They left the warehouse through the hole blasted by the intruders and ran to the end of the block, slowed down, and walked casually for several blocks. The embassy was thirty minutes away. Help was there, support was there. He needed them. The future of America in space depended on them.
KENNEDY SPACE CENTER, FLORIDA
Kessler and Jones approached the mob of reporters. They had been briefed by NASA officials on what they could and could not say in public.
The NASA administrator standing by the mike looked in their direction.
“Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you Michael Kessler and Clayton Jones, the crew of Lightning!”
The audience of reporters and NASA personnel began to applaud. Kessler looked at Jones, who rolled his eyes.
“This is incredible, Mike,” Jones whispered. “I mean, look at them. They all think we can walk on water. I doubt we can do any wrong in their eyes.”
Kessler smiled.
The administrator pulled out a single sheet of paper.
“Ladies and gentlemen of the press. Launch time for Lightning’s maiden flight has been set for tomorrow morning at 6:54 Eastern Standard Time. Navy Captain Michael Kessler will be mission commander. Mission pilot will be Captain Clayton Jones from the Air Force. With that I’ll open for questions.”
“Captain Kessler,” a lady asked from the back of the room. “Martha Warren, UPI.”
Kessler approached the mike. “Yes, Ms. Warren?”
“Isn’t it a little strange for you to go up in space as mission commander?”
Kessler narrowed his eyes. “I’m not sure what you mean.”
“Well, rookies like yourself usually get their feet wet by going up as mission pilots before commanding a shuttle.”
Jones was about to step up to the mike when Kessler motioned for him to calm down. Kessler stared at the reporter. He spoke slowly, his words measured. “I have to agree with you in the sense that it isn’t common for an astronaut to go up in space for the first time as mission commander, but on the other hand, why not? Look at the facts. Look at the training we’ve received. The hundreds of hours spent inside the Shuttle Mission Simulator at Johnson Space Center going over the launch, ascent, orbit, docking, deorbit, landing, and quite a number of emergencies that could occur in space. The simulator is by far much more demanding than the real shuttle. It tested us with situations that were far worse than anything that has ever happened in flight to date. We’ve gone over every problem faced by previous missions. In addition, both Jones and I have logged over five hundred hours of dead-stick approaches on the Gulfstream trainer, which also happens to be more demanding than the shuttle in terms of control and stability. We’re ready, we’re going up, and we will succeed. Next question, please.”
Before anyone could ask a question, the same woman spoke again. “That still doesn’t explain why you’re going up so soon when there’s a long list of astronauts waiting for their chance to go. Some have been waiting for over a decade. Isn’t it a little unfair for you to go up so fast? It would seem that you haven’t paid your dues yet.”
Kessler was about to respond when Jones stepped up to the mike. “I’d like to respond to that if you don’t mind, Mike.” Jones turned in the direction of the reporter. “Listen, Ms. Warren. I have no idea what you’re driving at, but I’d like to say—for the record—that this guy here’s the best damned pilot I’ve ever seen in my life. He’s going up because he’s the best, and Lightning deserves nothing but the best at the helm. I’m very proud to get the chance to go up with him in what’s going to be the most successful of the shuttle missions to date. Now, why don’t we stick to real issues about the mission and stay off trick questions?”
The room fell silent for several seconds. Kessler closed his eyes and exhaled.
“Next question, please,” Jones said.
“Robert Kinsley, ABC. How many days is the mission to last?”
Jones smiled and turned to Kessler. “I guess I’ll let you answer that. After all, you’re the mission commander.”
Kessler smiled in return. “The current schedule is to remain in orbit for four days.”
“What is the main purpose of the mission?” the same reporter asked.
“The first priority is to get Lightning checked out for commercial and military use. Captain Jones and I will go through a comprehensive series of tests to verify Lightning’s functionality in space. This is the main reason for the crew of two. There will be no mission specialists aboard on this trip…yes, the lady in the second row.”
“Is there any spacewalking scheduled for this mission?”
“No.”
“But Lightning is carrying the latest spacewalking gear, correct?”
“Every orbiter, regardless of the mission, always carries two sets of EVA gear even if there are no plans to go outside. In the event that we have to EVA for whatever reason, both Captain Jones and myself have spent hundreds of hours training to do so.”
Kessler looked at Jones as a dozen hands went up. Jones raised his eyebrows and smiled.
LANGLEY, VIRGINIA
George Pruett put down his paperback and raised an eyebrow when the yellow-bordered NASA icon suddenly turned red. His right hand reached for the mouse and he clicked his way down the list to a new entry.
He read on for a few minutes and exhaled.
“Sweet Jesus!”
“You okay, George?” asked one analyst looking over the short cubicle wall into George’s small office.
“Ah…yeah, yeah, I’m fine, thanks.” The analyst gave him a puzzled look before going back to his work.
What does it mean? George asked himself. Three former Athena scientists gunned down during an assault on a warehouse? Two of them shot in the head point-blank? Who did the shooting? The other seven unidentified dead men found there maybe? All had sound-suppressed weapons. None carried any identification papers.
