More silence. Pruett noted Stice staring at the floor. He had slammed the door on the Defense Secretary.
“Is this place in French Guiana near a beach?” asked the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs.
“What do you have in mind?” asked the President before Pruett got a chance to point to the map of French Guiana pinned to the corkboard.
“I would just like to explore all our options, Mr. President.”
The President nodded and looked at Pruett, who stepped to the side of the board and pointed to the coastal city.
“Yes it is, sir. It’s near Devil’s Island, approximately forty miles from Cayenne, the capital.”
“Can we confirm deployment of the rocket?”
Pruett smiled and pulled out two satellite photographs. “These were taken exactly an hour ago during a KH-11 pass. This is the launch complex.” He pointed to a structure in the right side of the photo. “And this in the center is the rocket itself. My analyst has confirmed it as an Athena V rocket, capable of putting payloads into geosynchronous orbit. Very powerful rocket, sir. And extremely reliable too. It’s scheduled to be launched at exactly 11:35 P.M. local time, 10:35 P.M. our time.” Pruett checked his watch.
“Exactly sixteen hours and fifteen minutes from now.”
“God almighty,” the Chairman of the Joint Chief’s said.
“We have to move right away, Mr. President. If Tom’s information here is as good as it has been in the past, we must act immediately.”
“What if it’s not?” asked Stice. “All Tom’s got is conjecture. There’s no physical evidence, only Stone’s testimony. No offense intended, Stone.”
Cameron frowned. “None taken. But I would like to point out, sir, that Marie Guilloux, who happens to be on her way here from Paris, will back my story. She’s a scientist herself, and she was also there when the other Athena scientists were killed.”
“We know that.” Stice exhaled and turned to the President. “From what we know, sir, Athena is about to deploy a very sophisticated satellite for the Australian government. We are looking at two hundred million for the satellite and another thirty million for the rocket. We can’t just go in and blow it away, can we?”
Pruett inhaled deeply; his ulcer was growing out of control. He desperately wanted to reach in his pocket for the pack of antacid tablets, but decided against it. “Conjecture? I think not,” he responded in a tone as casual and controlled as he could make it. “It all depends on how you look at the data, Mr. Secretary. I don’t believe in coincidence, and there have been just too many related incidents to ignore them and write them off as coincidence. Also, let’s all remember the fact that Lightning is in trouble just as the evidence indicated it would be. In my opinion, Lightning’s problems are all the physical proof we need. Gentlemen, the data here is telling us that something is definitely wrong. Cameron Stone’s—and Marie Guilloux’s—testimony simply brings it all together.”
The President, Pruett, and Cameron remained quiet as the others explored the alternatives and gave their various opinions on how the situation should be handled.
Finally, the President got up and walked toward the bulletproof windows that looked out on the White House Rose Garden. The yellowish light from the halogen floodlights outside filtered through the Armorlite glass. The President simply stared outside, chin up, hands behind his back. The room was now quiet. Each person there knew that the President had listened to all that he’d cared to, and was now in the process of formulating his own response to the crisis.
The President turned around and faced Pruett. “Has anyone notified NASA of this?”
“No, sir.”
“What about the FBI? Do they know anything about this?”
“A couple of technicians from the analysis lab were involved in the investigation to find the mole, sir.”
“All right, I’ll make sure the appropriate people know about this, if that’s the route we take. In the meantime keep a lid on the whole thing.”
“Yes, sir”
“Tom, like always, you have explained the situation clearly and concisely. Damn good briefing.”
“Thank you, Mr. President.”
“And also thank you, Mr. Stone.”
“You’re welcome, Mr. President.”
“Now, if you don’t mind, I would like to discuss our options with my staff. Go back to Langley. I’ll get the word to you on our decision.”
“Yes, sir.”
Pruett left the map and photos on the board and simply grabbed his briefcase and signaled Cameron to follow him.
