Blinding Fear

by Roland, Bruce

  As Veena ran from the room he looped a few additional wraps around Gnash’s head, covering his eyes and mouth but not his nose. Checking the unconscious man’s pockets he found Gnash’s cell phone, dropped it on the floor and smashed it under his heal.

  A moment later Veena returned with their terrified children and together they raced to the Yukon. Just before piling in, Ranjit grabbed Gnash’s car keys from the ignition of his NSA pool car and stuffed them in his pocket. He also unscrewed the microphone from the two-way radio and threw it into the Yukon. Seconds later he started the big SUV and roared down the driveway, crushing Gnash’s Taser as he did.

  Chapter 23

  Christina pulled the golf cart into one of the half dozen small parking spaces exclusively reserved for them in front of the large, two-story administration building.

  Claire stepped out and together with her host headed past beautifully manicured lawns and shrubbery into the main entrance. The lobby was decorated in an eclectic mix of space-themed art, statuary and large models of civilian and military aircraft dating back many decades. They walked up a sweeping staircase, down a wide corridor lined with other offices, then into Kayode Seok’s office by passing through an extra-large set of glass double doors, beautifully embossed with “KS Space Tourism, Inc.” Inside, two administrative aids sat at ultra-modern, plexiglass desks. One of them, an elegantly dressed, middle-aged Asian woman, looked at a clock on the wall—which told Claire they were four minutes early—then greeted them with a broad smile. “Thank you for being on time. You must be Claire McBeth. Kay’s earlier appointment will be wrapping up shortly. If you’d care to take a seat I’d be happy to get you some refreshments. Coffee, tea, water, perhaps.......?”

  At that moment the doors to Seok’s personal office opened and three older, but very distinguished-looking men and two slightly younger women came out. They all looked happy. Trailing them, Claire immediately recognized Kayode Seok, also smiling. He was much taller than she had expected but just as strikingly handsome as presented in his pictures that her boss had provided.

  “Thank you all for coming,” Seok said. “Sorry to cut our meeting off so abruptly. But I’ve got a very important meeting with that young woman over there.” He pointed toward Claire, “She’s a reporter from the New York Sentinel here to do a story on our efforts to get people like you into space. Hopefully, 18 months from now, instead of me, she’ll be interviewing you on your experiences while orbiting the earth.”

  They all turned to look at her. Slightly embarrassed, she smiled thinly, waved and said, “Hello.”

  Seok shook hands all around, gently ushered them out the glass doors, then turned back to Claire. “Ms. McBeth, how good of you to come.” He turned to Christina who was watching from a nearby water cooler, sipping from a paper cup. “And thank you, Christina, for ensuring she got here on time. I hope you’ve got her settled into her quarters and filled her in on some of the basics of our efforts here?”

  Christina smiled and answered with a thumbs up.

  “Excellent.” He turned back to Claire. “Please, come in.” He gestured toward the open doors of his personal office.

  ‘Wow,’ Claire thought as she walked in. ‘This guy’s got politeness and diplomacy down to a science. Wonder how much is show?’

  Spacious, yet fairly simple and tastefully decorated, were her first impressions of his office. Surprisingly, instead of the usual “grip and grin” collection of photos of Seok with assorted VIPs, some of the walls were covered with what were apparently pictures of his family.

  He saw her looking at them. “My wife Kyung-Hee and our six children and thirteen grandchildren,” he said proudly, his arm sweeping around the space. “Although my wife lives here in Texas with me, our children have scattered around the globe. I’d hoped I could have some of them work for our company one day but it didn’t work out. They’ve all got successful lives of their own.” He paused for a moment, looking at one photo after another. “Fortunately, with new communications technologies I can talk to and see them on a regular basis. They used to call us every day, but with their children coming along and growing up, it’s not quite so often now; every few days or so. Still, I’m very blessed.”

  “I can see that. I can only hope if I have a family someday they’ll be as loving as yours.”

  “Of that I have no doubt, given what an obviously successful woman you are. I must admit I am surprised Mr. Right hasn’t come your way yet.”