The report was short but concise. It had originated with a daily summary of activities provided by CIA analysts.
“Hmm…”
Now this is interesting, George thought as he selected the print command from a list of options on the right side of the screen. First Claude Guilloux and now more scientists from the same space agency? A few seconds later the Hewlett Packard laser jet printer kicked in with a light hum. A single sheet of paper was sucked in from the paper tray and came out at the other end. George snatched it and carefully read all three entries again. His analytical mind now told him that Guilloux had also been murdered. What about the accident at NASA?
George couldn’t help himself. Perhaps he’d read just too many spy novels, or maybe he simply wanted his algorithm to come up with something of significance, but he grabbed his phone and called information for the number of the public affairs office at Kennedy Space Center. He got it and dialed.
Ten minutes later, he hung up and set the Sun into a continuous loop so that nobody could access it without the appropriate password. Satisfied, George got up and headed for the fax machine across the hall, where the public affairs official at KSC faxed him a copy of the formal report on the accident.
George walked back to his cubicle, sat on his swivel chair, and slowly read the two-page report. It seemed as if Vera Baumberger had lost her balance while climbing down from one of the shuttle’s main engines—according to a young technician working with her at the platform, who also happened to be the first one to get to the spot where she’d fallen. George still didn’t like it, but decided to leave it at that for now. The matter with Athena scientists, however, definitely needed some attention.
He briefly checked the six-digit counter on the side of the laser printer and wrote down the number on the printout. He then made an entry on the printer’s logbook. The number of entries in the logbook matched the number of single-sheet printouts. That way no one could get hard-copy information from his system
without him knowing about it.
George typed a short memo using a small electric typewriter on the side of his desk, grabbed the computer printout, and headed for the Records department of Computer Services on the second floor. He walked through the double doors and handed the papers to the Records clerk.
“Please route to the European section and file the originals.”
“Right away,” she responded, getting up and walking to the copy machine.
“Thanks.” George checked his watch and headed back to his Sun.
PARIS, FRANCE
After three Metro transfers and a short walk, Cameron unlocked the door of their hotel room and let Marie through. He checked both sides of the long hallway before stepping inside and locking the door. They had had no problems finding a hotel room. Tourist season was almost over.
Exhausted, they both collapsed onto the double bed. Cameron flashed briefly on the impropriety of being this close physically to his charge, and guiltily recognized that he didn’t give a damn. His training told him that two people, often two agents, were inclined to become physically involved during high-stress assignments, but something told him that if it happened to him and Marie, stress would have less to do with it than her stunning beauty.
Priorities. Cameron knew they were clean, that they hadn’t been followed from the warehouse. And he’d specifically chosen not to seek refuge in the embassy when he noticed a gray-paneled truck parked next to the side gate. He wondered for a moment if the embassy was aware of the surveillance, then began to think about a safe contact point to meet his case officer. Marie’s voice broke his train of thought.
“So, what’s next?”
“Huh?”
“What do we do next?”
“Oh. I contact Potter and get him to pull us in.”
“How?”
He smiled. “Trust me.”
“What about the French police?”
“I’m not sure how to handle that yet. Let’s get to safety first and talk it over with our people. I’m sure there’s a way to work that out.”
She frowned. “How do you think Potter is going to react?”
“Oh, he’ll be pissed off at first and will probably curse me out for a couple of minutes. After that I think he’ll listen to what we have to say.”
“When do you plan to…”
“I spotted a couple of public phones a block away. I just wanted to get you out of harm’s way first.”
She smiled again and touched his arm in gratitude.
A strong woman, Cameron thought. Going through what she had gone through and still managing to keep her cool and not fall apart. Guilloux had indeed been a lucky man.
Cameron got up. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
“Please be careful.”
Cameron smiled and left the room.
LANGLEY, VIRGINIA
On the second floor, Higgins picked up the phone and stared out the window. “Higgins here.”
“Hello, sir. Rich Potter here. Sorry to disturb you.
“Don’t worry about it. What’s wrong?”
“I might have a problem with one of my operatives. I’m not sure yet.”
“Go on.”
“The name’s Stone—Cameron Stone. He contacted me a few minutes ago and requested immediate cauterization,” Potter said, referring to the recovery of compromised agents.
“His reason?”
“He claims there’s an organization set out to sabotage NASA. Says it’s going to destroy the new shuttle, to be more specific. He also thinks the French police might be involved.”
Higgins inhaled and closed his eyes. He struggled to remain in control. “Did he set a pickup location?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Very well then, bring him in and keep him well guarded. Let me know what he has to say. Got that?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good. When and where?”
“Botanical Gardens, five P.M. today. That’s an hour from now.”
“I’ll be here. Call me when it’s done, and remember. No mention of this to anyone else.”
“I know, sir. Good-bye.”
“Good-bye, and good luck.” He hung up and pressed a fist against his jaw. Damn! How can it be? How did Stone get that information?
Higgins grabbed the phone and dialed a foreign number he had committed to memory.
PARIS, FRANCE
Cameron stood next to the window and looked out. The sky was becoming dark and overcast, indicating an impending storm. He inspected the street below. All appeared normal. He checked his watch. An hour before the meeting.
