Storm Killer

by Benjamin Blue

  The man had failed to notice he had stepped in the blood pooled around Rafael’s body. Two distinct bloody footprints could be seen leading away from the closet.

  40

  Notifying Groundside

  Adam entered his office and sat down at his desk. He punched in the code for Layne’s cell phone. It rang several times.

  “Bartlett,” Layne tersely answered.

  “Layne? Any change in your status?” Sands asked.

  “None. We haven’t found a spare chip. We’re attempting to break into Storm Killer’s SKID controls and try to retract the magnifying film arrays. If that doesn’t work we’ll try to disrupt the position of the magnifying films. If we’re successful, it won’t matter that we’re out of control. The concentrated light beam will either have been turned off, or diminished to a safe level,” Bartlett reported quickly.

  “What are your chances of success? And no bullshit, please. I don’t have time for wishful thinking,” Adam replied.

  Layne was slow in his response, “I’d say 50-50. The prick locked the SKID system with new passwords. So, we’re trying the known ‘backdoors’ right now. Maybe he didn’t block all of them. Jeff Mattingly, the groundside computer guru, is assisting us remotely.”

  Adam knew that every computer system had one or more ‘backdoor’ user entry points to allow service personnel to get around the intricate front-end security mechanisms. He also knew that Mattingly was a world-class computer professional who had led the design team of the SKID control programs. It was likely that if he couldn’t break into the system in time, no one could.

  Adam mentally reviewed everything and then said, “You have ten minutes. No more. I’ll tell the President that he should order the immediate destruction of Storm Killer for forty minutes from now, if he hasn’t received a communication to the contrary from me.”

  “Got it. Good luck, Adam,” Layne replied.

  “You, too, Layne. Do your damnedest to make the deadline,” Adam encouraged him and then pushed the cell phone disconnect. He dialed the phone in the reception area and the constable picked it up on the third ring. “Evacuation area,” he answered.

  Adam queried him on the progress of the evacuation. All non-essential personnel were now safely in one of the additional shuttlecraft NASA had dispatched in the last few hours. That was all the fleet they had to send at this time. Japan, Russia, and Great Britain had jointly sent one of their small fleet of shuttles. They were expected in less than fifteen minutes. Because of the tight timeline, there was no time to go through docking and undocking procedures. So, the remaining station residents would have to put on their environmental suits and space walk to their assigned shuttle. Only sixty people remained on the station. Some of these were in involved in the current crisis in some management or support function. The others were scientists and engineers of various nations that were still in Core City. Adam disconnected and reviewed his notes he made during the call.

  Adam sat for a moment collecting his thoughts, glanced at his watch, sighed, and pressed the speed dial to the National Security Advisor’s private line. It rang once and was immediately picked up.

  “Rose Magruder.”

  “Ms. Magruder, its Adam Sand from Storm Killer,” Adam announced himself to her.

  “Adam, hang on a second, I need to get Dr. Rosen, he’s our NASA liaison, and will provide technical information to the President based on our assessment,” Rose said.

  Adam waited about twenty seconds when Rose came back on the line.

  “Adam! I have Dr. Rosen here with me. What’s happening up there? The President is fit to be tied. Several of the resident nations’ staffs on your station have made reports to their governments that sound ominous. He’s being accosted on all sides by these governments for answers. Our television news organizations are running continuous coverage on the situation, and have latched onto these foreign reports. Things are very tense down here!”

  “Ms. Magruder, things are bad. I think it’s time for the President to initiate action.” With that lead-in, Adam briefed the National Security Advisor and the NASA representative of the current status.

  41

  Death

  Kim gripped her pistol and moved quickly to the right side of Closet 21’s entrance. Lt. James, holding his weapon close to his body in the classic upright position, slid along the wall to his position on the other side of the entrance. Kim looked into Lt. James’ eyes and with a nod began silently mouthing a countdown, “Three, Two, One, NOW!”

