“Thanks, Julian, I knew you’d come through.” Daniel reached into the box and pulled out the desiccated pastry. For the OSTP science team, scones were a thing. Daniel went along with it.
“So, it sounds important. Who’s at this meeting?”
“Not at liberty to say, sir.”
“Ah, that’s what I love about working for the government. Be ready to go at a moment’s notice, but we’re not going to tell you the subject matter or even who you’ll be meeting with.” Daniel patted Julian on the shoulder in a friendly gesture. In truth, he had no complaints about his job.
“Yes, sir, it certainly keeps you on your toes.”
Even at six in the morning, the traffic inbound to Washington was building rapidly. Julian made it as far as Arlington and then flipped on the emergency lights for the remainder of the drive. Ten minutes later they drove through the west gate of the White House.
Daniel hopped out, stretched both arms, and for a moment allowed the surroundings to soak in. The soft light of dawn lit the columned entrance to the West Wing in a pink glow. He looked up at the graceful building added to the White House in 1902 by Teddy Roosevelt and occupied by every president since. Anyone would be impressed by this historic place, and Daniel certainly was.
A Marine guard opened the door and Daniel walked into the marble reception area. The ground floor was for the president, visiting foreign dignitaries and members of Congress. The second floor provided work space for the president’s staff. The basement was for everyone else.
“This way, sir,” the Marine said, leading Daniel down the steps. They ended up in a dimly lit hallway and turned into the Situation Room, bright and already full of activity.
Several men in various military uniforms sat on one side of the long conference table, leaning toward each other in quiet conversation. On the other side of the table, Daniel recognized Augustin Ibarra, NASA’s Administrator. Older, and balder, Spencer Bradley was seated next to Ibarra, and both were in conversation with a tall, well-dressed woman who clearly had their attention. Daniel recognized her from photos—the president’s national security advisor, Christine Shea.
On the other side of Ibarra sat a young woman whose focus was on the notepad in front of her. She was petite, with short dark hair and glasses, and she wore a dark business suit. Daniel didn’t recognize her, even when she looked up and made eye contact.
As Daniel walked in, Shea broke off her conversation and spoke directly to him. “Welcome, Dr. Rice, glad you could join us. Please have a seat, we have much to cover.”
“I’m happy to help,” Daniel replied and took the seat next to Bradley.
Shea walked to the front of the room. “Everyone… let’s catch up.” The side conversations died down and all eyes turned toward her.
“Four hours ago, at two a.m. our time, a Russian Soyuz spacecraft carrying three astronauts, an American and two Russians, from the International Space Station was reported destroyed on reentry over Kazakhstan. Russian ground controllers at Korolyov tell us that everything was running smoothly up to the moment when they lost radar and radio contact. They’re still researching the cause of the failure, but they believe the spacecraft broke up rapidly, or possibly exploded. The Russians have teams deployed now to search for debris and remains, but so far, no word on any recovery. The initial assessment is that all three on board were killed.”
“The American was Jeremy Taylor,” Ibarra added. “NASA has already contacted his wife.”
There was little reaction in the room, but for Daniel, it was entirely new information. He realized that by now the story was probably showing up on news sites and TV channels around the world.
Daniel scanned the room. The president’s advisors, NASA representatives and military leaders sat around the table. They would all be needed for the coming investigation. But Daniel’s purpose at the table was unclear. He provided oversight for government science programs. A spacecraft accident simply wasn’t his domain.
“That’s the basics,” continued Shea. “However, as we were just beginning to discuss, there’s more to this story. General Stanton?”
A white-haired man in an Army uniform leaned forward and cleared his throat. “Well, first let me caution that we’re only a few hours into this and information is sparse. The Russians might have key details they’ve neglected to pass along to us. But from what we know so far, their story doesn’t add up. Soyuz is two tons of metal, yet they’re claiming their high-altitude radar didn’t track any debris. Nothing. They said the Soyuz descent vehicle completely disappeared off radar.”