  “Thank you for the compliment Mr. Seok, but there aren’t very many Mr. Rights left in the world for me.”

  “Do not worry. Sometimes it takes a while.” He stopped for a second, looking around. “But I’m not being a proper host! Let’s sit on the sofa so we can talk in comfort. Also, why don’t we dispense with the formalities, shall we. Please call me Kay and I’ll call you Claire. Is that all right with you?” He lead the way to a large overstuffed, 10-foot leather sofa set against the one wall that wasn’t decorated with Seok’s family. Instead, it held head-and-shoulders photos of several dozen men and women, neatly arranged in rows of three, with their names beautifully inscribed on small brass plaques beneath each one. The ratio was about 5-1 men.

  “Sure. I’ve always felt a little a informality was a good thing in an interview,” she replied as they sat down.

  “Good. It’s interesting, actually. When I lived in Korea I always referred to business associates using honorifics. Since coming to this country, however, I’ve discovered that a little less formality can be helpful in enhancing communications. Even so, let’s get down to why you’re here. What would you like to know about what we’re trying to do here?”

  She pulled out a digital voice recorder from the small purse she’d brought along. “First, do you mind if I record all our conversations?”

  “That would be fine.”

  She stood the recorder upright on the coffee table in front of the sofa and turned it on.

  “Why don’t we start with the photos on the wall behind us. Could you tell me why they’re here? I noticed many of them are well known celebrities, Fortune 500 CEOs and assorted industrial magnates from all over the world.”

  “I have no problem in telling you they are the first in what I hope will be a long list of high-end clients who will take a trip into space with us. I do insist, however, that you not identify any of them by name, or photographically, in your article.”

  “Naturally.” She twisted around to look up at pictures again. “So all of these people have made reservations for a space flight? Have they paid in full?”

  He laughed softly. “That would be great, but no. They have put down a deposit to reserve a seat, however”

  “How much?”

  “Twenty percent.”

  “For what kind of trip?”

  “Some have reserved a seat on a sub-orbital flight only. Others want to take our 3-orbit flight, another group wants the 5- or 10-orbit flights. A few want our premium excursion—a 3-day trip to the International Space Station.”

  “Would you care to tell me what the actual dollar amounts are for those flights?”

  “The sub-orbital flights are $250,000 per seat. The full-orbital flights start at 2 million and range up to 6 million. If you want to visit the ISS, the cost is 40 million. We have also placed a premium surcharge on all seats for our maiden sub-orbital, full-orbital and ISS flights.”

  “Which is...?”

  “An additional 15%”

  Now Claire couldn’t help but laugh, shaking her head. “So all these people on your wall have already shelled out anywhere from a few tens of thousands of dollars to somewhere well above, maybe, 10 million?”

  Seok nodded. “And I might add there are other flights that have additional surcharges associated with them.”

  “Such as?”

  “Well, use your imagination, Claire. During what other annual occasions would some people like to be in space?”

  “Okay. New Years and Christmas come to mind.”

&n
bsp; “Very good.”

  “And the surcharges for those are.....?”

  “30% and 25%, respectively.”

  “Pretty steep! Some would say outrageous!”

  “Not when you do the math. Historically, the cost per pound to put anything into orbit is around $10,000. If you factor in traditional supply-and-demand considerations we’re confident our rates are quite reasonable. We think we’re going to do better than the $10,000 per pound amount, but the costs can be very challenging to control.”

  She shook her head in disbelief. “Are there really that many ultra-rich people in the world looking for very expensive roller coaster rides?”

  Seok smiled. “Last time we looked at the lists there were approximately 1,700 people in the world whose net worth was over a billion. The average net worth of those people was just a little shy of four billion. It might also interest you to know that about 200 of that group are women. The one thing you may be missing is that these are people who have experienced most of what the world has to offer in entertainment. Many of them are looking for something very new, very exciting and to use your roller coaster metaphor—kind of scary. That’s where we come in. If we get just 10% of all of them to take one of our trips we’ll be more than pleased.”

