The Unlikely Savior (The Unlikely Savior Trilogy)

by T. S. Seley Elliott

  This morning was a perfect example of why he, the measly “media monitor,” was on a very short list of personnel who could call the editor at home. A call claiming to identify the JFK heroine would certainly make the cut; even if it was a hoax, the decision to follow up was above his pay grade –but the opportunity to pass the lead up the chain of command fell directly into his job jar. He was particularly tickled that he was able to trump the coveted “Angel Tracker” on this one as the caller claimed to already be working with Byron Hoffstedder, but had not heard back from him.

  Beautimous, he thought. All the glory went to the staff writers, but it was moments like this that he knew he was on the pointy end of the spear for this mission. Each time a new issue came out, he scanned the pages and highlighted the stories that had originated due to his first discovery; this one, he was sure, would find his highlighter on the front page!

  Byron had just slept through three calls on his cell phone when Johnnie and five other crew members, the real astronauts, as she openly regarded them, exited the O & C building down a short ramp to walk to the Astrovan – their short ride to the big ride. Typically the crew would have been met by a gaggle of media and rolling cameras upon their exit – today, however, it was a quiet and somber trip. Between the clamp on media coverage due to “security concerns,” and the overpowering world events, today’s launch was far more subdued than one would have expected for the first major NASA event since the “final” shuttle launch in 2011.

  Johnnie had been overwhelmed by the congenial and professional attitude of the other crew members upon their entrance to the suit room earlier that morning. The flight commander, Flip Hollowell, had approached her directly, welcoming her. He stopped her humble disclaimers on the spot, speaking for the entire crew by saying they were aware of her disadvantage as well as the reality that she couldn’t have personally orchestrated her odd and unprecedented selection for this flight. They all nodded as he told her they would do what they could in the light of their own responsibilities, to assist, as long as she essentially shut up and did what she was told, to which she quickly agreed.

  She was savvy enough to know this “welcome speech” was likely the result of heated discussion and speculation among the crew upon notification of her joining them after Bonnie was removed…and frankly, she didn’t care how they had gotten to this point, she was just tremendously relieved to be deemed less an outsider than she anticipated.

  Jack Linley, a mission specialist and veteran shuttle member, told her as he shoved his feet into his suit, “Besides, nothing against Bonnie, but we never did figure out what her real role was…and she kept telling us not to be surprised if she didn’t make the launch. I guess she was a better psychic than an astronaut, huh?” He added just before exhaling prior to the acrobatic bend into the suit, “And you’re waaaay easier to look at…she reminded me of my Aunt Betty…not really a good thing…”

  And with that, he took his dive, leaving Johnnie wondering what was wrong with Aunt Betty, but even more with a feeling that without realizing it, Bonnie Janz had predisposed their acceptance of her addition long before the decision had been made.

  The others seemed perfectly at ease walking in their orange ACES outfits; their necessary swagger in the bulky suit looked decidedly space-cowboyish. Johnnie, however, was certain her swagger translated more into a waddle and she had visions of the heavy old scuba suits as it was her turn to hoist up into the Astrovan. She was very grateful when one of the ever-ready technicians quickly assisted her in plugging into the van’s built-in cooling units for ACES; although it was cool outside, she was already sweating like a space-pig inside her bulky layered attire.

  In a characteristic attempt to relax, she awkwardly looked over the large ring hovering above her shoulders at the flight commander, who was seated to her left, “Flip? Is that what your mama named you?” She feigned comical curiosity and smiled, belying her utter exhaustion.

  He didn’t turn his head, but moved his eyes right to meet hers.

  “My name is Alvin, but I do have an image to uphold. Alvin the Astronaut was disturbing…and, as you know, ‘Buzz’ was taken.” He turned his mouth down and raised his eyebrows whimsically. “It works.”

  She liked this man. With that realization and a leveling body temperature, she actually dozed off for the thirty minutes it took for the van to transport the crew to the launch pad.

