by T I WADE
VIN had trained for this operation many times down in Hangar Five and knew exactly what to do. He used both his protected arms and allowed the inner case to float out of the one-foot think lead case. There were three wing nut connections he needed to make. Two to secure the case inside the reactor, and the third connected the plutonium to the rector itself. Then he closed the reactor door, and grabbed for the empty lead case, which was starting to float away.
He ratcheted down the lead case to a second set of bolts next to the reactor on the outer wall of the space station. He would transfer the lead case into the new space station once it was built.
This long procedure took an hour before he breathed a sigh of relief. He finally connected the thick cord of the reactor to a power port he opened in the wall of the space station and using a large, bright red switch on the reactors console turned it on.
“We should have a positive connection and power feed, partner,” VIN stated to Jonesy.
“Roger that, I saw everything go brighter, dials are reading the added power, turning off inner battery pack.”
Now VIN had to return the ropes to the station and help Jonesy get across to their awaiting flight home.
Jonesy was already hot in his suit as he closed down the inner hatch of the Russian beer can. He had already closed down equipment on Sierra Bravo I and Astermine One to dormant mode before returning the space station’s systems to 30 percent power, as the scientists had instructed him to do before he had left earth.
VIN headed back to Maggie’s shuttle and connected the rope’s other end to the connection port. He was the only one wearing a jet pack, and he would need to help Jonesy along the tight cord to the shuttle’s open hatch.
Jonesy emerged and VIN closed down the outer hatch of the space station. With a short thrust he left the station and propelled himself away from the side of the craft, and helping his partner, worked his way along the rope to the shuttle.
“You guys are ten minutes ahead of schedule so don’t rush. Penny is still doing her…skkkkkk… part.”
“This is the most useless I have ever felt in my life,” said Jonesy. “It’s the first time I have ever had to depend on a designated bloody driver to get me home.”
“Be nice, partner, or I’ll cut the rope and let you and Frank Sinatra float off. Do you know, ladies, how much I have had to listen to Frank bloody Sinatra for the last month? I bet I could even handle listening to Rap after that. Remind me, Penny, I must ban any Sinatra on the next trip. I’ll go mad!”
Slowly he helped his partner move along the rope to the other craft. The hatch was ready and open as Jonesy reached it and, feet first, slid himself in closing the outer hatch behind him.
VIN had to wait until the hatch would allow him in, so he had plenty of time to go back to the station, undo the cord, and even showed the girls a dance move or two while he floated with the cord to the shuttle.
He opened the now empty hatch, slid in, and it closed above him, sealing him in. The green lights came on, somebody inside opened the inner hatch, and he floated into the cockpit got out of the way and helped Maggie automate the lowering of the system back into the cockpit.
Both girls were still wearing their entire space suits, and Penny pulled out a Geiger counter and swept it around VIN. Surprisingly, there were no positive readings other the usual higher reading in space and, while the computers descended the shuttle towards re-entry, all four crewmembers took off their space helmets.
After Jonesy kissed Maggie, he climbed into the pilot’s seat; Maggie was happy to let her man do the driving; Penny sat in one of the rear jump seats and continued to make weird and funny noises every now and again into her radio.
“It seems we have picked up some other item,” said Penny into her mike. “This weird blue field has weakened slightly and I can hear you better, Nevada. Do you have us radar visual? The computers are working fine; we are just going around and around up here; we still don’t….skkkkkk…. Over.”
To Ryan, the message stated that the cargo had been delivered and the two men picked up. Now they only needed one orbit to decrease altitude and get as far away from the Russian Space Station as they could, so as not to bring attention to their position.
“Negative, we still don’t have you on radar,” Ryan replied, back in Nevada.
“It is not possible for us to achieve the height of the International Space Station,” continued Penny. “We suggest a quick return to earth…..skkkk…one more orbit. Over.”
“Roger that,” replied Ryan. “You will be on your own. Weather on your re-entry track is good. I believe your interference is from an outside source. We have gone over all the readouts we have obtained from your computers, and they don’t show any problems with your vehicle. I recommend the exact same height and re-entry angle as the first test flight. Over.”
