Ignition. Part 3

She lifted the tube to her mouth, then blew a sharp puff. Amos instinctively flinched as a bright red dart shot toward him. He stumbled backward, but the dart struck him in the chest. He felt a p.r.i.c.k through the thick sweater.

"Ow!" He slapped the red ta.s.sel-tailed dart off him. The point where the needle struck him burned.

"What's the big idea?"

His vision became blurry. Everything smeared with fog . . . losing focus, and he knew he had been drugged. / always hated shots, he thought. Then his knees melted and flowed like water beneath him. He slumped to the concrete floor of the blockhouse.

Yvette watched as Cecelia Hawkins knelt beside her nerdy co-worker, glaring at her. "Why did you do that?" The fat b.i.t.c.h held the geek's hand with her pudgy fingers, then stroked his cheek. He breathed deeply like a kid asleep with a teddy bear. She carefully removed his round gla.s.ses, then stood uncertainly, indignantly. "He wouldn't have caused any trouble!"

"Just couldn't take that risk," Rusty said.

Yvette slipped the blowgun back onto the tray. Humor the b.i.t.c.h for another minute. That's all we need. "Are all the sensors functioning properly?" she asked, not bothering to hide her accent anymore.When Cecelia hesitated, Yvette snapped, "I asked you a question!"

"Uh, yes, they've been double-checked for the launch." Cecelia said, looking nervously down at Amos.

Ignoring her, Rusty stepped up to the control panel and scanned the readouts, knocking Amos's clipboard aside. He selected one of the videotapes they had brought with them. "This is a good loop," he said. "Right weather conditions, right time of day-the sun will be up in minutes."

Yvette leaned over the controls, looming over Cecelia, who seemed to grow more uncomfortable with each pa.s.sing second. "Explain how these systems work."

"It's-uh-it's all quite simple," Cecelia stammered. "H-how much do you need to know?"

"Everything."

Cecelia looked longingly down at the geek's sleeping form, then shuffled in front of the console.

Carefully, but quickly, she led them through the routines, growing more terrified by the minute. Her skin had a moist, grayish appearance. "Look, maybe I'd better help Amos."

Rusty interrupted and pointed to a small color screen, ignoring the plump woman entirely. "It's all pretty standard-everything's relayed through here. These banks monitor the motion and sonic sensors, these ones do the video cameras. They've even got separate banks for the LCC and other stations."

Cecelia forced a nervous laugh. "Yes, they tell us that a chimpanzee could probably do it."

Rusty snorted again. Yvette considered it only one of the many unpleasant sounds he often made.

She picked up the silvery blowgun and fitted another dart into its end. "I'm afraid we'll need a bit more privacy, Mademoiselle. My apologies."

Before Cecelia could move, Yvette touched the blowgun to her lips and with a quick burst of breath, sent a stinging red needle into the soft flesh of Cecelia's arm.

"What did you do that for?" Cecelia swatted the dart. "I cooperated-"

Yvette turned away, disgusted at the b.i.t.c.h's weakness. She gathered her material as she heard Cecelia take a few stutter steps. "My, G.o.d. I can't breathe-"

Yvette didn't turn as she heard Cecelia crash to the floor.

Less than five minutes later, Rusty turned from the control systems. "The loop tape's in place. Motion detectors disabled, sonic sensors off, IR feeds scrambled. We're ready to rock, if Jacques is finished with his part on the gantry."

"Don't worry. By now he has the explosives armed," said Yvette with an edge to her voice. Rusty should have known better than to question Jacques's dependability.

Yvette stood up from the frame of the blockhouse's blast door that led outside, adjusting the wires she had installed. She placed the delicate contact sensors on the hinges and the open gap of the door. "If anybody tries to enter without disabling these sensors, they'll find an unpleasant surprise."

Rusty indicated the motionless forms of Amos and Cecelia on the floor. "Think I should put a bullet through these two in case they wake up from their nap too soon?" He started to pull out a pistol from his jumpsuit.

Yvette raised her white eyebrows, annoyed at him for questioning her actions now. Rusty forgot who was in charge. "Each of those darts contained enough tranquilizer to knock out an elephant. Quite a fatal overdose for humans. See for yourself-the b.i.t.c.h is dead. They will sleep until h.e.l.l snows over."

"Until h.e.l.l freezes over," Rusty corrected.

She said softly, her words like weapons, "Is there a difference?"

Rusty saw the pure edge in her gaze. "Definitely not," he said, returning his pistol to his jumpsuit.

"Let us go." She glanced at her watch. "Monsieur Phillips is waiting."

They left the blockhouse as Yvette clipped arming sensors to the wired explosives. Pulling the blast door shut, they engaged the b.o.o.by trap.

A white OFFICIAL USE ONLY sedan drove up with a front-seat pa.s.senger already inside. Yvette and her partner climbed into the back, slamming the doors behind them.

The car roared off to the next stop.

5

LAUNCH CONTROL CENTER.

STORMING TO THE EXIT of the firing floor on level 3, Nicole Hunter slid her badge through the reader and gained access to the LCC's outer corridor. She ran up to the mezzanine observation deck and burst in on where Senator Boorman continued to speak to his cadre of reporters.

