“In the meantime, the shuttle sits here, hot, as you would say.”
“Certainly you can give the order to have it destroyed immediately,” Bauer replied. “However, there are the bodies of the other crew members. If there is any chance of bringing them out, giving them a decent burial, I believe we should hold out for it.”
The president fought to keep his rage in check. The butcher's concern for his victims was almost more than he could bear.
“I agree. Please, continue.”
“Once the cocoon is mated to the shuttle, I will enter from the other end ―behind the wall,” Bauer explained. “I will walk into this small decontamination chamber, check it, and seal it. Only then will Dr. Reed be instructed to open Discovery's hatch and step directly into the decontamination area.”
Bauer pointed to PVC pipes running along the ceiling the length of the cocoon. “These supply electricity and decontamination detergents. The chamber is equipped with ultraviolet light, which is deadly to all known forms of bacteria. The detergent is an added precaution. Dr. Reed will undress. Both he and his suit-except for the sample we need ― will be cleaned at the same time.”
“Why clean the suit?”
“Because we have no practical way to dispose of it in the chamber, Mr. President.”
The president remembered the question Klein had asked him to raise. Bauer's response was vital, but it had to be elicited in such a way so as not to arouse the slightest suspicion.
“If the suit needs to be sterilized,” he asked, “then how does the sample come out?”
“The chamber has a pass-through facility,” Bauer explained. “Dr. Reed will deposit the sample into a carrier tray. On the other side, I will roll the tray through into the Glovebox. This way the sample will always remain in a secure environment. Using the Glovebox, I will deposit the sample into a secure container, then bring that out.”
“And you'll be doing this yourself.”
“As you can see, Mr. President, the space inside the cocoon is somewhat restricted. Yes, I will be working alone.”
So nobody can see what you're really doing.
The president stepped back from the cocoon. “This is all very impressive, Dr. Bauer. Let's hope it works as advertised.”
“It will, Mr. President. At the very least, we know we can save one of those brave souls.”
The president turned to the group. “I guess we're as ready as we'll ever be.”
“I recommend we go to the observation bunker,” CIA director Bill Dodge suggested. “The shuttle is fifteen minutes out. We can watch the touchdown on the monitors.”
“Has there been any contact with Dr. Reed?” the president asked.
“No, sir. Communications are still out.”
“What about that explosion?”
“I'm still waiting for more details, Mr. President,” Marti Nesbitt replied. “But whatever it was, it didn't affect Discovery's flight path.”
As the group followed the president to the entrance of the bunker, Castilla looked back. “Aren't you coming with us, Dr. Bauer?”
Bauer's expression was suitably grim. “Oh, no, Mr. President. My place is here.”
* * *
Grabbing hold of the space acceleration system, Megan managed to pull herself up. Her chest throbbed where Reed had hit her, and there was a shooting pain in her lower back where she'd fallen.
You're running out o f time. Move!
Megan staggered to the sled chair. She had no doubt that Reed would use Discovery's autodestruct system to vaporize all evidence of his diabolical handiwork. That would be the only way to ensure his safety. That was why he hadn't killed her before leaving the Spacelab. Megan glanced at the sled chair and knew it was her only hope.
There was no communications equipment as such in the Spacelab. But during medical tests, crew members had been wired not only into the recording instruments onboard Discovery but also to a communications feed that relayed the results directly to physicians at mission control. Settling herself in the chair, Megan strapped down her ankles and one wrist. With her free hand, she plugged a microphone jack into the communications unit on her suit. As far as she knew, the feed sent back digital, not voice, data back to mission control. But then again, no one had ever told her that voice communication was impossible.
Just let someone on the other end hear me, she prayed, and activated the sled's instrument panel.
* * *
“RAID One to Looking Glass, come in.”
The voice of the pilot in the lead Commanche crackled in Smith's headset. A second later, he heard the Groome Lake tower's response.
