by Alton Gansky
For what must have been the one hundredth time, Verducci looked at his boss. Since the arrival of Quain, the old man had not taken his eyes off the intruder, and Verducci knew why.
Pistacchia took a step toward Quain, who remained huddled close to Roos as Roos worked the wireless computer. Verducci took his arm and gave it a gentle squeeze. Pistacchia stopped but gave no indication that he was aware of a hand on his elbow.
“I’ve been waiting for you.” The old man’s voice carried farther than Verducci thought it could.
Quain looked up, stared at the old man, then returned his attention to Roos and his activity.
“All these days . . . all these months . . .”
“Signor — this is not wise,” Verducci whispered.
With surprising strength, Pistacchia pulled his arm free of Verducci’s grip.
Quain turned his eyes on the old man. “If you know what’s good for you, gramps, you’ll shut your mouth.”
Pistacchia stopped and took a deep breath, thrusting out his chest. “I am Vincent Pistacchia.”
“Well, good for you, old man. Now shut up.”
The fire that burned in Verducci turned white hot. In any other circumstance, in any other situation, such an insult would be punished. If Pistacchia took the comment as an insult, he didn’t show it. Verducci knew his employer well enough to see that his mind was fixed on only one thing: confronting his son’s killer.
Pistacchia repeated his words, “I am Vincent Pistacchia.”
Quain stood fully erect and his eyes blazed. He raised his gun and said, “I told you to shut — ” Quain tilted his head to the side. “Pistacchia? Vincent Pistacchia . . . Where have I heard that name before?”
“You killed my son. It took me a long time and a great deal of money to find out how and who, but now I know it was you.”
Verducci could almost see Quain’s mind working like gears in an old clock. He took a step forward and put an arm on his employer’s shoulder.
“Vincent Pistacchia? Vinny Pistacchia? The astronaut? Vinny Pistacchia was your son?”
“He was, he is, he will be forever. You took his life, but you can’t take his memory.”
“What are the odds?” Quain laughed.
“No odds, Quain. I’ve spent close to three million American dollars to track you down.”
Quain’s laugh reduced to a smile. “I’m honored. That’s a lot of money.”
“I will spend ten times that to see you dead.”
“I would’ve thought you would have been tracking Commander Tucker.”
“Oh, I did. At first, I blamed him. At first, I hated him, but the more I came to know, the more I came to believe someone else must be behind my son’s murder. My investigators learned of MedSys; my investigators learned of you.”
“So what, old man? You are in a group that doesn’t give two cents for your sorrow or pain. All they want is for me to let them go. What are you going to do? You going to attack me, pops? You going to make a move? Are you going to be responsible for the death of all those around you and all those people outside?”
“Before I am in my grave, I will see you moldering in the ground. Then you will be God’s problem.”
A subtle movement caught Verducci’s eye. One of the Secret Service agents had been slowly working his way closer and closer to Quain. He had no idea what the man intended, but he knew that his boss’s outburst was distracting Quain, and perhaps some good could come of that.
“You Italians are so poetic; you even make death sound important. Old man, you will be worm food long before I will. I’m not afraid of death, pops. It happens every day. Thirty thousand children die of starvation daily. What have you done about that? I’ll tell you what you’ve done. You’ve done absolutely nothing. As we speak thousands are dying of cancer, heart disease, and thousands more in civil war.”
“You care nothing about those people.” Pistacchia’s words were sharp as nails.
Quain nodded in agreement. “You’re right, of course I don’t care. That’s my point. No one gets out of this life alive; not you, not me, and I don’t care. I plan to live as long and as well as I can, and if people die in the process, that’s just part of the price. It’s not as if they weren’t going to die anyway. All I’ve done is change the date.”
“You make a profit from it,” the old man spat.
Quain shrugged. “Well, there is that.”
Quain spun on a heel, facing the Secret Ser vice agent slowly moving closer. “I told you to stay put.” Without another word, Quain raised the gun.
THIRTY-THREE
Jim Tolson felt the landing gear lock in place one hundred feet above the runway. Moments later, the Condor touched down and continued its taxi. As the plane slowed, he had time to look out the cockpit window and see the crowd in the bleachers standing, applauding, and pumping their fists in the air. He gave a polite wave.
He let the craft slow to just a few miles per hour, then turned it and taxied back to the hangar. The plan was for him to exit, spend a few moments waving at the gathered enthusiasts, and then walk to the back of the building to enter a private door to join the VIPs and others at Ground Control.
When he finally brought the plane to a standstill, he exchanged the cockpit for the concrete tarmac and moved toward the hangar. Jim found a guard and a stranger waiting for him. The guard he recognized as being part of the “rent-a-cops” that Roos retained for flight day, but he had never seen the other man before. He was tall, trim, and wore a grim expression.
“Something up?” Jim asked the guard.
“This man thinks so.”
Before Jim could speak again the stranger said, “My name is Alderman, Garrett Alderman.” He retrieved his wallet, and opened it, showing identification. “I own a private investigation business in Chicago. We do business only with large companies.”
Jim frowned. “Sorry, buddy, I don’t make those kinds of decisions here. Besides, this is rather an inappropriate time to be drumming up business.”
