Fatal Orbit

by Tom Grace

  “Do you have control of this thing yet?”

  “Yeah,” Rainey replied. “And the first thing I did was purge the targeting memory. Right now, it’s just up there waiting for us to tell it what to do.”

  “What about Skye?” Tao asked. “If she had access to another computer like this one, could she again tell Zeus-2 what to do?”

  Rainey considered the question. “I guess. Right now, the system thinks we’re Skye—she’s the only authorized user. But to do this, she’d need to have access to a satellite uplink like we have on the ship or back in California.”

  “Right now she’s heading God knows where,” Kilkenny said, “but at least that buys us some time.”

  The phone on Skye’s desk purred and Kilkenny punched the conference button. It was Jackson Barnett.

  “Nolan, I just got word from NASA. The ISS came through the last pass unscathed.”

  “And there won’t be another one,” Kilkenny said. “Grin and Rainey have control of the satellite for now. Any idea on what you want to do with this thing?”

  “Off the top of my head, I’d think the U.S. government should take possession. But, diplomatically, that opens a rather large can of worms. It’s one thing to develop a space-based weapon and quite another to actually deploy it.”

  “And if we have one,” Grin offered, “then all the other kids on the block are going to get excited and want one, too.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Then how about if we don’t have one?” Kilkenny suggested. “How about the five of us decide right now to make this weapon go away?”

  “You can’t bring it down,” Rainey protested. “The reactor.”

  “I’m not thinking about bringing it down.”

  As Zeus-2 came around the pole and passed over to the sunlit Pacific, it received a stream of new instructions from Aequatus. It reviewed the transmission and confirmed accurate receipt of the data.

  Then the spacecraft powered up its reactor and activated its main engine. Zeus-2 gradually built up speed, leaving behind a wake of ionized xenon. As it rounded the South Pole, it was traveling over five miles a second. And the engine kept burning, accelerating the spacecraft even faster.

  In its next orbit, as it passed over northern Russia, Zeus-2 was moving fast enough to escape the bonds of Earth’s gravity. It shot off in a straight line over the top of the world, passing out of the planet’s shadow into the bright sunlight, aimed directly at its source.

  CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE

  KIRITIMATI

  When word reached Aequatus of Skye’s detention on Kiritimati, Captain Jin of the Hangzhou offered the use of his ship’s antisubmarine warfare helicopter to transport a member of the American investigative team to the nearby atoll to witness the formal arrest of the prisoner. Kilkenny accepted and was standing near the helipad when the Russian-built Ka-28 thundered over, beating the air with its dual-triple main rotors, and lightly touched down.

  The hour-long flight passed with a minimum of conversation, not that much could be said over the roar of the two TV3-117VK engines aft of the crew cabin. What little Kilkenny did hear was in Chinese, a language with which he had no familiarity.

  Kilkenny attempted to engage the man seated beside him in some form of communication, but through hand gestures he learned that the communications link in the man’s helmet was on the fritz. The man was dressed in a flight suit with an inflatable vest, which covered his chest and prevented Kilkenny from learning his name or rank. Due to the bright sunlight filling the cabin, everyone onboard had the sun visors in their helmets down; so all Kilkenny saw of his fellow passenger was the lower half of the man’s face.

  From above, Kiritimati looked like the letter “Y” with the area between the extended arms dotted with lagoons and a swirl of reefs. Kilkenny wondered what the diving was like here and if he would ever find his way back to this remote speck of land to find out. Employed as a base for nuclear weapons testing in the late fifties and early sixties by Britain and the United States, the world’s largest atoll had suffered no measurable radioactive contamination. Unlike the native population of Bikini Atoll, that of Kiritimati never had to be relocated and currently numbered around five thousand.

  Three jets and a helicopter sat off the side of the runway near a single-story building that Kilkenny assumed was the terminal. From the look of the facilities, he guessed it was the most flight traffic experienced at Cassidy Airport since the days of the H-Bomb tests. The helicopter and one of the jets bore the logo of Skye Aerospace.

