by Bobby Akart
The early morning sun cast shadows across the facility, which was still covered by a light snow from several days earlier. The spaceport had become Putin’s pet project, much like the Winter Olympics in Sochi. No expense was spared as he funneled millions of dollars in oil profits into Vostochny.
When it was completed, a new town had sprung up in the Amur Oblast, including a railway station, a ground control complex, and a variety of other support facilities. It wasn’t quite on par with Cape Canaveral in Florida, but it was far better than the Russian’s former launchpad they’d leased from Kazakhstan.
Through the high-powered lens of his still camera, Gunner focused on the movements of the Cosmodrome’s personnel. Cam continued to provide Fort Belvoir with live feeds, only switching batteries one time in the first three hours of filming.
“Gunner, this is Ghost.”
“Go ahead.”
“The images you’ve transmitted have been very helpful, but unfortunately, we don’t have the requisite angle to view inside the Mobile Service Tower, the larger structure in the center of the complex.”
Gunner rose from his equivalent of a sniper hide to get a better look. “We’ll have to abandon the high ground, sir. We’ll need an hour to approach the western fence to get a look inside. From this angle, I can see that the doors appear to be open.”
“Good, there’s one more thing. Beneath the Soyuz-2 rocket, there’s an assembly and processing structure. Based upon our analysis of the images, we believe the Soyuz-2 in plain view is a decoy. It doesn’t appear to have its equivalent of the 14D15 first stage and accompanying boosters.”
Gunner nodded. “No power. It’s just for show.”
“Roger.”
“One hour. Out,” said Gunner as he terminated the conversation.
Cam stowed her camera and Bear scanned the mountainside, hoping to find a trail.
“Whadya think?” asked Cam.
“I don’t see an easy way, but that’s not necessarily a bad thing,” replied Bear. “A path or walking trail means patrols. I don’t doubt that we could take them out, but it will definitely ring alarm bells in somebody’s toasty-warm office down there.”
“I agree,” said Gunner. “It’s no different from the six-mile hike earlier, other than the fact that we’ll be exposed at some point as the forest ends.”
“We’ve got good lenses,” said Cam. “We may not need to break cover.”
“Let’s go,” said Bear as he began to traverse the terrain, keeping natural rock formations and trees between the group and the security forces below.
It only took half an hour and the group arrived at the edge of the clearing. The sparsely wooded area made Gunner glad that they were outfitted in snow camouflage. The combination of white, brown tones, and the occasional hint of red leaves enabled them to blend into the landscape.
“Down!” whispered Bear. “Patrol.”
Each of them dropped to the ground and crawled behind a leafless tree. Birch trees were the norm at the bottom of the ridge, with the majority of the pines having been cleared out. A Russian-made UAZ-3163 light utility vehicle that resembled a cross between a Ford Explorer and a Land Rover drove by. The driver and passenger had both rolled their windows down and could be heard speaking loudly and laughing. Cigarette smoke poured out of the windows as they drove by without a glance in the team’s direction.
“That’s the first roving patrol outside the walls that I’ve seen,” observed Bear.
Gunner moved his sleeve and looked at his watch. “It’s the top of the hour. These guys are just getting their day started.”
“We’re below grade here,” said Cam. “We can’t get a camera shot of the tower or the assembly room below the rocket because the wall obscures our view.”
Gunner assessed the situation. The wall appeared to be ten feet or greater. One of them could get hoisted on top and take some quick pictures and maybe thirty seconds of film without being noticed, but he wasn’t sure. Plus, the mere act of covering the hundred yards to the wall across open ground might get them discovered.
Bear was the first to hear the sounds of heavy, plodding footsteps behind them. He swung his rifle around and trained it on the narrow path they’d just followed down the side of the ridge.
Using hand signals, Gunner indicated he was going to flank the trail, and he pointed toward Cam to do the same on the other side. Their footprints in the light snow were sure to give away their position, so they had to eliminate the patrol that was stalking them.
Gunner got into position and focused his hearing on the rustling sound in the trees. It was a familiar sound, one not unlike what he heard in Tate’s Hell near Dog Island from time to time.
He took a chance. He shouldered his rifle and pulled out his Morakniv Garberg fixed blade. The blade was not as long as needed for what he had in mind, but durable enough to get the job done. Further, Gunner liked the black carbon coating, adding to its stealth qualities.
On this occasion, he’d have to be careful. His target would most likely be alerted by Gunner’s most surreptitious movements. After all, this was his homeland, not the trespassing American’s.
Gunner readied himself by taking a deep breath and focusing on his movements. It was time. He was upon the interloper in a flash, using catlike reflexes to temporarily surprise his prey. Before the Russian boar could turn and run, Gunner embedded his knife in the animal’s back, weakening its resolve. Before the animal could regain its will to fight, Gunner flipped the nearly two-hundred-pound animal on its back and delivered the death blow to his abdomen.
The Garberg knife was certainly not designed to be a pig-sticker, but several well-placed thrusts based upon Gunner’s years of hunting wild hogs in the Florida Panhandle finally killed the animal.
