by T I WADE
With the limited eyes and ears the government had, he hoped that they wouldn’t notice that the two shuttles did not return.
After visiting the empty mess hall Ryan walked over to the bar, cinema, and shops. Again, this whole section was empty. Everything looked clean and new, but like a ghost town. The security section was packed up and clean. Lieutenant Walls and his remaining men were ready to leave. Ten of the men were departing in an hour on a bus to Los Angeles.
Bill Withers would leave in his RV with Shep on the last night. The lieutenant and Sergeant Meyers would leave a few hours before the last shuttle; Ryan had given each of them a brand new Jeep as a thank you and as a ride to town. Apart from Ryan they would be the last to drive out, northwards, hoping to avoid any incoming troops.
Once again he handed out checks from his New York bank account which he hoped the government wouldn’t find too soon. The account was in his late mother’s maiden name; it was her old student bank account from Columbia dating back sixty years. He had power of attorney, but he hoped because of the different name on the account nobody would tie it to him. He had withdrawn money when the payments from Amsterdam and Antwerp had arrived a few months earlier.
Twenty million dollars had arrived by armored vehicle, and most of it was in the mammoth cargo in the cavern. His mother’s bank account still had over a billion in it and much more was in his own bank account in Switzerland. The hundreds of bonus and salary checks for his crew were now hitting the New York account daily; most of his team already had their promised millions.
He had kept cash for the last two security men and pilots. The security guards received the last of his checks, each one, like the others, getting a cool million dollars.
Once that was done, and he had thanked each man personally, he returned to the empty, open inner gate and Deliveries Acceptance Terminal. It was empty and neat. Here, 1,993 trucks had stopped to offload food and supplies, or had passed into the airfield to deliver fuel, aluminum and materials. He had destroyed every page of delivery records the night before.
His records showed that the cost of his project totaled $6,170,480,759.00, money spent in a thousand different ways, beginning with the first delivery to the airfield over two years earlier.
“The fastest money anybody has ever spent.” He smiled happily. All records, plus anything that wasn’t on disk up in space, was a mass of glowing embers five feet high next to Hangar One.
He turned back and looked at the apron. The C-5 was outside being refueled. He entered the now empty Hangar One. The raised floor where he watched the large screen was still there. So were the screen, his office, and the conference room with furniture neatly placed around the tables. It looked like an empty stage set with no actors, just props.
The rest of the hangar was totally empty. Everything had been removed— equipment, machinery, divided sections where over 180 people had worked 24/7. All gone! He was alone in the vast, empty space.
Hangar Two was nothing more than its outer shell, its concrete floor swept clean, and every part of any building device long gone. Hangar Three still housed the last remaining equipment needed for the C-5; the team was walking over the wings always on the lookout for missing rivets, or cracks. Bob Mathews and his crew waved at him. They were certainly a happy bunch, and he thought they would still be together, fishing somewhere in Florida, when all this was over. They would be even happier when they left Creech with their pilot briefcases filled with a million dollars each.
When Ryan had driven with VIN into Las Vegas on their last visit several weeks earlier, he had worked out a deal with VIN’s friend, the guard that had purchased all the liquor for him. For an envelope of cash to be delivered by Bob Mathews, he would meet the crew at Creech and drive them personally into Las Vegas getting them out of the base safely. Allen Saunders had managed to find an air force colonel’s uniform for Bob Mathews, and the two ladies had their old uniforms mailed to them from their homes. Allen was sure that the C-5 wouldn’t be noticed. They flew in and out every day, and Bob would know what to say.
SB III was stored in Hangar Four and was being refueled for the last launch. Hangar Six held SB II, which was ready to go. Hangar Seven was finally gone, its walls and roof neatly piled behind the concrete floor it had stood on. Ryan could see the one slab, now in the sun that opened the cavern underneath his feet. The 10-foot wide 30-foot slab was invisible to the inspecting eye. Hangars Eight and Nine had also been taken down, and Hangars 10, 11 and 12 were as empty as the rest.
