Powersat (The Grand Tour)

by Bova, Ben

  “Mach eight and dropping.”

  “Turn one completed.”

  The Mach numbers were spiraling down. The worst is over, Van Buren thought as she stared at her screen. She’s through reentry. No problems.

  “Turn two completed.”

  Another flash of lightning. “Dammit, hold off!” Van Buren grumbled in a whisper. More thunder.

  “Turn three completed.”

  A louder, sharper crack.

  “That wasn’t thunder,” somebody sang out Sonic boom, Van Buren knew.

  “Can you see her?”

  They had mounted a camera atop the Citation’s fuselage and slaved it to the airport’s radar. Van Buren clicked on the camera view.

  “There she is!” she shouted. The plane was racing across the clouds, a double vapor trail streaking off its wing tips.

  “Come on home, baby,” someone said in a fervent prayer.

  “Landing gear down.”

  “Speed two-ten … two-oh-two … one-ninety-six …”

  Van Buren shoved her laptop under the chair in front of her, jumped to her feet, and rushed to the plane’s hatch. It was slightly ajar. She pushed it all the way open and raced down the metal steps, ducked beneath the Citation’s wing just in time to see the sleek silvery spaceplane touch its wheels to the runway with a screech and a puff of rubber.

  The rest of the team piled out of the Citation as the spaceplane rolled to a stop well short of the end of the runway.

  “Yahoo!” This time the cheer was heartfelt.

  Rain began to spatter down. Big fat drops splashed all over them. The Venezuelan soldiers around the perimeter of their area stood in amazement as they watched this gang of loco gringos dancing in the downpour.

  LEN KINSKY’S APARTMENT

  After Kinsky’s explosive flare-up with Dan, and her brief telephone conversation with Kelly Eamons, April had gone through the motions of work while her mind raced. Len couldn’t have had anything to do with killing Joe Tenny or Pete Larsen. He just couldn’t. But Kelly thinks he’s involved in one way or another. And if he leaves the company, goes back to New York or someplace else, we won’t be able to find out what he knows about all this.

  After more than an hour of such worrying she phoned Kinsky’s apartment, only to hear his answering machine’s taped message.

  “Len, it’s April. You’re not leaving without saying good-bye to me, are you?”

  Kinsky picked up the phone. “April? I’m here.”

  “Len, you’re not really leaving, are you?”

  “Yeah. I’ve got to.” His voice sounded shaky, nervous.

  “Without saying good-bye?”

  “I wish I could, babe. But I’ve got to split.”

  “Can’t we at least have dinner together before you go?”

  “I’m in a big rush, honey.”

  Taking a deep breath, April said, “I could get a pizza or something and bring it over to your place.”

  A long hesitation. Then Kinsky said, “Can you get here by five o’clock?”

  “I’d have to leave the office early.” She knew Dan would be upset; there was always so much for her to do, but Dan’s attention was riveted on the spaceplane’s flight test. He probably won’t even miss me until after the plane’s landed in Venezuela, April told herself.

  “Don’t tell Dan you’re coming over to see me,” Kinsky said, halfway between pleading and demanding.

  “Okay,” said April. “I’ll be there by five. What do you like on your pizza?”

  “Doesn’t matter, as long as you’re with it.”

  April told Dan she was leaving early; he merely nodded and waved a hand at her, preoccupied with the flight test. As she drove to the ferry she phoned her apartment. No answer. Kelly’s already left, she thought. She was about to try the FBI agent’s cell phone number, when her own phone beeped.

  It was Eamons. “Bad news, April. I’ve got to head back to Houston.”

  “Back to Houston? When?”

  “Right now. I just finished packing my car and telling the motel that I quit.”

  “But I’m going to see Len Kinsky,” April said, alarmed. “I’m going to his apartment.”

  Without hesitation Eamons said, “Call it off. I don’t want you there without backup.”

  April pulled into the parking line for the ferry. This early in the afternoon, hers was the only car there. The ferry was at the pier, its ramp down, empty and waiting for cars. But nobody was in sight, and the chain was up, blocking access to the ramp.

