America One: The Odyssey Begins

by T I WADE

  The waiter came, gathered orders, and left. To the bored waiter, the table looked like a sunburnt group of tourists from Canada.

  “We have a mission,” Ryan began. “I’m sure you all know or have heard that this country’s deficit has reached $17 trillion. What many of us don’t know is that $10 trillion of that is directly owed to China. The president told me yesterday that he is expecting China to call in its loans very soon, due to the destruction of its space program. They are not very happy over there, and even though the president has many friends in Beijing, his friendship is not going to last much longer once they want their loans repaid. There have already been rumors that China is thinking about asking for Alaska or even California as payment if the U.S. cannot come up with the money owed. Like a house foreclosure, the Chinese will foreclose on property, throw out all the locals and call it their own.”

  “Why don’t we just refuse a hostile take-over of what belongs to us?” Jonesy asked.

  “We will, naturally, but the president’s problem is, can we justify going to war with a country we owe money to? And, are they just trying to collect on the unpaid debt? Naturally China will give the U.S. time to pay, and I’m sure there will be conditions; if we don’t meet certain timetables or obligations, then x, y or z might happen.”

  “So what can we do about it?” asked VIN.

  “As we know there are space diamonds scattered over an area of the moon. Whoever gets there first can clean up the mess from the asteroid impact. To fill you in on what I have received for my investment in sending you guys out there, my deal with the diamond buyers, was that they paid me 10 percent of the current market value of everything I sold them. This was to make sure that over a long period of time, the world’s diamond prices wouldn’t fall as they released the stones slowly into the world markets. I don’t know what they have released to date, but I believe it is less than 5 percent of what they purchased. Diamond prices have dropped over the last few months, but have stayed inside normal price fluctuations.”

  “So the president wants us to go to the moon and collect the pretty stones?” Jonesy asked.

  “Correct, Mr. Jones, depending on if you guys think there are, or shall I say, were enough diamonds to make the trip worthwhile. Only you guys know that answer.”

  Jonesy and VIN looked at each other and both thought back to Maggie finding the fissure, and what they had seen.

  “What was the combined current market value for all the diamonds you sent over to Europe?” Jonesy asked.

  “Ryan looked at him and smiled. “I will tell you that, Mr. Jones, after you tell me what you think is still up there. How much of what you guys saw on DX2014 did you bring back?

  “Well, with the heavy gravitational pull, I’m sure many of the diamonds floating around would have been pulled back to the rock. What do you think, partner?” asked Jonesy.

  “I agree. I don’t think any of the diamonds would have got away from the crash landing,” nodded VIN. “The diamonds, and the asteroid were still traveling at about the same speed, and even though there was less gravity after it broke up, I think that every single diamond was drawn back on to the rock before it got anywhere close to the moon’s gravity.”

  “So?” asked Ryan as their food came with a second round of beers. It took both Jonesy and VIN several more minutes to take a guess, going over every bit of information in their heads.

  “Jonesy saw the whole fissure from a better vantage point in the Astermine craft. I would say that from what I personally saw, we didn’t get 10 percent of what was there in total, and there could have been more that wasn’t even uncovered. Jonesy?” All eyes turned to Colonel John Jones, who was still stewing over the question. He was quiet for another minute, and took a long swig of his Budweiser to help his mind come up with an answer.

  “I think VIN is about right. But he couldn’t see what I saw half a mile out in Astermine I. He says 10 percent, I would guess that 5 percent, or even less than 5 percent. How much was 5 percent of DX2014’s diamonds worth?”

  “Close to a trillion dollars,” replied Ryan causing knives and forks to drop onto plates around the table.

  “So much! And I still haven’t received the $200,000 you promised me as annual pay!” Jonesy returned a full minute later, shocked.

  “Remember the diamonds you guys wanted turned into wedding rings?” Ryan replied smiling. “And the diamond I’m still giving the White House? Remember the first diamond from space thing?” Everybody nodded.

  “They will be ready to be picked up in a week; clean, polished and, for you guys, in a white gold setting.”

  “So?” asked Jonesy.

