From her training and her rides onboard the Vomit Comet, Megan knew that the descent through the earth's atmosphere would be even more jarring than the liftoff. She recalled Carter saying that it was like riding a Brahman bull at a rodeo. Everything and everyone had to be strapped down securely. If she remained in the air lock, she would be hurled against the walls until she was unconscious ? or worse. Her EMU would undoubtedly tear, so even if she survived reentry, what Reed had loosed in the ship would eat her up. But there were alternatives. She had to give herself a chance to get to the Spacelab, find Reed's monstrosity, and destroy it before the shuttle was too close to the earth.
Megan felt a calm descend over her, even though her heart was pounding like a jackhammer. She fixed her attention on the hexagonal bolts, painted red with a yellow dot in the center. Pushing off the wall, she floated across the floor. When she reached the bottom right bolt, she pressed the yellow dot. A tiny control panel slid forward. The LCD blinked at her: ARM/DISARM. Carefully, because the EMU suit glove made her fingers clumsy, she pressed ARM.
Shit!
The timer immediately set itself for sixty seconds, a shorter time span than Megan had anticipated. She slithered to the next bolt and quickly set it. Pushing off the floor, she anchored herself and activated the top two bolts. When she was finished, she had twenty seconds left.
She took two steps, and then floated as far away from the door as was possible. Even though she had pulled down her visor, she could still see the four pulsing lights in the center of the bolts. She knew she should have her back to the air lock, or at least stand sideways, so that the explosions wouldn't catch her in the face. But as the seconds counted down, all she could do was stare at the winking lights.
Two levels above, on the flight deck, Dylan Reed was getting the final signals from Harry Landon at mission control.
“You're right on target,” Landon said. “Reentry looks good.”
“I can't see the counter,” Reed said. “How much time to commo blackout?”
“Fifteen seconds.”
A communications blackout was a natural occurrence during reentry. The interruption lasted about three minutes and was still, even after all the manned flights, the most nerve-racking interval of the entire mission.
“Are you strapped in, Dylan?” Landon asked.
“As much as I can be. This suit's a little bulky.”
“Just hang on and we'll try to make the ride as smooth and fast as possible.” Landon paused. “Ten seconds… Good luck, Dylan. Talk to you on the other side. Seven, six, five…”
Reed settled back and closed his eyes. He thought that immediately after reentry and reestablishing contact with Landon, he'd have to go back to the Spacelab and ?
The shuttle bucked, the force almost tearing Reed out of his restraints.
“What the hell! Harry!”
“Dylan, what's wrong?”
“Harry, there's been?”
Reed's voice was cut off abruptly. Nothing except faint static filled the speakers at mission control. Landon whirled around to the tech next to him. “Play back the tape!”
“What the hell! Harry!”
“Dylan, what's wrong?”
“Harry, there's been?”
“An explosion!” Landon whispered.
The working group was still in Air Force One's conference room with the president when the commo officer rushed in. Scanning the message, Castilla's face turned white.
“You're sure?” he demanded, staring at the officer.
“Landon's positive, sir.”
“Patch me through to him. Now!”
He looked around the table. “Something blew on the shuttle.”
The bolts rocketed in Megan's direction, slamming and digging into the walls of the air lock. But because the shuttle had bucked on reentry, the door, which would have sailed right into her, was thrown violently to the left. It caromed off the wall, careened within inches of her, then slammed against another wall.
Without stopping to think, Megan pushed off and sailed for the door, grabbing it and pinning it with both arms. She held it for a moment, then released her grip and let it float away.
Moving through the cavity into the lower deck, she climbed the staircase to the mid-deck and headed for the hatch that opened on the tunnel to the Spacelab.
She blew the bolts! The bitch blew the bolts!
Reed knew it as soon as he felt the tremors course through the craft. Confirmation came in the form of winking lights on the console, indicating a door malfunction in the air lock.
Working his way out of the restraining straps, Reed maneuvered his way to the ladder and, like a diver plunging into water, started down headfirst. He guessed that he had about two minutes to find Megan. After that, the shuttle ride would become too rough to continue pursuit. The craft would also come out of its blackout screen. Reed had no doubt that even if mission control hadn't heard the explosion, its instruments would have registered it. Harry Landon would be peppering him with questions, demanding explanations and updates.
As Reed snaked his way down the ladder, he found himself amazed by Megan's actions. It had taken guts ? more than he'd thought she had ? to blow the air-lock door. But odds were that she was dead. He had seen the effects of an explosion in a place as confined as an air lock.
Reed reached mid-deck and was about to keep going when he caught movement out the corner of his eye.
My God, she's alive!
Reed watched as Megan, her back to him, worked the submarine-type wheel on the tunnel door. Moving to a tool case, he opened a drawer and pulled out a specially designed saw.
Seated in the lead Commanche, Jon Smith looked at the other grim-faced RAID agents. Right now, they all wore flight overalls. That would change as soon as they arrived at Groome Lake, where they would don their Level Four protective gear before entering the bunker.
Turning to Jack Riley, he spoke into his flight-helmet microphone. “How far out are we?”
Riley held up a finger and communicated with the pilot. “Forty minutes,” he replied. “You can bet that Groome Lake already has us on radar. Another few miles and they'll scramble their own chopper, or even a couple of F-16s, for a look-see.”
He raised his eyebrows. “What's the president waiting for? Air Force One has been on the ground for almost a half hour.”
As though on cue, a new voice came over Smith's headset.
“This is Bluebird calling RAID One.”
Smith responded instantly. “This is RAID One. Go ahead, Bluebird.” Bluebird was the designation for Nathaniel Klein.
“Jon?”
“Right here, sir. We were wondering when you'd call.”
“We had a… a situation here. The president just ordered your flight cleared for touchdown. For the purpose of this mission, you and your people will be considered attached to his party.”
“Yes, sir. You mentioned a situation, sir.”
There was a slight hesitation. “Mission control reports talking to Reed just before the orbiter entered the black zone. The last thing Landon heard was an explosion, which the computers later confirmed.”
“Is the craft intact?” Smith demanded.