His aides and several other VIP attendees watched their boss's soapboxing with varying expressions.

One aide had brought a copy of the Wall Street Journal and casually skimmed the listing of stock prices.

"Excuse me, Senator," Nicole said breathlessly, trying to keep a sweet sound in her voice. "Could I have a word with you in private?"

Boorman looked shocked, but he quickly composed himself. He followed Nicole, smiling pleasantly back at the reporters. "Certainly, Ms. Hunter. Yes, indeed."

Holding his elbow, she eased him away from the reporters. When they were alone out in the hall, she said in an exaggeratedly relieved tone, "I hope I caught you in time to save you from potential embarra.s.sment. About these investigations-"

He held up one of his big hands, cutting her off. "I know what you're going to say, Ms. Hunter. But as a United States senator I have every right to look into the spending records of the s.p.a.ce program, including its personnel. Even astronauts must be held accountable-if I find any misbehavior."

"I quite agree, Senator," Nicole said, fighting to keep her tone neutral. In her earlier days with the astronaut corps, she would have just knocked him to the floor with a punch in the gut-but here she had to calm herself, use her wits. Negotiate. "Nevertheless, I believe you were about to gravely misspeak yourself in front of those reporters. You should reprimand your staff for providing you with faulty information." She nodded at the senator's aides, who plainly couldn't hear her.

Boorman's look hardened. "Faulty information? What are you talking about? My staff isn't known to make mistakes."

"They should have told you that the tax and financial records of these crewmembers have already been investigated and cleared. Any questions raised were dealt with in follow-up interviews. NASA certainly doesn't want any embarra.s.sing financial misdeeds either, Senator."

"I wasn't aware of any such prior investigation."

"It's part of their security clearances and fitness-for-duty reviews. Full doc.u.mentation is easily available from the NASA press office. Any redundant investigation-especially one without prior evidence of wrongdoing on the astronauts' part-would merely waste the taxpayers' money, at best . . . or look like a vindictive witch hunt, at worst." She blinked at him calmly, helpfully.

Feigning an interruption, Nicole s.n.a.t.c.hed the pager at her waist and looked at it with a furrowed brow, though she had not felt it vibrate. It provided a good pretext to escape from the VIP area, now that she had said her piece. "If you'll excuse me, Senator, launch day is very busy for all of us. Thank you for your time.

If there's anything else I can do to help, please feel free to let me know."

She walked back into the VIP observation area, toward one of the phones, covering a half-restrained sigh. All this politicking gave her a different kind of thrill than the astronaut training procedures, flying aircraft, pus.h.i.+ng her reflexes to the red edges. More of an intellectual rush. Here, acting as Launch Director, Nicole had to fight with dialogue instead of controls, using people instead of subsystems to accomplish what she needed done.

Out of the astronaut corps for only eight months, Nicole Hunter had become NASA's new golden girl.

After winning her MBA, she had been hustled into important positions, receiving the "Sally Ride," as one of her colleagues said. Nicole already knew the procedures, knew the stations, knew the personnel, and knew the astronauts themselves. After working back at Houston for three launches as CAPCOM, she now faced the morning as Launch Director for Atlantis.

The sour smell of coffee simmering too long on the burner caught her attention, and she gestured to one of the KSC runners. "Make a new pot, would you? When it's done, see that I get a cup. Two sugars, no cream. I've been up since one A.M. and I need all the caffeine I can get." The runner nodded eagerly and disappeared.

A large man heaved himself out of his chair and came over to her as Boorman huddled with his aides, seemingly chewing them out. Florid-faced and with nondistinctive brown hair cropped into a crew cut, Amba.s.sador Andrei Trovkin, the cosmonaut liaison from Russia, waved a wide hand to catch her attention.

Blinking his dark eyes behind black-rimmed government-issue gla.s.ses, Amba.s.sador Trovkin lowered his voice into a comical stage whisper. "Bravo, Miss Hunter! Even in Russia we have foolish politicians. I am sure you 'let him have it,' as you say."Nicole stood straight and touched her short golden-brown hair, smoothing it in place just behind her ears.

"Why, I never meant to imply the senator was foolish, Amba.s.sador Trovkin. He's chairman of the Senate Foreign Relations Committee, a very important man. It's up to him to decide on the new treaty for future cooperation in U.S.-Russian s.p.a.ce missions."

"He seems to be 'tough customer.' Not friend to s.p.a.ce programs of my country or yours."

Nicole looked at him seriously. "Senator Boorman is a powerful man, but he has never been a particular threat to us before. Depending on how he votes, he could be a threat. That's why we have to be nice." Her lips curved in a broad, sweet smile that almost looked sincere.

"He needs to be convinced this treaty is best for both of our countries," Trovkin said.

The KSC aide came up to her with a plastic foam cup of coffee. "Here, Ms. Hunter," he said. "Found a fresh pot down on the firing floor."