  The Ka-28 hovered for a few moments as the pilot received his landing instructions, then at last they touched down. As the rotors slowed, Kilkenny and his fellow passenger unbuckled their harnesses and removed their helmets.

  “Mr. Kilkenny,” the man said, extending his hand. “I am Peng.”

  Kilkenny took Peng’s hand; the grip was firm but not punishing. Peng smiled at him, and Kilkenny remembered.

  “Korolev.”

  “Yes. I broke cover, but it appeared that you and your associate were in need of assistance.”

  “I get the feeling your motives weren’t purely altruistic.”

  Peng’s smile broadened. “Our interests were compatible.”

  “Whatever the reason, I owe you my thanks.”

  “You are welcome. Now, shall we see to our prisoner?”

  As they stepped out of the helicopter, Peng and Kilkenny were met by a tall, heavyset islander with a thick mane of graying black hair, dressed in a colorful print shirt, loose-fitting white cotton pants, and sandals.

  “Welcome to Kiritimati. I’m Eberi Tekinene, the local customs agent.”

  “I hate to say this,” Kilkenny said, “but I don’t have a passport on me.”

  “Me neither,” Peng added.

  Tekinene grinned broadly. “Too bad, not many folks have our stamp. Fortunately for you, I’m not here in my usual capacity. Instead, I am acting as the official representative of the Republic of Kiribati, at least until someone from Tarawa can get here to sort this mess out. You the guys responsible for me having to arrest Miss Skye?”

  “Afraid so,” Kilkenny replied.

  “Aiee, you guys really know how to stir up trouble.”

  “If it makes you feel any better, she started it.”

  Tekinene shrugged. “This way.”

  The islander led them into the terminal, a long, institutional version of a tropical bungalow with a broad overhanging roof. In a large open room set aside for customs inspections, they found two men engaged in a heated discussion. A handcuffed C. J. Skye sat in a chair beside the wall, a bored distant look on her face, as if what was happening around her was of no importance. She looked at Kilkenny and Peng only long enough to determine they were of no interest to her. Near Skye, a pair of equally bored police officers stood chatting with her pilot, with whom they seemed familiar.

  The arguing men stopped as soon as they realized Kilkenny and Peng were in the room. Both men were in their late fifties with spreading midsections and receding hairlines. One of the men was Asian, with the swept-back hair and thick glasses that seemed all the rage with highranking communists in China and North Korea, while the other looked like a cross between Danny Glover and Danny DeVito.

  “Nolan Kilkenny? Bradley Milford,” the Glover-DeVito mix said by way of an introduction. He grabbed Kilkenny’s hand and pumped furiously as if he expected water instead of a greeting. “U.S. Consulate, Tarawa.”

  Next to Kilkenny, Peng was receiving the same sort of greeting from his countryman.

  “Nice to meet you,” Kilkenny said, extracting his hand before carpal tunnel syndrome set in. “Looks like you and your friend were going at it pretty good when we came in.”

  “Indeed. My esteemed colleague, Mr. Pu, and I are at odds over custody of the prisoner.”

  “China has priority,” Pu declared. “Our astronauts were her first victims. She should be tried in a Chinese court first.”

  “Leaving you to interrogate her ab
out this weapon she’s built before you execute her,” Milford countered. “The United States will not stand for that, and I am certain Russia and France will back our claim 100 percent. We’ve got seven dead brave souls—”

  “Six,” Kilkenny offered.

  “What?”

  “Six dead brave souls, if you’re talking about Liberty. And if you two are going to get into a pissing contest,” Kilkenny turned to Peng. “How many of Sanya’s men would you say were lost today?”

  “As many as two hundred.”

  “Body count-wise, China is way ahead,” Kilkenny said.

  “Excellent point,” Pu chimed in.

  “Perhaps,” Peng said, “but China cannot claim any preferential status as her first victims. I believe her crimes go further back.”

  Kilkenny nodded. “Probably Russia. Even though nobody died and Mir was pretty much junk at the time, there is principle involved. National pride and all that.”

  The two diplomats looked at Peng and Kilkenny as if they’d come from a different world.