  “Kelly, if I don’t get to Len this afternoon, we’ll lose him.”

  “He’s going to New York, isn’t he?”

  “I don’t know. From what he said, maybe not.”

  “Doesn’t matter. We can find him if we have to,” Eamons said.

  One of the ferry crew came out and took down the chain. Then he waved to April, gesturing for her to pull up into the ship.

  Edging her Sebring over the bumpy ramp, April said, “You won’t have any reason to search for him if he leaves here without talking to me.”

  “I don’t want you to see him without me to back you up,” Eamons said

  “Len’s not dangerous. Not like that.”

  “Maybe not. But the people he might be connected to are probably killers. That’s who he’s running from, most likely.”

  Another ferry crewman ambled up to April’s car. He was young, reasonably well-groomed despite his tatty T-shirt, and smiling pleasantly.

  “I’ll call you back later,” April said.

  “I’ll be on the road, back to Houston,” Eamons replied.

  “I’ll call you.”

  “Don’t do anything foolish, April.”

  The crewman smiled at her. “Ticket, please.”

  April clicked off the phone, put it on the seat beside her, and pulled her wallet out of her handbag. She handed the young man her commuter ticket, noting that it was just about used up and she’d have to buy a new one in a few days.

  “Sorry to make you wait,” she said.

  The young man’s smile grew wider. “Got nuthin’ else to do.” He spread his arms and April turned around in her seat and saw that hers was the only car in the ferry.

  Timing is everything, Kinsky told himself as he nervously folded his laptop and slipped it into its black carrying case. He had just closed out his bank account with the local Lamar bank and transferred the funds electronically to the account he kept with the Chase, in New York. Now he had a healthy balance on his platinum Visa card.

  He still hadn’t decided where he was going. Seattle, maybe. Or L.A. Someplace where Roberto couldn’t track him down.

  He had received four messages on his answering machine informing him that Roberto was on the road from Houston, coming down to see him in person.

  “We gotta talk ‘bout this launch you di’n’t tell me about,” Roberto had said in his last message. The tone of his voice chilled Kinsky to the marrow.

  Roberto had said he’d get to Lamar around eight P.M. “Be in your apartment when I get there, man. I wanna have a face-to-face with you.”

  By eight o’clock, Kinsky thought, I’ll be in a plane heading for Chicago, or maybe Canada. Toronto’s supposed to be a reasonably livable city.

  It was ten minutes before five. I ought to leave. I ought to get out of here right now. But April said she’d be here at five. She’s coming here, to my apartment! Five o’clock. Maybe she’ll come with me. Maybe the two of us could go to San Francisco. That’d be fantastic.

  He shook his head. Stop being such a schmuck. Dan’s probably told her to come over, try to talk me out of leaving. Then he thought, Or maybe she’s working for them! Maybe she’s coming here to make sure I stay long enough for Roberto to get here!

  No, that couldn’t be, he told himself. If she was working for them they wouldn’t have needed me.

  Still, he fidgeted nervously around the furnished apartment, eying the hideous clock on the living room wall, above the sofa: it was in
the shape of some sort of fish, pale blue and ghastly.

  At two minutes before five the doorbell chimed. Kinsky jumped nearly out of his skin. He tiptoed to the door and put an eye to the peephole. April!

  He unlocked the door and invited her in with a majestic sweep of his arm, careful to look out into the hallway to see if Roberto or anyone else was lurking out there. Nobody.

  While Kinsky bolted the door and rattled the security chain into place, April looked around, then put the big flat cardboard pizza carton she was holding down on the coffee table.

  “I got mushrooms and pepperoni,” she said. “I hope that’s okay.”

  “Fine.” He wiped his suddenly sweaty palms on his slacks.

  April stood uncertainly in the middle of the living room. She was wearing a pale green blouse and tan slacks. Kinsky thought she looked beautiful.

  “Have a seat,” he blurted, gesturing to the sofa. “You want a beer to go with the pizza?”

  Stepping around the coffee table and sitting primly at one end of the sofa, April replied, “Do you have anything nonalcoholic?”