There was absolutely nothing left on Ryan’s airfield except empty buildings and hangars; even the above ground fuel tanks were nearly empty. The air force could have the remaining 12,000 gallons of jet fuel.
Underground was a different matter. The Dewars of liquid hydrogen, nitrogen and one underground bunker with the remaining $2,000,000 worth of solid rocket fuel for the extra flights that would never fly, were hidden in secret locations, all with secret openings invisible from above ground. The dirt from the cavern had been evenly spread over the surface.
Ryan had the best solar powered system in the world; the entire massive apron the aircraft, even Air Force One, had stood on, was covered with an invisible inch-thick layer of see-through silicon Nano paint, connected up to massive lithium batteries underground.
As long as the apron remained open to the sun, his secret cavern and underground storage tanks would have more than enough electricity to operate. The forty-foot underground 1,000 gallon liquid argon Dewar several yards away from the cavern, was computerized and would force the air out of all the storage units just before Ryan closed the last inch of the hydraulic door; then it would pressurize all the underground compartments with argon gas through pipes for long-term storage. Really long-term storage!
Ryan had a small control unit that he would destroy and from then on any underground systems could only be opened from the controls aboard all his craft, or from the Bridge of America One from space.
He hoped everything would remain safe and in perfect condition for a visit probably decades in the future. Included in his secret storehouse were 100 tons of deep frozen food stores, five 25,000-gallon aluminum tanks containing water, pure alcohol, backup liquid hydrogen, and oxygen, vehicles, hazmat suits, space suits, weapons, thousands of spare parts, tools, dies, jet engines, old hydrogen thrusters, vaccines, medical equipment and hundreds of other necessary items.
It all depended on this unusable, desolate area of Nevada nobody really wanted, being ignored once the government realized that the bird had flown the coop!
The phone remained quiet; the television news was nothing more than deteriorating conditions around the world due to decreasing communications. The world was not happy with the U.S. Even Canada had broken off ties, now directing their exports more towards Europe. Washington, it seemed wasn’t worried that the rest of the planet didn’t like them; they were used to that but the threats were growing. The Chinese and Russians were not happy about the U.S. doing very little to ease tensions around the world.
The Secretary of State was practically permanently airborne flying from one nation to the next to discuss retributions for their lost satellites. The president was sure that once he got hold of Astermine he would have mega dollars available to pay them off. He was looking forward to the gift Ryan had promised him. He would make sure the invading troops would look everywhere for his promised diamond.
SB I left with tears and goodbyes from everybody. Ryan, now as attached to Kathy as one could ever be, knew that it might be a long time before he saw her again. Maybe never! They spent their last night together with a little food and wine, lying in front of his bungalow’s fire, sharing their hopes for their unborn baby and their space future together.
Jamie Watkins hugged Ryan, thanking him for the chance to be with her man. Allen was solemn, wishing Ryan the best, hoping that his escape plan was secure and ready to go. Ryan and Allen had worked hard on it; there was only one chance for Ryan to join his team in the foreseea
ble future, and that plan relied on a real and sincere friendship.
Ryan watched in a cold Nevada morning as the lights of the C-5 flew high out of eyesight, 40 minutes later the first-stage rockets ignited and all his new dreams left earth for a new world. For the first time he could remember, tears flowed freely down his cheeks as he watched the shuttle disappear in the dark morning sky.
Now only one shuttle remained. SB III, Jonesy, Maggie, his remaining crew and all their computers and equipment from ground control were in Hangar One.
Even though this was one of the most important cargos, there wasn’t a way to run ground control and also keep his project moving forward. He had several hours of work to do before invading troops arrived, and before SB III left mother Earth.
His refueling crew, now as experienced a crew as one could ever be, had worked around the clock to ready SB III for her final flight. They had beaten their record by forty-eight hours and she would fly out the very next morning after SB II. The end of the project had been brought forward by hard non-stop work by the remaining team.
