The thought jarred him back to more tactical concerns. The military protected WB like a fortress within Pennsylvania. The perimeter had anti-ballistic missile defense systems programmed to blast anything in the no-fly zone. And the border checkpoints were heavily guarded. “What I do know is this. When we get to WB, we won’t encounter any easy crossings like here in New Hope.”
“Easy?” Sera bridled and nearly choked on her food. “Sure it was easy for you. You drove across.”
11:00 PM – EDT
Later that night, Sera lay in the dark on a comforter folded on the floor, her irritation with Jay having abated. She rolled over in her blanket, trying to find a position conducive to rest. Although the cramped room held a queen-sized bed, she insisted that Iggy use it. Slumbering side by side with the more senior scientist would have felt awkward and somehow disrespectful. Besides, she preferred to sleep alone and hadn’t even shared quarters since her days at the orphanage.
Dammit. She hadn’t meant to unleash those memories.
Sera loathed chronicling her existence, but sometimes late at night the images crowded her brain. She often thought of her life as a series of chapters in a book. And in the midst of each one, she longed to reach the end, to open a fresh page that progressed to the next phase. Or better yet, to skip ahead to a more promising storyline.
After her parents’ deaths, she had suffered ten lonely years in a government school and boarding house. She was the smartest in her class, and pride pushed her to excel rather than surrender to her grief. Determined to attain independence, she played by the rules—behaved, completed her homework, and self-censored caustic comments. On only one occasion did a sarcastic retort bring her within a hair’s-breadth of expulsion. Straight A grades and outstanding test scores eventually won her a university scholarship.
College, however, merely provided a means to achieve her goals. She labored through, studying hard while supporting herself with various part-time jobs. This strategy seemed to work. She graduated to accept an internship with NASA, but the victory was fleeting.
Sera thrived in the intellectual environment of the space program, despite its military leadership. And it could have led to a prosperous career. But her parental lineage stained her as politically unreliable, thus unemployable in a permanent position. Reduced to the private sector, she wound up at a technological innovation company called GenCorp.
The firm engineered efficient, economical power sources for public consumption. Or so Sera believed. When she caught her superiors providing the data to a lieutenant, she discovered that the groundbreaking projects were being funneled to the armed forces. In the ensuing scuffle, she found her fist colliding with the officer’s jaw in a swift punch. Sera grinned at the recollection.
Her conviction for American Disobedience landed her a sentence in the Gulag.
With that chapter now truncated, she eagerly anticipated a new direction for the narrative. But in order to move forward, she would be required to reopen a page from the past and reacquaint herself with an old friend.
She plumped her pillow and tried to envision the story’s end.
CHAPTER SIX
THURSDAY, SEPTEMBER 19, 2013
9:15 AM – EDT
In the bright morning sunshine, Jay hummed a breezy tune as he navigated the station wagon west, away from the Delaware River.
Sera wished he would stop. From the backseat, she glanced behind her at the New Hope Bridge, winced, and rubbed her day-after sore arms. “Hey, you know where you’re going, right?”
“I’ve got it.” Riding shotgun, Iggy consulted a road atlas. “Head towards Doylestown. When you hit route 413, turn right until you pick up 611 north. Then it’ll be local 412 all the way to Bethlehem.”
“Okay.” Jay studied Sera in the rearview. “But are you sure we need to make this particular detour?”
“Look, we need Frank Thomas.” Sera was grateful he had stopped humming. “I’ve kept in touch with him and followed his career since I was booted from NASA. He’s the best environmental space systems engineer in the country. He pioneered radically new water and oxygen recycling processes for the Sentinel Space Fort.”
Jay nodded, encouraging her to carry on.
“He invented a way of harvesting all the water in an enclosed environment. That includes urine, washing run-off, and even humidity in the air. You know, humans expel a lot of moisture just by breathing. The continuous loop purifies the H2O and redirects it in two ways. Some is channeled for use as a liquid. The rest is split by electrolysis into oxygen and hydrogen. Astronauts breathe the O2, while the combustible H is vented out.”