  “Colonel Jones, Ms. Sinclair’s diamond is sixteen carats, originating from a 21-carat rough diamond, flawless, D-color and appraised at $9.8 million.” Jonesy’s mouth hung open. “And your wife will struggle to wear it, it’s so large. Her eyes were far larger than her fingers I believe. Mr. Noble, the same with yours. Your ring is 17.5 carats cut and polished from 23 carats rough, same quality, same color, value $11.6 million.” It was VIN’s turn to look shocked.

  “My God!” exclaimed Igor. “How much is the one worth you are giving to the country?”

  “Polished and cut from a 680 carat diamond, we have a 595 carat diamond, same color, same clarity valued at $1.04 billion. And we still have a dozen or more of those tennis-ball size stones in rough form hidden away.” There was absolute silence at the table, and the waiter thinking something was wrong came over to see what the problem was.

  “I want a cold bottle of the most expensive bottle of champagne you have,” Ryan told him. “My friends are in shock and in need of something to revive them.”

  The waiter left to find out what the hotel had and returned several minutes later.

  “Sir, we have one bottle of Dom Perignon, the oldest vintage champagne, the head of the wine cellar told me to tell you. The oldest bottle we have is a 1982 and costs $12,500.” The waiter looked at Ryan expecting the worst.

  “We’ll take it, and six very clean glasses, please,” said Ryan calmly. The waiter, his face suddenly as pale as Jonesy’s and VIN’s, was already figuring out the tip on this one bottle.

  It took several minutes for the table to get back to normal. The food was semi-forgotten as the champagne arrived, being poured by the manager of the wine cellar himself. Ryan had expected that the manager wanted to see if the bottle was going to be paid for before opening it, and Ryan told him who he was. There was no hesitation after that.

  When the waiter and manager left Ryan raised his glass. “To diamonds, and the financial liberation of the United States of America. I just hope we can find them. And, astronauts, you leave for the moon in two weeks.” The table enjoyed the nectar. It was literally nectar of the gods! “Your mission, should you decide to accept it,” continued Ryan after enjoying the treat, “is to pay off the U.S. debt to the Chinese. We are going to donate all we find up there to the clearance of this debt.” A couple at the table included VIN nodded their acceptance to this mission. Only Jonesy was deep in thought.

  “What do you mean Maggie can’t wear her diamond ring?” Jonesy asked.

  “And Suzi, is it still radioactive?” VIN asked remembering what Ryan had told him.

  “Picture a quarter, a U.S. quarter,” Ryan responded. Since nobody at the table had one cent with them, and Ryan only had a credit card, he asked the waiter to bring over a quarter. It was passed around the table.

  “It’s that big a diamond?” asked Jonesy, placing the quarter on top of his ring finger.

  “That quarter is about the same size as a 12 to 15 carat diamond. Hey! I’m not that much of an expert on diamond sizes either, but your rings are about as big as a Susan B. Anthony dollar coin, not that tiny quarter. Therefore, after the president left yesterday I phoned the cutters in Amsterdam and asked them to set six smaller rings for each of us who were married in America One. They suggested three-carat already polished diamonds from the smaller ones we sent over and I a
greed. It will take a week to set all six into wedding bands. The company has offered to purchase your two larger diamonds at a 40% value, Mr. Jones, Mr. Noble. Better than I ever got, but that decision is up to each of you.

  Both VIN and Jonesy still wanted their over-sized diamonds.

  “I think those other tennis-ball size diamonds we have hidden away will be about the right size to cut into laser lenses,” suggested Igor. Ryan said nothing. He was contemplating the fact that the suggested lenses could cost over a billion apiece, and said nothing.

  “What about the really big diamonds, the ones bigger than those tennis ball ones we brought back?” VIN asked.

  “Actually, to tell you the truth,” Ryan returned. “I’m afraid to offer them to the cutters. I think they will go crazy or something, so I’ve decided to leave them hidden until we return. They could be a retirement fund for all of us when we return and, who knows, inflation might have taken a chunk out of our net worth in a decade or two.”