  Olive C. Gartener sent the five digital images of the STS-136 Revival shuttle crew to her contact at the Constellation, internally grumbling about her crap assignments. No one gave a rat’s ass about this expedition in the light of the fact that everyone with a pulse believed World War III was bearing down on them all. Only a rag like the Constellation would care about getting photos at an event for the sole reason it was barred from media coverage.

  After transmitting the photos, Olive stored her camera equipment taking special care of the large, high powered lens which had allowed her to capture the crew exciting the hallowed O&C building from her distant parking lot vantage point. She’d seen nothing spectacular about the six individuals in their bright orange suits. Her only hope on this particular venture was that no other agency had been interested in the launch under the grave world circumstances, making her work unique enough to garner some attention…and financial compensation. Times were hard, she thought sardonically as she started the car, headed for her next “scoop;” a local pet shop had a collection of rabbit droppings they swore was in the shape of the St Francis Assisi…patron saint of, among other things, animals.

  She snickered as she pictured the Constellation’s likely headline, “Holy Crap!”

  Yes, times were hard.

  Wing stood with the hot water beating down on him. He had not slept the night prior and had excused himself from the incessant brain storming and tension long enough to shower and change clothes for what would certainly be the most challenging day of his presidency.

  He had just approved military operations to respond to Venezuela’s nighttime attacks on U.S. oil rigs in the Gulf of Mexico. Relations had been poor with the South American country in recent years, but their current actions were likely rooted in their OPEC affiliation more than national consternation toward the U.S. The timing was more than suspect on the heels of Iran’s re-collaboration with the powerful organization, guaranteeing a generous oil supply to China.

  Reluctantly turning off the steaming water, Wing paused and leaned against the warm tile, staring at the lighted ceiling. He frankly couldn’t think of any unchecked items on his private WWIII checklist other than out and out nuclear attack on his own soil – a consideration that he still considered preposterous even in the light of the international calamity. He stepped out and eyed the steamed clock on the wall: 8:08 A.M. She would be on the shuttle with the rest of the crew; the countdown had started.

  He, they, had to buy at least two hours of time, if not more, before he’d know if this gamble would pay off. Every eye in the nation was on his team to respond in some way, even if unsuccessful, to mitigate the piling acts of aggression that seemed to lead directly to more violence. It took physical effort to ward off the dread which seemed to accompany each movement as he toweled dry and began to dress.

  Wing Liang stopped, half dressed, and as he kneeled, he recalled Abraham Lincoln’s words, “I have often gone to my knees in prayer out of conviction that I had no place else to go…”

  Nothing could have better described his sentiment, and the President prayed as he had never prayed before.

  Johnnie was sitting, in a manner of speaking, in her seat on the shuttle. She and the others were actually on their backs in seated positions due to the upright position of the craft. They were laden with additional equipment and suit pieces which the closeout crew had expertly pulled, attached and strapped on each astronaut in the “White Room” outside the entrance hatch to the shuttle, 195 feet above ground on the launch pad.

  She was beyond grateful for the expertise and assistance of the c
loseout crew technicians who had just activated the cooling system inside her suit once more… the climb into the capsule was more challenging than any obstacle course she could have imagined. Now she listened to the chatter in her headset, reality setting in. The countdown had started; there was no turning back.

  Margie had finally gotten out of bed when the combination of her husband’s cell phone ringing in chorus with his roof-raising snores had become unbearable. She knew she couldn’t go back to sleep, but opted to wake him when she saw the missed calls were from his editor at the Constellation. He had wanted to quit and if this was the alternative, the sooner he resigned, the better.

  She woke him, handing off the phone, then disappeared into the bathroom. When she emerged, he was not only wide awake, but was sitting up, perfectly still, phone in hand. If not for the look of obvious concern, she may have enjoyed a jab at him for his general wild-man appearance.