Cam heard the commotion, as did Bear, and the two of them arrived almost simultaneously at the kill site.
“What did you do that for?” she asked. Cam always had a soft spot for animals.
“Dinner,” Bear replied on Gunner’s behalf, albeit incorrectly.
“We need a distraction,” said Gunner as he replaced his knife in its leg sheath. “Help me, Bear. Let’s drag this thing to the edge of the woods. After the patrol makes its next pass, I wanna place the boar just off the side of the road near that fallen tree’s root ball. I’m sure they’ll see it.”
“Then what?” asked Cam.
“Well, we can’t see over the wall and it’s too risky to climb on top to take pictures. I’m thinking their truck and maybe even their uniforms might give us a way inside.”
“You’re nuts,” said Cam.
Gunner grinned and grabbed the boar carcass by the hind legs. He nodded to Bear to pick up the front.
“That’s what they tell me,” Gunner growled in return.
Chapter 36
Sunday, April 8
CBS Broadcast Studios
New York
For sixty years, 60 Minutes on CBS made a regular appearance on viewers’ television sets, from the early days of Harry Reasoner, Dan Rather, and Morley Safer, to the present group of hosts, which included CNN correspondent Anderson Cooper and former morning show host Norah O’Donnell.
With the crossover talent of Cooper, CBS and CNN began to work together to produce the weekly news magazine, sharing correspondents, video feeds, and breaking news stories. On this day, both teams associated with the production of 60 Minutes, in CBS’s New York studios and at CNN Atlanta, were scrambling to produce the live broadcast slated for 7:00 p.m.
Executive producers were nervously pacing the control room, watching the monitors as the final round of the Masters was being broadcast from Augusta, Georgia. Forecasted thunderstorms and torrential downpours had forced the tournament officials to modify their final round format.
Ordinarily, the last few pairings were slated to tee off in the early afternoon, resulting in the final holes being played after seven that evening. This would delay the start of 60 Minutes, similar to what happened on Sundays
during the NFL broadcasts in the fall.
A delay meant their blockbuster revelation would have to be cut short, as the president had asked for network time to address the nation at eight o’clock eastern time. CNN and CBS had every intention of breaking the news prior to the president’s Oval Office address.
The second headache for the production team was keeping the story under wraps. Both networks were taking extraordinary precautions to keep staffers from leaking the stories to other news sources, or even their families. Additional security was brought in to clear the production facilities on that Sunday. Employees were forced to turn over their cell phones, and their computers were locked down, preventing the use of email accounts.
Interviews with experts, and Sparky Newsome, were conducted against a blue-screen background with only the interviewer, in this case Jack Young, and two camera operators being present. All of the video was reviewed and edited by executive producers for later insertion into the live broadcast.
The heads of both CBS News and CNN had wrestled with their approach to breaking this story. They were sure to anger the White House, naturally, but also, they were concerned about the psychological impact on viewers.
They made their decision partially because of the notoriety and accolades the two networks would receive, but also because the White House communications office had turned their backs on them. Despite the fact that the head of CBS News made a personal plea to the White House communications director for an exclusive interview with the president in exchange for keeping the story under wraps, his request had been ignored. To make matters worse, the network had been threatened with violating several statutes. That, coupled with veiled threats of retribution from the Federal Communications Commission, later resulted in the decision to move forward.
Nonstop, around the clock, producers reached out to the brightest astrophysicists and scientists familiar with near-Earth objects. They were quizzed about the process of discovery, diversion, and destruction. Then they were asked about the ramifications of failure—a sobering moment for the production team.
Late Saturday night, a decision was made to transfer Sparky Newsome to New York. The FBI had appeared at the Atlanta studios unannounced around six p.m. and began to make inquiries of CNN personnel regarding Sparky’s presence. Because he had been escorted into the building in the middle of the night before, only a few people knew he was there.
Concerned that their source was about to be snatched away to join the fate of his friend, Young made arrangements for him and Sparky to fly by private jet into New Jersey across from the Hudson River, and drive by car into CBS around four o’clock that morning.
Sparky had slept on the plane and caught another few hours on the couch of one of the executive producers before being awakened to prepare for his interview with Young. To help ease the tension and calm Sparky’s nerves, he was taken on a brief tour of the famed 60 Minutes broadcast studios by Young.
“Sparky, you might not know this, but the CBS News Broadcast Center was built on the site of an old dairy plant. It takes up an entire city block, which, as you can imagine, is high-dollar real estate in Manhattan.”
Young paused in the studio to introduce Sparky to some of the members of the production team who were familiar with the big story. “This is Deborah, who runs the control room, and our camera operator, Jonas. He’s the guy that doesn’t know which way is up.”
The production team laughed at the inside joke. Sparky was confused, so Jonas explained. “This relic, a true behemoth of days gone by, is our studio camera. Everything is opposite of what is seen by the viewer, or you guys, when being interviewed. Up is down. Down is up. Left is right, and so on.”