  “I guess those people who left before me were potential customers as well?”

  “All of them. And more than ‘potential,’ I might add. Combined they left 23 million of their dollars, euros, pounds and rubles on deposit with us for seat reservations.”

  “Speaking of rubles—what about the Russians? They’ve already had some success.”

  Seok frowned slightly. “For a long time the Russians wanted to be the first to do anything, almost without regard to cost, efficiency or quality. Yes, they’ve done space tourism first and there are some other things they do well. But from what I’ve seen, their excursions have been second rate. We’re all about an every-inch-of-the-way, first class experience. We think we’ll move ahead, then stay ahead of them and anybody else who gets into the arena.”

  “I guess that explains why you’re in business—the potential to make lots of money. But what about how you got started? Building what amounts to an international spaceport in the middle of a desert must have put a serious dent in your personal bank accounts. Would you mind revealing how much?”

  “Not at all. I’ve personally put up more than $400 million. I’ve also received substantial incentive packages from the State of Texas and the West Texas Commercial Development Agency to build it here. Virtually all of that has been in the form of tax incentives, utilities upgrades and highway improvements. I would be less than honest if I didn’t tell you I’ve also received several large grants and subsidies from NASA, the Air Force and the National Reconnaissance Office to put their people and some of their payloads into orbit from time to time. As I’m sure you’ll understand, which agency, the project and how much are topics I cannot discuss.”

  “Of course.” Claire made a mental note to try to find out those vital details from other sources later.

  She continued with a more innocuous line of questioning. “I also heard this land was once owned by the Air Force. They had a large number of aircraft and several thousand personnel stationed here.”

  “Yes, that is true. From June of 1942 until early 1978 the Strategic Air Command had hundreds of heavy bombers stationed here. President Jimmy Carter closed it down as part of his defense cuts. It’s been turning back into dust ever since. It’s kind of sad to see the old photos of what was once a vibrant, very active air base return to being a home for tumbleweeds, rattlesnakes and scorpions. Not to worry, however. We cleaned them all out during early construction.”

  Claire couldn’t help but shiver at the thought, then decided it would be best to move on. “One thing I don’t understand is how you can take so many reservations. Back in the days when NASA was using the space shuttle on a regular basis they were lucky to get four, maybe five off the ground per year. It looks to me like you’re planning on taking dozens of space tourists into orbit every year. How are you going to meet such a demanding launch schedule?”

  Seok paused for a moment then said, “I have an idea. You’ve probably got lots of technical questions that would best be answered by a senior member of our team. Why don’t I send you over to meet him? I’ve already given him a heads-up that you might be coming. I’ve also asked him to give you the full tour of our facilities and aircraft and that he should standby to be peppered by many probing questions. Once you’re through with him, you and I can talk some more. How does that sound?”

  “Sure. That’d be great.”

  “His name is Herc Ramond. He’s VP for Launch Systems and Training as well as our senior pilot.”

  “Where can I find him?”

  Seok looked at his watch. “About now he’s probably in the gym. He’s similar to me in some ways. He has certain things to do every day at a certain time. I’ll have Christina take you there.” He walked to his desk, picked up the phone and spoke briefly to someone.

  A moment later Seok’s office door opened and Christina came in.

  “Would you please take Claire to see Herc Ramond,” Seok said. “As usual, this time of the day he should be in the gym.”

  “Yeah, I’ve seen him there a few times when I was working out myself. If you feel up to it, Claire, maybe you’d like to work off some stress from the trip; Hit the free weights, maybe the tread climber?”

  “Thanks. The only thing I plan on hitting in the next few hours will be a good mattress.”

  Together, they headed out the door.

  Chapter 24

  Tim Wiggins was beginning to feel the fix wearing off.