“Brilliant. So why didn’t NASA hang onto him?” Jay questioned.
Iggy raised her eyebrows. “We’d all like to know that.”
“It’s a mystery. He enjoyed a successful tenure. Promoted twice, presented with awards, that sort of thing. I interned for Frank in Houston, after I graduated college. Despite his genius, I found him approachable. A little high-strung, maybe, but practical. He tells you exactly what he thinks. A man with scruples, Frank drew a stark distinction between NASA’s space exploration and its military tasks. He felt, like we all did, that they wasted valuable resources on offense and shortchanged the spend on science. And he always prioritized crew safety over mission objectives. Then a year ago he suddenly left and wound up in academia. He cited personal reasons, but said it with heavy irony. Something sinister must have happened, because he loved that job.”
“So why is Professor NASA going to help us?” Jay maintained a healthy skepticism for the stranger.
“I’m trying to tell you that he has no love for the armed forces or the government. It’s clear he harbors resentment. And his expertise is precisely—”
“Shush.” Iggy abruptly turned up the radio. “They’re talking about the peace summit in Minsk.”
The male announcer continued in midsentence, “. . . preliminary reports indicate there are no survivors. Our correspondent is on the ground at the scene of this unfolding disaster. We go to him live where the time zone is seven hours ahead in the Russian capital.”
“Well, Bob, as you can imagine, it’s pandemonium here. Witnesses to the horrific event claim that less than a minute after the Soviet premier’s helicopter lifted off, an object that appeared to be a missile was launched. The projectile scored a direct hit on the transport, exploding it into a fiery ball that lit up the afternoon sky in a blaze of orange heat. Sadly, it is presumed that all on board perished in the inferno. The Communist leader and his entourage had been leaving the summit in high spirits following a promising meeting between the rival superpowers.”
“What is the speculation this tragedy will have on US – USSR relations?” The studio anchor volleyed the coverage back.
“Any forward progress is clearly in jeopardy. The locals we have encountered are convinced that America is responsible for the carnage, and in fact have been openly hostile. The police are demanding that we vacate immediately.”
“And is there a perceived threat to our own VP?”
“Vice President Bush left for the Minsk airport in a Secret Service-escorted motorcade over thirty minutes ago. Our sources reveal that he has boarded Air Force Two, and is currently en route back to WB.”
The initial newscaster voice interrupted. “We are receiving a bulletin over the wire. The White House Press Secretary has issued a statement emphatically denying any involvement in the incident.”
“I’ve heard enough.” Iggy snapped off the volume.
“Oh, this could be bad.” Jay unconsciously rammed the gas pedal. “Very bad indeed. This catastrophe could ignite the planet into another world war. Even if the US isn’t guilty of blowing up the premier—and I have no reason to think we aren’t—the Soviets will retaliate. We can’t afford to have that happen right now.”
“Cut it out.” Sera clutched his shoulder in warning. “And slow down. If we get stopped for speeding, we’re dead.”
“We must proceed as
planned.” Iggy spoke with quiet assurance. “We can’t start questioning ourselves based on what might happen in the future. We need to concentrate on each hurdle as it comes.”
Jay eased up on the accelerator.
“Besides”—Sera released her grip—“none of this will matter if we succeed in our mission.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
THURSDAY, SEPTEMBER 19, 2013
10:25 AM – EDT
Jay rolled the station wagon to a stop in front of the Lehigh University gatehouse. A burly guard barely fit inside the booth, and a pair of flimsy wooden arms formed a barrier across the road. A US college didn’t require impenetrable security; visitors simply registered their official identification and license plate at check-in. Knowing that Sera had alerted Frank about their arrival, he handed over his card and tried to sound casual. “Jay Harding and associates. Here to see Professor Thomas.”
The uniformed man grunted in acknowledgement as he copied down the information and made a phone call. Then he exited to record the vehicle tag. “Professor Thomas is currently giving a lecture. Park in the lot and wait to be escorted.”
