Perigee

by Patrick Chiles

  “All right, Charlie…Tell Penny I’m in.”

  “In what?” he asked.

  Is he for real? “Don’t you dare play dumb with me. You guys called first, remember? I have a pretty good idea of what you’re up to, so don’t try to protect me. You need somebody on the inside,” she said firmly.

  Grant still feigned ignorance, though his tone changed. “Audrey, what are you talking about? Is there some problem with our folks on Station since the morning brief?”

  “Possibly,” she said. “The problem is we can’t control that ATV remotely beyond line-of-sight. You need direct control through the retro burn.”

  He was silent. She had him now. “Like I said, you need someone on the inside. And you’re gonna need an ally up on Station.”

  He sighed. “Okay, you win…sorry. We really were trying to give you cover. Penny said Abbot will have to be scraped off the ceiling once this goes down.”

  “I was getting tired of Houston anyway,” she said caustically.

  He laughed. “If this doesn’t work out, then we’ll all be in the same leaky boat. See you on the unemployment line.”

  …

  ISS

  “Mr. Hunter,” Poole called from the main control block, spotting Ryan as he passed through a node on his way to their makeshift hab module.

  “Yes sir?” he asked, his old nautical instincts kicking in.

  “It’s Simon, remember?” he said pleasantly. “We’re not on the boat.”

  “Of course. What can I do for you?”

  “Just wondering how your people are holding up. Everyone got all they need? Any issues I should know about?”

  “Everyone’s being very well taken care of. They’re just figuring out how to be useful and stay out of the way at the same time. And we already went through all of the motion sickness back on our own ship,” he said, recalling the messes they’d had to clean up.

  “We’re all happy to help. That’s a beautiful plane out there—still a hard thing for me to comprehend having up here.”

  “Me too,” Ryan said absently.

  “Always wanted to ride one, but Uncle Sam doesn’t pay enough.”

  Where was this going?

  “Don’t suppose you could arrange one, Mr. Hunter?”

  “Excuse me?” he asked. “I don’t understand.”

  “I think you do, son,” the old sailor challenged. “There’s been a lot of bandwidth being used up between you and Denver…a whole bunch of specs and checklists flying back and forth through the ether.”

  Poole had him dead to rights. He surely knew what was up, but Ryan didn’t dare admit to it. The old salt saved him the trouble. “I’m with you, Mr. Hunter. Good luck to you, and to whoever’s crazy enough to go along. But you crunch my Station and I’ll have both your asses in a sling one way or another—got it?”

  “Aye, aye, skipper,” Ryan muttered, and pushed off for their living quarters. Wouldn’t be the first time, he thought.

  75

  Denver

  Taggart was just climbing out of his Audi roadster, having enjoyed a leisurely lunch, when the phone on his hip buzzed excitedly. His cultivated calm was sorely tested when he recognized the caller I.D. Annoyed, he quickly looked about to see if anyone was around to notice…fortunately not, at least not here in the executive lot. “You are to never contact me personally!” he whispered angrily into the phone. “You know that!”

  “Conditions have changed,” was the terse reply. “Care to tell me what’s going on?”

  “What are you talking about?” he demanded. “Donner was suspended yesterday and escorted out of the building, pending investigation. Hammond’s on leave and I’m the new majority shareholder and CEO. Case closed.”

  “Not quite, I’m afraid,” the voice answered, and explained the rumored plans to steal the spaceplane back from what had effectively become an orbital impound lot.

  “That’s unacceptable,” Taggart said tensely as his phone buzzed again. He paused to check the caller ID.

  “I’ve got to take this,” he told his contact, and cursed as he switched lines. “Leo Taggart,” he answered pleasantly. “What can I do for you, Arthur?”

  “You can get your ass up to my office, for starters.”

  …

  Hurrying up to the executive suite, Taggart blew into Hammond’s office without knocking. It had been largely cleared out except for the stacks of inspection reports and maintenance logs that littered his desk. A disemboweled flight management computer sat on the side table.