Ryan’s deadline was still twenty-four hours after SB III’s lift-off, but he had a feeling that he wouldn’t receive all of the allotted time he had been promised. There is no honor among thieves.
SB III was ready for flight except for the liquid hydrogen about to be pumped into her tanks. The Dewars would be closed and their openings in the concrete slabs sealed and hidden. The crew would literally complete refueling, hide the pipes, seal the holes and climb into the forward crew compartment in the shuttle’s cargo bay. The rear half of cargo hold was already filled to the brim with computers, cords, rechargeable lithium batteries, and even Ryan’s clothes and life’s possessions, except for the keys to the Audi; they were next to her new lithium battery and empty fuel canisters ready to start her up one day in the sealed and now airtight cavern one of the crew had just closed.
His nerves were rattled the whole day. Often he imagined that he could hear helicopters or aircraft approaching in the distance. At six that evening he did. He nearly had a heart attack asking who was flying in and was relieved that the incoming helicopter was one he had scheduled; Joe Downs and the Las Vegas CBS News team coming in.
An hour later a second scheduled jet came in to land from the west. As it touched down, his only phone rang in the empty Hangar One. The echoes could be heard outside the hangar walls.
“Ryan Richmond,” he stated answering the landline.
“Richmond, Mortimer here. I hear that you had landings at your airfield. Also, did we miss a reentry in the last few days?”
“Yes, I have just had one of my shuttles come in,” Ryan lied. Now he had no choice, and just hours still to negotiate. “They were several hours late; these lasers are cumbersome units to transfer, even in space.”
“How many more flights do you have coming in? We can’t see if there are any aircraft on your apron, are they all in the hangars?”
“I have one more flight due in tomorrow at about 2:00 p.m. That’s it. Yes, I keep my dangerous weapons under lock and key, General!”
The phone clicked off, and he suddenly realized that the Dead Chicken better fly high and fast in the morning. He was sure that whoever had eyes on him would react fast once the C-5 took off. Ryan decided to bring the shuttle’s takeoff time forward two hours, in case air force jets were ready to intercept her. He needed this one last flight.
His concentration returned to the incoming civilian jet, now parking on the apron.
For an hour Ryan met with the occupants inside the jet, and with Joe Downs and a cameraman from CBS. Once footage was taken with the important visitors Ryan thanked them and returned to the phone in Hangar One. Minutes after the jet took off the phone rang again. Joe Downs and his cameraman followed him to record everything.
“Yes, General, I‘m still here! I’m sure you are checking up to see if I left you in the lurch. I don’t break promises. I just had a few friends fly in for dinner; maybe I should call it The Last Supper?” Again the phone clicked.
For the next several hours, with Jonesy, Bob Mathews, and Lieutenant Walls making statements, Joe Downs took the rest of the needed footage to produce a 45-minute documentary on the dealings of the newly elected U.S. president that would be aptly called, “All the President’s Men”. Ryan handed over copies of every telephone conversation he had ever recorded to Joe and that was it. The cat was now completely out of the bag, even the possibility that Astermine could have averted the asteroid disaster, but the government refused his help.
There was no way Joe Downs and his team could be there when the forces came in. The incoming troops could have orders to destroy everything in front of them.
Joe thanked Ryan. The TV crew installed a modification while in Hangar One, and then they departed, the helicopter flying northwards slow and low to stay below radar. They would overnight in Tonopah.
At midnight, Ryan held a briefing with his flight crew. The shuttle passengers were already being lifted by crane one by one into the forward section of the shuttle’s hold, the passenger compartment. The passengers filled every one of the thirty-six comfortable captain’s chairs. The passenger manifest was the seven remaining ground control scientists, four of the shuttle program’s ground crew, and twenty-five family members. The family members included fourteen wives, two husbands, and eight children. There were also two babies in arm.
