Part 37 (2/2)

”This had better work,” he mumbled. ”I've torn it down to the moth-erboard and built it back up. If this doesn't work, I don't know what else to try.”

Frank nodded. ”Fire it up:”

Olin checked the connections one final time, adjusted the satellite dish, then returned his attention to the laptop computer. He switched on the solar power, and after a short wait, the operating system booted up and the screen hummed to life.

”We've got a connection to the HERMES satellite!” Olin said, and sighed with relief.

A cheer went up around Kelly. The entire camp, except for the pair of Rangers on guard by the swamp, was gathered around Olin and his com-munication equipment.

”Can you get an uplink established?” Waxman asked.

”Keep your fingers crossed,” Olin said. He began tapping at the key-board.

Kelly found herself holding her breath. They needed to reach someone Stateside. Reinforcements were certainly needed here. But more important to her, Kelly couldn't stand not knowing Jessie's status. She had to find a way to get back to her.

”Here we go:” Olin struck a final sequence of keys. The familiar con-nection countdown began.

Richard Zane mumbled behind her. ”Please, please work...”

His prayer was in all their hearts. The countdown blipped to zero. The computer screen froze for an interminably long second, then a picture of Kelly's mother and father appeared. The pair looked shocked and relieved.

”Thank G.o.d!” her father said. ”We've been trying to reach you for the past hour:”

Olin moved aside for Frank. ”Computer problems,” her brother said, ”among many others:”

Kelly leaned in. She could not wait a moment longer. ”How's Jessie?”

Her mother's face answered the question. Her eyes fidgeted, and she paused before speaking. ”She's . .

. she's doing fine, dear.”

The image on the screen fritzed as if the computer had become a lie detector. Static and snow ate away the picture. Her mother's next words became garbled. ”Lead on a cure . . . prion disease . . , sending data as we speak. . :”

Her father spoke, but the interference grew worse. They seemed unaware that their message was corrupted. ”. . . helicopter on its way . . . Brazilian army.. :'

Frank hissed to Olin, ”Can you fix the reception?”

He leaned in and tapped quickly. ”I don't know. I don't understand. We've just received a file. Maybe that's interfering with our downstream feed:'

But for each key the man tapped, the signal deteriorated.

Static whined and hissed with occasional words coming through. ”Frank. . . losing you . . . can you . . .

tomorrow morning . . . GPS locked.. :” Then the entire feed collapsed. The screen gave one final frazzled burst, then froze up.

”d.a.m.n it!” Olin swore.

”Get it back up,” Waxman said behind them.

Olin bent over his equipment and shook his head. ”I don't know I can. I've troubleshot the motherboard and rebooted all the software:”

”What's wrong then?” Kelly asked.

”I can't say for sure. It's almost like a computer virus has corrupted the entire satellite communication array.”

”Well, keep trying,” Waxman said. ”You've got another half hour before the satellite is out of range:”

Frank stood, facing everyone. ”Even if we can't link up, from what we did hear, it sounds like the Brazilian helicopter may be on its way here. Maybe as soon as tomorrow morning:”

Beside him, Olin stared at the frozen screen. ”Oh, G.o.d:”

All eyes turned to the Russian communications expert. He tapped the screen, pointing to a set of numbers in the upper right-hand corner. ”Our GPS signal. . :” ”What's the matter?” Waxman asked.

Olin glanced over to them. ”It's wrong. Whatever glitched the satellite system must've corrupted the feed to the GPS satellites, too. It sent a wrong signal back to the States:” He stared back at the screen. ”It places us about thirty miles south of our current position:”

Kelly felt the blood rush from her head. ”They won't know where we are.

”I've got to get this up and running;” Olin said. ”At least long enough to correct the signal:” He rebooted the computer and set to work.

For the next half hour, Olin worked furiously with his equipment. Oaths and curses, both in English and Russian, flowed from the man. As he labored, everyone found busy work to occupy the time. No one bothered to try resting. Kelly helped Anna prepare some rice, the last of their sup-plies. As they worked, they kept looking over to Olin, silently praying.

But for all the man's efforts and their prayers, nothing was gained.

After a time, Frank crossed and placed a hand on Olin's shoulder. He raised his other arm, exposing his wrist.w.a.tch. ”It's too late. The communi-cation satellites are out of range:”

Olin sagged over his array, defeated.

”We'll try again in the morning,” Frank said, his encouragement forced. ”You should rest. Start fresh tomorrow.”

Nate, Kouwe, and Manny returned from a fis.h.i.+ng expedition by the swamp. Their catch was bountiful, strung on a line between them. They dropped their load beside the fire. ”I'll clean;” Kouwe said, settling easily to the ground.

Manny sighed. ”No argument here:”

Nate wiped his hands and stared at Olin and his computer. He crossed toward the man. ”There was something I was wondering about while fish-ing. What about that other file?”

”What are you talking about?” Olin asked blearily.

”You mentioned something about a file being downloaded during the feed:”

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