by Alton Gansky
“Dougie the hero is going to open the back flap of the backpack and nothing more. Got that, Dougie? If you unzip the wrong thing, you’re going to get a face full of death.” Quain reached beneath his coat and removed the pistol he had already fired three times that day. “Or maybe I’ll just shoot you. I like having options.”
Dougie nodded.
“Once you’ve opened the first flap, you’ll find a small digital video camera. I want you to remove it and take it to Mr. Roos. Next to the camera you’ll find a USB cable. Take that too.”
He did exactly as told, his hands shaking.
“The camera also has a media card if that will work better. There is a short bit of video footage on the camera. I want you to load it onto any computer that will allow you to send that video to your spaceship. Anything unclear about that?”
“Just motive,” Roos said.
“That will come clear in time. For now, just do as you’re told.”
Doug removed the camera and the cable, then made his way to Roos, who took the device and handed it to one of the Ground Control technicians. “You know how to do this,” he told the tech. “Get it done.”
The tech hesitated, then said, “Will do.”
Roos patted the man on the shoulder, then said, “Let them know what’s coming.”
The tech keyed his mike and looked into the video camera. “Legacy, Ground Control. We have a problem.”
THIRTY-ONE
They’re all strapped in.” Lance took his seat in the copilot chair and affixed his harness. “Burke looks bad. I don’t think it’s motion sickness or SAS.”
“But everyone is still alive, right?” Tuck’s words sounded as if another man had uttered them.
“Yes, so far, but I have serious concerns about the secretary of state. We need to get him to a hospital.”
“There’s another problem. Ground control is sending a video.” Tuck tapped the video monitor. “I don’t know what’s going on down there, but something has those people frightened.” He waited while Lance took in the scene.
“What kind of video?”
“I don’t know. Ground Control came on and said they had a problem while you were back there taking care of the passengers.”
“Legacy, Ground Control. You should be able to receive this now. Let me know if it comes through.”
The video image of Ground Control gave way to another image that took Tuck several moments to identify, but when he did, his heart stopped beating. The video quality was poor and Tuck guessed it had been taken with an inexpensive camera. What he heard over his headset dumped a vat of acid in his stomach.
“Is that your . . . ?” Lance was unable to finish the question.
“It’s my family. I can’t make out where they are.”
“One thing is for sure, they’re not at the spaceport.”
Tuck didn’t need Lance to tell him that. The video showed his family standing in the opening of some kind of structure, but the camera shot was so tight, he couldn’t identify it. Tuck keyed his mike. “Someone had better tell me what’s going on and they had better tell me right now.”
No answer came.
“Ground Control, Legacy. Do you read me?”
“Stand by one, Tuck. We are awaiting instructions.”
Tuck looked at Lance. “Instructions from whom, Ground Control?”
“He wants me to ask you how everyone is doing up there.”
Tuck was baffled. “Who wants to know?”
“He says his name is Quain.”
“Quain? The guy who drove me to the spaceport this morning?”
“That’s what he said.” Even through seventy miles of atmosphere and space that separated him from the communication tech, Tuck could hear his stress.
“What’s he done with my family? Where are they?” Tuck was doing his best not to yell into the microphone.
“We don’t know, Commander. This is the first we’ve seen of it.” There was a brief pause. “He still wants to know how everyone is doing.”
Lance answered. “We’ve got a ship full of sick people, Ground Control. One is unconscious.”
Tuck keyed off his mike and motioned for Lance to do the same. “I’m not getting the full picture here, but someone other than Roos is calling the shots. And whoever it is has done something to my family.”
“How can somebody take over Ground Control? Roos hired guards, and there are two Secret Service agents in that room. Maybe it’s a whole team of people.”
“I don’t think so, Lance. Ground Control keeps referring to ‘him,’ not ‘they.’ ”
Tuck activated the mike. “Ground Control, Legacy. Are we to assume that you have unexpected company?”
“Roger that, Legacy. We have a party crasher.”
Tuck heard Ginny’s voice. “Hey, you guys? I think the reporter guy has passed out. He doesn’t look so good.” She began to weep. “My head hurts so much.”
“I’ll go back and check,” Lance said.
Tuck grabbed his arm. “How are you feeling?”
Lance hesitated before answering. “Like fresh roadkill.”
Tuck released him and moved to the passenger portion of the cabin. Think, Tuck. Think. A war raged in Tuck’s mind. Competing for his attention were the sick passengers in back — each exhibiting symptoms like those that killed his crew well over a year ago — his endangered family on Earth below, and his confusion about what was happening at Ground Control. He also wondered if he had been infected too. If so, he had very little time to get his people back on the ground.
A new voice came over the headset. “Commander Tucker. It’s an honor to meet you again.”
Tuck turned in his seat and called for Lance. His copilot appeared two seconds later. “I want you to hear this.”
Lance nodded but the motion came far more slowly than it should. “Donnelly is still conscious, but I don’t know for how much longer.” Tuck feared Lance would soon lapse into unconsciousness along with Burke.
“Cat got your tongue?”
“I’m here. You’re Quain?” The civility was forced, an act on Tuck’s part. He had many other words he wanted to say.