“And what would you expect to see?” Bradley asked.
“Something. More than something, a lot. A blizzard of radar contacts. That’s what makes no sense. When Columbia broke apart in 2003, our facilities tracked debris all the way across Texas and into Louisiana. Hell, hundreds of people saw it from the ground. Debris is part of any uncontrolled reentry, and it’s a no-brainer to track it on radar. That’s how you find it when it hits the ground.”
The general glanced at Shea and waved his hand as if answering a question he knew was coming. “Yeah, yeah, it could be misinformation. It could be a Russian radar problem, or some other technical issue. Hell, I’d be willing to cut the Russians some slack, except for the communication Ibarra’s guys picked up. That’s pretty goddamned screwed up.”
Augustin Ibarra elaborated. “Our people at NASA Goddard were monitoring the S-band communication. That’s standard protocol, they monitor all near-Earth communication twenty-four hours a day via satellite relay. Just after three a.m., nearly an hour after the Soyuz event, they picked up an audio transmission, a broken conversation in Russian. It was too faint to make out much, just a few words that didn’t mean anything.”
“What’s strange about that?” Bradley asked. “Maybe a Russian CapCom?”
Ibarra nodded his head. “Right. Our people thought the same thing. That frequency is reserved for transmissions between space and ground. We use it for our missions, and the Russians use it for theirs too. All radio transmissions are picked up by ground antennas or geosynchronous satellites and put on a communications network, and our people at Goddard are tapped in to that feed. At first, they thought the voice was just a Russian ground controller still holding out hope. But they looked at the source signature, the metadata on every transmission. It wasn’t coming from Russian Mission Control. The voice was from Soyuz.”
Christine Shea shook her head. “A voice, coming from Soyuz, after it supposedly blew up. Or should I say, after it disappeared.” She looked directly at Spencer Bradley.
There were several glances around the room, and Daniel saw the tell on Bradley’s face. After many years working together, Daniel knew him well. Bradley was holding back, hiding something.
Shea looked up at the ceiling as if staring through the floor to the Oval Office above them and took a deep breath. “If we don’t get this right… the president is going to have a fit.”
Shea leaned forward with both hands on the table. “Ladies and gentlemen, it’s time for action. This is an event that we need to fully understand, and we’re not there yet. I believe there are three avenues we must investigate. The first and most likely possibility is that we’re looking at a failure of the Soyuz spacecraft on reentry. Whether all aboard were killed is a separate question. NASA will take the lead, in cooperation with our Russian partners at Roscosmos. Augustin, any comments or questions about this part?” She looked over at Augustin Ibarra and he shook his head.
“The second is the possibility of an act of terrorism or war, that Soyuz was taken out by a missile or bomb. Ukrainians? Russian separatists? Who knows? While this may be unlikely, I want to know for sure. General Stanton’s team will investigate, jointly with the Russians.” Stanton nodded in agreement.
Shea paused again and took a sip of water. “The third possibility is also unlikely, but I want to investigate it just the same. This one’s politically awkward because it involves a classified progra
m right here in the United States.”
Shea looked at Bradley and continued, “This program is an advanced scientific study run out of Fermilab in Illinois. It’s called Diastasi. It’s on the cutting edge of high-energy particle physics, and, at the risk of sounding crazy, they make things disappear. Literally, disappear. The descriptions we’ve heard of the Soyuz disappearance seem to me to have similarities, and I’m not a person who believes in coincidences.”
Daniel felt the energy in the room shifting, and like everyone else, he was puzzled by Shea’s statement. Daniel knew about the work at Fermilab. Buried under the ground in Illinois was the nation’s largest particle accelerator, a place where protons smashed into atoms, creating exotic particles like neutrinos.
Daniel perked up as he heard his name.
“We’re asking Dr. Rice to investigate this third possibility,” Shea continued. “Let’s keep this one quiet—no contact with the Russians, please. There’s no reason to stir up a hornet’s nest if we can investigate on our own and rule out any linkage to Soyuz.”