  “Lisa Douglas recognized Johnnie’s picture from JFK…they ran it in the Constellation. She called. She gave them a name…they want to run with it today, but are giving me first shot since I already have a story with her…” Byron was talking to the air as much as he was talking Margie. She knew how important Johnnie’s anonymity was and instantly understood the position her husband was in. She sat next to him.

  “What are you going to do?”

  He shook his head, fully awake, but wishing he’d had some processing time before this challenge had landed squarely in his hands, hands which would have much rather held a coffee cup. Finally he said, “I’m going to ask you to make some magic brew and I’m going to try to catch Jason Barker at the base before I even call Joe back. I’m sure Lisa already told them about the Air Force connection and that will be their first stop if I don’t take this…which I don’t know how I can.” Joe was the editor’s name and the cutthroat man hadn’t gotten his job by sitting on his laurels; Byron knew he wouldn’t wait long for the Angel Tracker’s response and had told him as much in the last voice mail.

  As Margie stood to go make the coffee, Byron said, “Gotta head this one off…I created this monster and now I need to get it caged.”

  She couldn’t argue with that, so she patted his shoulder and headed to the kitchen while he looked up the number.

  On any other day, the receipt of Olive Gartener’s photos would have been uneventful and probably processed for a medium-interest spot in the next Constellation issue, at best, due to the world climate. On any other day, the person to whom she sent the shots would have been Jennifer Laws, who would have seen the same thing Olive saw in the photos; six orange-suited astronauts who approximately resembled the anticipated crew scheduled for the STS-136 flight. Of course, not many would really even know what those crew members looked like.

  It just so happened, however, that Jennifer was having out-patient toe surgery that day and had asked Jeremy “Astro” Sikes to monitor her e-mail for anything significant during her absence. Jeremy’s nick name was due to the fact he was a total space geek and was familiar with all things space – not because of his job, but simply because he was a total space geek.

  He was elated as he opened the first images from Olive, for no other reason than he was looking at near real-time shots of today’s launch crew. Just before he forwarded them to the appropriate staff writer, however, his eyes narrowed onto the one crew member who naturally interested him the most, after all, what the hell was up with a “spiritual advisor” as a mission specialist on a space shuttle? He had, as always, fervently tracked this crew since they had been named for this flight and felt he knew them like family.

  But this person wasn’t part of the family. She looked like Bonnie Janz, the hoo-doo, voo-doo-naut, as he’d dubbed her, but it was decidedly not Bonnie Janz. No it was not. Then who was it?

  It only took a few minutes for Astro to get over his personal speculations, when his actual job interests kicked in. A last minute replacement… unannounced? His heartbeat increased as he zoomed in on the imposter, saving the image. As soon as he had printed all of the digital shots, he headed to the editor’s office. This reeked of conspiracy and nothing appealed more to Joe Blunt, the managing editor of the Constellation, than a conspiracy. Astro could almost see his paycheck increase as he hustled to the elevator.

  Jason Barker knocked on Captain Stass’ office door and ignored protocol by entering before the captain responded. Jerod Stass hovered over a mountain of paperwork, looking up at the airman with surprise and a little irritation. When the young man closed the door behind him, however, his curiosity was piqued. He sat up straight, giving his full attention.

  “Good morning to you too, Airman Barker…to what do I owe this pleasure?”

  Jason’s body language depicted definite nervousness…but his expression was one of extreme concern.

  “Sir…permission to speak openly and freely.” The young man was not quite standing at attention due to his squirming. The captain couldn’t wait to hear this. He pushed back his chair and went to the same table the two had shared a short time ago…the last time they’d spoken of Johnnie. He had a feeling.

  “Have a seat…what…”

  He didn’t get a chance to finish before Jason blurted,

  “Sir, there’s no doubt you are going to kick my ass – justifiably…but please hear me out. See…not long after Johnnie left, I intercepted a call here from a reporter from the Constellation. Byron Hoffstedder…he had a column called the Angel Tracker…”

  Jerod was dumbfounded.

