The Cassandra Compact c-2

by Robert Ludlum

  “What are you doing here?” Reed demanded. “What's wrong?”

  Bauer motioned him to step back so that he could enter.

  “Richardson is dead,” he said bluntly. “So is Price.”

  “Dead? But how could ―?”

  Bauer began to mix in the lies. "The president knows. about the virus.

  Even through his protective faceplate, Bauer saw how badly Reed paled. “That's impossible!”

  “It's true,” Bauer replied. “Now listen to me. There's still a way out for us. Are you listening?”

  Reed's helmet bobbed as he nodded.

  “Good. Now give me the sample.”

  “But how will we ―?”

  “Get it out? Me. Listen, Dylan. I haven't a clue as to how much Castilla and his people really know about Richardson and Price. Maybe they've already connected you to them. But we can't afford to take the chance that they have. If you're searched, it's all over. But they wouldn't dare lay a finger on me.”

  “What's going to happen to me?” Reed demanded, his voice panicky.

  “Nothing. You have my word on that. By the time this is over, you'll be the hero, the only survivor of a mission gone tragically wrong. Now give me the sample.”

  Carefully Reed reached into his pocket and handed over the vial. He jumped back as Bauer calmly opened it and poured out the fatal contents on a stainless-steel counter.

  “Are you crazy?” he screamed. “That's all we have!”

  “I didn't say that we wouldn't take a sample,” Bauer replied.

  He pulled out a swab and a tiny, ceramic capsule, the size of a vitamin capsule. Bending over the puddle he had just created, he brushed the swab in the fluids, broke off the tip, and sealed it in the capsule. Reed watched, puzzled. He couldn't quite snare the purpose of the capsule.

  “You're going to carry it out like that?” he asked. “What about the decontamination process?”

  “The ceramic will protect the sample,” Bauer replied. “After all, that's what the plates on the underbelly of this craft are made of, to preserve the shuttle from the heat of reentry. Don't worry, Dylan. It's all part of my new plan.”

  Something didn't sound quite right to Reed. “So what do I―”

  Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a flash of the scalpel that cut open his suit, slicing all the way to flesh.

  “No!” he cried, staggering back.

  “Witnesses aren't part of the new plan,” Bauer said. “If I let you come out, the interrogators would tear you apart. And because you are fundamentally a weak man, you would talk. But if you don't survive, then I get to write the final chapter of Discovery's history, sad as it will be.”

  Bauer simply sidestepped when Reed made a desperate attempt to grab him. Reed fell and rolled over, then began shaking violently. His body was seized by convulsions that made his spine bend like a bow. Keeping a safe distance, Bauer watched, fascinated, as his creation went about its deadly business. He couldn't take his eyes off Reed for more than a few seconds, not even when he began to arm the autodestruct sequence.

  CHAPTER THIRTY TWO

  It won't be the gas jets. Something else… What?

  The question echoed in Smith's mind as he hurried under the shuttle's left wing toward the landing gear. Either Bauer didn't know or he had overlooked the fact that there was another way into the craft other than through the cocoon. Smith stepped up on the tires, then moved onto the landing assembly. He popped open a small hatch, reached inside, and pulled down a handcrank. Fitting one end into a slot, he began turning. Little by little, the much larger hatch detached itself from the orbiter.

  Pushing the hatch to one side, Smith climbed into the belly of the payload bay located behind the Spacelab. He found himself crouching next to the get-away canisters where unattended experiments and supplies were stored. In front of them was an oval, submarine-type door ― the back entry to the Spacelab.

  Inside the Spacelab, Megan Olson stared in horror as the wheel on the rear door spun faster and faster. Leaning against the sled chair, she felt dizzy and nauseated. Even though she'd been strapped in as securely as possible, the buffeting reentry had been extremely jarring. She felt as though her entire body had been pummeled.

  It's not too late. I can still get out of here.

  Seizing that thought, she'd climbed out of the sled chair and staggered to the door that connected the lab to the tunnel. But after a few minutes of trying, she realized that either she was too weak or the door was locked from the outside.

  Fighting back tears, she had tried desperately to think of another way out. Then she had heard the sounds coming from the get-away section of the payload bay.

  Why is Reed coming back? And why that way?