She turned to Daniel. “Dr. Rice, I know we’re putting you on the spot here, but I’m equally confident that you are the right person to help. Dr. Bradley can provide further details. Spence, can you get this investigation rolling?”
Bradley stood up, and Daniel followed his lead.
Ibarra held up a hand. “Before you go, gentlemen, I have a request.” He turned to the NSA and lowered his voice. “Ms. Shea, you raise a concern about a secret program. A program NASA is not involved in and had no prior knowledge of, but which could have caused a major spaceflight disaster? I can’t tell you how many alarms are going off in my head right now.”
Shea nodded. “Augustin, I completely understand, but remember that I’m only speculating. We don’t know if there’s any connection—that’s what Dr. Rice will investigate. It will probably be nothing.”
Ibarra settled back into his seat. “I’m sure you’re right, but the scenario is unsettling. NASA needs to know about any program that has the slightest potential to impact space operations.” He exchanged glances with the woman sitting beside him. “I had intended for Ms. Kendrick to work with Roscosmos, on your first scenario. But, given the circumstances, I think it would be better for her to join forces with Dr. Rice and Dr. Bradley.”
All eyes in the room moved to the unfamiliar participant at the table. She carefully removed her glasses and nodded in acknowledgment.
Shea turned to Bradley. “Any problems, Spence?”
“None whatsoever. We’re happy to include her,” Bradley responded. “Are you ready to go, Ms. Kendrick?”
The young woman stood up and grabbed her notebook. “I am, thank you, Dr. Bradley.”
Bradley ushered them from the room and closed the Situation Room door behind them, and the three stood in the quiet hallway.
She reached out to shake hands. “Marie Kendrick, NASA Special Operations. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Dr. Bradley, Dr. Rice.”
“Nice to meet you, Ms. Kendrick.” Bradley held her hand for a moment. Daniel knew the routine. She was young, maybe twenty-eight or twenty-nine. Fresh-faced, no lines around her eyes, no battle scars. Daniel had witnessed Bradley’s approach to hiring, with only the most experienced people making it through. From the looks of things, even collaborators got the same treatment.
Bradley pointed to a NASA pin on her suit lapel in the shape of an eagle. “You’ve flown in space?”
She showed a puzzled look as she touched her lapel. “Oh, the pin. No. The eagle signifies NASA flight operations. In my case, seventeen training missions on the MD C9-B, better known as the Vomit Comet. Wild in its own way, but not in space.”
“Training, I see.” Bradley nodded. “You know, I’ve always wanted to do one of those zero-G flights. Does it live up to its reputation, Ms. Kendrick?”
“On the first flight, nausea is guaranteed. But you get used to it. And please, call me Marie,” she asked.
Bradley nodded, his balding head glinting under the hallway spotlight. “Very good, Marie. Glad you could join us.”
She had apparently passed inspection. Daniel held out his hand. “Daniel Rice, it’s a pleasure having you on this investigation, whatever it is. I’m afraid I’m clueless. A classified program, potentially tied to a space disaster? Technology that makes things disappear?” Daniel turned to Bradley. “What the hell was that about?”
Spencer Bradley took a deep breath, his cold stare alternating between Marie and Daniel. “They say teams are built on trust. So, trust me when I say you’re not going to like this next conversation.” He pivoted and waved a hand. “Follow me.”
4 Russians
The black BMW raced down the motorway northeast of Moscow, parting traffic with its blaring horn. Nearing the city of Korolyov, it passed a large rocket standing as a monument along the side of the road. Korolyov was one of the naukograds, cities built during the Soviet era as showcases for science and technology. Modern Korolyov was less a showcase and more an industrial city, with new European companies displacing rusting Soviet factories, long since closed.
