“That would be me.” Service smiled broadly.
“You! You couldn’t be more than, what, 20?”
“26, actually. And yeah, I know I look young but I’ve been doing this sort of thing since I was 13. Flying the visitor shuttle run in the Stearman is one of the first steps in the KS pilot training program. I hope my next step will be to move on to his short-haul, two-engine Cessna. I’ll be taking my two-engine certification exams next month.” He looked at his watch. “We’d better get going. If you don’t mind, you’ll need to put on your helmet and goggles.”
“But I’ll get helmet hair!”
“Visitor accommodations are very comfortable,” he replied. “You’ll be able to redo anything that gets mussed during the flight.”
She grudgingly stuffed in the ear plugs, pulled on the helmet and slipped on the goggles. She stepped on a small stool that allowed her to clammer into the front seat of the plane. “Why don’t you get up front?” she loudly asked as she settled onto the wicker seat and slipped on the shoulder and lap belts. For a moment she fondly remembered her seat on the 737 from New York.
“Tradition, mainly,” he yelled back. “Dates back to the First World War when observers and gunners always sat there for a little better view.”
Before she could think of a witty reply she heard and felt the massive rotary engine fire up with a near-deafening roar. She was now thankful for the ear plugs.
Service revved the motor, released the brakes and taxied out toward the runways. She could hear him in the back asking over the radio for, and then apparently being given clearance, to taxi and finally depart from the airport. Within moments they were airborne, much to Claire’s relief, given all the negative stuff she’d heard about the heavy aircraft congestion both on the ground and in the skies above one of the busiest airports in the world.
As they climbed into the brilliantly blue and cloudless Texas sky Claire had to admit the flight was indeed a “blast” as Service had described it.
For a little over two hours they flew straight west over the sun-baked, west Texas flatlands. Except for a few, minor air turbulence bumps the flight was nearly flawless, although she was definitely looking forward to being on the ground again. The one thing she enjoyed most about the trip was how much of the tranquil farm and ranch life she could make out from the 5,000 foot cruising altitude of the small plane. In a commercial jet at 32,000 feet all she could see—if anything at all—were clouds, roads and other larger landmarks.
Finally, out of the haze in the distance, she could make out a cluster of buildings of various sizes, including the extremely large hangar she’d seen in the information package her boss had given her. As they drew nearer she could also discern what looked like several other hangars of varying sizes, a control tower, and perhaps what could be a headquarters building. There were several dozen cars she could just make out parked in a nearby lot. There were also thirty or so houses in what looked like a typical housing development. Near them were two, side-by-side, eight-story buildings that she guessed could be apartments given she knew Seok provided housing for some of his employees; again, with many cars parked nearby. Next to them she could see a large, outdoor swimming pool and what appeared to be a nine-hole golf course. She couldn’t help but wonder how much it cost to keep the pool filled and the grass green in the middle of what was quite simply a desert.
As she looked over the edge of the Stearman at the scene below Service yelled at her. “Welcome to KS Spaceport! I’ll take you for a turn around the place.”
She signaled ‘Thanks’ with a thumbs up.
As he turned to begin the aerial tour, she could also see three runways that had to be at least three miles long. They intersected each other to form a very large triangle. Next to one leg she could see a massive concrete apron, that she guessed was at least a quarter mile long, with all the hangars adjoining it. A variety of different aircraft were parked in neat array. Since she gained a working knowledge of airplanes writing other articles for the Sentinel, she could make out those of many different eras and types: World War I and II, Korea, Vietnam, experimental and some she had no idea what they were.
After a full circle, Service shouted, “Gonna land. Your first appointment with Kay is in about 40 minutes.” She could also hear him talking to the facility’s control tower; asking for and gaining permission to land.
Finally, she felt the Stearman begin to sink and bank as he swung around and lined up on one of the long runways to land.