  “There is no way in heaven or Earth that Skye is going to Russia!” Milford shouted. “The secretary of state is on his way to Tarawa right now to press our claim for extradition.”

  Pu shuddered, his face tinged with purple. “This is outrageous! Our foreign minister will file an immediate protest of this action. We will demand an immediate meeting of the U.N. Security Council. This is a matter of international law.”

  Kilkenny and Peng backed away as the diplomats railed away with such vigor that the likeliest outcome was either a stroke or a full-blown donnybrook. They shared a look of disgust at the men representing their nations.

  “You know, in light of this fine example of diplomacy,” Kilkenny said, “it’s quite possible that Skye will die here in this room of old age.”

  “In this room, perhaps—”

  Peng then unzipped a pocket on the right thigh of his flight suit, pulled out a pistol, and fired four times. C. J. Skye slumped against the back of the chair; two of the bullets stuck her head in profile, the rest landed in her chest. Aside from the fading echo of the last shot, the room was completely silent. Death came quickly to Skye and her body toppled onto the floor.

  “—but not of old age.”

  “Drop it!” the islander policemen shouted in unison, their weapons clumsily drawn.

  Peng flipped the pistol around so that he held it by the barrel, then turned and handed it to Tekinene. “I believe the law of your country requires that all firearms be checked with the customs official upon entry.”

  Tekinene’s jaw dropped open wordlessly as he accepted the pistol. Kilkenny wasn’t sure whether it was the violence of Peng’s act or its decisiveness that shocked the diplomats more. In any event, both men were caught at a loss for words. Even the police officers seemed unsure how to proceed, murder being a crime of extreme rarity on the atoll. Kilkenny then broke the silence.

  “Technically, we haven’t entered the country yet.”

  “How’s that?” Tekinene asked.

  “Don’t you have to pass through customs to officially enter a country?”

  “Yes.”

  “Peng and I haven’t done that. We were on our way there, but we got sidetracked. I think the eight of us can agree that what happened here was an unfortunate accident.”

  “An accident?” Milford shouted, finding his voice again at last. “That man killed her in cold blood.”

  “No, sir,” Kilkenny disagreed. “Peng was in the process of handing his weapon over to the customs official when it accidentally discharged.”

  “But that’s a lie!”

  “More a creative interpretation of the events. But surely, both you and the esteemed Mr. Pu must realize that this unfortunate accident has eliminated the diplomatic impasse and relieved both the United States and China of the expense of a lengthy trial.”

  “He has a point worth considering,” Pu said.

  “I’ll admit, it has merit,” Milford agreed.

  “And how does the fair Republic of Kiribati see it?” Kilkenny asked.

  “I, um,” Tekinene stammered.

  “If it helps at all,” Kilkenny said reassuringly, “she was directly responsible for the deaths of over two hundred people. And if your country is like mine, there’s more paperwork for a murder than an accident.”

  “The United States government will support a finding of accidental death in this case,” Milford offered.

  “China as well,” Pu added.

  Tekinene nodded. “Who gets the body?”

  “We’ll let the diplomats work that out,” Kilkenny replied as he headed toward the door. “Peng, I think that’s our cue to go.”

  CHAPTER SIXTY-SIX

  USS VIRGINIA

  AUGUST 30

  Kilkenny stood in the conning tower with Commander Johnston. The sea around Virginia extended to the horizon in a flat, glassy sheet—calm and quiet. Two ships lay off the submarine’s starboard side—the U.S. Navy rescue-salvage ship Safeguard and the Chinese destroyer Hangzhou.

  On Safeguard’s forward deck, navy specialists were performing postdive maintenance on a Deep Drone 7200 ROV that hours earlier had been working on the ocean floor. Following the recovery of the robotic submersible, Kilkenny’s attention had remained focused on the cable slowly being reeled in by Safeguard’s aft boom.

  “So all this trouble was for a bigger piece of the commercial satellite business?” Johnston asked.