“RAID One, this is Looking Glass. You are in restricted air space. Immediate authorization is requested.”
“Authorization is Brass Hat,” the pilot replied calmly. “Repeat, Brass Hat.”
Brass Hat was the Secret Service code name for the president.
“RAID flight, this is Looking Glass,” the controller replied. “We have positive ID on you. You are cleared to land on runway R twenty-seven, L left.”
“R twenty-seven L left, roger,” the pilot said. “Touchdown in two minutes.”
“Where's the shuttle?” Smith asked.
The pilot keyed into the NASA frequency. “Thirteen minutes out.”
* * *
At mission control, Harry Landon was tracking the shuttle's progress through the atmosphere on a giant plotting board, where she appeared as a gently descending red dot. In a few minutes, low altitude satellites would be able to transmit pictures. As Discovery got closer, air force reconnaissance planes would roll their cameras.
“Landon?”
Landon glanced up at the commo tech. “What is it?”
“I'm not sure, sir,” the tech replied, obviously confused. He handed Landon a printout. “This just came in.”
Landon glanced at the sheet. “It's the medical feed from the sled chair.” He shook his head. “It must be a malfunction. Reed is on the flight deck. For the feed to be accurate would mean that someone else is in the sled chair.”
“Yes, sir,” the tech agreed. He didn't have to be reminded that that someone would have to be alive. “But look at this. The chair's instruments are on. The heart monitor shows signs of activity ― very faint, but activity nonetheless.”
Landon slipped his reading glasses down his nose. The tech was right: the heart monitor was registering a living organism.
“What the hell?”
“Listen to this, sir,” the tech said. “It's the last few minutes of commo tape. We kept it rolling even though…”
Landon grabbed the headphones. “Play it for me!”
Since the beginning of the emergency, Landon had listened to so many hours of transmission that he could tune out the hiss and crackle that filled his ears. Behind the static he heard something, barely discernible but distinctly human… a voice calling from the ethers.
“This is… Discovery… Spacelab… am alive… Repeat, alive… Help me…”
* * *
Jack Riley and his RAID team began jumping out even before the Commanches' rotors wound down. Smith glanced at the enormous hangars lined up like prehistoric turtles, their roofs painted dull brown to blend in with the desolate landscape. To the south and west were mountain ranges; to the northeast, nothing but desert. Even through the din of men and machinery, there was an eerie stillness to the base.
The team arranged their equipment in a flatbed truck that had pulled up, then jumped aboard for the short ride. Smith and Riley followed in the Humvee.
The hangar's interior was partitioned to allow the team privacy ― and, Smith suspected, to prevent them from seeing what else was stored there. As Riley had promised, a commo console was up and running, manned by a young female officer.
“Colonel,” she said. “You have flash traffic from Bluebird.”
Smith was adjusting his headset when Klein came on. “What's your status, Jon?”
“We're getting into our Level Four suits ri
ght now. How about the shuttle?”
“It'll be in the chamber by the time you get there.”
“Bauer?”
“Doesn't suspect a thing. He's already suited up and ready to mate the cocoon with the shuttle.”
Smith had seen the blueprints and photos of Bauer's creation, but he had never been inside it.
“Jon, there's something you need to know ― and hear,” Klein said. “A few minutes ago, Landon received communications from inside the Spacelab. It was a distress signal. We're running tests right now. I don't want to raise your hopes, but the voice sounded like Megan's.”
Sheer joy surged through Smith. Yet at the same time, he was aware of the possibly deadly consequences of this development.
“Has Landon told Reed about this?”
“Not that I know of. Communications are still down. But I should have told Landon to keep quiet in case contact was reestablished. Wait one.”
Smith tried to rein in his clashing emotions. The idea that Megan was alive brought him hope. At the same time, if Reed somehow discovered this, he would still have a chance to kill her before he left the shuttle.
“Jon? It's all right. Landon says the link is still down. I confused the hell out of him by ordering him not to talk in case it comes back up, but I have his word that he won't tell Reed a thing.”