Chapter 20
Gnash and Javad silently reviewed the data that was arrayed in front of them. There were many reports, graphs, pie charts, spread sheets and other forms of analytic compilation. On occasion they would refer to photographic or video evidence projected on the big-screen monitor. Much of the intelligence had been derived from domestic agents and resources. A smaller portion originated from foreign authors and agencies.
One of them was satisfied, the other was not.
They were again meeting in the NSA conference room to track the course of efforts to control the “outbreak.”
“You can see the trends,” Gnash said.
“No question,” Javad agreed.
“We and our foreign associates have things under control,” Gnash added, “but exposures continue to occur at a regular rate. Astronomical forums and other on-line sites are becoming another annoying source of contagion transmission. We’ve been able to quash the vast majority but some remain untreated.”
“I don’t know if there’s much else we can do to significantly slow things further,” Javad noted as he pored over the data. “There are too many ways, too many places people can share what they found. We can’t monitor them all.”
“I talked to the Director last night,” Gnash continued. “He laid it out in no-uncertain terms. The Emergency Committee told her they need more time to implement counter-measures. Even then they don’t know how effective they will be. They’ve given us carte blanche to do whatever we need to keep the infections from getting totally out control.”
“I don’t know how we’re going to stop them,” Javad pointed out. “People are going to expose themselves and not even know it. Then they talk and they share. They instinctively want to tell someone else the exciting new thing they’ve discovered. Sooner or later there’s going to be a wide-spread outbreak.”
“True,” Gnash responded, “but now that we’ve taken over the CBAT website and set up our own servers to accept any new exposures, we’ll have much better control. When they send in the details of what they think is their new comet, they’ll get the warning letter. The same thing applies to astronomy chatrooms and subreddits. If somebody tries to reveal their discovery, we’ll inoculate them. Obviously, the e-mail has been worded strongly enough to keep the vast majority from immediately jumping on social media. You can see it here,” he gestured toward the many documents arrayed across the table. “The inoculation success rate is around 90%. If and when someone like Mr. Whalen or the other 10% or so we’ve discovered, are unsuccessfully inoculated, we’ll immediately do whatever is necessary to maintain the quarantine. And that is exactly what happened in some isolated cases.” He picked up a single sheet of paper. “Let’s see.....all tolled to date, worldwide there have been only 23 sterilizations. I’ve personally handled 11 while the rest have been accomplished by outside contractors here and abroad. Not nearly as many as I’d expected, though. From all we can tell I would have to say our efforts have been largely successful.”
Javad paused for a moment, thinking. “Your efforts, I must say.”
“What is that supposed to mean,” Gnash said, intently looking at Javad.
Javad refused to look at him. “Quite honestly I’m beginning to find your methods......excessive. I don’t think it was necessary to take out Mr. Beckett.”
“He was the ticking time bomb. He probably discovered the microscopic evidence the Cambridge operation was no accident. If he’d continued down that investigatory road he would have
eventually discovered the overall operation. His next step would have been to take it to the mayor or governor; perhaps even higher. I’m sure you can imagine what a disaster that would have been!”
Javad was unmoved. “Perhaps we could have called him in to reveal the true nature of the threat. After all, every human on the planet is in this thing together. There are already thousands of individuals at the highest levels of governmental, here and abroad, who know what’s happening. I’m sure he.....”
“What’s wrong with you! Are you going soft or something! After careful vetting, those other individuals were brought into the inner circle because of their deep and overriding concern for the greater good of all humanity. There were, and continue to be, some officials at the very highest levels of government in a number of countries who have no idea what is happening. Ours included. They can’t be trusted to keep the threat a secret. In the same vein, no one vetted Beckett as to his views on existentialistic threats, nor did we have time or inclination to do so. Once he found the scent he had to be taken out. Period!”
Javad leaned forward, placed his elbows on the table, folded his hands and began to look around the table at the results of their operation, deep in thought.
Gnash continued to stare at him with a growing sense of unease, then finally cut into the silence. “All right Javad. Knock off the BS! What’s going on? I thought you agreed with what we’re trying to do here? I thought you wanted to be part of all this—that you volunteered?” He spread his arms wide above the table.
