“At our flight-testing range at Groome Lake, sixty miles northeast of Las Vegas.”
“What are we talking about exactly?” the president asked.
Dodge produced a videocassette from his briefcase. “It's best you all see for yourselves.”
He inserted the tape into the VCR below the high-definition television monitor and pressed the play button. After a flurry of snow, an image of the desert came into sharp focus.
“Doesn't look like much of anything,” the national security adviser commented.
“Intentionally so,” Dodge replied. “We borrowed the idea from the Israelis. Given its terrain, Israel has few places to hide its strike aircraft. So they built a series of underground bunkers, with runways that don't look like runways ? and have a unique feature.”
On the screen, what appeared to be desert floor began to tilt down at a gradually increasing angle. Dodge froze the frame.
“This is where the runway appears to end. But underneath is a system of hydraulic jacks. The runway actually extends for another six hundred yards as it slopes into an underground bunker.”
The camera followed the dip in the runway. On either side, a string of lights came on. As the camera descended the ramp, a huge, concrete-lined bunker appeared out of the gloom.
“This is the containment chamber,” Dodge explained. 'The walls are reinforced concrete, six feet thick. The air circulation is HEPA filtered, just like at the CDC hot zone labs.
“Once the shuttle is inside, the facility is sealed. A special team would be waiting for Dr. Reed when he comes out and would take him into a decontamination chamber. Another team takes samples from inside the craft to determine what, if anything, is in there.”
“And if they find something?” the secretary of state asked. “Something we may not want to keep around?”
“Then after the team has been extracted, this happens.”
On the screen, the image burst into flames.
“What we create is the equivalent to not one but three air-burst fuel bombs. The fire and the heat incinerate everything ? and I do mean everything.”
His presentation complete, Dodge removed the video.
“Questions, observations?” the president asked.
“Has this facility been tested, Bill?” Marti Nesbitt asked.
“We've never destroyed a shuttle, if that's what you mean. But the army has burned tanks to a crisp. The air force, entire Titan booster rockets. I can assure you, nothing survives in there.”
“I, for one, like the idea,” Gerald Simon spoke up. “Equally important as getting Dr. Reed back is finding out what went wrong up there. If we have a chance of getting that information and we can destroy the craft if need be, then I'm prepared to change my vote.”
There were nods and murmurs of assent around the room.
“I need a few minutes to consider this,” the president said, getting to his feet. “I'm going to ask all of you to remain here. I won't be long.”
In the next room, the president faced Smith and Klein. Pointing at the closed-circuit monitor, he said, “You saw and heard it all. What's your take?”
“Isn't it an interesting coincidence that there's a facility out at Groome Lake that's not only tailor-made for the current situation, but that no one's ever heard about, sir?” Klein said.
The president shook his head. “I never suspected that such a place existed. Dodge must have found some money in the `black' budget, where he doesn't have to worry about congressional oversight ? or anyone else's.”
“This place was built and designed for one purpose, Mr. President: to house the shuttle, remove the sample, and destroy the orbiter,” Smith said.
“I agree,” Klein added. “Bauer's operation has been moving ahead for years, Mr. President. Richardson would have needed at least that much time to create this facility. And Bauer wouldn't have gone into this project unless he had an accomplice he could trust absolutely. General Richardson's position on the chemical-biological treaty that you signed is a matter of public record. He fought you every step of the way.”
“And ultimately crossed the line between patriotism and treason,” Castilla said. He looked at the two men. “I've heard your plan. But I have to ask you again: do you recommend we let this thing land?”
Three faces looked up expectantly as the president returned to the Oval Office.
“Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for your patience,” the president opened. “After careful consideration I've decided that the shuttle should be allowed to land at Groome Lake.”
There were assenting nods all around.
“Bill, I will expect to see complete details on this facility and the plans to deal with the orbiter and its contents.”
“You'll have them within the hour, sir,” the CIA director replied smartly. “I'd also like to remind everyone that Dr. Reed has specifically requested that Dr. Karl Bauer be present at the landing facility. I believe that to be a sound suggestion. Dr. Bauer is a world authority on chemical-biological incidents. In the past, he has worked closely with the Pentagon ? including the Groome Lake project ? and maintains a top-secret clearance. He would be invaluable as an observer and adviser.”
There were murmurs of agreement around the table.
“Then we're adjourned,” the president said. “Air Force One leaves for Nevada in two hours.”
CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT
After sending Dylan Reed orders to change the schedule, Dr. Karl Bauer had immediately boarded his jet and winged east to his company's sprawling complex near the Jet Propulsion Laboratory in Pasadena, California.
Knowing that the shuttle could land only at the Groome Lake flight-test facility, Bauer had been careful to make his presence in California seem like a coincidence. The flight plan from Hawaii had been filed three days earlier; the staff in Pasadena had been told to expect him.
It was in his office, the windows overlooking the distant San Gabriel Mountains, that Bauer received his first call from Harry Landon. He professed total shock, then deep concern, when the mission director explained the nature of the emergency that had overtaken Discovery. He couldn't help but smile when Landon told him that Reed had specifically asked for him to be present at Groome Lake. Bauer replied that, of course, he would make himself available. He suggested that Landon contact General Richardson to confirm authorization for his presence.
Then the flight director, his voice breaking, told Bauer that Richardson and Price had been killed when the car they were in spun out of control. Bauer's shock was genuine. Thanking Landon, he immediately got on cnn.com and devoured the details. From all counts, Richardson and Price's deaths were just that ? an accident.
Which means that there are two less witnesses. Good.
As far as Bauer was concerned, both men had served their purpose. They had been especially helpful in removing that meddlesome Smith. What remained to be done Bauer could accomplish by himself.
Although he was far away from his principal facility in Hawaii, Bauer still had the resources to listen in on the NASA-Discovery transmissions. Built into his desk was a small but powerful communications console that was hooked up to his laptop computer. The screen displayed the shuttle's current range and trajectory; over the headset, Bauer heard real-time exchanges between Discovery and mission control. NASA was following the exact game plan he'd predicted. Checking the time, he thought that, barring complications, the orbiter would reenter the earth's atmosphere in a little over four hours from now.
Bauer slipped off the headset, closed the laptop, and shut down the console. In a few hours, he would be in possession of a brand-new life form, an entity he had created and which, if ever released, would be the most fearful scourge ever to stalk the earth. The thought left him giddy. That no one ? at least for a very long time ? would associate him with the new virus was a matter of indifference. Bauer's mindset was that of an art collector who bought a masterpiece only to hide it away from the world. The joy, the thrill, the intoxication flowed not from the