  “You’re talking about a 600-billion-dollar industry, Cap’n. Percentages add up to big money real quick. And Skye had a very good shot at pulling it off, too.”

  “She got what she deserved.”

  Dozens of sailors lined the deck of the Hangzhou, watching the activity aboard Safeguard. Kilkenny studied the sailors through a pair of binoculars, then trained them on the water aft of the rescue-salvage ship.

  “Looks like they’re getting close to the surface.”

  The taut cable emerging from the sea gave way to a circular harness from which hung a trio of thick yellow straps. The boom operator stopped the winch so divers stationed in the water could attach guidelines to the harness. With the lines in place on the harness and manned on the ship’s aft deck, the last phase of the recovery operation commenced.

  Just a few feet below the water’s sunlit surface, an indistinct sphere of blackness buoyed in the water by four large yellow lift balloons. Then, slowly, Shenzhou-7 emerged. Divers removed the lift bags and readied the capsule to be pulled from the water.

  Safeguard held her catch high, seawater raining from its scorched surface. There was no cheering. Everyone observing knew that the artifact raised from the ocean floor was a coffin bearing the bodies of three fallen heroes.

  Hangzhou drew alongside Safeguard and with the utmost dignity received a solemn gift from the people of the United States. When the transfer was complete and the capsule secured, the destroyer pulled away. It made a slow circle around the two American naval vessels, and as it drew close to Virginia, it slowed. Then, as one, the officers and men on deck of the Hangzhou snapped to attention and saluted. Johnston and Kilkenny returned the gesture, and the destroyer turned west toward home.

  “Wonder if they’re the least bit curious about how we found that capsule,” Johnston mused.

  “After three months of searching, I don’t think they really care,” Kilkenny replied. “In the aftermath of all this, helping them bring their men home was the decent thing to do, and I don’t think they’ll forget it.”

  “I guess it’s time we head back to the barn ourselves,” Johnston said. “I still owe my crew some deferred shore leave.”

  “And I have to get back to work.”

  “Cap’n,” the XO called out over the intercom, “we’re getting a real-time feed in off the bird. It’s personal for Mr. Kilkenny.”

  “Pipe it through to my cabin,” Johnston replied.

  Below decks, Kilkenny parted company with Johnston, who went to the control room to ge
t the voyage back to Pearl Harbor under way.

  The flat screen monitor mounted to the bulkhead glowed light blue when Kilkenny entered the captain’s cabin. Then a voice boomed out from a small speaker.

  “Secure air-to-ground loop in five … four … three … two … one.”

  Kelsey appeared floating in the center of the screen, her long blond hair a swirling golden halo around her head.

  “You’re a heavenly sight,” Nolan said, grinning like a teenager.

  “Why thank you, though I can’t say the same.”

  “It’s been a rough couple of weeks.”

  “I know. And I have a few new gray hairs because of it,” Kelsey admitted, “but nothing my stylist can’t handle when I get home.”

  “How are things up there?”

  “We’re getting back to normal and looking forward to the next shuttle coming up. We’re not worried, but we all feel a little uneasy about not having a lifeboat.”

  “I heard about the array. Gutsy thinking. Too bad it kind of screwed up your trip.”

  “Yeah, but they’re finding other things to keep me occupied. Molly has me handling all the elementary school hookups—you know, where we show young students all the cool stuff we can do in microgravity.”

  “Bet your ratings are through the roof. You’re great with kids.”

  Kelsey lowered her eyes and smiled.

  “And when you do get home,” Nolan added, “maybe we can finally find out just how great.”

  “Nolan, we’re going to find out sooner than you think.”

  KEEP READING FOR AN EXCITING PREVIEW OF

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  OCTOBER 2017

  CHAPTER ONE

  NEW YORK CITY

  SATURDAY, DECEMBER 6, 11:25 P.M.

  DIE BABY KILLERS

  The graffiti was crude and unimaginative. The words were scrawled across a ten-foot section of the corridor wall in tall letters the color of blood. Drips ran down from the thick spots where the vandal activist started and stopped his strokes. The scent of aerosolized acrylic lingered in the air.