“So, Cameron, you seem to know quite a bit about me. What’s your story?”
Cameron looked at Marie, still lying on the bed. “I’m not sure you want to hear it. It’s pretty boring.”
“It’s okay. Go ahead.”
Cameron smiled. “It all started when I graduated high school and left for the war.”
“Vietnam?”
“Yep. Spent four years there.”
“Why four? I thought you were only required to do one year.”
“True, but after my first tour I went home to find out that there were no jobs. The American people weren’t that sympathetic to soldiers in those days. So I went back, and remained in the military after the war. I was with the Special Forces for a few years before the CIA snatched me, and here I am today.”
Marie sat up and hugged her knees close like a child. “With all that activity going on I guess a private life was out of the question.”
Cameron didn’t respond. He lowered his gaze as the image of Lan-Anh’s charred body filled his mind. “There was someone once. It was a long time ago. I was only a kid. Had just turned twenty. Her name was Lan-Anh. She was killed in Saigon.
Marie left the bed and came to him. Touching his arm gently she said, “I’m sorry.”
“There’s nothing to be sorry about. Like I said, it happened a long time ago.”
“Cameron…”
He lifted his eyes and met hers.
“What was it really like over there?” she asked
He looked away. “You don’t want to know.”
“I lost a brother over there, Cameron. Yes, I want to know.”
Cameron sat against the window sill and stared at Marie. Who are you, Marie Guilloux? What is happening to us? Cameron tried to suppress feelings he had not felt for years. He had felt physical attraction from the day he saw her. But this went deeper than that. He felt comfortable in her presence. He trusted her. She was not just another pretty face but a woman of substance.
Very well, Marie. You asked for it. Cameron began to speak. His voice was ice cold, his words strong. He told her about the pain, the frustration, the sorrow. He explained to her how young soldiers had died useless deaths mainly because of lack of training. Gunfire would erupt and they would just freeze and fall on their faces seconds later, filled with lead. It was madness. Then his tone changed. He dropped his voice by a few decibels and began to speak in between deep breaths. His fists were tight. His body rigid. He was back. The jungle surrounded him. Go, Cameron. Make a run…for it. You have a chance…by yourself. Get help…and come back…God, why did I leave him? But I did come back. I did! But too late. The Vietcong had gutted Skergan like and animal and left him hanging from a tree.
His mind was too cloudy to continue. His words became incoherent. Cameron turned to stare out the window, embarrassed, guilty, unable to face her. Marie was the first person he’d ever told the story.
He felt her hands on his shoulder, her fingers gently pressing. They reached his neck and massaged it. Cameron closed his eyes for a few moments, feeling his body relax.
“It’s all right, Cameron. It’s all right.”
Cameron turned around and stared into her eyes. He
saw tears, felt mesmerized by her. She understood the way he felt. She understood his pain.
“Thank you,” he said.
“No. Thank you.”
ATHENA AEROSPACE HEADQUARTERS
MUNICH, GERMANY
The long and narrow conference room, built to accommodate the large table covering most of the marble floor, had all of its windows facing the city’s skyline. It fit his image of a world leader’s center of government, noted Frederick Vanderhoff as he scanned the occupants of fifteen of the forty black leather chairs that followed the contour of the oval-shaped mahogany table. The men present that afternoon formed his inner circle, a handful of visionaries who, like Vanderhoff, were among the most powerful financial leaders of the European Economic Community. He considered them the backbone of the EEC’s space agency, Athena, and the only ones willing to risk what it would take to make Europe the leader in space by the end of the century.
But Vanderhoff was more than just an investor. He had started as a scientist with a nose for good business ventures during the seventies and eighties, when he’d made his fortune by using his engineering talents to help develop weapons like the Armbrust man-portable anti-tank system, along with a variety of Heckler & Koch light weapons. He’d then used his negotiating skills and factory contacts to arrange sales of weapons to a number of Middle Eastern, South American, and African countries.
Vanderhoff glanced at an empty seat to his left, the one that had belonged to rocket scientist Claude Guilloux. Although very bright technically, Guilloux had lacked the commitment and resolve needed to achieve Vanderhoff’s vision for the European space community.
After the Challenger disaster, the EEC had invested billions of dollars to modernize Athena’s launching facility in Kourou, French Guiana, and to improve the quality of its rockets. With the large amount of capital available, Vanderhoff had hired the best scientific minds in Europe to design an improved launch vehicle with advanced guidance systems and capable of multi-satellite deployment on a single mission. The end result was the Athena V, a three-stage, 130-foot tall rocket capable of carrying single payloads into geosynchronous orbit or multiple payloads into low Earth orbit. Seven years after its debut, fifty Athena Vs had been launched without a single malfunction, establishing the European space agency’s credibility. With fees of sixty million dollars per low orbit launch and a hundred million per geosynchronous orbit launch, Vanderhoff and his ring of investors had collected a hundredfold on their original investment, and in the process had provided the European economy with an overnight boom in state-of-the-art industries manufacturing everything from satellites to computers for Athena’s rockets.
Siege of Lightning Page 7
