work's monetary value but from the fact that it was unique and that it was his. Like the collector, Bauer would be the only one who would gaze upon the new variola, test it, probe its secrets. And he already had a home for it in a special containment section of the laboratory on the Big Island.
Six hundred miles west of the Mississippi, Air Force One continued to wing its way west.
The president and the working group from the Oval Office were in the upper-deck conference room going over the latest reports from mission control. As of the hour, Discovery was approaching the window through which it would reenter the earth's atmosphere. According to Harry Landon, all systems onboard the orbiter were green. Although Dylan Reed remained in the pilot's chair on the flight deck, the computers at mission control had taken command of Discovery.
Floating through the invisible speakers, Landon's voice filled the room. “Mr. President?”
“We're all here, Dr. Landon,” Castilla said into the speakerphone.
“We're ready top move through the window, sir. At this point I need to inform the range safety officer whether or not to open up the channel to the autodestruct package or to stand down.”
The president glanced around the room. “What are the implications if you open the channel?”
“That would allow for possible… malfunctions, Mr. President. But if the channel remains closed, there is no chance that the package can be activated.”.
“I'll see to it right now, Mr. Landon. You'll have the necessary authorization in a moment.”
Castilla left the conference room, passed through the Secret Service cabin, and entered the true heart of Air Force One ? its communications chamber. In an area the size of a galley kitchen, eight specialists monitored consoles and tended equipment that was light-years ahead of anything the public could imagine. Shielded from electromagnetic pulses, the machines could send and receive digitally encrypted messages to and from any U.S. facility, military or civilian, anywhere in the world.
One of the three techs on duty looked up. “Mr. President?”
“I need to send a message,” Castilla said quietly.
Edwards Air Force Base lay seventy-five miles northeast of Los Angeles, on the fringe of the Mojave Desert. In addition to housing first-strike bombers and fighter aircraft, and serving as the usual landing zone for the shuttle, the base had another, much less public function: it was one of the nation's six staging areas for RAID teams that would be activated in the event of a chemical-biological incident.
Virtually unknown to the public, the Rapid Attack and Incursion Detail was similar to NEST, the body of specialists who hunted lost or stolen nuclear weapons. The contingent was housed in a squat, bunkerlike building in the western section of the airfield. In a nearby hangar were a C-130 and three Commanche helicopters that would ferry the team to the emergency site.
The Ready Room was a cinderblock-lined area the size of a basketball court. Along one wall were twelve cubicles, separated by curtains. In each was a Level Four biohazard suit, complete with a rebreather, a weapon, and ammunition. The eleven men who made up this incursion team were quietly checking their armaments. Like SWAT teams, they carried an array of weapons, ranging from assault rifles to shotguns to various sidearms. The only difference between them and SWAT was the lack of snipers. RAID's business was close-in work; responsibility for securing the perimeter with the long guns belonged either to the army or to a federal SWAT unit.
The twelfth man, Commander Jack Riley, was in his makeshift office at one end of the room. He looked over the shoulder of his commo officer, seated in front of a portable communications unit, then back at Smith.
“The shuttle's almost down, Jon,” he said. “We're starting to cut it kind of close.”
Smith nodded at the tall, rangy man with whom he had trained at USAMRIID and later served with in Desert Storm. “I know.”
Smith had been watching the clock too. He and Klein had left Washington for Groome Lake two hours before the president and the others had boarded Air Force One. Klein would go directly to the test site while Smith would hook up with RAID. En route to Edwards, the chief executive had spoken with Riley, apprising him of an emergency situation onboard the shuttle, but leaving out the details. He also told him that Jon Smith was on his way and that Riley and his team would take their orders from him.
“What about the Commanches?” Smith asked.
“The pilots are sitting in the cockpits,” Riley replied. “All they need are two minutes' notice.”
“Sir, we have incoming from Air Force One,” the commo officer said.
Riley picked up the phone, identified himself, and listened closely. “Understood, sir. Yes, he's right here.” He passed the phone to Smith.
“Yes?” Smith said.
“Jon, this is the president. We're about sixty minutes out from Groome Lake. What's the situation on your end?”
“Prepped and ready, sir. All we need are the plans for the chamber.”
“They're coming through right now. Call me when you and Riley have gone over them.”
By the time Smith hung up, the commo officer had the incoming faxes laid out on a worktable.
“Looks like an industrial incinerator,” Riley murmured.
Smith agreed. The blueprints showed a rectangular area one hundred forty feet long, forty feet wide, and sixty feet high. All four walls were constructed of specially reinforced concrete. A part of the ceiling was actually a ramp that would close and seal when the shuttle was inside. At first glance, it might have looked like a parking or storage area. But on closer examination, Smith saw what Riley had alluded to ? the walls were studded with pipes that, according to the blueprints, were connected to gas lines. Smith could only imagine the kind of inferno they would create when lighted.
“We're taking it as an article of faith that the shuttle is clean on the outside, right?” Riley said. “Nothing could have gotten out?”
Smith shook his head. “Even if it could, the heat from reentry would scour the orbiter's skin clean. No, it's the interior that's the hot zone.”
“Our kind of playground,” Riley said.
“Yeah, except this time we might have to take it away from somebody else,” Smith said.
Riley pulled him aside. “Jon, this operation hasn't been going exactly by the numbers. First the president calls and tells me to break out the team. All he says is that we're going to some place in Nevada. That turns out to be some spook base at Groome Lake where the shuttle's going to make an emergency landing because it encountered a biochem hazard. Now it looks like you intend to incinerate the damn thing.”
Smith walked Riley out of earshot of the rest of the team. A moment later, one of the RAID members nudged his buddy.
“Look at Riley. He looks like he's about to toss his cookies.”
In fact, Jack Riley was wishing that he'd never asked Smith what was onboard the orbiter.
Megan Olson accepted the fact that she had run out of options. The nest of wires had defeated her. None of the combinations she'd tried worked. The air-lock door remained frozen.
Standing back from the door, Megan listened to the chatter between Reed and mission control. The shuttle was only minutes from entering the atmospheric window through which it would return to earth. She had exactly that long to decide.
Megan forced herself to look at the explosive bolts set in each corner of the door. During her training, her instructors had pointed them out to her, saying that they were really a redundancy. The shuttle crew was never meant to use them. They were there in case a NASA ground team had to enter the shuttle during an emergency evacuation after the orbiter had landed.
After it lands, the instructors had emphasized. And only if entry through the main hatches was, for one reason or another, impossible. They had cautioned her that the bolts were on a timer that would give the ground team enough time to take cover.
“These things create a controlled explosion,” she recalled the instructors saying. “You don't want to be within fifty feet when they blow. ”
Megan estimated that at best she was fourteen, maybe fifteen feet from the air-lock door.
If you're going to do it, do it now!