  Chapter 11

  Amsterdam, Idaho Springs and Space

  Maggie Sinclair wouldn’t travel into space for a few weeks. Saturn Jones needed sustenance, a lot of sustenance, and she elected to stay on Earth for the time being. What she could do was drive to Colorado with her husband and be introduced to her new in-laws. She suggested the idea to Ryan.

  To Jonesy, driving meant the shortest possible distance. Why drive when you could fly? He had little interest in a long car trip. It just so happened that the Gulfstream arrived at the airfield while the astronauts and Ryan were sampling ridiculously priced champagne in Las Vegas the day earlier.

  They were a happy group when they returned to the airfield. Luckily, the friendly cop was not there when the three cars sped past his usual position on the dual carriageway.

  The Gulfstream was in Hangar Three under the Dead Chicken’s wing. Ryan had been told about its arrival when he passed through the gate. If Jonesy wanted to visit his parents, something Ryan thought he needed to do, his ride had arrived.

  Jonesy and Maggie could fly into Denver International, then head over to Amsterdam to pick up the diamonds. Jonesy was ecstatic; his wish had finally been granted. He was going to pilot a Gulfstream V, the same aircraft he had nearly blown out of the sky over the Mediterranean.

  As soon as Jonesy and Maggie heard it was there, Ryan took them for a tour of the aircraft. It was newly detailed with U.S. civilian insignia and even had “Astermine Inc.” in black letters on the tail. Ryan narrated while the two marveled at the luxurious interior. “It has been totally cleaned inside and out. Dried blood, I believe my own, was still on the carpet where I had lain,” he said, taking Jonesy and Maggie through the cabin. “Mortimer certainly knew what he was doing when he kitted her out; a separate bedroom, toilet and shower, an open seating area for six to eight, a front galley, and separate crew seating area with everything a long flight needs. The refrigerator still has a few bottles of champagne in it. I assume that the cleaners didn’t, or weren’t allowed to drink the stuff.”

  Jonesy went through to the cockpit. “Newest Garmin equipment,” he noted. “Pretty neat stuff, but basic compared to the shuttle. Ryan, you have certainly spoiled your pilots. Nothing will ever compare to that last lift off, or every flight into space.”

  “I still think there is romance in long flights,” smiled Maggie. “Ten to twelve hours on autopilot in this thing can lead to interesting developments.” Jonesy and Ryan both looked at her.

  Maggie suggested that they fly into Colorado on their return flight from Amsterdam. The baby would be a few days older, and Maggie would be wearing her new wedding ring…just in case. Denver International was the closest major airport to Idaho Springs, plus Ryan could get a secure government hangar for the visit; they would have over a billion dollars of diamonds aboard.

  Ryan suddenly realized that it was time to pay Jonesy and Maggie; apart from room and board they hadn’t received a penny of what was owed to them. His mother’s old New York bank account had been closed by the last administration, so he had reopened a new account in Astermine’s name at the same New York branch.

  A week after the lunch in Las Vegas Ryan handed Colonel Jones and Colonel Jones a check for $1.4 million each for two years of work, plus the same bonus each of the scientists received. The checks were in sealed envelopes, and he was surprised neither had any immediate interest in opening them to see what their first pay check was. To Jonesy, at least, opening the sealed pay check was less important that getting behind the “wheel” of such a pretty aircraft.

  The aircraft’s new credit card would purchase fuel wherever it went, and could be used for hotel stays, car rentals, or anything else the pilots needed while travelling. Since the flight would be a family affair, the build team constructed a crib worthy of air travel that included its own baby safety net and secured it to the aircraft floor inside the lounge.

  Bob Mathews assisted with pre-flight inspections. Afterwards, the two pilots packed their meager Earth belongings, gathered up their new baby and all the gifts they had received, and Jonesy was prepared to take off—until Maggie reminded him it might be a good idea to call his parents to let them know they were coming.

  “Hi, Mom,” he stated, as the call on Ryan’s new cellphone was answered.

  “John, is that you?” his mother asked.

  “It’s me, Mom,” he replied. He was usually at a loss for words when he spoke to family.

  “Are you coming to visit soon?” she asked.