To everyone listening, the radio reception seemed to get better as the craft decreased altitude closer to its re-entry height. Forty minutes later, and to everyone’s surprise, Sierra Bravo II suddenly appeared and disappeared a couple of times as Maggie played with the Cloaking Device. As the re-entry mode began, the shuttle could again be seen by all watching. Ryan’s phone rang ten seconds later.
“Ryan, Tom Ward here, Langley. It seems that your flight to the ISS has failed.”
“That is correct, Mr. Ward,” Ryan responded in an unfriendly manner. “Maybe your CIA personnel could tell us what interference was happening to our shuttle, and who is behind this act of sabotage?”
“We don’t believe that anybody was interfering,” replied the Assistant Chief of the CIA.
“You were tracking our craft on radar, and I’m sure there were other forms of tracking systems, NASA, the Air Force, and probably everybody on the Internet. I know we won’t make YouTube since our craft actually disappeared from all sources of detection.”
“It seems so, Ryan, but we here at Langley are sure there was no foreign intervention.”
“That’s sounds fine; then I must have some sort of ‘stealth shuttle’ up there, Mr. Ward. Better than any stealth fighter or bomber the Air Force has. Nobody could find her in space; she completed twenty-one orbits and was totally undetected by everybody on earth. Are you still sure there was no intervention from anybody?”
“I’ll get back to you, Ryan,” and the CIA man hung up on him.
Ryan checked back with the dozen personnel monitoring the flight in ground control. It was important that Jonesy bring in the shuttle in one piece; his best astronauts were on it and this was only the second re-entry for Sierra Bravo II, and the third for test pilot Jonesy.
Chapter 20
The Russian "Beer Can" gets high!
VIN felt very weak after being helped out of the shuttle once it had been towed into Hangar Six. He was shocked at how gravity pulled so much, and his body felt so heavy.
He struggled slightly to take each step and had to be assisted by the astronauts to the contamination area to get help removing his flight suit. Geiger counters still did not show any dangerous amounts of radioactivity.
Ryan was there and smiled when he heard Jonesy shout out, asking if it was five o’ clock in Nevada, something VIN heard daily up in space. It had taken VIN’s strength and courage, but he got by for the first two weeks with them drinking only the three opened bottles of booze before allowing his partner to know about the other bottles.
After VIN suggested that their private stash might have to last for quite a while, they got through week two without drinking a drop. Then Jonesy suggested that Saturday nights, just like on base would be good. In week three he had demanded Saturday and Sunday nights, and during week four, Jonesy tried hard to stay off the booze, but the two had just failed drinking a whole bottle between them that week. The vodka helped them stay alive and break the monotony of having very little to do.
Ryan was a happy guy. He was smiling and glad to have his pilots and his shuttle home, until he got a message that there was an incoming jet from Nellis Air Fo
rce Base demanding permission to land. He didn’t have much choice.
He gave permission to land and the small commuter jet, the same one as before, came in quickly from the east and taxied up to the man waiting for it on the empty apron. The shuttle was in Hangar Six and the C-5 was being checked over by Bob and his team outside Hangar Three.
General Saunders, who was the jet’s pilot, and Joe Bishop, the West Coast Head of the National Security Agency, exited the aircraft. Ryan had a couple of armed security personnel run up to escort them. The pilots had headed off to the shower, and only the three men waited for the jet’s engines to die down.
“Mr. Richmond, congratulations on a successful flight,” said General Saunders, the Nellis base commander. “Pity you couldn’t achieve your goal of meeting up with the ISS.” Ryan noticed that Bishop wasn’t smiling, shaking the man’s hand.
“Yes, a great achievement, twenty-one orbits of earth by a space craft, a private one at that. I’m sure NASA and our president will be sending letters of congratulations. I have a few questions pertaining to this problem you had up in space, and if you don’t mind, I would like to check out your space craft with a Geiger counter to see if any dangerous, or shall I say hazardous materials reentered with your shuttle craft?”