  “What’s on your mind, Arthur?” he asked guardedly, taking in the scene and resisting the urge to demand why Hammond was still here. I know I had his badge deactivated…

  “Not sure yet, Leo,” he replied, clearly troubled. “This is all too strange. Telemetry is pointing to a fault in our control software. The recent work on the fuel control system…hardware, solenoids, the works…all just coincidence.”

  “Well, you know better than I about accident chains,” Taggart offered. “It’s never a single event, is it?

  “More like pieces of Swiss cheese,” Hammond agreed. “They line up the wrong way and something falls straight through the holes: poof. But sometimes, it really is a single event.”

  “You mentioned a bad part or something?”

  That’s not what I said, Hammond thought, but continued anyway. “Yes, but we can’t know for sure without having 501 here to tear apart. The software group thinks maybe some redundant coding in the digital engine controls—it sometimes happens during repairs. And the FMC couldn’t catch it.”

  Taggart seemed relieved. “So it doesn’t point to a fault on our part then?”

  “So far, no. I understand you were concerned this would become a witch hunt.”

  “I just want to know the real cause, same as you,” he answered reasonably. “But as I said before, we’re deferring to the FAA and NTSB. Despite your concerns, I don’t want to throw anyone on their sacrificial altar without the full story.”

  Hammond’s eyes thinned. “That won’t happen, I assure you,” he said coldly. “I do not sell my people out just for making mistakes.”

  Taggart realized he’d just stumbled into dangerous territory and attempted to steer the conversation back to something he could control. “What about those circuit boards…don’t they come from a Taiwanese company or something?”

  “Chinese, actually. Funny you should mention that,” Hammond said as he picked up his phone. “Posey, did you get the answers we were looking for?” he asked, and Taggart suddenly realized who’d let him inside. “Good. Bring him in.”

  …

  Within minutes, Antoine Posey walked in from an adjacent office. He escorted a young Asian man who seemed to resent being led by the arm.

  “Leo, this is Joey Chen from avionics,” Hammond introduced. “You may not remember him, but we’re pretty sure you’ve met.”

  Taggart looked puzzled.

  “Mr. Chen, I understand you’ve heard of our recovery plans.”

  “I have, sir,” he said. “But I must say it seems ill-advised. Wouldn’t it be safer to bring our people home in one of the crew capsules and just let the ship de-orbit?”

  “Safer, yes. But if our pilot and control team are willing to try bringing it back, then so am I. However, we have some unanswered questions to deal with. Perhaps you can help us.”

  “Of course, Mr. Hammond,” he said agreeably. “Whatever I can do.”

  Hammond eyed him coldly. “Glad to hear it,” he said, signaling Davis to hand over a file he was holding.

  “Now, since I’m executive management, that naturally means I have no idea how to read some of these maintenance forms. I brought Davis here to help translate, if you don’t mind.”

  Chen appraised the QC manager from the corner of his eye, and nodded agreement.

  “Good. Now, you understand we had to secure all the maintenance records and flight paperwork as soon as this…event…happened.”

  “Yes si
r, I’m aware of the lockdown.”

  “Then maybe you can help us understand how a record turned up missing.”

  Chen purposefully appeared confused. “Missing? I’m not sure I understand?”

  “We have a statement from the line maintenance supervisor that he sent the engine control module down to your Avionics shop for troubleshooting and bench testing. He also states that he received the part back from your shop as ‘tested, could not duplicate’. From you, specifically. Yet we have no record of that whatsoever.”

  “Then he is clearly mistaken,” Chen replied with confidence. “I’m very exacting about paper trails.”

  “Yes, I’m sure you are. It pays to be that way in your line of work.”

  “Then you would understand when I say these gentlemen must be mistaken.”

  “Yeah, I’d understand that,” Hammond sighed. “Except for one thing: the aircraft logbook doesn’t agree. Neither does the test history on the component itself. It shows the maintenance action performed, the part serial number, and who signed it off.”

  “The logbook doesn’t match? How could that be?”