“Anything on those voice tests?” Smith demanded.
“So far they're inconclusive.”
“Can you play me the tape?”
“It's pretty scratched up.”
Smith closed his eyes and listened. After a few moments, he said, “That's her, sir. Megan's alive.”
CHAPTER THIRTY ONE
“Looking Glass, this is Eyeball. Do you copy?”
“Eyeball, we read you five by five. What do you see?”
“Discovery has just broken cloud cover. Trim is good. Angle of descent good. Speed good. She looks to make a pinpoint landing.”
“Roger that, Eyeball. Maintain surveillance. Looking Glass out.”
The exchange between Eyeball, the lead air force chase plane that would escort the shuttle, and the control tower at Groome Lake was listened to intently by a number of people.
In the observation bunker, the president glanced briefly around the room. All eyes were on the monitors that showed Discovery cutting through the air. On another screen he saw Dr. Karl Bauer about to leave the decontamination area, called the prep room. The president took a deep breath. Soon… very soon.
Wearing a Level Four biohazard suit, Bauer entered the short corridor between the prep room and the massive, vaultlike door that would allow him to enter the cocoon. Reaching it, he glanced up at the wall-mounted camera and nodded. Slowly the door began to open, revealing a cavity cut into the concrete wall. One end of the cocoon was attached to the wall of the cavity, the edges sealed to the concrete. Bauer stepped into the cocoon and immediately the door began to close.
Ahead, he saw a long, blue-lighted tunnel. When the door was firmly closed and locked, he walked along a rubber-padded runway. The walls of the cocoon were constructed of heavy gauge, semitransparent plastic. Looking through them, Bauer could see the vague outlines of the vast holding area, lit up by giant floodlights. As he moved toward the cocoon's decontamination chamber, he heard a low rumble. More light poured into the bunker as the runway ramp was lowered.
“This is Bauer,” he said into his headset. “Do you copy?”
“We read you, sir,” a tech in the observation bunker replied.
“Has the shuttle landed?”
“It's almost on the ground, sir.”
“Good,” Bauer replied, and continued walking to the cocoon's decontamination chamber.
On the other side of the base, Smith was listening in on this exchange. He turned to Jack Riley. “Let's mount up.”
The team scrambled into two double deuces with canvas covers. Smith would have preferred to use the more nimble and speedy Humvees instead of the trucks, but given the team's bulky biohazard suits, space was a problem.
The hangar doors opened and the small convoy, with Riley in the lead Humvee, pulled out into the desert night. Rocking back and forth on a bench in the back of the truck, Smith tried to keep a small, Palm Pilot-type monitor as steady as he could. The shuttle was just three thousand feet above the desert floor. Its nose was angled up slightly and the landing gear was locked down. As hard as he tried, Smith couldn't keep his thoughts away from Megan. He knew that his first instinct would be to rush into the orbiter and search for her. But doing so would only jeopardize her life. He had to get to Reed first and neutralize him. Only then could he go after her.
Smith recalled Klein's objections when he had told him what he intended to do. The head of Covert-One shared Smith's concern for Megan, but he also knew the danger that Smith would be exposing himself to.
“There's no guarantee that you'll find her alive, Jon,” he'd said. “We need to know what we're dealing with before I send you in.”
“We'll know,” Smith had promised him grimly.
Riley's voice crackled over his headset. “Jon, look to the southeast.”
Smith glanced over the truck's tailgate and saw bright lights descending quickly. On either side were the winking collision lights of the shuttle's escort aircraft. He listened as Riley counted off the descent: “Five hundred feet… two hundred… touchdown.”
The convoy was on a runway parallel to the one the shuttle used. Smith saw the orbiter dip as the nose gear absorbed the weight. Then the parachutes popped open, slowing the craft.
“Here comes the cavalry,” he heard Riley say.
Three fire trucks and a HazMat vehicle fanned out behind the shuttle, staying fifty yards back.