Alderman didn’t move. “I’m not here to drum up business. I need your help and I need it now.”
Jim looked at the guard, who offered only a shrug. “It’s all right; I’ll talk to the man.”
“Very good, sir,” the guard said, then left to return to his post.
Jim studied the man for a few moments. “This had better be good.”
“I wish it were good, but your security has been breached. I believe a man — a very dangerous man — is inside the main hangar. I further believe that everyone inside may be in great danger.”
“I don’t see how that’s possible. We have guards everywhere. The place is crawling with them.”
The stranger held his ground. “With all due respect, you have a host of undertrained, part-time mall security guards. None of them is armed and I doubt any of them has received training beyond the basics. Besides, those guards are on the outside of the hangar, not the inside.”
Jim walked slowly around the building toward the back. The man named Alderman followed. “If there’s a problem, I’m not aware of it.”
“Have you spoken to Ground Control or whoever you talk to in there?”
That had been a bit of a puzzler. “Of course.”
“Was it everything you expected?”
Jim hesitated, reluctant to admit that he had detected a note of stress and detachment in the Ground Control tech’s voice, but beyond that, there was nothing indicating a problem. The pilot told Alderman so.
“What about communication with your spacecraft. Have you been able to maintain contact with them?”
Jim told him no. “Once the craft separate I lose contact with Legacy. Part of that is by design — too many people trying to speak to the spacecraft at one time muddles communication. Even in Ground Control, only one person can speak to the pilot at a time.”
“You don’t know if everyone is safe?”
“If they weren’t, I would know about it.” Jim started to turn.
&
nbsp; “Then tell me why the monitors are blank.”
Jim redirected his gaze to the monitors spaced out before the crowd — the monitors that allowed some of the guests a view of the video feed from Legacy. “It’s possible we’ve lost the video feed for a short time. Such things happen.”
“It happened during test flights?” Alderman was becoming edgy.
Jim was beginning to lose patience with the man.
“Just what kind of bad guy do you think is in there?”
Alderman looked around, lowered his voice, and said, “I’ve been tracking Edwin Quain for well over a year. He’s smart, he always has a plan, he never makes a mistake, and he has a loose gear up here.” He tapped his head. “He also has a thing against Commander Tucker.”
“What do you mean ‘a thing’?”
“Quain was in the Navy but not for very long. He never finished his enlistment. Our background research shows that he was bounced out of the ser vice for several things, including a complaint filed by then Lieutenant Tucker.”
“What kind of complaint?”
“Quain was a pharmacist mate on the same aircraft carrier as Tucker. His name then was Edward Yates. Since then, he’s had several identities. Someone told Tucker that Quain had been stealing medications —drugs — and selling them to other members of the crew. Tuck confronted him and with the help of Quain’s supervisors was able to find Quain’s stash.”
“That would get a man booted pretty quick,” Jim agreed. The pilot looked Alderman over again as if in doing so he would somehow be able to read the man’s thoughts. “All right, let’s assume for moment I believe you. What do you think your man is doing in there?”
“He has a sophisticated MO. His weapon of choice is a biological agent he created while working for my client’s firm. Actually, I think he’s created several bio-agents. Some work faster than others. Maybe he has a way of slowing the effects or speeding them up. I don’t know for sure. Some have died quickly, while others die hours later.”
“What firm?”
“I’m not going to tell you that. Truth is they’re not really my client anymore.”
Jim crossed his arms. “Did you get canned?”
A shadow of emotion passed over Alderman’s face. “No, I would be fine with that. Quain killed the people who hired me. He used a biological agent spread on a letter that appeared to be from the IRS. I’m afraid he’s planning on using the same agent inside the hangar.”
“Look, pal, if this guy is such a bad man, why haven’t you called the police? If what you say is true, there should be cops all over the place.”
“We don’t have time to argue about this. I’ve told you, Quain always has a plan. I’m the best there is in this business, and he’s been evading me for well over a year. If cops show up, then I’m sure he will turn this into a hostage situation. I don’t want that and neither do you. I can guarantee that several, maybe scores of people would die.”
Jim placed his hands behind his back and began a slow stroll away from the hangar to the area behind the bleachers. He could hear the crowd talking eagerly, and a few complaining about the blacked-out monitors. Alderman walked by his side.
“There’s something else you should know.” The words came from Alderman with difficulty. “Quain is responsible for the Atlantis tragedy.”
Jim stopped and stared Alderman in the eyes. “Investigators deemed that the accident was caused by a faulty dermal patch . . .” Jim let his words trail off as the comment percolated to the forefront of his mind. Alderman was telling him who his client was without actually revealing the name. A mistake? No, Jim reasoned. “The company that made the dermal patch was investigated thoroughly and found guilty of producing a faulty product. As I recall, it was all due to the malfunction of a machine.”
“You remember correctly.”
“You’re telling me somebody inside a company purposely poisoned the dermal patches that killed the Atlantis crew?”
“I have said no such thing.”
Jim narrowed his eyes. “You’re not denying it either.”
“I don’t think we have much time.”
“Hey, mister?”