  He rushed to the kitchen and opened the nearly-empty refrigerator. “I got some frozen lemonade. Take me a minute to make it.”

  April said, “That’s all right I’ll have a beer.”

  He grabbed two Michelobs from the fridge, then took down two tumblers from the cabinet over the sink. He brought them to the coffee table, where April had already opened the pizza carton.

  “It isn’t very hot,” she said apologetically.

  “That’s okay.” Kinsky poured her beer for her, his hand trembling slightly.

  April turned to him. “Len, are you really leaving?”

  “Yep.”

  “But why? Dan—”

  “I’ve got to,” he said. “I’ve just got to.”

  April looked squarely into his eyes. “What are you afraid of, Len?”

  Her gold-flecked eyes were the most beautiful he’d ever seen, Kinsky thought. If only …

  He heard himself ask, in a near whisper, “April, would you come with me? Wherever you want to go, the two of us.”

  “What kind of trouble are you in, Len?”

  He nearly dropped his beer. “Trouble? What makes you think that I’m in trouble?”

  “You’re not mad at Dan. You’re scared, I can see that. I can get Dan to help you. He’s not angry at you.”

  She sees right through me, Kinsky thought. “I’ve just got to get away from here,” he mumbled.

  April reached out and touched his arm. “Len, please, let me help.”

  Shaking his head, “You don’t want to get involved in this. Believe me.”

  “Len, I am involved in this. So is Dan. So is everybody in the company.”

  She’s not doing this for me, Kinsky realized. She doesn’t care about me. She’s working for Dan, for the fucking company.

  He took a swig of beer from the bottle, then put it down beside the untouched pizza. “You’d better go home, babe, or back to the office or wherever. Anyplace but here.”

  “Len, I want to help you,” April repeated.

  Jumping to his feet, Kinsky shouted, “Get out! Get out while you can.”

  “But Len—”

  The front door burst open, the security chain splintering from its mounting on the wall. Roberto pushed into the living room, big-shouldered, scowling, menacing. April shot to her feet, shocked, thoroughly frightened.

  Kinsky was stunned. “You’re not supposed to be here until eight!” His voice sounded squeaky, terrified, even in his own ears.

  “I got here early,” Roberto said, kicking the door closed behind him. He glanced through the open door of the bedroom and saw Kinsky’s travel bags on the bed. “Looks like a good thing I did.”

  Struggling to keep from shaking, Kinsky turned to April and said as evenly as he could, “You’d better go now, kid. I need to talk to him in private.”

  Before April could make a move, though, Roberto said, “Naw, you don’ hafta go, guapa. Siddown.”

  April looked at Kinsky.

  “Siddown or I knock you down. Both of you.”

  April sat. So did Kinsky, looking miserable, ashamed, and almost petrified with fright.

  MATAGORDA ISLAND, TEXAS

  Everyone in the blockhouse stood up and cheered when they heard Van Buren’s radio voice announce, “She’s on the runway. Mission completed.”

  Everyone except Passeau and his two gray-suited FAA superiors, although Dan thought he saw a trace of a smile on Passeau’s face.

  Turning from the blank wall screen toward the three FAA men with a big, satisfied grin, Dan said, “See? No problems.”

  Passeau said, “Score one for globalization, I suppose. But how do you propose to get your spaceplane back from Caracas?”

  “By boat,” Dan said cheerfully. “I’ve already got a freighter under contract for the job. The bird should be back here in a week, ten days at most.”

  The launch crew was shutting down their consoles, heading for the big steel hatch out into the Texas sunshine.

  “You think you’ve pulled one over on us, do you?” growled Tweedledum as the technicians filed past him.

  With an innocent hike of his brows, Dan replied, “No, not at all. I think I’ve managed to test my bird without breaking any of your regulations.”

  “You certainly swivel-hipped your way around the regulations,” accused Tweedledee.

  “I proved my theory,” said Dan, much more seriously.

  “Your theory?”

  “The crash of our oh-one bird wasn’t an accident. It was sabotaged.”

  “Sabotaged?”

  “By who?”