  Frantically Megan looked around for something that might serve as a weapon, but found nothing. She heard the hiss of a seal breaking. As the door swung back, she moved to the side, raising both arms over her head. Surprise would be her only defense against Reed.

  First a leg appeared, then a pair of arms. As soon as Megan saw the helmet, she started to bring down her arms. Then, in that split second, she realized that it wasn't a space suit, but one designed for biohazard work. She managed to stop her swing just as the figure looked up at her.

  “Megan!”

  She tried to grab Smith but her gloved hands slipped off his suit. The next instant he was holding her by the shoulders, his helmet bumping hers, their faceplates touching. She couldn't take her eyes off his. She leaned against his shoulder and wept for everything that, only moments ago, seemed to have been snatched away, and was now restored. She pulled back a little so that she could look at him.

  “How did you know?”

  “They heard you in mission control. Not much got through, but enough so they knew you were alive.”

  “So you came for me…”

  They stared at each other, then Smith said, “Come on. We've got to get out of here.”

  “But Reed―”

  “I know about him,” Smith told her. “He was working for Karl Bauer.”

  “Bauer?”

  “He was the man you saw with Reed the night before the launch. Bauer's onboard right now. He came to take the smallpox mutation Reed had created in microgravity. But he's not going to just walk out of here, Megan. He has to destroy all evidence of what happened on this flight.”

  Then he told her exactly where the shuttle was parked and why, about the holding chamber that was really a giant crematorium.

  Megan shook her head. “No, Jon,” she said. "He's doing it another way.

  “What do you mean?”

  Megan pointed to an overhead readout she had noticed a moment ago. “That's the autodestruct sequence, armed and counting down. Once it's been set, it can't be turned off or extended. We have less than four minutes before the shuttle explodes.”

  * * *

  Seventy seconds later, Smith and Megan Olson were climbing out of the craft the way Smith had gone in.

  Megan shuddered when she looked around the cavernous death chamber. She turned to Smith, who was locking the hatch they had passed through.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Making sure that no one follows us.” He stepped on a tire, then to the ground. “Let's go.”

  Moving as quickly as their bulky suits permitted, they came around the wing. Megan gasped when she saw the cocoon mated to the shuttle's lower escape hatch and to the cavity in the far wall.

  “Is that how we're supposed to get out?”

  “It's the only way.”

  As they approached the cocoon, Smith could see that the hatch to the shuttle was closed. There was no sign of Bauer inside the plastic tunnel or in the pass-through decontamination area. From his RAID suit he brought out a knife with a retractable blade, and with a few bold strokes, cut an opening in the cocoon.

  “Go through,” he told Megan, then followed her into the cocoon.

  Once inside, Megan turned when she no longer felt Smith's hand on her shoulder. S
he found him staring at the hatch.

  “Jon, we're running out of time!”

  Then she saw the cold, pitiless expression behind his faceplate, the grief in his eyes. His anger spilled into her as she pictured the bodies of her crewmates, the terrible way they had died. She understood exactly what he intended to do.

  “Go down the tunnel,” Smith said. “Don't stop. Don't look back. There's a decontamination chamber right behind the blast door.”

  “Jon ―?”

  “Go, Megan.”

  Smith didn't think of the time that he had left, of the odds of making it out of the chamber alive. He knew that men like Bauer, rich and powerful, seldom if ever paid for their crimes ― especially since those who could have condemned them were already dead. Worse, Bauer would try again. Somewhere, sometime, there would be another Cassandra Compact.

  Smith hurried through the small decontamination pass-through ― the size of a shower stall ― and came up to the hatch. Through the rectangular porthole he saw the mutilated body of Dylan Reed and Bauer, holding a ceramic capsule in the palm of his hand.

  He wasn't going to bring out the entire sample. He didn't need to. A drop would be more than enough. A drop he could hide in his suit; that would be enough to re-create the monstrosity.

  Crouching, Smith opened a panel at the bottom of the hatch and engaged the manual override. He rose just as Bauer turned, his expression one of total disbelief.

  It can't be…!

  Smith saw Bauer's lips move but didn't hear his words until he had changed the frequency on his helmet radio.

  “…are you doing here?”