  His new employer—whom he’d only met over the phone—had provided him with just enough black tar heroin to get him through his assignment. Besides the “horse” and $500 in advance cash, the man had promised him much more of both if he successfully completed the task he’d had laid out. He wasn’t sure whether to take the job until the guy promised him $5,000 more. He figured with that wad of dough he could supply himself with high-class hookers for a change. He also calculated he could score enough legal and illegal drugs to keep himself fried for weeks, if not longer.

  He was sitting in the cab of an old, Ford F450 tow truck he’d just stolen from a local garage in Cottonwood Heights, Utah, southeast of Salt Lake City. It was normally tasked with providing emergency roadside service to motorists in need of assistance on State Route 190. The two-lane highway runs between the Salt Lake City metro area through the Wasatch Mountains and provides access to many of the ski resorts that dot the slopes of the picturesque, 10,000 foot-plus range.

  Sitting on the seat next to him was a small but very rugged lock box the man had shipped to him. Supposedly in it were the drugs he’d been promised. Once things were all done he’d call the guy who’d give him the combination. Then he could relax in the warm euphoria of a new hit.

  As instructed, he’d parked near the top of a primitive gravel and dirt road, lightly coated with snow. It started at S.R. 190 and then snaked its way 6 miles up a steep stream valley to a few privately owned homes. At several points along the way there were 300 foot, near-vertical drop-offs to the boulder-strewn stream bed below.

  With the diesel motor running to keep warm, Wiggins was waiting with the front of the truck facing down the road. The man had told him to expect a late-model, GMC Yukon to leave one of the homes sometime around 7 p.m.. Wiggins’ instructions were quite simple: force the Yukon off the road and down the slope of one of the steepest cliffs. He’d been given the license plate number to make absolutely sure he got the right vehicle. He’d also been told an Indian man would be driving. Wiggins had enough smarts not to ask which kind of Indian, given they all looked the same anyway.

  The idea he would probably kill someone and the probable legal consequences, never entered Wiggins’ stream of consciousness. For the moment his brain was beginning to demand one thing and one thing only: a quic
k score.

  At 7:20, just as Wiggins was beginning to get nervous that his ticket to liquid Nirvana wouldn’t show, headlights appeared in his rearview mirror slowly moving toward him. As the vehicle eased past him on the narrow road he could immediately see that it was a newer-looking Yukon. He’d also pre-positioned the truck’s spotlight to illuminate whoever might be driving. As he snapped it on he was surprised to see a woman at the wheel. He could also see the tops of what looked like two, kid-sized heads in the back seat. The woman was clearly startled and alarmed as she squinted in the light. There was no question in his mind she was Indian. They all had that unmistakable “look.” There was no sign of the Indian man his anonymous employer had said would be inside.

  Once the van passed he turned on his main headlights to verify the license plate was correct, then quickly pulled out to follow close behind. As he did, the Yukon began to speed up.

  It took longer than normal for Wiggins’ drug-addled brain to process what he should do. The man had told him to run a Yukon off the road. That seemed to be the main thing he had to do. The fact a woman was at the wheel was irrelevant. Many times in the past he’d committed felonies—some violent—in his never-ending quest for his next fix. In fact, he’d spent the majority of his sorry 38 years in some kind of lockup for mainly drug-related offenses. He finally concluded this was just a novel way to gain what he knew he had to have.

  As the two vehicles neared one of the many hairpin turns on the road, he realized that just around the bend was a good place to accomplish what he’d come here for. Just as the Yukon cleared the turn he floored the accelerator and slammed into its rear with the Ford’s massive push-bars. The Yukon fishtailed, slid sideways and with Wiggins’ much-heavier truck now bulldozing into its side, tumbled over the edge of the road and down the precipitous cliff. He slammed on the brakes to avoid going over himself, then leaped out to watch what was happening. The Yukon was spinning and tumbling, glass, plastic and other debris spraying in every direction; rending steel shrieking and groaning like a dying animal. Finally, it came to a rest in a smashed heap on the rocks of the stream; its twisted, broken wheels still turning. By purest coincidence it was upside down in a relatively deep section of water. He watched for few more seconds and seeing no signs of life, got back in the truck and headed down the mountain.