“And why would any radioactive matter be the concern of the NSA, Mr. Bishop?” Ryan asked dryly.
“Everything matters to the NSA, Mr. Richmond. We like to know what is happening in our country, and we get very worried if something doesn’t seem right to us,” the man replied.
“I’m sure that my scientists will check over the craft and if there is a problem, I would be more than happy to send you a copy of our findings, Mr. Bishop,” Ryan replied.
“I would prefer to find out for myself, Mr. Ryan. I would like access to your space shuttle.”
“Do you have a search warrant, Mr. Bishop?” Ryan asked, not amused.
“No, but I can get one within fifteen minutes if you so wish, Mr. Richmond,” Bishop replied smiling politely. “I hear that our new president doesn’t think much of your business ethics either, Mr. Richmond.”
“Nor do I think much of his,” Ryan replied. “We are busy, I have flight debriefings, and I want to go through the computer readouts to try and find what, or who, stopped us from getting to the International Space Station. What do you really want, Mr. Bishop?”
“I would like to check the interior of the space craft that has just landed, for radiation, to see if there are any radioactive fingerprints from what happened to your craft, and to see if there are any radioactive signs around your hangars. The CIA heard mutterings of radioactive materials being moved, and our equipment will quickly tell us if there are any radioactive materials on your airfield.”
“That’s fine with me. You can check Hangars Three and Six for radioactivity. I would be interested to know myself; and, if you wish, you can check around each of the outside areas of my twelve hangars. Will that satisfy you, and the president, Mr. Bishop?
The man nodded, two more men in suits clambered out of the commuter jet with large Geiger counters and Ryan asked his security guards to follow them.
Ryan watched as the two men began checking, and he remembered his last brush with the newly-elected President of the United States. The then-governor was on a nationwide tour trying to drum up new business for his own state. He was searching for companies who wanted to open up a second center of operations, or a manufacturing plant, in his area of government. He was introduced to Ryan by the local head of his political party. At the time, Ryan had his company’s main office in the area around Silicon Valley. The governor suggested that tax incentives and lucrative business deals could be easily done in his state if Ryan was prepared to start a new center of manufacturing there. Ryan could see no benefits to his business to do such a thing, and even with the governor offering great tax breaks and assistance, there was no way that a move to that area would benefit Ryan’s business. It would actually weaken his business. He explained that directly to the governor, and the upset man thanked him for the opportunity, then, in a straight tone, said to Ryan that he wouldn’t forget the fifteen minutes they had spent together. Now the governor was the new president.
Bishop and his team headed straight for the C-5 outside the hangar. Bob Mathews as usual was on top of the aircraft, on one of the wings with Captain Pitt, in flight gear, who saluted upon seeing his old base commander from Nellis.
“Checking for cracks?” shouted General Saunders as they entered.
“No Air Force techies to do the grunt work around here, General,” shouted Bob back and the general smiled.
The Geiger counters went through the main cargo area of the Galaxy and found nothing amiss. Then they headed over to Hangar Six, where a dozen scientists were all over the shuttle. This time readings of radioactivity were noticed by the portable counters.
“We have something incriminating here,” stated Joe Bishop excitedly as the Geiger counters omitted slight noises of radioactivity.
“Oh, no you don’t, Bishop!” said a voice entering from the open doors behind them. “Any aircraft that has flown in high altitude at speeds over Mach I can show increased radioactive readings, especially any craft that has been out of earth’s atmosphere. But a guy like you who couldn’t fly a ruddy Cessna 150 wouldn’t know that. Maybe you should ask Allen Saunders here, he would agree with me,” continued Jonesy, coming up to the shocked man from the NSA. Jonesy did not look happy. “Allen Saunders, good to see you again; a real general now, I see,” added Jonesy checking out the man’s rank. “Always enjoyed working with you. You were major when we last met,” Jonesy said, saluting respectfully.
“Likewise, Colonel Jones,” the general replied, smiling and returning the salute.
“Mr. Richmond, you are employing disgraced Air Force pilots as well?” Joe Bishop demanded looking angry and pretty worried at the same time.