Jay nodded and drove to a lot at the foot of the hill.
As they got out into the pleasant sixty-five-degree weather, Iggy curiously sniffed the sour odor of rotten eggs.
10:55 AM – EDT
Colonel Zimmerman sat in his untidy Secaucus sanctum, searching a vast government network for clues to the whereabouts of his two missing scientists. The Governet was an amazing resource for military personnel. With proper clearance, an officer could find out almost anything about a particular citizen: address, occupation, salary, purchases, affiliations, and movements through checkpoints.
Zimmerman’s logic told him the convicts had to have had help. No other explanation existed for their disappearance. He clicked through a list of all service members and civilians who had been on duty the previous day. Nothing irregular surfaced. He scratched his head, mulling that over. Tapping his pencil on the desk, he waited for inspiration. His slow synapses eventually burst forth with a new hunch. He called up a roster of employees not scheduled to work during the escape and pored over the records in alphabetical order. When he reached Harding, Jay, he saw that the young man was cleared for vacation in Florida. But what was this? A Delaware River crossing showed his car entering Pennsylvania yesterday. And thirty minutes ago he had registered as a guest at Lehigh University. Dammit! One of his staff had lied to him. Lied!
The colonel jumped up and jogged out of his office, screaming for Captain Sutherland.
11:15 AM – EDT
Killing time next to the Subaru, Jay watched a man wearing a tan dress shirt and umber striped tie approach. A fringe of brown hair crowned his otherwise bald head. His face sported a close-cropped goatee and tortoise-shell bifocals.
The professor had arrived.
The forty-five-year-old educator greeted Sera with a warm expression and a hug. “Great to see you. And these must be your friends. Welcome.”
After brief introductions and handshakes all around, Frank led them through the main gate. Acting like a sightseeing guide, he related how Lehigh persisted as one of the few non-military schools in the nation. The learning institution had been established in 1865 by Asa Packer, an American businessman who pioneered railroad construction and participated in Pennsylvania politics. As they continued up University Drive, he pointed out that the campus lived on the side of South Mountain and their current location housed the most historic landmarks. He gestured to their left at Packer Memorial Church, named after the founder. They observed a massive nineteenth-century stone structure with stained-glass windows and a bell tower steeple. Wrought-iron lighting sconces framed the arched double doorway, crosses adorned the peaks, and gargoyles leered down from the roofs. Frank named two more buildings crafted in the collegiate gothic style—Linderman Library up ahead to the left, and the University Center uphill. He indicated the stone behemoths, each multileveled with lofty towers and intricate carvings.
Jay was stunned. “I never imagined the grounds would be so beautiful. I mean, we drove through the shabbiness of downtown to get here, and most of the area has been ravaged by economics and pollution. But this fantastic architecture and the relative lack of fall-out or soot is just, well, amazing.”
“Luckily, the bombs landed far enough away that the impact was minimal. The worst we get here is the periodic sulfur stench from Beth Steel.” Frank read their blank faces. “Sulfur is a by-product of Bethlehem Steel Corporation, which churns out durable metals for the war machine. Perhaps you can detect the smell of rotten eggs.”
Iggy recognized the stink now. She should have known.
“Anyway, the administration spends truckloads of money on cleaning and maintenance. They need to keep the students, and by extension their parents, happy with the Lehigh experience. To accomplish that, they preserve the aesthetics. Most of our undergrads are offspring of rich moguls at companies like Locklier and MacDowell-Douggan. Only they can afford the staggering tuition.”
Jay glared at Sera.
“Perhaps I should more formally introduce my colleagues.” Sera grinned. “Dr. Iggy Mikos, renowned physicist, and Jay Harding, whose parents are rich moguls at Locklier.”
Frank cleared his throat. “My office is next to us in Packard Lab.” He marched up the path and turned right to face the entrance. The edifice was built into the incline in a stepwise fashion so the top floor on the lower section sat below that of the upper section. “Notice I said Packard as in the automobile manufacturer, rather than Packer as in the father of these ivied halls. Alumnus James Ward Packard donated the funds for the premises in 1928.”