She took a sniff, thanked him, then sipped the hot liquid. Nothing worked better than coffee to wash away headaches, and this morning she had already encountered plenty. She drew a deep breath, then turned back to Trovkin, who grinned broadly at the NASA Select television monitor, showing a gap between his front teeth.

Garbed in their orange pressure suits and carrying their helmets, the Atlantis astronauts filed aboard the camper-van that would take them out to the launchpad.

Traffic inside the Kennedy s.p.a.ce Center had been cleared along the Crew Transfer Vehicle's path.

Imagine the embarra.s.sment of delaying a countdown because the astronauts got caught in a traffic jam on their way to the gantry-and with all the spectators hanging around for every launch, a traffic jam wasn't such a ridiculous possibility.

The Belorussian cosmonaut, Alexandra Koslovsky, stepped up to the camper-van and glanced directly into the camera. Her strawberry blond hair hung behind her in a neat braid. She wore sungla.s.ses, which she would no doubt leave in the van before the team climbed out onto the gantry elevator that would take them up to the shuttle's crew access hatch.

"Ah, look at her," Trovkin said, his dark eyes fixed on the image, the lenses of his gla.s.ses glinting in the fluorescent lights. "See the sinuous way she moves? The strength of her character? She is magnificent!"

Nicole glanced at the amba.s.sador. "Yes, she is beautiful."

"That much is obvious, my friend," Trovkin said, his eyes sparkling. "Wait until she walks in s.p.a.ce. Then you will see true grace."

Nicole had heard rumors of the two of them; Trovkin and Koslovsky didn't keep their relations.h.i.+p terribly secret. The pair had much in common. Trovkin himself had gone through cosmonaut training but had been forced to step out of the program due to a heart murmur. He seemed not to resent the fact that Alexandra would s.p.a.cewalk from the American shuttle. Instead, he seemed enthusiastic about the opportunity she had.

When the astronauts had boarded the van and the news cameras backed off to watch the CTV lumber into motion, Trovkin finally managed to tear his attention away. Nicole studied the man, broad shouldered, square jawed. A stereotypical hero type, she thought.

"So, Launch Director Hunter," Trovkin said, "has your friend Colonel Friese come to observe launch?

This was to have been his mission."

"I'm afraid not, Amba.s.sador Trovkin," she said simply.

"A pity," he said. "I had looked forward to meeting famous 'Ice-berg.' "

"Yeah, well," Nicole said, looking away and fumbling for some excuse. "I think he had other training to do. With his qualifications, he's naturally expected to be a.s.signed to a different crew and-"

Trovkin chuckled. "Of course I understand. I would never have wanted to be on display, poignant reminder of how fragile we all are, hobbling about with foot in cast. He is more Russian than American- unflappable."

"Oh, is that what he is?" Nicole said, raising her eyebrows. "I suppose unflappable is as good a word as any . . . but I must get back to my duties, Amba.s.sador. Please enjoy the launch."

"I intend to, my friend."

Carrying her coffee carefully to keep from slos.h.i.+ng on her white silk blouse, Nicole started to leave the VIP observation deck, when the reporter from channel 7 caught her arm. "Could I get a statement, Ms.

Hunter?"

"Sure."

As she waited for the cameras to come on, she understood fully why Iceberg didn't want to be here for the launch, for all the reasons Gator Green and Andrei Trovkin had stated-but also the big show-off probably felt intimidated to be with his old flame in a place where she was clearly in command. Though they had their differences, they'd also had marvelously strong ties to each other, and now Nicole felt true disappointment for him. Iceberg had lost his chance to command the mission because of his crazy stunt for the cameras.

Supposedly in quarantine, taking care of himself, making sure he didn't get exposed to any cold virus-Iceberg had been jogging along the beach to the hoots and catcalls of reporters from a local television station. Iceberg had then proceeded to do the quick, resilient backflip that had become his trademark performance. Iceberg had competed as an all-American gymnast in college; he had done the trick hundreds of times- but here, in front of the cameras, his own d.a.m.ned s...o...b..ating had done him in.

He had landed wrong and broken his left foot.

And now, on launch day, replacement commander Dr. Marc Franklin sat in the Atlantic's left-hand command seat.

Nicole didn't dare express how sorry she was. Iceberg's ego was already as big as a refrigerator, and it might serve him good to be taken down a notch. If Iceberg couldn't sit at the head of the table, he didn't want to come to breakfast. That was just his character.

But today, while he could sleep in and ignore the countdown chaos, Nicole had a thousand important duties to attend to. As the light above the TV camera winked red, the phones in the main firing floor continued ringing. The numbers on the countdown clock decreased steadily.

Step by step, the shuttle prepared for launch.

6.

TWO MILES FROM.

LAUNCHPAD 39A.

E AND E: ESCAPE and Evasion. At daybreak. Iceberg used the techniques he had learned at the Air Force Academy nearly twenty years ago. Enjoying the challenge, he worked his way from Salvatore's guard shack deeper into the restricted area, to where he could watch the launch undetected.

He crouched low and avoided the open paths, keeping an eye out for the multiple motion, sonic, and video sensors hidden in the underbrush.