“If the suit needs to be sterilized,” he asked, “then how does the sample come out?”
“The chamber has a pass-through facility,” Bauer explained. “Dr. Reed will deposit the sample into a carrier tray. On the other side, I will roll the tray through into the Glovebox. This way the sample will always remain in a secure environment. Using the Glovebox, I will deposit the sample into a secure container, then bring that out.”
“And you'll be doing this yourself.”
“As you can see, Mr. President, the space inside the cocoon is somewhat restricted. Yes, I will be working alone.”
So nobody can see what you're really doing.
The president stepped back from the cocoon. “This is all very impressive, Dr. Bauer. Let's hope it works as advertised.”
“It will, Mr. President. At the very least, we know we can save one of those brave souls.”
The president turned to the group. “I guess we're as ready as we'll ever be.”
“I recommend we go to the observation bunker,” CIA director Bill Dodge suggested. “The shuttle is fifteen minutes out. We can watch the touchdown on the monitors.”
“Has there been any contact with Dr. Reed?” the president asked.
“No, sir. Communications are still out.”
“What about that explosion?”
“I'm still waiting for more details, Mr. President,” Marti Nesbitt replied. “But whatever it was, it didn't affect Discovery's flight path.”
As the group followed the president to the entrance of the bunker, Castilla looked back. “Aren't you coming with us, Dr. Bauer?”
Bauer's expression was suitably grim. “Oh, no, Mr. President. My place is here.”
Grabbing hold of the space acceleration system, Megan managed to pull herself up. Her chest throbbed where Reed had hit her, and there was a shooting pain in her lower back where she'd fallen.
You're running out o f time. Move!
Megan staggered to the sled chair. She had no doubt that Reed would use Discovery's autodestruct system to vaporize all evidence of his diabolical handiwork. That would be the only way to ensure his safety. That was why he hadn't killed her before leaving the Spacelab. Megan glanced at the sled chair and knew it was her only hope.
There was no communications equipment as such in the Spacelab. But during medical tests, crew members had been wired not only into the recording instruments onboard Discovery but also to a communications feed that relayed the results directly to physicians at mission control. Settling herself in the chair, Megan strapped down her ankles and one wrist. With her free hand, she plugged a microphone jack into the communications unit on her suit. As far as she knew, the feed sent back digital, not voice, data back to mission control. But then again, no one had ever told her that voice communication was impossible.
Just let someone on the other end hear me, she prayed, and activated the sled's instrument panel.
“RAID One to Looking Glass, come in.”
The voice of the pilot in the lead Commanche crackled in Smith's headset. A second later, he heard the Groome Lake tower's response.
“RAID One, this is Looking Glass. You are in restricted air space. Immediate authorization is requested.”
“Authorization is Brass Hat,” the pilot replied calmly. “Repeat, Brass Hat.”
Brass Hat was the Secret Service code name for the president.
“RAID flight, this is Looking Glass,” the controller replied. “We have positive ID on you. You are cleared to land on runway R twenty-seven, L left.”
“R twenty-seven L left, roger,” the pilot said. “Touchdown in two minutes.”
“Where's the shuttle?” Smith asked.
The pilot keyed into the NASA frequency. “Thirteen minutes out.”
At mission control, Harry Landon was tracking the shuttle's progress through the atmosphere on a giant plotting board, where she appeared as a gently descending red dot. In a few minutes, low altitude satellites would be able to transmit pictures. As Discovery got closer, air force reconnaissance planes would roll their cameras.
“Landon?”
Landon glanced up at the commo tech. “What is it?”
“I'm not sure, sir,” the tech replied, obviously confused. He handed Landon a printout. “This just came in.”
Landon glanced at the sheet. “It's the medical feed from the sled chair.” He shook his head. “It must be a malfunction. Reed is on the flight deck. For the feed to be accurate would mean that someone else is in the sled chair.”
“Yes, sir,” the tech agreed. He didn't have to be reminded that that someone would have to be alive. “But look at this. The chair's instruments are on. The heart monitor shows signs of activity ? very faint, but activity nonetheless.”
Landon slipped his reading glasses down his nose. The tech was right: the heart monitor was registering a living organism.
“What the hell?”
“Listen to this, sir,” the tech said. “It's the last few minutes of commo tape. We kept it rolling even though…”
Landon grabbed the headphones. “Play it for me!”
Since the beginning of the emergency, Landon had listened to so many hours of transmission that he could tune out the hiss and crackle that filled his ears. Behind the static he heard something, barely discernible but distinctly human… a voice calling from the ethers.
“This is… Discovery… Spacelab… am alive… Repeat, alive… Help me…”
Jack Riley and his RAID team began jumping out even before the Commanches' rotors wound down. Smith glanced at the enormous hangars lined up like prehistoric turtles, their roofs painted dull brown to blend in with the desolate landscape. To the south and west were mountain ranges; to the northeast, nothing but desert. Even through the din of men and machinery, there was an eerie stillness to the base.
The team arranged their equipment in a flatbed truck that had pulled up, then jumped aboard for the short ride. Smith and Riley followed in the Humvee.
The hangar's interior was partitioned to allow the team privacy ? and, Smith suspected, to prevent them from seeing what else was stored there. As Riley had promised, a commo console was up and running, manned by a young female officer.
“Colonel,” she said. “You have flash traffic from Bluebird.”
Smith was adjusting his headset when Klein came on. “What's your status, Jon?”
“We're getting into our Level Four suits right now. How about the shuttle?”
“It'll be in the chamber by the time you get there.”
“Bauer?”
“Doesn't suspect a thing. He's already suited up and ready to mate the cocoon with the shuttle.”
Smith had seen the blueprints and photos of Bauer's creation, but he had never been inside it.
“Jon, there's something you need to know ? and hear,” Klein said. “A few minutes ago, Landon received communications from inside the Spacelab. It was a distress signal. We're running tests right now. I don't want to raise your hopes, but the voice sounded like Megan's.”
Sheer joy surged through Smith. Yet at the same time, he was aware of the possibly deadly consequences of this development.
“Has Landon told Reed about this?”
“Not that I know of. Communications are still down. But I should have told Landon to keep quiet in case