  Silently he watched as Bauer punched the keypad, watched as his incredulity dissolved to horror when the hatch didn't open.

  “What are you doing here?” Bauer screamed. “Open this hatch!”

  “No, Doctor,” Smith replied. “I think I'll leave you with your creation.”

  Bauer's face was contorted with fear. “Listen to me ―!”

  Smith changed the frequency and began walking away. He thought he heard fists falling on the hatch, but knew that that was just his imagination.

  “Control, this is Smith. Where's Olson?”

  Static crackled in his ear, then a familiar voice came through. “Jon, this is Klein. Megan is safe. She's in the decontamination area. She told me that the autodestruct was armed.”

  “Bauer did that.”

  “Where is he?”

  “Still inside.”

  After a moment's hesitation, Klein replied, “Understood. We're opening the blast door, Jon. But you only have a few seconds. Hurry!”

  At the end of the cocoon Smith saw the huge door start to swing open. With sweat pouring off him, he forced himself to move even faster. There it was, the cavity cut into the wall at the end of the cocoon.

  Then the door stopped and began closing. He was still at least fifteen steps away.

  “What's happening?” he demanded.

  “The door closes automatically,” Klein shouted back. “It will seal five seconds before the blast. Jon, get out of there.”

  Smith forced his screaming muscles to move even faster. One step, one second, one step, one second…

  The blast door moved relentlessly, reducing the size of the opening. With a final desperate effort Smith hurled himself forward, hitting the leading edge of the door, squeezing himself through as it brushed by him and locked.

  Seconds later, he was thrown to the ground as the earth seemed to rear up and something like a giant's fist slammed into the blast door.

  * * *

  He opened his eyes to white: ceiling, walls, sheets. With a soldier's instincts he lay perfectly still, then slowly, carefully moved his neck, hands, feet, arms, and legs. His body felt as though it had gone over Niagara Falls in a barrel.

  The door opened and Klein walked in.

  “Where am I?” Smith asked, his voice weak.

  “In the land of the living, I'm happy to say,” Klein replied. “The doctor tells me that you'll be just fine.”

  “How-?”

  “After the shuttle exploded, Jack Riley and his team went into the decontamination chamber, put you through the process, then got you out.”

  “Megan?”

  “She's fine. You both are.”

  Smith felt his limbs turn to jelly. “It's over,” he whispered.

  Somewhere far away he heard Klein reply, “Yes. The compact has been broken.”

  EPILOGUE

  According to the media reports, General Frank Richardson and NSA Deputy-Director Anthony Price were killed in a tragic crash due to faulty brake lines. Richardson was given a warrior's burial at Arlington National Cemetery while Price was interred in his family's plot in New Hampshire. The president, citing overseas commitments, was absent on both occasions.

  Subsequent reports dealt with the crash of a private jet over the Pacific Ocean. The plane, belonging to the Bauer-Zermatt pharmaceutical company, went down six hundred miles west of Los Angeles on its way to the Big Island of Hawaii. There was only one passenger onboard: Dr. Karl Bauer.

  President Castilla led the nation in mourning its greatest space tragedy since the Challenger disaster. Investigators determined that the explosion onboard the shuttle Discovery was linked to fuel-pump problems during the craft's descent into Edwards Air Force Base.

  “What will happen to Megan?” Randi Russell asked.

  She stood beside Smith in a small cemetery called Tsarsoye, overlooking Moscow and the river.

  “She's not Megan anymore,” Smith replied. “She has a new name, a new face, new identity.” He paused. “She survived, but in the end she was counted among the dead. There was no choice. She had to give up her old life if the secret of what really happened was to remain intact.”

  Randi nodded. Through the CIA grapevine she had heard rumors that one or more of the shuttle astronauts had survived. But after a while, the whispers died away. When Smith had arrived in Moscow, she turned to him for the truth. Megan Olson had been a longtime friend of Sophia's… and of hers as well. Randi felt she had a right to know if Megan was still alive somewhere.

  “Thank you for telling me about her,” she said.

  Smith looked over the rows of headstones. “Without your help, everything would have ended differently,” he said softly.

  Smith stepped forward and laid flowers on Yuri Danko's grave.

  “Without the brave, where would any of us be?”

  THE END

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