  “Please tell me you did not…”

  Jason turned a shade redder, but held his ground.

  “With all due respect, Sir, please hear me out…”

  The captain was all too aware that he and the airmen had much at stake with their secrets, so he swallowed the bitter taste and leaned back, pushing his chin out in a gesture for Jason to continue.

  Fifteen minutes later, his jaw was slack and he rested his arms on the table. He stared, shocked, at the flustered and worried young man.

  “So, you can see, I definitely broke rules and I’ll take whatever you dole out…but, Sir, I only had her best interests in mind and I swear, I swear on my Grandmother’s grave….so does Mr. Hoffstedder. Why else did the story never run, and why would he have called this morning to warn us? Just like us, he’s sure it was her at the airport…he’s learned a lot more about her and he’s sure it was her…they have a history, you know, but he doesn’t want the story…he wants to protect her. He says they, the Constellation, will call, and soon.”

  Jerod’s emotional range began with anger at the airman’s gall for having dealt with the reporter, and even more so for the information he’d released which violated a number of rules. His mind then quickly leapt to his recent conversation with Benson and his heart told him the boy had acted far more honorably than any of them; he hadn’t sold her out. His next thought was that he needed to exercise the same honesty with Jason. He rubbed his eyes and looked wearily at the young man who was on the edge of his seat. This was one of those defining moments and he, frankly, couldn’t deal with any more regret, especially on the subject of Johnnie Carter.

  “Relax, Jason. I mean it.” The young man’s face regained some of its normal color, but his version of relaxing constituted scooting back about an inch in his chair. He was obviously still a wreck.

  “I believe you did what you thought was right, and honestly, I’ve been working with the psychologist here on base to undo some of the damage we’ve both done to her….particularly in the light of her involvement at JFK. Doctor Benson – the psychologist and my friend, also recognized the security photo that was on the news.” Jason’s eyes narrowed as his boss talked, still not comprehending.

  “Look – I’m glad Mr. Hoffstedder called – your logic about his motivation stands to reason and I guess the bottom line is, if you hadn’t dealt with him in the first place, we never would have gotten this call to give us time to come up with a plan. And now that I think of it…there’s a chance, in
some way, this added attention will help the doctor and me… but that’s a thought for another day.”

  A look of relief flooded Jason’s face and he felt like he could really breathe for the first time in the past hour. He exhaled and then said, excitedly, to his boss.

  “Sir – thank you – and I’ve already been thinking…we can legitimately buy at least a couple of weeks with them by exercising the Privacy Act. Even if they use the Freedom of Information Act, there is the required processing time…”

  The captain leaned back and smiled. The boy was thinking. He wasn’t sure how much any of this would mean with a publication like the Constellation…they had their own set of rules. But at least he and Jason had a starting point, or so he thought. He had no way of knowing that Astro Sikes was delivering a deadly countermeasure nearly at that precise moment.

  “…close and lock your visors and initiate O-2 flow…” It was two minutes before take-off. Johnnie’s body felt like it was made of rubber as she and the other crew members took the cue, securing their visors; she was grateful this was one thing she could definitely do on her own – everyone else on this ship obviously had better things to do than worry about dressing her. Fully strapped in with a functioning suit and survival gear on her person, all she had to do now was endure the take-off, observe…and not have a heart attack. She was never more grateful than that moment for her astronaut diaper; she was so shaken she didn’t trust her bladder or bowels and if she could keep from tossing her cookies, she’d count that as the first miracle of the flight. These were Johnnie’s thoughts as she embarked on the greatest adventure of her life.

  “…T-minus sixteen seconds…fourteen….twelve….ten, nine, eight….”

  It suddenly felt like sitting atop an erupting volcano. The walls around them and the seats beneath them rumbled and quaked with power unlike anything Johnnie had ever experienced. Her adrenaline, by now, had completely overrun the fatigue and she was electric with nerves.