  “Yes, Mom. Maggie and I have to fly into Amsterdam, Holland first, and then we are flying into Denver and will rent a car to get out to Idaho Springs.”

  “Who is Maggie, John?”

  “My wife, Mom, and we will be bringing Saturn, our daughter.”

  “It sounds like you have a lot to tell us, son. Your Dad says hi. He is fine, just grumpier than ever. We are both fine, just getting old. Your father wants to know what we are supposed to do with this check we received from the air force. The check is made out to Colonel John Jones, and it came with a letter stating that you had been reinstated, and to Full Colonel, and that this is retirement back pay. The signature on the letter is the new president’s, or the old president, we don’t know which anymore.”

  “Just bank it, Mom! Put in in Dad’s account. The money is yours. I don’t need it.”

  “But, John, the amount is over $200,000!” replied his mother.

  “That’s fine. Go on a cruise or something, but wait until we come and visit. See you in a few days.”

  Maggie smiled as Jonesy spoke to his mother as a kid would. It was the first time in her life, he had seen him speak like this. “Will the bank accept the check?” Maggie asked once he had put the phone down.

  “I don’t know, my Dad and I are both Colonel Jones, and I’m sure they don’t check that. They never did when I banked any checks. Let’s get some rest. We have a long day of non-stop flying tomorrow. It’s a long flight into Amsterdam.”

  The Gulfstream, with a crew of two and a fraction and no passengers aboard, sweetly left the airfield just before midday, three hours before Allen and Jamie were due to return. As predicted, the Gulfstream flew like an eagle as Jonesy was cleared to climb to 35,000 feet. Her tanks were full, and it would still take a couple of hours to bleed off fuel weight before he could achieve an altitude far above the average civilian passenger jet, 51,000 feet.

  As they passed over the Rockies, they reached an altitude of 43,000 feet. Two hours later, the Gulfstream achieved maximum altitude of 51,000 feet. They were over northern New York State, merging into the east-bound European civilian aircraft traffic pattern heading up the coastline. Maggie was flying her stint, monitoring their flight, and talking to the various traffic controllers as they flew northeast into Canada and then headed over the North Atlantic. It was already night, and had been for an hour when she needed the bathroom and went back to the lounge area.

  She found her husband sleeping on the main couch and little Saturn curled up in t
he nook of his arm, sleeping on top of her father. What more could an air force pilot want? Her own family Gulfstream jet, and her husband and baby asleep in the inner luxury of the aircraft. As she stood there, she suddenly remembered that feeding time was thirty minutes earlier. The pressurized cabin made Saturn sleep.

  As she headed further down the aircraft to the bathroom Maggie looked into the bedroom. It would stay empty. Mortimer had slept there, and neither of them wanted to use the bed.

  Jonesy brought them into a small commercial airport just outside Amsterdam eight hours later. Five black Mercedes were waiting for them when the aircraft was wheeled into a private hangar and the doors were closed.

  Even though it was early, 7:00 a.m., the visitors were greeted by several employees from the diamond company. Since their air force flight suits were inappropriate for the visit, Jonesy and Maggie wore new civilian clothes purchased in Las Vegas, smart casuals, as they stepped out of the aircraft with baby Saturn.

  After showing official diplomatic papers for all three of them to passport and customs agents, they were introduced to the senior members of the company, and then escorted to one of the new luxury cars. One of the company officials got into the front seat next to a well-dressed chauffeur, and introduced himself as Willem Massink. He was in charge of customer relations for the company and offered his services as their guide, if they would like to see the city.

  Breakfast, with the best coffee Jonesy had ever tasted, was served in the company offices. It was certainly better than what they had in America One, and he asked the company if Astermine could obtain an amount of the coffee packaged by a local company. The employee’s eyebrows rose when Jonesy said that one ton would be a good amount to fit aboard the jet.

  “She can’t take that weight,” Maggie reminded her husband. “We are in a small civilian jet, not the Dead Chicken. Fully fueled, she can only haul 1,800 pounds,” the co-pilot reminded the pilot. “Minus our weight, say 300 pounds, she will be overloaded after 1,500 pounds of cargo.”