“I was assigned to this operation, okay!” he snapped. “Yes, my boss gave me a summary of what it entailed. Yes, I agreed to the severity of the measures we might have to take. But now.....when I start to see the bodies piling up.....I just don’t know.” He stopped for a moment, then continued with what appeared to be renewed purpose. “Maybe there is such a thing as a people’s right to know their collected and common destinies—to know when and how they will pass from this life into whatever lies beyond.”
“Oh, for God’s sake!” Gnash snarled, failing to see his own ironic exclamation. “Stop being a philosophical, naive fool! You sound like some kind of religious zealot! Look at the big picture! We’re trying to ensure that all of us have a life that isn’t going to end in a few months! If this thing breaks out into the public consciousness all of us are toast: You, me, your wife and kids, the kids around the corner, the kids on the other side of the world in some isolated piece of nowhere! Doesn’t it make more sense that we help those masses out there by keeping them in blissful ignorance so we can better deal with the threat?”
Javad slowly shook his head. “Sorry. I just don’t see it anymore.”
Gnash was suddenly calm. He stood up. “Then you’re done here. Get out and report back to your boss. I’ll let him know you’re coming. Of course you understand you’ll need to sign some non-disclosure documents before you leave tonight and that any violation of those documents and the agreements they contain would bring grave consequences?”
Javad said nothing in response; staring straight ahead, his face vacant of any expression.
“Javad!”
“Yes, I understand,” he responded, his voice dead flat.
“Then get out!”
Javad pushed backed from the table and stood. They looked at each other, then Gnash turned his back, pretending to look at the TV monitor behind them. As he did, Javad quickly, yet silently, picked up multiple pieces of paper from the table, then reached into Gnash’s open briefcase and blindly grabbed several others. He placed them all into his open briefcase and closed it. He left the room without looking at or acknowledging Gnash in any other way.
As the door closed, Gnash sat back down and retreated into deep thought for several minutes. Finally, he dug around in his briefcase for a few moments and pulled out a business card. He picked up the telephone and punched in a long series of numbers.
“It’s Gnash. We’ve got another problem.”
Chapter 21
With a bit of relief, Claire felt the Stearman biplane’s wheels touchdown on the runway of KS Spaceport. She’d enjoyed the two-hour, scenic flight from DFW International Airport but was nonetheless glad to be on solid ground again.
Scott Service taxied toward one of the smaller hangars. Once inside he killed the engine, hopped out, ran to grab a small ladder and help Claire down. As she stood on the polished concrete floor and pulled off her flight helmet, he opened the small luggage compartment and pulled out her carry-on bag and larger suitcase. He placed them on the floor, took off his helmet and tossed it back into the pilots seat.
As he finished he asked, “You must be thirsty. Let me get you something to drink. We’ve got soft drink and snack machines in the shuttle waiting room. Coke, Pepsi, fruit drink, bottled water? How about a snack?”
“Water’d be fine. Thanks!”
As he walked quickly away she shook out her hair, trying to restore it to some kind of normalcy, noting at the same moment she was already beginning to sweat. ‘No, wait!’ she joked to herself. ‘Women don’t sweat, they glisten.’ Then again, she was in Texas. The temperature had to be close to 100, in spite of the fact she was in the shade and it was autumn.
Looking around the hangar she could see the large space was meticulously maintained. Everything seemed to be in its proper place, neatly arranged and clean. The walls, ceiling and aircraft door were fully insulated and looked freshly painted. Two other fixed-wing aircraft and a helicopter, each looking as if they’d been recently washed and polished, were lined up next to the Stearman. They were also painted navy blue and yellow but in differing styles. There wasn’t the slightest hint of oil, grease or dirt on or beneath them. She couldn’t help but wonder if it was for her benefit.