They closed the door behind them. Pruett dropped the briefcase and reached into his pocket
“Tom?”
“Yeah,” he responded as he chewed on the tablets.
“I think my involvement in this is over. I did what I was supposed to have done. Now it’s up to you guys to—”
“Stick around for a little while. Who knows, things might get interesting.”
“That’s exactly what I’m afraid of.”
“Stick around anyway. Besides, if things do get interesting, we’ll also need Marie’s help.”
“Why her? I think she’s already been through enough.”
“She used to work at the Kourou site, right?”
“Yes but—wait a second, Tom I don’t want to expose her to—”
“Relax. All we might want is some intelligence on the launch complex before we move in, if we move in at all.”
Cameron sighed and checked his watch. Marie’s plane was due to arrive between noon and one P.M.
DULLES INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT, WASHINGTON, D.C.
Cameron paced back and forth by the gate as the passengers from the TWA DC-10 left the airliner. Although he felt very excited about seeing Marie, the professional in him kept him from showing it externally. Pruett was right. As much as Cameron wanted to end his involvement in the case, the problem was still far from over. A conspiracy threatened to destroy America’s future in space. Cameron knew he had to hang on for just a little while longer.
Then he stopped his pacing and turned toward the gate. The eyes, the face. He saw her smile the moment Marie recognized him and rushed past startled travelers and into his arms. Cameron closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, feeling Marie’s body pressed next to his. No words were spoken.
“I was so afraid,” she finally whispered in his ear. “I didn’t know if you—”
“Shh. I’m fine, Marie, and so are you.”
“You don’t know what it was like to—”
“Don’t worry. I won’t leave you again. I promise.”
Marie hugged him tight. Cameron didn’t resist. His logical side could wait while his soul bathed in the love he had not felt for nearly two decades.
CHAPTER TWELVE
EVA
“My God, the stars are everywhere, even below me.”
—Michael Collins, Apollo 11 astronaut
LIGHTNING
Inside the airlock between mid-deck and the payload bay, Kessler helped Jones into his Extravehicular Mobility Unit, a self-contained life-support system and anthropomorphic pressure garment that provided not only thermal protection to the astronaut during extravehicular activities, but also protection against micro-meteoroids. Usually astronauts put these suits on without assistance in free space, but Kessler figured Jones could use the help during his first time suiting up in a weightless condition. Three main parts made up the suit—the liner, the pressure vessel, and the life-support system.
Jones didn’t need Kessler’s help to get into the suit liner, similar in appearance to long underwear. The liner was made of stretchable nylon fabric laced with over three hundred feet of plastic tubing to circulate cooling water around Jones’s body.
Jones took a final breath of one-hundred-percent-pure oxygen from a plastic mask. The one-hour pre-breathi
ng procedure prior to EVA was necessary because the normal atmosphere inside the orbiter consisted of seventy-nine percent nitrogen and twenty-one percent oxygen at a pressure of 17.4 pounds per square inch, the same as sea level. Jones’s pressure suit, for ease of movement, operated at a reduced pressure of only four PSI with one hundred percent oxygen. Pre-breathing removed all of the nitrogen from Jones’s bloodstream, preventing bubbles of nitrogen from forming and expanding in his blood when his suit’s pressure dropped to four PSI. The nitrogen bubbles could cause nausea, cramps, and sever pain in the joints.
Kessler held on to the legs of the lower torso section of the pressure vessel. Jones dropped into it feet first, guiding his legs into the legs of the multilayered garment that protected the lower half of his body. The outer shell of the garment was made of tough Ortho fabric—a blend of Teflon, woven Nomex, and Kevlar Rip Stop—that served as an abrasion and tear-resistant cover as well as the primary micro-meteoroid shield. The other layers were alternating Aluminized Mylar Film and Dacron Scrim that insulated the wearer from the extreme temperatures of outer space.