“Isn’t technology amazing? I’m way down here on Earth and you’re way up there in space, and we’re talking as if we were in the same room together. And this wireless headset makes my life much easier. It wouldn’t do for me to turn my back on some of these people. I don’t think they understand me.” The speaker paused, then said, “I imagine you would like to be in the same room with me.”
You got that right. “You’re the same man that drove me to the spaceport today. I thought we got along well. Why such a change in attitude?”
Laughter poured into Tuck’s helmet. “I have to say, Commander, you’re one cool customer. You’ve just seen that your family is in danger and you’re talking to me like an old pal.”
“Don’t fool yourself . . . pal. You have the advantage. It’s in the best interest of my family to be polite.”
“I think you’d be less polite in person.”
“Let’s cut the small talk, Quain. You must have some kind of business with me, so let’s get to it.”
“Polite and perceptive — now I’m rather glad you didn’t die on Atlantis. You caused me quite a bit of embarrassment, you know. You also delayed a rather lucrative payment.”
Implications of the words struck Tuck like a fist to the sternum. “Are you saying you caused that? I’ve heard of crazy people taking the blame for someone else’s crimes, but this takes the cake.”
“I assume you bought the same lie that everyone else did. I can assure you the medicinal poisoning from the dermal patches was no accident.”
“Like I said, crazy people take the blame for others.”
Quain’s tone chilled. “I’d go easy on the crazy-people talk if I were you. I have over fifty hostages in the hangar and several hundred more outside. Oh, and I almost forgot, four others hidden away — others you care a great deal about. So from now on when you speak
to me, you will speak to me with respect, or you will be returning home to an empty house — if you get to return home at all.”
“All right, Quain, I believe you. Tell me what you want.”
“Let me bring you up to speed. In the midst of these VIPs is a backpack filled with a bio-bomb. It contains the same genetically engineered germ that killed your crew on Atlantis and was supposed to kill you, except it doesn’t contain the delaying agent. Unlike your Atlantis crew and your current passengers, these people will die quickly. Badly, painfully, but quickly. I’ve placed another such bio-bomb under the bleachers of the crowd waiting for your return. In my hand is a dead man’s switch. If I release the switch, both bombs will go off and my personal brand of biowarfare will be released into the air. You have a sample of my work with your passengers. Tell me, Commander, how many are sick now?”
“I think you know the answer to that. All of them.”
“Everyone except you.”
“How do you know I’m not sick?”
“Because I didn’t contaminate your flight suit.”
“Is my family still alive?” It was the hardest question Tuck ever had to ask.
“For now. I have them locked away safe and sound.”
Why would he do this? Why poison an entire space crew? Why kill dozens of people he didn’t know? Tuck had no idea.
“What is it you want, Quain? You must have some kind of goal. I can tell you’re no dummy, so I know you aren’t doing this for kicks. What do you hope to gain?”
“You’re right about that, Commander. I’m no dummy. People are motivated by only a few things: love, money, and power. I don’t care about love, but the last two weigh heavy in my decision making. I’m in this for one thing and one thing only: wealth. If you have wealth, you have power; if you have wealth and power, you can buy love.”
Lance moved his hands to his stomach and leaned his helmeted head back against his seat. “Well, I can see why he doesn’t teach philosophy.” He coughed.
The same feeling of helplessness that had washed over Tuck during those horrible hours during the Atlantis crisis inundated him once again. His family needed him, and although only seventy miles separated him from the surface of the Earth, he was several hundred miles of flight path away.
“So you’re holding everyone down there hostage, is that it?”
“Bingo. But not in the way you think. I will be out of here in a few minutes. It’s surprising, Commander, you haven’t asked the really important question yet.”
“You mean, why did you poison everyone but me?”
“Exactly. It’s not that I like you, but for the moment I need you and that really galls me. You should’ve died those many months ago, but you had to wear the wrong patch. Had you worn the patch designed for a man your size and weight you would be taking a dirt nap now. I hadn’t planned on your choosing a patch designed for women.”
“Yeah, well, I’m a twenty-first-century kind of guy.”
Lance whispered to Tuck, “Don’t antagonize him. He may be smart . . . but I don’t think he’s stable.”
Tuck switched off his mike. “I’m trying to keep him occupied and hoping someone down there can do something.” He was grasping at straws, but straws were all he had.
“I know your glibness is an act, Commander, and that’s all right with me. Every second you waste is another second closer to death for your passengers and your family. So don’t let me hinder you; you waste all the time you want.”
“I’m listening.”
“The rest of my plan I think I’ll keep to myself. Here’s all you need to know: you are to stay in space until everyone on board is dead. Then and only then may you make reentry. The reason you are alive is that I’m afraid Mr.Roos here has some auto-control system installed on Legacy. I’ll have to admit I never thought NASA could land the Shuttle without a crewman at the controls. If you break my little rule, your family will die. How’s that for being stuck between the devil and the deep blue sea?”
“I think you have more than money in mind. There’s someone on board you want dead.”
“Very astute, Commander. Very astute, indeed. I also want you to suffer, and watching your passengers die is one way to do it.” . . .
“That went well,” Quain said.