Service returned with the cold bottled water and handed it to her. He could see her looking around as she took a big swig. He pointed somewhat proudly to each of the aircraft in turn as he spoke. “These are the other guest shuttle aircraft I mentioned. The two-engine plane is a 1978 Cessna 421. Seats 6 and has a range of about 1,700 miles. That sleek, little single-engine is a new Cessna TT. She’s state-of-the-art and really sweet! She’ll take four passengers in comfort 1,000 miles at about 235 miles per hour. She’s one of the fastest single-engine, corporate planes in the world. The helicopter is a 6-passenger 2005 Bell 429. One of these days I plan to be certified in it, too.”
“Mr. Seok really needs all of these?”
“Oh yea! As I said, there are all kinds of people coming and going all the time from all over the world: government, private industry, Hollywood, you name it! He’s also got a couple of corporate jets in the hangar next to this one. They’re both Gulfstreams. One’s a G650ER. It’ll take 19 passengers in style 7,500 miles non-stop at around 600 miles per hour and near 50,000 feet. He’s also got a G150. It takes four to six passengers 3,000 miles at about 460. Many aviation buffs consider them to be the top of the heap when it comes to corporate jets.”
“Does your boss really need all this expensive flying hardware?”
“If you were going to shell out a boatload of bucks for a joyride into low-Earth orbit, wouldn’t you expect every part of the experience to be first class?”
“Yea, I guess so,” Claire said. She walked over to the nearest aircraft, the Cessna TT. She ran her hand over the gleaming fiberglass fuselage. It did feel as if it’d been recently polished.
“Once we officially get up and running,” Service continued, “one of Kay’s limos or aircraft will pick you up wherever you are in the world and deliver you directly here in unabashed luxury. No need for you to schedule regular taxis, boring limos or commercial fights. We’ll handle it all: First class, door to door.”
Just then a navy blue and yellow, covered electric golf cart zipped into the hangar through the main doors. It squealed to a stop in front of Claire’s bags. An attractive young Asian woman, dressed in denim shorts, the usual Cowboy’s T-shirt and flip-flops, jumped out of the driver’s seat and placed them in the ba
ck then walked toward Claire.
As she did she turned to Service and with a big smile said, “Hey, Scott! We still on for tonight?”
“You bet! Six still okay?”
“Sure! See you then.” Quickly she turned back to Claire as Service began the process of securing the Stearman. “I’m Christina Miyamoto,” she said as she extended her hand. “Kay has asked me to be your host for your stay with us. I’ll also be your personal chauffeur. If you have any questions, just ask. No question is off-limits, although I may not have all the answers. If you need to go anywhere, just let me know by text and I’ll be there in a few minutes.”
As the two shook hands Claire smiled and asked. “Is there anyone over 25 in this organization and is everybody a Dallas Cowboy’s fan?”
Christina laughed. “Yes and no. Actually, we’ve got a very diverse work force. I’d guess that most of Kay’s employees are well over forty and composed of virtually every nationality. He likes for the younger ones, like Scott and I, to start at the bottom of the ladder and work our way up, even if we’ve got lots of education or relevant experience. Me for example: I’ve got a Master’s in Finance from Texas A&M. I’m hoping to get into the financial side of things down the road a bit. In the meantime, I’m happy. He pays us well, gives good benefits and is great guy to work for. Anyway, Kay thinks the ground-floor-up approach cultivates the correct work ethic. You won’t see any 20-somethings with Ph.ds around here hired right out of Stanford or MIT running the show. He wants team members who’ve been ‘seasoned’ in the workplace and life in general. And some of the more insane ones around here root for the Texans.” She laughed again then looked at her smart phone. “We’d better get going. We’ve got about 20 minutes to get you to your room and then back to the main office for your appointment with Kay.”
Claire walked to the cart and sat down in the cushy passenger seat as Christina hopped in and quickly took off. In a moment they burst out of the cool hangar into the blazing mid-afternoon sun. She was very thankful for the cart’s sun shade.
Blinding Fear Page 11