Jim looked down and saw a blond-haired boy no older than eight. He held a pen and piece of paper. Jim knew where this was headed. “Yes.”
“You’re the guy who flew the plane, right. The one that took the spaceship up?”
“That’s me.”
“Can I have your autograph?”
“Um, sure. Why not?” Jim took the pad and pen and began to write. A moment later, he handed it back to the child and as he did, he caught sight of something beneath the bleachers. “Is that your backpack, son?”
“No, sir. It belongs to the man who drove that car.” He pointed at a black Lincoln Continental. “He left it there. I think it’s his lunch or something. He was kind of strange.”
“Strange how?”
The voice shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe it was his ear. He had a funny-looking ear. Anyway, thanks for the autograph, mister.”
Jim said the boy was welcome and looked at Alderman. The blood had drained from his face.
THIRTY-FOUR
Mayday, Mayday, Mayday. This is Benjamin Tucker, commander of the commercial spacecraft Legacy .I’m declaring a medical emergency. Repeat, I’m declaring a medical emergency. Request instructions for landing.”
The return to Earth had been painfully slow for Tuck. Had the situation been otherwise, he would have enjoyed what amounted to a leisurely fall. With family and friends in danger, the cabin full of dying people, he longed for the rapid descent of the old Space Shuttle. The computer provided the proper guidance and brought Legacy into the thickening atmosphere in long lingering loops. It had taken an eternity to reach this point.
Tuck keyed the mike again and tried to raise the control tower at Edwards Air Force Base fifty miles away from where he had taken off that morning. He had changed the radio frequency to match that used by military aircraft. “Mayday, Mayday, Mayday. This is Benjamin Tucker, commander of the commercial spacecraft Legacy. I have a medical emergency. Repeat, I’m declaring a medical emergency. Request instructions for landing.”
“Stand by, Legacy.” Even over the headset, Tuck could tell the air traffic controller was confused. In his mind, he could see the man speaking to his superior and wondering if this were some kind of drill or joke. “Um, Legacy, this is restricted airspace. You do not have clearance to land.”
“Edwards, I repeat this is a medical emergency. I need ambulances standing by.” Tuck wasn’t going to take no for an answer. In point of fact, he couldn’t take no for an answer.
“Legacy, you are hereby ordered off approach. We recommend SCLA.”
Southern California Logistics Airport was too far and much too public. Not that it mattered now; Tuck had committed himself to Edwards Air Force Base the moment he entered information into the onboard computer. “Negative, Edwards. I am without power and in direct line with you. It’s you or nothing.”
“Stand by, Legacy.”
“You’re going to make some general very unhappy.” Lance’s words were soft but clear and the sound of them gave Tuck a moment of hope. His mind stumbled back to Jess and her fractured speech as the effects of the stroke that took her life manifested.
“Not a problem, buddy. I plan to blame you.”
“Somehow . . . I figured that.”
Tuck reached to his copilot and gave him a pat on the shoulder. “Your job is to live to give me a bad time about it later.”
“Count on it.”
A new voice came over the headset. “Legacy, this is Colonel Riggins. Did we hear you right? You said your name was Benjamin Tucker?”
“Roger that, Edwards. Commander Benjamin Tucker, United States Navy, retired.”
“My intel says you’re supposed to be on the other side of the desert.”
“Affirmative, Colonel Riggins. I hate to be a party crasher, but I need to sit down on your runway and I need to
do it soon.”
“Legacy, you’re cleared to land on runway two-two. Please be advised that we have gusty winds at one thousand feet. Winds diminish below that. Copy that you have a medical emergency. How many souls on board?” The voice came from the traffic controller.
“Six souls. Two are crew. Five need immediate medical attention. Please be advised that we have a high-ranking member of government on board.”
“High ranking? Understood, Legacy.”
“Runway two-two, Edwards, and . . . thanks.”
“You may thank me in person, Commander Tucker —and you had better be Commander Tucker. Have I made myself clear?” Riggins had come online again.
“Colonel, there are days when I wish I wasn’t.”
As they descended toward the long wide runway of Edwards Air Force Base, Tuck hit the switch that lowered the landing gear. He heard them rumble and lock into place. The airspeed of Legacy immediately dropped.
Approaching from the east, Tuck could see the brown desert turn pale beige as he passed over the dry lakebed on approach to the runway. It was the long runway and the land-capable lakebed that made Edwards Air Force Base the alternate landing site for all Space Shuttle missions. More than one crew had set down here; now Legacy was about to do the same.
As they dropped to a thousand feet of altitude, strong gusts of wind pushed the craft to the side and caused it to bounce in unsettling ways. The computer compensated beautifully and a few minutes later, it was clear flying. Tuck took hold of the controls and finished the landing manually. The Legacy rolled along the hard runway, and the sound of rubber tires on concrete reverberated through the spaceship. To Tuck, it sounded like music. A few minutes later, Tuck brought the craft to a halt.
Tuck released his harness and made his way to the door, where he released its locks, opened it, and extended the airstairs. Several military vehicles pulled alongside, as did the military police. Colonel Riggins was easy to identify both by bearing and in the way the men looked to him for leadership. Tuck didn’t need to see the icon of rank.