  Hammond gave Davis a nod. “The line copy matches. No write-up, no entry. But the plane’s logbook doesn’t square. It shows the squawk and the signoff: ‘tested—could not duplicate: J. Chen’.”

  “How’d you get a copy of the plane’s logbook?” Chen asked incredulously.

  “Well, that’s the hard part. We don’t have it here,” answered Davis. “We need to get our hands on the actual item once they’re back on the ground.”

  “So this is all a paper chase? Are you kidding me?”

  “I wish we were,” Hammond growled.

  “Is your Avionics Technician certificate number 13384590?” asked Posey, to another questioning glance from Chen. “It’s what the crew reported from their copy.”

  “Yes,” he said. “But again, that’s their word and they’re under a little stress right now. And how’d they get a look at the control module, anyway? It’s buried in the equipment racks below the cockpit.”

  “That’s one part of this whole miserable mess where we got lucky,” Hammond explained. “You wouldn’t know this, but their flight attendant used to be a maintenance tech. It was pretty easy work for her, really.”

  Chen looked confused. “I still don’t understand,” he said, now revealing a hint of nervousness.

  Hammond glowered at him. “Then let me spell it out for you, knucklehead. I think you swapped the logic chips on that module, and we’re pretty sure we found your handiwork inside the Block II model’s control software.”

  “You’re fooling yourselves,” Chen said with newfound courage. “This is all just a fire drill over screwed-up paperwork. Donner warned us you’d be looking for a fall guy.”

  Hammond laughed. “That old dinosaur? He’s the reason you’re standing here doing the carpet dance, kid.”

  Davis stepped forward. “Walt might be a pain in the neck but you can always get the truth out of him, especially when he’s trying to save his own skin. Good idea trying to set him up as a red herring, though.”

  “Mr. Chen, am I correct that your family emigrated from China twenty-two years ago?” Posey asked.

  “That’s right. What of it?”

  “Just a question. Helps to keep things in perspective.”

  That even confused Taggart, and Posey began to fill in the blanks for him. “We didn’t have a full picture of ‘why’ until recently. If you don’t mind, I’d like to ask a few more questions.”

  Hammond shot a disgusted look at Taggart and waved to Posey. Go for it.

  “Very well, then. Mr. Chen, were you ever a member of the ‘Young Pioneers’ organization?”

  Chen shouted now. “And what does that have to do with anything?”

  “Yes or no?” he pressed, now bringing his stout fireplug body squarely between his target and Hammond.

  Chen shifted on his feet. “Yes. Almost everyone was.”

  “Specifically, almost everyone who was a child of Communist Party officials. Correct?”

  He crossed his arms defensively. “I still don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  Posey squared off in front of him. “I think you do. And I think that’s got everything to do with this. Do you understand that interference with the safe operation of an aircraft is a Federal offense?”

  “I’ve heard that,” he sniffed. “I suppose that’s what you think this is?”

  “Wasn’t sure, until we got Donner’s copies of the logbooks,” said Davis. “He didn’t realize he was doing us a favor, but he scanned them before someone made the record in question disappear,” he said, waving the copy in front of him.

  “You’re busted, kid,” Hammond said.

  “This isn’t right…” Taggart pleaded, finally speaking.

  “You’re right about that.” Posey said calmly. He watched Chen shift his weight off of his heels, and onto the balls of his feet. His knees bent slightly inside baggy pants that were worn to conceal such telltale signs.

  Chen struck with a lightning-fast hammer blow aimed at Posey’s chest, who pivoted and brought up an arm just in time to block it. Chen’s free hand reached for a utility knife clipped inside of his belt.

  Posey ducked just as the knife grazed his back. He wrapped a fist around Chen’s knife hand and grabbed his wrist, sweeping his legs from behind to knock Chen off balance. As he fell, Posey quickly stepped around and twisted the arm away. As he shifted his weight onto Chen’s knife hand, he heard the man’s wrist snap with a sickening wet crack.