  Lt. James, crouching low and leaning forward, did a barrel roll into the pitch-black room. He rolled up onto his feet into a classic hand-weapon-firing position with one knee on the floor with his weapon held level in front of his body as he scanned the darkened room.

  Kim stepped through the door by quickly edging around the entrance’s doorframe. She held her flashlight in the classic police stance: at shoulder height and to the far right of her body. If anyone was to take a shot at the flashlight, chances were they would not hit her.

  She quickly scanned the room with her flashlight. She was also listening for any sounds. Nothing moved in Closet 21’s interior. It was silent as a tomb. The only thing detected by her senses was a strong coppery smell.

  Kim’s flashlight beam swept the floor and stopped when it illuminated the body lying in the pool of blood. Lt. James, alert to any movement, was kneeling on the floor no more than three meters from the pool of blood still slowly oozing from the body. Kim thought. Well, I know what the coppery smell is. Fresh blood.

  The body was turned so the head was hidden from the entrance. All that could be seen was that it appeared to be a male in a NASA standard technician’s garb.

  Once they were content that no one was still lurking in the room, they turned their attention to the corpse on the floor. Kim scanned from the dark hole on the back to an area on the wall immediately to the left of the entrance. There on the wall was heavy blood splatter and a mark that could have been where the spent bullet had struck the wall at the end of its murderous flight. She scanned down to the floor under the splatter and to what appeared to be a spent bullet lying at the base of the wall.

  Lt. James said in a firm steady voice to the room’s computer support system, “Lights on.” Nothing happened. Lt. James said to Kim, “He must have disabled the light control again.” Lt. James moved cautiously to an emergency light switch on the wall and using his sleeved arm, he pushed the button. The bright light flashing on momentarily blinded the two security officers. They blinked their eyes several times in an attempt to refocus their sight on the body.

  As her eyes adjusted to the bright mercury vapor emergency lamps, Kim was able to take in the whole crime scene. Rafael Denuza lay on his back in blood pooled on the left side of his body. His tunic had a red stained bullet hole just below his heart.

  Lt. James cautiously moved to the right side of Denuza to avoid the blood pool and kneeled beside the body. He carefully reached out two fingers and felt for the large carotid artery in side of Denuza’s neck. After a moment, Lt. James muttered, “Nothing, he’s gone. Based on the amount of clotting of the blood in the pool, he probably bled out only a few minutes ago.”

  Kim surveyed the floor between the body and the doorway. She pointed to a set of bloody footprints going from the pool out through the door. She took her cell from her tunic pocket and snapped several pictures of the footprints. The prints’ tread pattern looked like a red waffle iron pattern. She noted with some disappointment to Lt. James, “These appear to be about size nine. The tread appears to be the standard issue work boot we all have.”

  The lieutenant pointed to Rafael’s right side just above the floor. Rafael, using his own blood, had apparently written a single crimson character. It appeared to be the number 8. “It looks like he was trying to tell us something. See what’s on his index finger? It’s covered in blood. Apparently he wrote this single letter or number on his side before he died. It’s either an 8 or a B. I’m not sure whi
ch.”

  Lt. James took out his phone and speed dialed Hoch. Hoch answered immediately, “Hoch.”

  James quickly described the scene. “Denuza is dead. Shot once thru the chest. And he bled out. If he swallowed that control chip, we are going to have to gut him to get to it. Can you get Dr. Cruz over here fast?”

  While Lt. James was talking with Hoch, Kim looked closer at the prints and saw a strange anomaly in the design. Apparently, the owner of the shoes had walked someplace where something very sharp existed. Two of the waffle treads on the right foot had a half-inch piece of tread missing where something had cut them.

  Kim snapped several more pictures of the treads, closed up the camera, and put it back in her tunic. As she did so, she mulled over the latest evidence. Apparently our murderer was at the crystal lab crash site. That’s the only place he could have gotten his shoe soles cut like that. It had to be at the same time we were there! The murderer would have little time since to do this crime. Who was there when we were? She mentally ticked off the names of the crew she remembered at the crash site. Christ! Almost all of the station directors were there! Is our murderer one of our own bigwigs?

