Power had been restored to the square as the bodies from the attack were placed along sidewalks and lined against building walls. The protests had ceased as most Germans had come together, waiting for the right moment to start speculating on who could have perpetrated such a cowardly act. Jack, Everett, Ellenshaw, and Golding were exhausted as they leaned against a shattered wall and caught their breath. A public announcement board and video screen flickered to life above them in the square as dusk settled in.
“I think it’s time to get out of here, Jack,” Everett said. He stepped up to a broken water main and stuck his hands in the spray of water. He ran a soaking hand over his soot-covered face.
Collins shook his head without really looking up.
“I hate leaving here without any answers,” he said, taking a deep breath.
“Colonel, may I remind you of the fact that we found you in handcuffs? I’m sure the police will recover much faster from this terror attack than we think. They could come looking for you again. I think we’ve done about all we can do here to help these people. It’s time we look to ourselves.”
Jack placed his hand on Professor Ellenshaw’s shoulder and nodded. “Okay, Doc, let’s go home.”
As they started gathering themselves, the large announcement board sprang to life. A public service message flashed across the thirty-foot screen with a warning tone that demanded the attention of those watching. Most people continued their duties in helping the EMS teams who were treating the wounded and attending the dead. Policemen were everywhere as they tried desperately to get evidence of the most dastardly crime in modern German history. Collins wasn’t paying any attention to the announcement as he washed his own face in the shattered water main on the battered curb.
“Am I seeing this?” Pete Golding asked from behind Jack.
“Oh, shit,” Everett said, tapping Collins on the shoulder. “Keep your face down, Jack, and head back toward the building.”
“What now?” he asked. He did as Carl said, keeping his hands over his face.
“Take a quick look and then head down the alley. My German isn’t that good, but I think the police are announcing they have a suspect in the terror attack.”
As Collins chanced a quick look up at the announcement screen, he was greeted by a 1997 U.S. Army photo of himself taken at Fort Bragg. Beneath the picture it said he was wanted for questioning in the day’s events.
“I’ve always hated that picture,” he said. He allowed Everett to pull him deeper into the alley as Golding and Ellenshaw followed, blocking any further view.
“We may be too late, gentlemen,” Ellenshaw said, “I think the proper words are, we’ve been ratted out.”
Everett looked up and saw a tall, beautiful blonde pointing them out to blood-soaked and dirty policemen. The officer looked up and Ellenshaw couldn’t think of anything to do other than give a quick wave of his hand as he backed into the alley. When the police officer looked closer he was stunned to see four men suddenly sprint down the open alleyway. He gave pursuit, alone and unarmed, shouting for the men to halt.
The blond-haired woman watched the pursuit and then turned to her companion. They both walked away.
“Imagine, all of those mines exploding at once and this man Collins escapes without so much as a scratch,” she said, looking into the face of the Mechanic as they walked and tried to avoid the damaged areas of the street and the small puddles of blood. “It seems he’s a domino that’s hard to topple.”
The Mechanic looked up at the video board with the photo of Jack Collins still on it. After seeing Jack and the others on the street he had to react fast, so he contacted McCabe and came up with a quickly thought out alternative. He offered the U.S. Army photo of the colonel to the German authorities.
“Sometimes the domino takes a while to fall, miss, that’s all. And I suspect this particular domino we are after will continue his pursuit of the men imprisoned together after the war. That is the key for him and we’ll be waiting.”
As the two walked away into the gathering night, the sounds of sirens and shouting still filled the air of downtown Berlin.
7
The Lyndon B. Johnson Space Center (JSC) is the National Aeronautics and Space Administration’s center for human space flight activities and home to the astronaut corps.
Sarah McIntire, Will Mendenhall, and Jason Ryan had just gone through a battery of tests that would have strained the patience of a saint. Will complained that his right arm and butt cheek were about to fall off from a series of shots they had endured in the accelerated astronaut training phase.
Sarah was so sore she was having a hard time zipping up her blue coveralls. Ryan walked over and helped with the zipper.
“Thanks,” she said. “Remind me to send a pipe bomb to Director Compton for doing this to us.”
“I’ll supply the postage,” Ryan said as he slapped Sarah on the back, making her wince.
“All of this with only a five percent chance we’ll be going,” Mendenhall said. “I mean, we’re the backup to the backup, which is backing up the first team.” He gingerly sat on the locker room bench beside Sarah. “That means two teams have to fail to make it to the space station in order for us to even suit up.”
Sarah wasn’t listening. She was watching a group of trainees, several high-ranking officers among them, looking up at a television monitor just inside the lounge. Sarah stood, moving her aching shoulders as she approached the men and women watching.
“What’s going on?” she asked.
“Someone just blew the hell out of an anti-Moon demonstration in Berlin. There’s a whole bunch of fundamentalists dead,” answered a woman who had been chosen for the first flight team of Operation Dark Star. She was a geologist like Sarah, but while not quite as knowledgeable she was a better astronaut.
Sarah watched the taped footage of the aftermath as Jason and Will stepped up behind her.
“This isn’t good,” Ryan said, looking on as one of the men in the front reached out and turned the volume up:
“… as the crowded streets became overrun with more serious elements of the discontented protesters. It was only moments after the violence broke out that a series of explosions rocked the downtown area of Berlin. The number of devices detonated has not yet been determined.” The scene switched to the Atlanta studio. “The police have announced a lead in identifying a man caught on videotape the night before, possibly planting the devices. On the video he is clearly wearing the uniform of a German army officer. The man, seen here in a United States Army photo, has been identified as Colonel Jack Collins. His whereabouts are unknown at this time.”
Sarah, Will, and Jason couldn’t move as they saw the picture of Collins flash onto the screen. The other astronauts watched with growing uneasiness as an American was named as a person that may have been directly responsible for the horrible act they were seeing.
“… the suspect’s military history is one of black operations in the Middle East and he has been known to be a rogue, even being brought before the congressional committee investigating failures in the war in Afghanistan.”
As the men and women cursed the face of Collins, Sarah turned away, wanting to shout at the trainees around her to be quiet, that they didn’t know the man like she did. Instead she walked back into the locker room and sat once more on the wooden bench, where she was joined by Mendenhall and Ryan.
“Damn, obviously a frame job if I ever saw one,” Ryan said as he sat next to Sarah.
“Yeah, they said he’s a suspect, but that he’s not in custody.” Will placed a hand on Sarah’s shoulder.
“Ryan, McIntire, Mendenhall, let’s go. You’ve got six hours of flight simulation scheduled with your flight leader. Let’s move it!”
Sarah looked up at the Air Force master sergeant who stood in the doorway of the locker room.
“Come on, the president has just pushed Dark Star up by seventy-two hours because of this maniac’s actions
