inside(a) out. Cruelly, water does non kill immediately. Ming spent seven frighten seconds inhaling in the crisp water, each breath more spiteful than the last, each aspiration offering none of what his body so desperately craved.\r\nFinally, as Ming slid downward into the icy darkness, he felt himself going unconscious. He welcomed the escape. All close to him in the water Ming saw tiny glowing specks of light. It w as the most(prenominal) beautiful thing he had eer seen.\r\n37\r\nThe East Appointment approach of the White House is located on East Executive Avenue between the Treasury Department and the East Lawn. The reinforced perimeter fence and cement bollards installed aft(prenominal) the attack on the Marine barracks in Beirut give this entry an line of products that is anything but welcoming.\r\nOutside the gate, Gabrielle Ashe checked her watch, purport a growing nervousness. It was 4:45 P.M., and still nobody had made contact.\r\n eastern APPOINTMENT GATE, 4:30 P.M. acclaim ALONE.\r\nHere I am, she thought. W here atomic number 18 you?\r\nGabrielle scanned the faces of the tourists mill about, waiting for someone to catch her oculus. A few men looked her over and locomote on. Gabrielle was beginning to wonder if this had been such a good idea. She sensed the Secret mankind in the displacery shack had his eye on her now. Gabrielle decided her informant had gotten gelid feet . Gazing one last time through the heavy fence toward the White House, Gabrielle sighed and false to go.\r\nâ€Å"Gabrielle Ashe?” the Secret Serviceman called out prat her.\r\nGabrielle wheeled, her heart catching in her throat. Yes?\r\nThe man in the guard shack waved her over. He was lean with a humorless face. â€Å"Your society is ready to see you now.” He open the main gate and motioned for her to enter.\r\nGabrielles feet refused to move. â€Å"Im coming inside?”\r\nThe guard nodded. â€Å"I was asked to apologize for keeping you waiting.”\r\nGabrielle looked at the open doorway and still could not move. Whats going on! This was not at all what she had expected.\r\nâ€Å"You are Gabrielle Ashe, are you not?” the guard demanded, looking importunate now.\r\nâ€Å"Yes, sir, but-â€Å"\r\nâ€Å"Then I strongly call down you follow me.”\r\nGabrielles feet jolted into motion. As she stepped tentatively over the threshold, the gate slammed shut laughingstock her.\r\n38\r\nTwo days without cheerfulness had rearranged Michael Tollands biological clock. Although his watch said it was after-hours afternoon, Tollands body insisted it was the middle of the night. Now, having put the finishing touches on his documentary, Michael Tolland had downloaded the entire film commit onto a digital video magnetic disk and was making his way across the change domed stadium. Arriving at the illuminated press orbital cavity, he delivered the disk to the NASA media technician in charge of overseeing the presentation.\r\nâ€Å"Thanks, Mike,” the technician said, gesticulate as he held up the video disk. â€Å"Kind of redefines ‘must-see TV, eh?”\r\nTolland gave a tired chuckle. â€Å"I hope the President likes it.”\r\nâ€Å"No doubt. Anyhow, your clip is done. Sit back and enjoy the show.”\r\nâ€Å"Thanks.” Tolland stood in the brightly lit press area and surveyed the convivial NASA personnel toasting the meteorite with cans of Canadian beer. Even though Tolland wanted to celebrate, he felt exhausted, emotionally drained. He glanced more or less for Rachel Sexton, but apparently she was still lecture to the President.\r\nHe wants to put her on-air, Tolland thought. Not that he blamed him; Rachel would be a absolute gain to the cast of meteorite spokespeople. In addition to her good looks, Rachel exuded an accessible poise and dominance that Tolland seldom saw in the women he met. Then again, most of the women Tolland met were in television-either unmerciful power women or gorgeous on-air â€Å"personalities” who lacked just now that.\r\nNow, slipping quietly away from the collection of bustling NASA employees, Tolland navigated the web of pathways across the dome, wonder where the other civilian scientists had disappeared to. If they felt one-half as drained as he did, they should be in the bunking area grabbing a catnap before the big momen t. leading of him in the distance, Tolland could see the circle of SHABA pylons around the deserted extraction pit. The empty dome overhead seemed to echo with the hollow voices of opposed memories. Tolland tried to block them out.\r\nForget the ghosts, he willed himself. They often haunted him at quantify like these, when he was tired or alone-times of personal triumph or celebration. She should be with you right now, the voice whispered. Alone in the darkness, he felt himself reeling backward into oblivion.\r\nCelia birchen had been his sweetheart in graduate school. 1 Valentines Day, Tolland took her to her favorite restaurant. When the waiter brought Celias dessert, it was a atomic number 53 rose and a diamond ring. Celia still immediately. With tears in her eyes, she spoke a single word that made Michael Tolland as happy as hed ever been.\r\nâ€Å"Yes.”\r\n alter with anticipation, they bought a small house cuddle Pasadena, where Celia got a job as a cognition t eacher. Although the pay was modest, it was a start, and it was in addition close to Scripps Institute of Oceanography in San Diego, where Tolland had landed his ambition job on base a geologic research ship. Tollands invent meant he was away for three or four days at a time, but his reunions with Celia were eer passionate and exciting.\r\n art object at sea, Tolland began videotaping some of his adventures for Celia, making minidocumentaries of his sound onboard the ship. After one trip, he returned with a grainy home video that hed coolness out of the window of a deepwater submersible-the initiatory footage ever shot of a crotchety chemotropic cuttlefish that nobody even knew existed. On camera, as he narrated the video, Tolland was practically bursting out of the submarine with enthusiasm.\r\nLiterally thousands of undiscovered species, he gushed, live in these depths! Weve barely scratched the surface! There are mysteries down here that none of us can calculate!\r\nCel ia was enthralled with her husbands ebullience and concise scientific explanation. On a whim, she showed the tape to her science class, and it became an instant hit. Other teachers wanted to buy out it. Parents wanted to make copies. It seemed everyone was eagerly awaiting Michaels conterminous installment. Celia suddenly had an idea. She called a college friend of hers who worked for NBC and sent her a videotape.\r\nTwo months later, Michael Tolland came to Celia and asked her to take a walk with him on Kingman Beach. It was their special place, where they always went to share their hopes and dreams.\r\nâ€Å"I have something I want to tell you,” Tolland said.\r\nCelia stopped, taking her husbands detention as the water lapped around their feet. â€Å"What is it?”\r\nTolland was bursting. â€Å" weather week, I got a call from NBC television. They forecast I should host an oceanic documentary series. Its perfect. They want to make a voyage next year! Can you acc ept it?”\r\nCelia kissed him, beaming. â€Å"I believe it. Youll be great.”\r\n half a dozen months later, Celia and Tolland were sailing near Catalina when Celia began complaining of pain in her side. They ignored it for a few weeks, but finally it got too much. Celia went in to have it checked out.\r\nIn an instant, Tollands dream life shattered into a hellish nightmare. Celia was ill. Very ill.\r\n'