  Now, where does that bloody 8 on Rafael’s side fit in? Kim thought.

  42

  No Good Options

  The President sat at the large, black, executive chair at the head of the mahogany conference table.

  His gray-streaked brown hair was neatly in place even though he felt disheveled. He absent-mindedly tapped his fingertips on the table’s polished surface as his senior advisors explained the current situation on Storm Killer.

  Rose Magruder was speaking, “And, as you can see, Mr. President, Adam Sand’s latest report isn’t promising.”

  Dr. Rosen, the presidential science advisor, added, “We must think about the Lincoln’s precarious position. They don’t believe they can clear the area in time to avoid Storm Killer’s death ray. But this has proved that the Storm Killer technology has military value.”

  Dr. Rosen was a hawk when it came to application of science advancements as military weapons. He had taught at various colleges over the years, and finally chaired the Physics department at one of the major technical schools on the east coast. His department had run many experimental programs for the United States Army, Navy, and Air Force. He knew of at least eight major weapons systems that had come to fruition as a result of his department’s efforts. But Storm Killer had the potential of being the ultimate non-nuclear weapon. Whole armies could be wiped out by a larger version of Storm Killer.

  Rose now resumed with a discussion of the lack of immediate military options to bring down Storm Killer. “We know the Russians have aimed at least two multi-warhead missiles at Storm Killer. They have always thought of it as a weapons threat. We have no missiles of our own targeted at the station because we never thought of this scenario. We may have to ask the Russians to shoot it down. They’ve been monitoring the situation and have already started readying both missiles in case the Storm Killer beam continues toward them or one of their allies like Cuba.”

  Dr. Rosen sighed as he thought, it’s a shame that we must blow up the station. But what needs to be done, must to be done! He was dragged back to the present moment by Rose’s question “Doctor Rosen? Are you with us? Don’t you agree with my summary?”

  Rosen started. “Sorry, Rose. Sorry, Mr. President. I was deep in thought. Yes, I agree with your summary. We should approach the Russians at once and get them to launch their missiles immediately. We have less than forty minutes and it will take them at least a few minutes to launch and at least fifteen minutes for the missiles’ warheads to reach Storm Killer.”

  Rose objected. “I didn’t say we needed to blow it up. What I said was we may have to do that if we cannot regain control quickly. It would be very bad to destroy it at this time.”

  The President twisted around in his chair to stare at Rose. “What possible good would it do not to destroy the thing right now?”

  She replied, “If we do get control back, we can use Storm Killer to perform its original mission. Focus the beam back on Hurricane Edna’s eye wall and kill it. Or at least weaken it. We’ve currently got a category five storm only hours from the east coast. If Storm Killer is brought back online in time, it can weaken Edna enough so the east coast will only be hit by a normal hurricane and not the monster we’ve now created.”

  The President pondered his advisors’ statements. His brow knit as he weighed his decision. Either option would be a public relations nightmare. Hell, he thought, the voters will rip me a new one, whichever way I go on this.

  One choice was to wait longer in hopes the skeleton crew still onboard could regain control of the station. If this did not happen in the next few minutes, Storm Killer’s heat ray would probably fry the Lincoln’s personnel and the civilian scientists on board instantaneously. And no telling how much more destruction and how many more deaths would occur.

  His other option was just as bad. Order the immediate destruction of Storm Killer and its remaining crewmembers. A five hundred billion dollar experiment totally destroyed, with nothing to show for it other than a run away hurricane. The voters would love that, too. And to go begging the Russians to blow it up would make the United States look pitifully weak to the watching world.