Smith watched them roll by, then said, “Okay, Jack. Let's fall in.”
The double deuces slipped into gear and followed Riley's Humvee as it turned onto the taxiway, then the main runway.
“Step on it, Jack!” Smith said as he watched the shuttle reach the ramp that descended into the bunker.
Riley obliged. Gunning the deuce, he pulled up to the ramp just as the shuttle disappeared.
“Jon!”
But Smith had already jumped out and was running into the bunker. Two-thirds of the way down, he felt the ramp shudder and slowly rise. Moving as fast as he could, he reached the end only to discover that he was ten feet above the bunker floor. Smith took a deep breath and jumped, landing hard, then ducking and rolling. Lying on his back, he watched the ramp slowly rise, blot out the sky, then lock and seal.
Getting to his feet, he turned and saw the cocoon, a monstrous, white worm beneath the overhead lights. Inside it, a shadow paused in its movement and slowly turned toward him.
* * *
Dr. Karl Bauer had been watching the shuttle park, then turned his attention to the ramp. For an instant, he thought he saw something drop from the ramp, but dismissed the thought when he felt the ramp close with a shudder. The cavern was sealed.
“Control, this is Bauer.”
“This is control, Doctor,” a technician replied. “Is everything all right?”
“Yes. I am proceeding to mate the cocoon with the orbiter. When Dr. Reed is safely out, I will reseal the hatch. Is that understood?”
“We copy, Doctor. Good luck.”
* * *
Staring through the plastic, Smith saw Bauer's form become more and more vague as the scientist moved through the cocoon. Careful not to allow Bauer to see him, he started to make his way to the shuttle when he noticed a perfectly round break in the concrete. Then he picked out another one. Then many more. Places where the cement had been cored for the gas lines that would feed the flames.
* * *
On the flight deck, Dylan Reed had remained strapped in the pilot's chair until a light on the console indicated that the orbiter's systems had shut down completely. The descent had been nerve-racking. At the Cape, Reed had been shown computer simulations of how, in the event of an emergency, NASA computers woul
d bring down the craft ― and park it on a dime if need be. He recalled smiling and saying how wonderful that was. Privately, he'd thought: Right. A few hundred gallons of residual, high-octane fuel onboard a hurtling, ten-year-old craft built by the lowest bidder. Yet by some miracle, both the computers and the orbiter had done their job.
Reed unstrapped himself, got out of the chair, and made his way down the ladder to mid-deck. He glanced briefly at the door that opened on the tunnel to the Spacelab. He wondered if Megan Olson had somehow survived. It didn't matter. She would never see anything familiar again.
During reentry, Reed had kept the communications channels switched off. He didn't think he could bear listening to Harry Landon's whiny questions and expressions of concern. Nor did he want to be distracted from what lay ahead. Positioning himself in front of the exit hatch, he punched in the alphanumeric code that shot back the bolts. But the hatch still had to be opened from the outside.
Reed glanced down at the pants pocket in which he'd placed the vial of variola. Suddenly, he wanted very much to be rid of it.
Come on! he thought impatiently.
He felt the orbiter shift slightly. Then a second time. He imagined he could hear the hiss of air as the cocoon mated itself to the shuttle. Anxiously he looked at the overhead display panel. A green light appeared, indicating that the mating was complete.
Reed was changing frequencies on his suit radio when, without warning, the hatch opened and retracted and he found himself looking straight at the masked face of Dr. Karl Bauer.
“You!” he cried.
* * *
The original plan had called for Bauer to wait for Reed on the quarantined side of the decontamination chamber. But with Richardson and Price out of the picture, Bauer had decided to improve upon his scheme. Working the levers on the pedestal-mounted control panel, he raised the cocoon so that its open end mated with the shuttle. Once the seals were in place, he took a moment to slip into his new role, then opened the hatch. He almost smiled when he saw Reed's startled expression.
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