As Sera neared the stained-glass-inlaid doorways, she saw a pair of statues of stately gentlemen flanking the entrance. They peered down sternly, no doubt disapproving of these twenty-first-century ruffians.
Inside, sunshine streaming in through the windows illuminated the expansive lobby. To the immediate right and left, staircases led downward. Surprisingly, an antique car in a glass enclosure stood dead center. They walked over to the main attraction, their footsteps echoing off the marble floor.
Frank reverted back to the tour. “This horseless carriage is the first ever produced by the Packard Motor Company in 1899. It’s a three-speed, chain-drive model powered by a twelve-horsepower engine, which reached dizzying speeds of up to thirty-five miles an hour.” He smiled. “Nicknamed Old Number One, it was included by the benefactor along with his million-dollar gift.”
He continued to impart his vast repository of Lehigh trivia on the way to the fifth floor. Once inside his office, he invited them to sit while he settled into his leather wingback chair surrounded by walls of bookshelves.
In addition to the expected scholarly stuff, Jay scrutinized remnants of Frank’s prior employment. A detailed model of the Sentinel Space Fort and numerous NASA spaceships dangled from the ceiling like a child prodigy’s mobile. A signed, framed picture of the Zeus 5 Astronauts hung on the wall.
Frank abruptly switched gears, turning solemn. “Sera, what are you doing here? Last I heard, you were being detained in that forced labor research camp.”
“Yeah, I was there. Iggy and I got released yesterday.” She looked him directly in the eyes.
Iggy gazed calmly at the teacher, while Jay chose to study the ornate brass orrery on the credenza. It was the movable kind, where planets could be oriented around the sun in precise representations of the solar system.
“Really,” Frank replied evenly.
11:45 AM – EDT
Captain Sutherland gripped the passenger door handle as the government-issue Chevy Caprice rocketed west on Route 78 towards Pennsylvania. The colonel pinned the speedometer at eighty-five as he wove around slower cars. Sutherland remained speechless, while his superior muttered under his breath like a madman. The only audible words were the occasional obscenity thrown in for emphasis.
Zimmerman eventually verbalized his tirade. “Those fugi
tives have made fools of us. They broke out, a guard was attacked, and my command is in chaos. We must capture them on this campus. You understand me?”
“Yes, sir.” Sutherland hesitated. “Wouldn’t it be advisable to enlist the aid of local Bethlehem authorities? They could outnumber the felons and easily apprehend them. Without violence.”
“Absolutely not. This incident happened under my jurisdiction, and I will rectify it.” Zimmerman freed his right hand from a death grip on the wheel and shook his fist. “I will not have this pockmark on my file. And you will ensure that we succeed. Because if we don’t, it will be your ass that pays the consequences.” Distracted, he swerved back and forth in the fast lane.
“Yes, sir.” At the moment, Sutherland feared for his life more than his job.
“Do you have any idea how I ended up banished to that backwater research facility? I never intended to babysit snobby intellectuals at this juncture of my career. It was punishment.”
As the captain listened in astonishment, Zimmerman narrated an episode from his previous post, when he had been assigned to protect a prominent general. On the night in question, a suspected KGB marksman shot at General Strider through his dining room window. Fortunately, the bullet struck the frame, deflecting its path. However, wood fragments injured the general’s forearm. The Russian got away. A convenient scapegoat, Zimmerman was blamed and reassigned to the Gulag.
Avoiding eye contact, Sutherland picked at his fingernails.
The colonel composed himself. “So, if these smug scientists think they can get past me, they can go straight to hell.”
12:00 PM – EDT
In Frank’s office, Sera earnestly explained their status. “We’re not criminals. You know my history and motivations. Iggy here is a premier Anti-Matter physicist. She and her husband discovered revolutionary ways to create AM.”
Destination Dealey: Countdown to the Kennedy Conspiracy Page 3