  Damn, I’m dead meat either way I go on this, the President grumbled to himself. He tapped the table surface with his fingertips a few more moments, made his decision and ordered, “Rose, get the Russian President on the phone. I’ve got some quick begging to do. We’re going to blow it up. We can only hope the east coast can weather Edna in its monster form.”

  Dr. Rosen remained silent and just sat and watched as Rose ran from the room to communications desk to initiate the call to the Russians. He glanced at the President and noted the man’s head was slowly shaking from side to side as if he was struggling internally to reverse his order.

  Rose swept back into the situation room and announced, “Mr. President, the Russian president will be on the phone in two minutes. He’s aware of the Storm Killer situation in amazing detail. It’s almost as if he was sitting here listening to our briefings. I marvel at how much real time intelligence they are able to get from us.”

  The President said, “Okay. From this point on, we run the whole operation from here. I don’t want any communications through NASA. We will issue orders to the remaining crew on Storm Killer. Rose, call NASA and tell them they are to go silent until such time as we relinquish control back to them. Got it? We will provide direct orders to the appropriate senior staff on the station from this room.”

  “Yes, sir. I will call them immediately.” She reached for her phone and began making the ordered call.

  Dr. Rosen stood up and apologized to the President, “Sir, I really must go to the toilet. I’ll only be a moment.” The President never said a word and just nodded his head. Dr. Rosen headed for the men’s room outside of the situation room door.

  He entered the men’s room, a gleaming chrome and white tile domain with four stalls on one side and six urinals hung from the wall on the other side. He bent over and scanned under the stall doors for any feet. None. Good! He thought, nobody here.

  He moved quickly into the stall furthest from the entrance. He sat down on the toilet and pulled his I-phone from his pocket and pressed the 1 speed dial. It rang twice and a deep male voice with a southern twang could be heard, “What?” it enquired.

  Rosen looked at his watch, “It will be destroyed. The President is asking the Russians to launch as I speak with you. I will call again when I know the estimated time of destruction. Do not allow them to get control back! This will probably be all over in the next thirty minutes. Figure out how you two are getting off the station in time. I’d hate to lose my two brightest students. Please, be care---.”

  The voice at the other end cut him off, “Number two and I have already discussed getting off this thing. Remember to call when the countdown starts, I have to
go!”

  Rosen disconnected. He had one more call to make. He pulled a small address book from his pocket and looked up the number for the woman he had to contact. He dialed the number, and waited until she answered.

  He said, “This is Dr. Rosen at the White House. The President just wanted me to pass on the following message.” He then read to her the message he had pre-written. “We would like that passed on to the Director, too. Can you please pass it on? Yes? Thank you. Remember you have our backing! Yes, thank you, again. Goodbye!”

  That should confuse the situation! He chuckled to himself.

  Tucking his phone away, he washed his hands and threw some water on his face, and scurried back to the Situation Room.

  “It’s almost over!” he thought with immense pleasure as he re-entered the situation room and heard the President state into the speakerphone in front of him, “Vladimir? Dear friend, I must ask for your country’s immediate assistance.”

  Dr. Rosen’s heart rate skyrocketed as he heard the final piece of the Storm Killer plan snap into place. Yes, it’s almost over. We’ve won! He thought gloating as he listened to the President’s side of the phone call.

  43

  The Chip

  Hoch looked at his watch as he walked toward the door of the bathroom where Francine Cruz was cleaning herself up. The Doctor, as a member of the senior staff, had a private bathroom. Everyone else of lower rank used a community unisex bath and toilet facility.

  He opened the bathroom door and saw she was in the needle shower. The shower resembled an old steam cabinet. The individual would enter the box and sit down on its wire bench inside the machine. The cabinet door was closed around the neck of the individual and all that could be seen outside of the box was the person’s head. When activated, a series of small ‘needle’ streams of one hundred degree recycled water and body detergent would spray from all sides of the cabinet onto the person’s body. Ten minutes in the shower cabinet was as cleansing and refreshing as an hour-long standard shower Earth-side.