Jones held on to the metallic locking ring of the lower torso section of the EMU suit while Kessler grabbed the upper torso section from the rack behind him.
“Ready?”
“You bet.”
Kessler lowered it over Jones almost like a T-shirt. Jones put his arms through the holes until it floated over his shoulders.
“Damn! This is great. One hell of a lot easier than down where the buffalo roam.”
Kessler smiled. Donning this 250-pound beast of a suit on Earth was a formidable task, yet in the weightlessness of space it became simple. Kessler locked the pants and upper torso with the metallic ring connector.
“How does it feel?”
“Awesome.” Jones moved around the air lock and checked the flexibility.
Kessler put on Jones’s gloves and connected them to the arms of the upper torso section. Jones moved his fingers.
“Will do.”
“All right. Turn around. Got to hook you up to the PLSS.” Kessler removed the Primary Life Support System, the backpack unit used to provide oxygen, pressurization, and ventilation to the pressure vessel, from a rack on the air lock wall.
Kessler strapped the PLSS on Jones’s back and then connected a few tubes to the suit. He moved to Jones’s front.
“Time for your Snoopy cap. Stand still.” Kessler put a skullcap on Jones’s head. It held a microphone and earpiece that Jones would use for communication. “And this is in case you get a little thirsty.” He inserted a small in-suit drinking bag filled with water. It had a drinking tube with a suction-actuated valve.
“Thanks, but to tell you the truth, I kinda prefer Jack Daniels.”
“You mean to tell me that you’re nervous?”
“Not really, but right now I think I’d give up my left nut for a cigarette.”
“Sorry, pal. Being here does come with some sacrifices.”
“All right, let’s crank this puppy up.”
Kessler attached the PLSS’s display panel and control unit to the front of Jones’s suit and activated the system. Cool water began to circulate around his body through the plastic tubes of the suit liner. At the same time the system began to spew oxygen for breathing and attempted to pressurize the suit.
He reached for Jones’s helmet, a rigid, one-piece hemisphere made of ultraviolet polycarbonate plastic. He locked the helmet in place, and also the gloves. Now hermetic, the suit quickly pressurized to four PSI, equivalent to roughly 34,000 feet in altitude. One of the major challenges during the design of the shuttle space suit was to make it flexible enough to allow EVA activities without extreme physical exertion. NASA had answered that challenge by stitching tucks in the shoulder, elbow, wrist, knee, and ankle areas.. This allowed Jones’s joints to flex without excessive muscle fatigue.
Kessler elevated the pressure inside Jones’s EMU to eight PSI and shut off the oxygen supply. He waited sixty seconds before reading the digital display on Jones’s chest-mounted control module, and verified that the suit’s pressure had not dropped by more than 0.2 PSI, the maximum allowable rate of leakage of a shuttle EMU. Satisfied, Kessler turned the oxygen supply back on and brought the suit’s pressure back up to air-lock pressure. He checked his watch.
“Thirty minutes to go.”
“Yep,” Jones responded as he began the final pre-breathing session before the pressure in his suit would be permanently lowered to four PSI.
Kessler grabbed the plastic oxygen mask that Jones had used and also began to breathe pure oxygen, conforming to NASA’s regulations requiring a backup astronaut to be ready for EVA in case of an emergency. Because Kessler had been too busy running dozens of diagnostic algorithms to determine the extent of the shuttle’s damage, he had failed to follow the pre-breathing rule, and now he tried to at least partially comply with it.
* * *
A half hour later Kessler removed his oxygen mask and slowly lowered the pressure of Jones’s EMU to four PSI before securing the visor assembly over Jones’s helmet. The visor provided protection against heat, light, and impact. Finally, Kessler strapped a TV camera just above the visor, positioning it along the same line as Jones’s own line of vision.
“You’re ready.”
“But you’re not. You better get your unprotected little ass back inside the crew module. I’m ready to get out there.”