It was a full flight, and the last two of SB III’s ground crew sat in the rear cockpit passenger seats. The shuttle’s refueling was just completed, and Ryan needed to make sure that the pilots knew the problems they could face.
“In a few hours, this airfield will be attacked by U.S. forces. I will be here to welcome our hopefully friendly government soldiers who will close this place down. We knew it was coming, and I’m just thankful that I was given enough time to complete my project. Today, most of you leave for our new ship, except for Bob Mathews and his crew who leave for his new ship, somewhere in Florida, I believe?” Everybody laughed and then Ryan, Jonesy and Maggie stood to give the C-5 crew a standing ovation. “One section of the accommodations in our new home is complete. Suzi is up there and will supervise assignments of living areas so that everybody gets a place to stay until the rest of the family and single apartments are ready for occupancy in about two months.
Once you arrive, the current 350-mile altitude of America One will increase to a 1,000 mile height over three days. The reason for such a low altitude is that I might have to use the leveraging of the lasers to be able to free myself from confinement so that I can join you. I expect to be up there in less than a month. A plan is in operation and once you leave here this morning, there is no looking back. If I never make it up there, then my closest friend, Igor, will be in command of America One, and you guys are free to run around the solar system.
“Mr. Mathews, as soon as you leave terra firma in a few hours my phone will ring. The only excuse I have left is that the C-5 is being returned to Nellis, the mission completed. If they don’t like that reason for your takeoff, I’m sure fighter jets will lift off from Nellis or Creech, or further afield. How long will they take to get here, once they are ordered to take off?”
“Since the bases around here are not High Alert Bases,” replied Bob, “I would assume twenty-one minutes before the first aircraft leaves a runway, and it will be the faster F-16s that will hit the air from Nellis, not Creech. Creech is not setup up for fast rotations like Nellis.”
“Mr. Jones?” Ryan asked.
“I would agree with Bob,” Jonesy replied, sitting next to a wide-awake Maggie Sinclair. “If they are on high alert, then fifteen minutes could be the fastest Nellis could get jets off the ground.”
“I’ve seen it done in eighteen minutes, not 15 minutes, Mr. Jones,” added Maggie. “That is a little too quick for a base as large as Nellis. Nellis does have a well-practiced drill for mid-alert emergency, fast rotation situations. It did while Allen Saunders was in charge.”
“L
et us assume that they are on high alert for tomorrow’s attack on a dangerous enemy: Us!” continued Ryan. “How much time do we have before they become a problem for the Dead Chicken? Let’s use Maggie’s middle scenario of eighteen minutes.”
“Eighteen minutes for takeoff,” began Jonesy slowly, the other pilots nodding in agreement as he went through the situation. “They have to climb to catch up to the C-5, which at full power and altitude will be over 25,000 feet. With her low fuel load, she will climb fast and high with the cold of night and at full power, and with her cargo, I would say close to 1,500 feet a minute. Of course, they can loosen their rockets immediately after take-off and lock onto the target, but they will require permission from the president to fire at a friendly aircraft within our borders. They will try and buzz the C-5 to assess the situation, and will report back to command on what they see. Then they could try to swoop in to get her to level out and descend. All this will take ten minutes to get within sight, five minutes to do their first fly-past, then five more minutes to try and force her down, then once that fails…”
“Sorry, Mr. Jones. Mr. Mathews, can you ignore these jets?” Ryan interrupted.
“The C-5 is a monster aircraft; F-16s cannot really get in our way and or get within a couple of hundred yards of the aircraft. The only way they can hurt me is by firing on the aircraft, and the loaned camera from CBS should deter the air force from firing on their own aircraft.”
“We should only mention that they are being filmed after it looks like they will fire on you, Bob,” added Ryan. “I know for a fact that if they do, and with all the evidence we have on the president and his men, it will be the end of all their careers, and they will know it. The American public will not accept any bull crap made-up stories about the U.S. Air Force firing on their own unarmed aircraft, and killing over 40 American citizens inside the country for no apparent reason.”