Young drew Sparky’s attention to the teleprompter. “I know this is gonna be difficult for you to do because its human nature to want to follow along, but you can’t. Think about sitting in the church pew on Sunday. Everyone reads the program, following along as the hour passes, wanting to know what’s next and when it’s their turn to sing a hymn or recite something. The teleprompter will distract you from the task at hand. It’s for me, and anything you see on it might just throw you off balance. Okay?”
Sparky smiled and replied, “Listen, Jack. I’ve got enough trouble with making sure I don’t wet my pants during this interview. The last thing I need to do is try to do your job, too.”
Young smiled and put his arm around Sparky’s shoulders. “Now, let’s cover a couple of things. Another potential distraction is the blue screen and the bright lights. It might be difficult at first, but you have to pretend you’re sitting in a living room with a roaring fire behind you. That’s what the viewers will see. You know, a casual conversation between two friends, that sort of thing.”
“Okay,” said Sparky, who instinctively wiped a few beads of sweat off his forehead.
Young immediately motioned for a member of the makeup team to join them, and then he shouted at a production assistant to increase the air-conditioning.
“Come on, people, we can’t have our special guest sweating!”
Sparky wiped again just as the young woman arrived with a tray attached to her left hand that resembled an artist’s palette, and a large brush in the other. As Young continued to speak, she touched up Sparky’s face with the light skin-tone powder designed to dry up the moisture and keep his face from looking shiny.
“What about the interview process?” asked Sparky. “I mean, I’ve been interviewed by the local Augusta news stations in the past, but usually it’s for fun events like the July Fourth fireworks show or a Christmas gathering in Washington’s square.”
“Well, here’s the good news, you can just simply stick to the facts. You and I have gone over the events repeatedly, and my assistant has formulated questions that will fit our script for the airing this evening.”
“Will we be live tonight?”
Young shook his head. “No, in fact, we’ll start recording the interview right here in a few minutes. Now, just because this is taped to be aired this evening, we really try to avoid do-overs. Astute viewers will be able to see right through multiple takes. You may not even realize that you’re doing it, but invariably your posture changes, as do your expressions and tone of voice. All of these things break up the continuity of the interview and, at times, draw criticism that the Q and A was scripted.”
“Okay.”
“Here’s another thing. We don’t have a script, but we do have what you personally know or experienced. Avoid trying to explain anything scientific or what Jackie may have relayed to you. We have experts for that. No matter what, you have to be comfortable and knowledgeable about what you discuss. That way you’ll avoid ums and uhs.”
“Got it.”
“Also, do you have any nervous tics? You know, hand gestures, foot tapping, eye blinking, etcetera?”
“Um, no,” replied Sparky, who laughed at himself for using um to answer the question. He looked around the room and noticed Young’s assistant was standing nearby with a notepad. He pointed toward her and asked, “Are those the questions? Can I take a look before we get started?”
“I’m sorry, Sparky, but no. These are all questions I’ve asked you before, or that we’ve formulated from what you relayed to us. This is not a gotcha interview, and I promise you there are no questions that you can’t or don’t want to discuss. If you’re not prepped on the questions, your answers will come across as more authentic.”
Sparky stretched his shoulders backwards and rolled his head around his neck to relieve the tension. “May I use the restroom first, and, um, have a bottled water or something?”
Young signaled to his assistant, who turned over the questions to him and led Sparky out of the studio. As he walked out, Young yelled after him, “Sparky, you’re gonna do great. Just act like you’ve been here before. This will be the first of many opportunities to appear on camera. Let’s make the best of it!”
Chapter 37
Sunday, April 8
CBS Broadcast Stu
dios
New York
It was a quarter to seven that evening when a production assistant retrieved Sparky from one of three green rooms that were scattered about the massive CBS facility. He’d been isolated from the rest of the production crew as they prepared for the upcoming 60 Minutes broadcast. They’d brought him a meal from the full-service on-site cafeteria and snacks from the convenience shop.
The television monitors were tuned to the Masters golf tournament, which was being held just fifty miles east of Washington. The close connection between the tourney and his hometown caused him to miss his wife even more. He’d never asked for any of this and at times resented Jackie for dragging him into it. Then again, he was excited to see himself on a broadcast that would be viewed by many millions of people around the world.
The production assistant escorted him down the long hallway overlooking West Forty-Seventh Street to Studio 41, the largest of the five studios on the floor. At the CBS Broadcast Center, programs like Inside Edition, CBS Sunday Morning, and CBS News were broadcast, as well as seasonal sporting events like March Madness coverage and NFL football coverage.
Today, Studio 41 had been transformed into a massive viewing stage complete with multiple enormous television monitors and seating for four or five dozen guests.
As Sparky entered the room, he scanned the faces, looking for Young, but could not find him. He did, however, recognized several others. The PA led him to the front row, past Gayle King of the morning program, longtime newsman Scott Pelley, and retired correspondent Bill Whitaker.
Sparky leaned into his escort and asked about Young. She told him that because he was most familiar with the events leading up to the discovery of the asteroid, he would remain in the production control room during the entire broadcast in case they needed to modify the live airing of the program on the fly.