“Listen. Be careful with that MMU,” Kessler said, referring to the Manned Maneuvering Unit, the fifteen-million-dollar jet-propelled backpack system designed to provide completely untethered transport for an astronaut during EVA. “It’s supposed to be much more sensitive than the one we practiced with at the WET-F pool. In there at lease we had water resistance. Up here there’s nothing to counter our movements except for the jets and--”
“Blah, blah, blah. You worry too much. Now how about you letting me go around the ship and find out what kind of shape we’re really in.”
Kessler pounded lightly on Jones’s shoulder. “Careful, this is the real thing, man. Later.”
“Yes, Mom.”
Kessler shook his head and went through the D-shaped opening and into the mid-deck compartment, closed the aluminum-alloy hatch, and locked it in place. He pushed himself up through one of the openings connecting the flight deck to the mid-deck compartment, floated into the flight deck, and stood in front of the aft control panel.
He brought his left hand down to the bottom left section of panel 13L and flipped the switch to deploy the Ku-band antenna system. The servomotors of the seven-foot-long antenna, gimbal-mounted on the starboard side of the payload bay, responded to Kessler’s command by deploying the antenna until it formed a sixty-seven-degree angle with the orbiter’s longitudinal axis, while turning the three-foot-wide parabolic dish at the end of the graphite-epoxy structure toward the closest TDRSS satellite in geosynchronous orbit.
Kessler nodded as he saw the Ku antenna’s talkback indicator light confirming deployment. Lightning now had Ku-band communications capability with Houston through the TDRSS-White Sands Ground Terminal link. The Ku-band system could handle much higher quantities of audio, video, and telemetry data than the S-band system.
Kessler reached the UHF-mode control knob on Overhead Panel 06. He turned the knob to the EVA setting and flipped one of three UHF switches above the knob to select a frequency of 259.7 Mhz, linking Jones, Lightning, and Houston for audio communications.
“How are you doing, CJ?”
“All systems appear nominal. Getting ready for EVA.”
“Hold on. Let’s check your video signal.”
“Camera’s on,” responded Jones.
Kessler moved over to an array of switches and talk-back lights controlling Lightning’s five payload bay cameras and the two cameras mounted on the Remote Manipulator Arm. He turned on the keel/EVA swit
ch, disabling all video inputs except for the one coming from Jones’s camera. Kessler glanced at the two black-and-white TV monitors on the adjacent panel. The ten-by-seven-inch monitors were arranged one over the other. Kessler activated the top one.
“I’m receiving a good clear image from Jones’s camera, Houston. Do you see it?”
“Roger, Lightning. The image is crystal clear.”
“Copy, Houston. Go easy, CJ. Remember to stay clipped to something until you reach an MMU.”
“Relax, Mike.”
“Lightning, Houston here. Listen to Kessler, Jones. Go extremely easy, particularly because it’s your first spacewalk.”
“Ah, roger. Well, here I go…Oh, man! This is terrific. What a feeling!”
“Now, close the hatch behind you and be careful,” Kessler said. “Go directly to the MMU and strap yourself in.” Kessler watched Jones through the aft view windows. Jones gracefully floated toward one of two Manned Maneuvering Units, briefly inspecting it before backing himself against it.
“Strapping in…there! all right, let’s turn this puppy on.”
Kessler watched Jones reach with his left hand for the on/off switch located on the MMU’s right-hand side, over Jones’s shoulder. He saw the indicator lights come on. The MMU appeared to be in working condition.
“All systems nominal,” Jones noted. “Will check the engine section first and then the underside.”
“Roger,” responded Hunter from Mission Control in Houston. “Copy for initial check of the SSMEs followed by a visual of the OMS pods and the underside.”
Kessler shifted his gaze to the black-and-white screen monitor.
“Ready for EVA.”
“Go for it, CJ.”
Jones slowly propelled himself to the aft section of the orbiter. Kessler noticed he was going unusually slow. Good. CJ’s being cautious.
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