  He sucked in a breath as his eyes bulged from the pain, but otherwise did not utter a sound.

  “Admirable self-control,” Posey said, catching his breath as he pocketed the knife. “FBI’s going to love talking with you. Let me give you a preview of what they’re likely to charge you with: sabotage of a commercial spacecraft, espionage, and homicide.”

  Taggart’s practiced composure finally collapsed. “Did you say espionage?” he sputtered.

  As if “homicide” wasn’t enough? Hammond thought.

  Posey finally got a yelp from Chen as he zip-tied his wrists behind his back. “You heard me. You and Donner were too obvious. There had to be more to this.”

  “No, that’s not right!” Taggart pleaded, practically confessing. “No one said a word about spying.”

  “They rarely do. I agreed with Arthur’s theory: there were other motivations at work.”

  “So we’re just talking about, what, corporate spying…aren’t we?” Taggart asked hopefully.

  “No, we’re not,” Posey said calmly, now resting a hand on his unsnapped sidearm. “The Feds believe this character’s a covert operative for the Chinese government.”

  “The Chinese?” Taggart wondered aloud. “But I’ve never spoken to this kid in my life,” he protested.

  “Sure you have,” Posey replied, showing a record of calls from Taggart’s phone. “These numbers to your contact in Long Beach…did it not occur to you that it might be a front? That maybe your calls actually went to a contact on the other side of the building?”

  Taggart stammered, finally unable to speak. And it hadn’t dawned on Chen that anyone could have possibly been listening in; he’d set up the scrambling algorithms himself.

  “I don’t think Human Resources realized exactly how overqualified Mr. Chen was for his job,” Posey explained. “He is, in fact, an electrical engineer and a pretty crafty computer hacker. FBI believes he’s been a cutout for the Chinese intelligence service for years. That’s how he worked his way through college, and now he’s running his own operation. They positioned him perfectly to gain access to an organization like ours…they only needed to pick the target.”

  “You little…” Hammond’s voice trailed off.

  Posey looked at Taggart. “The FBI also tells me that one hundred million dollars was wired to various brokerage accounts in your name from a Beijing bank on the day of the incident. This was worth an aw
ful lot of money to somebody.”

  Taggart was shaking with anger now and cursed under his breath.

  “That’s where you got the money to buy up our stock, wasn’t it?” Hammond asked. “And it just so happened that what you did to earn it also tanked our value?”

  “An added benefit,” Taggart admitted quietly.

  “Mr. Taggart,” Posey said, “you were a tactical feint—someone to catch the FBI’s interest after the operation finally went down. The Chinese People’s Air Force had reason for disrupting our Pentagon contracts.”

  Hammond was aware of reports that the Chinese had been working on similar vehicles; it suddenly all made sense. “You did this to kill our Air Force deal?”

  Chen remained on the floor, proudly tight-lipped.

  “Get this dirtbag out of my office,” Hammond spat. “Now.”

  He turned to face Taggart. “Did it ever occur to you that someone who’d pay you that kind of money for corporate secrets just might be into something bigger, Leo? I don’t know what pisses me off more—that you’re as dumb as you are slimy, or that I was stupid enough to hire you in the first place,” Hammond snarled, and stepped nose-to-nose with him. “So you’d better answer this next question as if your life depends on it…because it does. Just pretend I’m St. Peter holding the keys to the Pearly Gates.”

  Taggart shook as he averted Hammond’s angered gaze.

  “Did that pissant do anything else to that plane?”

  “No,” he said in a barely audible whisper. “That was it. Anything more would’ve been too obvious.”

  For the first time in days, Hammond appeared relieved. “Well, Leo, you can probably guess what’s coming next. You’re fired. But I think these gentlemen can find ways to keep you occupied.”

  Taggart turned ashen as two FBI agents entered the room, flanked by sheriff’s deputies. Reaching behind him, they caught his arms just as he began to collapse onto the floor, weeping. Lifting him by the elbows, the agents led him out the door as they recited his Miranda rights.