The car exited the motorway and sped down a broad, tree-lined street into an unassuming neighborhood of low-rise office buildings and apartments. It screeched to a halt in front of a row of flags from multiple nations. The sign in front was modest. Tsentr Upravleniya Poletami, commonly known as TsUP, the Russian spaceflight center.
A large man in a business suit stepped out of the car and hurried through the entrance. He displayed his security badge, walked through a metal detector and turned down a hallway marked Mission Control in both Russian and English.
He passed through a second security station and stepped into a cavernous room filled with rows of desks, computer displays and people in motion. A forty-foot tall video screen stretched across the room’s far wall. Its world map provided multicolored orbital tracings, along with live video feeds from space and ground.
A group gathered around one of the workstations, and the large man headed their way. A young man wearing a headset waved him over. “Director, I’m glad you are here. The transmission is continuing even now.”
“Have you identified the source?” the director asked him.
“Yes, sir. It is Soyuz, there is no question. We have been receiving for more than thirty minutes, but they are not hearing us.”
“Put it on speaker.”
The group gathered close to listen. The Russian voice coming from the speaker was clear at times, but broken by static.
“… correcting for descent anomaly …”
“… orbital height above the disc varies …”
“… receive your transmissions. We have checked our equipment …”
“… we see the fire, has Earth …”
The voice faded. They listened for another minute, but the speaker returned nothing but static.
“It has been this way,” the young man said. “A break, followed by a transmission, followed by another break. We are hearing some of the same words. We think they are repeating. With time, we may be able to fill in the blanks.”
“Still nothing on radar?”
“Nothing, sir. Radar is blank. They are not there, yet they are.”
“Any idea what he means by the fire?”
“I don’t know, sir. Something they are seeing either in space or on the ground?”
“Keep monitoring and provide a transcript of the full recording to my desk once you have it all,” the director told him. “Is this transmission on the global network?”
“Yes, our partners in the United States and Europe are receiving the same thing.”
“Good.” He turned to the group of people standing nearby. “I want all department heads in my office in ten minutes. This is now a rescue mission. Our first task is to determine Soyuz’s location. In the absence of radar, this will require creative thinking and full participation from our partners.”
The director eyed each person in the group, their faces blank.
He abruptly turned on his heel and left, leaving only the sound of static still scratching from the speaker.
5 Quantum
Daniel followed Bradley out of the West Wing and along the path to the Eisenhower Executive Office Building. The ornate building looked as if it belonged in Paris, not Washington. Classically French in architecture, with roof dormers and dozens of chimneys, it was called ugly by some but named a National Historic Landmark by others.
Their strides along the concrete path revealed an urgency. Daniel’s newest partner kept in step, her pace just shy of a jog. “It’s nice your office is located so close to the White House,” Marie said between breaths.
“Proximity may be its only virtue,” Daniel replied. “La Bastille will wear you down, particularly on those cold January mornings as you wait for the Jurassic-era heating system to kick in.” Marie looked up, smiled weakly and refocused on the ground.
Bradley led them past the inoperable elevators and up a marble stairs to the second floor. They passed through an oversized doorway, a sign displaying Office of Science and Technology Policy. A reception desk stood in the center of the room, and behind it a woman looked up from the pastry box she had just opened.
Bradley spoke to her even as he opened the adjacent door to his office. “Janine, we’re going to need to get Daniel and Marie on a plane to Chicago. Commercial if practical, but get them there quickly. And please let Director Park know they’re coming and will have full security clearance. On second thought, don’t worry about Park, I’ll call him myself.”
“No problem, Dr. Bradley, I’ll get the transportation,” Janine answered. She stopped what she was doing and turned her attention to Daniel, now standing at her desk. “Good morning, Daniel. How are you?”
“Morning, Janine. Suddenly busy, and just barely past breakfast. Perhaps an indicator for the rest of the day?” Daniel flashed his best early-morning smile, and Janine responded with one of her own. OSTP had some top-notch people, and Janine was one of them. Her beautiful smile was just a bonus.
Quantum Space: Book One in the Quantum Series Page 2