Roos grunted. “If you say so.” He avoided eye contact.
“I do. Now it’s time for you to get to work. I assume this building has wireless connectivity.”
“Of course.”
“It’s time for a little online banking, and you’re going to do it.”
It took Roos a few moments to catch the man’s drift. “You’re . . . robbing me?”
“I prefer to think of it as a free-will offering — my will and your offering. You’re going to transfer money from your bank accounts to my offshore account.”
“US banks — ”
“Don’t trifle with me, Roos. You have six offshore accounts. Don’t ask how I know. Money and fear will buy all types of information. You’re going to skip all the US laws and transfer funds from your Cayman accounts to mine. Get a laptop and get online. I don’t want to spend any more time here than I have to.”
THIRTY-TWO
Tuck’s mind spun like a windmill in a tornado. Nothing in his experience, not even the tragedy on Atlantis, had prepared him for such a moment. He tried to control his mind and his emotions, but images of Myra, Penny, Gary, and his father flashed on his brain with strobe-light intensity.
“Your family . . . you must save your family.” Tuck could sense the effort required for Lance to utter those words.
“You stay with me, pal. You got that? You think we’ve had tension in our relationship before; if you die, I promise it will get worse.”
Lance chuckled. “If I die, I’m going to haunt you.”
Hearing Lance suggest that Tuck sacrifice him and the others for his family pulled the rubber band of tension within him to the breaking point. Tears burned his eyes and the ache that began in his stomach now ran from head to sole. “I’m serious, Commander. You are not to die on me. That is an order.”
Lance’s head moved from side to side and at first Tuck assumed he was shaking his head, then realized the man was now too weak to hold his head up. Tuck activated the inner ship communication. “This is Tucker. I need to know who is still with me. Ginny?”
“I’m . . . I’m still here. My head hurts so much.” She whimpered. “I’m . . . getting sleepy.”
“Stay awake, Ginny. Do whatever you have to, but stay awake. Mr. Abe?”
Tuck waited for a response but none came.
“Mr. Abe? Can you hear me, Mr. Abe?”
“I think he’s out.” The weak voice came from Donnelly. “Same with the secretary.”
“How about you, Donnelly? How are you doing?”
“Not good. I’ve never felt this bad. Hard to stay awake . . . nausea . . . head pounding . . . feels like something’s going to break.” He coughed, then groaned. “What’s wrong, Commander? Why are we all sick?”
Tuck thought about feeding him a lie. What good would it do to tell the truth? But the man was dying and deserved the truth of the matter. In his situation, Tuck would want the facts. “Someone has put a biological agent in everyone’s flight suit. He’s holding Ground Control hostage — he is also holding my family.”
“You don’t sound sick. Why aren’t you sick?” Ginny’s voice sounded a shade weaker than a moment before.
“He didn’t poison my suit. He wants me to keep everyone up here until you are all dead.”
Tuck heard Ginny weeping. “I don’t want to die. I don’t want to die in space. You have to do something . . . it’s your job. We trusted you. We trusted you.”
“I know,” Tuck whispered. “I know.”
“Family first. No one will blame you. Do the right thing.” Lance’s words were thin.
The right thing? Exactly what was the right thing? He had one more name to call before finishing his survey. “Mr. Secretary? M
r. Secretary, this is Commander Tucker.” No answer came, nor did Tuck expect one. Burke had been the first to go unconscious.
Tuck closed his eyes, laid his head back, and struggled for words to say to the One who created the space in which he flew. To his surprise, he didn’t plead for help, nor did he ask for miracles. Instead, the prayer came in simple words: “God of heaven and earth, grant me wisdom and give me courage. Bless that which I’m about to do. All things rest in Your hands.”
Tuck blinked back tears and took a deep breath. Once again, he looked at the distant stars; once again, he took in the bright, beautiful blue of Earth.
Then he reached to the console before him and flipped the switch that turned off all communications. He began punching commands into the onboard flight computer.
Lance muttered, “No.”
“Lance . . . shut up and relax. That’s an order, pal.”
“You . . . you can’t.”
“Try and stop me.” .
Verducci’s mind chewed through options like an adding machine chewed through numbers and it kept coming up empty. If he were facing a man with a knife or gun, then his options would be clear. If properly done, a trained man could disarm an armed assailant. The dead man’s switch was the surest way to ward off such an attack. Even if Verducci could get a clear shot at the man or land a skull-crushing blow, he would be unable to prevent Quain from releasing the button and infecting everyone with whatever biological agent he had created.
He wished Ganzi were present, but the man had not shown and that did not bode well. Over the months, the private investigator had demonstrated endurance and loyalty. Verducci could think of only one reason to explain Ganzi’s absence, and he hoped he was wrong.
Glancing around the crowd, Verducci saw that there was little help available. There were the two Secret Service agents who were undoubtedly thinking the same thing as he. But like him, their hands were tied as long as the dead man’s switch remained operable. It had crossed Verducci’s mind that the dead man’s switch was nothing more than a prop and for a few seconds had considered challenging Quain, but common sense reined him in. If he was wrong, then fifty or more people in the hangar would die, and possibly several hundred enthusiasts outside.