  “I’m hoping the FBI can figure that out,” said Dan, heading for the blockhouse door. “In the meantime, I’m going to apply for permission to resume the flight tests of the spaceplane with a pilot aboard.”

  “You won’t get permission, I guarantee it,” Tweedledum snapped, following Dan outside into the warm sunlight.

  “There’s nothing wrong with the bird!” Dan insisted. “There’s no flaw in the design and there aren’t any flaws in the manufacturing. The oh-one bird was sabotaged, pure and simple.”

  Both Tweedledum and Tweedledee shook their heads in unison, like two metronomes.

  Passeau stepped between them. “It’s quite true that we haven’t found any flaws in the design or the construction of the vehicle. Except for the valve in the forward attitude control thruster—”

  “Which could only have been popped open by a spurious command signal,” Dan interrupted. “Which is sabotage, nothing else.”

  For the first time, the two FAA men looked doubtful. Tweedledee asked his compatriot, “Do you think … ?”

  “Hard to prove,” said Tweedledum. “Impossible to prove, more’n likely.”

  Dan let it go at that, satisfied that he had at least planted a seed of doubt in their minds. Doubt is the beginning of wisdom, he told himself.

  Dan went back to Hangar A while Passeau led his two superiors off to the engineering building. As he entered his outer office, Dan saw with some annoyance that April still wasn’t at her desk. Where the hell is she? he grumbled inwardly. She ought to be on the job, or at least let me know she won’t be in.

  When he stepped into his private office, though, he saw another woman sitting in front of his desk, a welcoming smile on her heart-shaped face.

  “Remember me?” asked Vicki Lee. “I’m working for Aviation Week now, thanks to you.”

  April had spent a sleepless, frightening night. She sat on the sofa in Kinsky’s apartment, watching Roberto the way a trapped animal watches a stalking predator. Every time Roberto looked her way she shuddered inwardly. The man’s eyes were rimmed with red, and April could see the rage that boiled just beneath his surface. He was like a powder keg, a bomb waiting to be triggered; she could feel the danger radiating from every move of his big, muscular body. Kinsky sat on the sofa beside her, petrified, silent, unmoving, while
Roberto tried time and again to put through a call on his cell phone, to no avail.

  At one point he made a connection, only to frown with baffled frustration and yell into the phone, “Whachoo mean he ain’t available?You make him available, see? You tell him I got a situation here and I wanna know what he wants me to do.”

  He listened, his scowl going darker, then shouted, “Hey, slow down. An’ speak English, huh? I can’t unnerstand when you jabber like that.”

  Another few moments of listening, then he switched the phone to his other ear and said impatiently, “Well, you tell him to call me and damn quick, too. I got two people here an’ I gotta know what to do with them.”

  He flicked the phone off, muttering in Spanish.

  Which gave April an idea. “I’ve got to go to the bathroom,” she said, getting to her feet.

  Roberto leered at her. “Okay. I go which you. Give you a hand, huh?”

  As coldly as she could, April said, “Certainly not.” And she headed for the bathroom, leaving Kinsky sitting inertly on the sofa.

  Roberto followed a pace behind her. Her heart pounding, April closed the door firmly in his grinning face and turned the knob to lock it.

  “Okay,” his voice came through the thin door, “I give you some privacy. I’ll wait right here.”

  Damn! April thought, pulling her cell phone from her purse. If I try to call Kelly he’ll hear me and break in and stop me. The last thing she wanted was to give this big bruiser an excuse for violence. She knew where that would end.

  She flushed the toilet, then ran water in the sink. Letting the faucet run, April pecked out Kelly’s cell phone number and held her breath.

  One ring. Two. Come on, April begged silently. Answer the phone, Kelly.

  “Eamons here,” Kelly’s voice said.

  Almost fainting with relief, April whispered, “Listen, don’t talk.” Then, leaving the phone on but blanking its little display screen, she slipped it back into her purse. She had no way of knowing how much the FBI agent would be able to hear, or how far from Lamar she had already driven. But she couldn’t think of anything else to do.

  She turned off the faucet and unlocked the bathroom door. Roberto yanked it open, surprising her so badly that she flinched away and almost tripped over the toilet.