“I only employ the best, Mr. Bishop. Do you have a problem with that?” Ryan asked suddenly figuring out how his chief pilot knew this NSA guy.
“General Saunders, is this renegade right about space flight?” demanded Bishop looking at the general for verification.
“It was in our most basic studies at the Air Force Academy, Mr. Bishop. You, as a former Air Force pilot, should remember. On the first NASA flights the returning astronauts were kept in quarantine for this precise reason, until they found that the amounts of radiation, not radioactive bits of material hanging on the sides of the returning craft, were not hazardous to humans.”
“Men, I want the outside of every hangar checked, and then we are out of here,” demanded Joe Bishop angrily.
“So, Bishop, the Air Force couldn’t handle you either and you sank even lower, down to the NSA, after you were politely asked to leave. I wonder why you suddenly left the Air Force. Could it have been over that million gallon fuel discrepancy at the base? When was it, about three years after you got rid of me?” added Jonesy making the older man uncomfortable.
“I was cleared of that small problem, and it is a privilege to work for the agency, Captain Jones, your discharged rank if I remember,” replied Bishop, now on dangerous ground.
“Yes, I read up on your court martial Bishop. I see that two of the officers who cleared you now work for the NSA as well. As far as I’m concerned, you are a stinking liar and a dirty little fat thief. They never found that lost million or so gallons of JP-8. It just disappeared into thin air, and it took you less than a year to lose that amount of taxpayers’ money. Ryan, I think you should get this poor excuse for a G-man slob out of here before I finish what I should have in the Air Force; scalp the SOB!”
“Mr. Jones, please go back to the briefing room,” replied Ryan calmly. “I don’t appreciate my staff insulting visitors, and Mr. Bishop will leave this airfield very soon.”
“Allen, want a cup of coffee while this plastic G-man tries to screw up more crap?” Jonesy asked General Saunders, and both pilots headed over to the hangar�
��s coffee machine.
“I think you should get rid of that pilot, Mr. Richmond, He will cause a lot of trouble for you and your project from the Agency,” added Joe Bishop regaining his composure.
“Is that a threat, Mr. Bishop?” Ryan asked. “If it is, I suggest you get in your aircraft and wait for takeoff. You have checked out what you want and found nothing. As of this morning, the United States of America is a free country, and I do not need to be inspected by any government agency on a whim of theirs. And next time, if the NSA wants to inspect my airfield, they had better bring the correct paperwork. I hope your boss knows you are here, because he is certainly going to hear from me. Security! Escort Mr. Bishop and his two colleagues back to their aircraft. They can wait there for General Saunders.”
Bishop looked at Ryan angrily, turned, and the dumpy man went back to his plane. The two colleagues were collected, and the three men sat inside the small jet while Ryan joined the two pilots for coffee.
“I have a problem with that guy,” General Saunders was saying to Jonesy as Ryan approached. Ryan asked the man to continue.
“After you left the Air Force, John, he got rid of two of the best techies I ever worked with, Samuelson and Piccard. They had worked on a problem with a C-17 for me for thirty hours straight; they were tired, and Bishop, who had just come on duty, demanded why they looked such a mess. Both told him where to go and both left the force a few weeks later.”
“They were excellent techies,” Jonesy agreed.
“And there were also fuel discrepancies at our old base for years after you were gone. We found out that non-Air Force jets were flying in for meetings, NSA and CIA civilian-marked aircraft we believed, and were being refueled every time they came in. Sometimes up to a dozen jets a week. They always came in empty, stayed overnight, and left fully fueled the next day. We later found out that the Air Force unknowingly was supplying fuel for free to these agencies due to budget cuts, and the flights weren’t even real business flights. It was all hushed up by General Mortimer. Careful of Mortimer, Ryan, he has very few friends in the military and certainly is not liked by any of the other Air Force senior officers I know. Whether the Chief of Staff is a friend of his, I don’t know. Also the CIA guy, Tom Ward, I remember him well from those days with Bishop. He was a good friend of Bishop’s, always getting fueled up, tanked up and staying over at the Officers’ Mess.”
