They left no smoke trails in their wakes. No puffs of flame or fire, for nothing survives in a vacuum. Their tail thrusters simply glowed orange against the black star-filled sky.
There was nothing the Chinese space shuttle could do.
There were, quite simply, no defensive measures it could employ up here.
The two AMRAAM's slammed into the Chinese ship at exactly the same time — one hitting it in the middle, the other in the nose.
The shuttle just cracked.
There was an instantaneous flash of blinding white light and the Chinese shuttle spontaneously blew out into pieces which, after the initial blast, just radiated outwards in a kind of accentuated slow motion.
The Yellow Star would not be returning to Earth.
The Echo men were still hammering on the cockpit door as, under the instructions of the tied up pilot, Schofield enabled the X-38's automated re-entry procedures.
There was nothing the men from Echo Unit could do.
The cockpit door was three-inch-thick titanium. And firing a gun through the five-inch-thick glass window didn't look like a clever option.
Indeed, as the X-38 began its controlled descent out of its orbit, hit the atmosphere and engaged its heat shields against the 4,000°F temperatures outside, they could only strap themselves back into their seats and hang on.
The shuttle rocketed downward under the autopilot. As it did so, Schofield watched the starfield above them slowly fade away, replaced by a hazy purple aura, before suddenly, brilliantly, they burst down into dazzling blue sky.
The orbiting X-38 had traveled eastward — but because it hadn't actually been up that long, only about halfway across Colorado. Looking down, and facing west now, Schofield saw steel-gray mountains and lush green valleys. Beyond them, on the curved horizon, he could see the sandy-yellow Utah desert.
He looked at his watch.
10:36 a.m.
They hadn't been in orbit long at all. About twelve minutes, in fact. Now, gliding downward at supersonic speed, they'd be back in Utah in only a couple more.
Suddenly, the heads-up display came to life:
SOURCE AIRFIELD BEACON DETECTED
AIRFIELD IDENTIFIED AS UNITED STATES AIR FORCE
SPECIAL AREA (RESTRICTED) 08
PROCEEDING TO SOURCE AIRFIELD
Area 8, Schofield thought.
No.
He didn't want to go there.
So far as he could see, the only way to end this challenge once and for all was to get away from these bases with the President and the Football.
But to do that, they needed the Football.
And the Football — whose interminable countdown still needed to be satisfied by 11:30 — was last seen at Area 7, in the hands of Seth Grimshaw.
Schofield turned to his captive shuttle pilot. 'We need to get to Area 7.'
The X-38 descended rapidly, shooting westward, blasting over the barren Utah desert.
It flew down toward Area 8, roaring through the air, but as it came close, Schofield disengaged the autopilot and, now flying the shuttle manually like a regular plane, he allowed the shuttle to overshoot the base.
They covered the twenty miles to Area 7 in less than a minute, and very soon, he saw the low mountain and the cluster of hangars and buildings, and the elongated runway in the sand. In the far distance, on the horizon, he saw the wide expanse of Lake Powell, with its twisting network of water-filled canyons.
He aimed for the runway, sweeping in low over the buildings of Area 7. It ran from east to west, so he was coming straight for it.
The X-38 boomed over the Area 7 complex, shaking its walls, — before touching down perfectly on its black bitumen runway.
But it came in fast — very fast.
Which was why Schofield didn't see the two black Penetrator helicopters sitting silently next to Area 7's hangars.
Didn't see one of them immediately power up and rise into the air as soon as his tires had hit the tarmac.
The X-38 rocketed down the desert runway, its tires smoking.
Schofield tried to rein in the speeding spacecraft, releasing a brake parachute which fluttered to life behind it. The shuttle began to slow.
When at last it had lost all its momentum, Schofield flicked some switches, prepared to take her back to the main hangar.
He never even got to turn the shuttle around.
For at the very moment that he brought it to a halt, he saw the Penetrator helicopter swing menacingly into place in front of him, hovering above the runway like an evil bird of prey.
The Space Shuttle and the winged attack helicopter squared off like a pair of gunslingers on a Wild West street — the shuttle on the runway, the Penetrator floating in the air in front of it.
Inside the shuttle's cockpit, Schofield yanked off his helmet. The President did the same.
'Shit. What do we…?' the President asked.
Bang!
The cockpit door shuddered.
The men of Echo Unit were out of their seats and were once again pounding on it.
Then suddenly the voice of the Penetrator's pilot came in over the radio. It was one of Caesar Russell's 7th Squadron men.
'X-38, this is Air Force Penetrator. Be advised, we have missile lock on you. Release the boy now.'
Schofield spun to look at Kevin, thinking fast.
The world was closing in on them — the Penetrator outside, the Echo men inside, missile lock…
And then he saw the compartment sunk into the wall beyond Kevin's seat.
He turned to the President. 'Sir, could you help Kevin get his suit off, please?'
The President did so while Schofield hit the talk button. 'Air Force Penetrator, what are your intentions?'
As he spoke, Schofield climbed over to the wall compartment and yanked it open.
A sign on its door panel read: SURVIVAL KIT.
The Echo men continued to pound on the cockpit door.
'If you release the boy,' the Penetrator pilot said, 'we leave you in peace.'
'Yeah, right,' Schofield muttered.
He was foraging frantically through the shuttle's survival compartment. 'Come on,' he breathed, 'there has to be one in here. There always is…'
Into his mike, however, he said, 'And if we don't release the boy?'
'Then we might just have to cut our losses and kill you all.'
It was then that Schofield found what he was looking for inside the compartment: a two-foot long cylindrical metal tube that looked like a…
He grabbed it, snapped to look up — and found himself looking out through the five-inch-thick glass window that opened onto the rear section of the shuttle. On the other side of the glass, aimed right at his face, was a pistol, held by one of the Echo men!
With a flash of white light — and a silent bang — the pistol fired.
Schofield shut his eyes, waited for the bullet to crash through the glass and enter his head.
But the glass was too thick. The bullet just scratched the surface and pinged away.
