AMERICA ONE

by T I WADE

  Bob wanted to say that Jonesy had worked out the system, but Ryan had reminded everybody meeting the VIPs that Jonesy had never existed, Colonel Sinclair was now “deceased,” and to say nothing.

  The other two men dressed in civilian dress said nothing. They were more interested in the silver shuttle ready for inspection.

  In the flight cockpit the two Air Force generals were impressed. “Just under 50 percent the size of our old NASA shuttles you say, and with fully retractable wings and tail, and five motors. I’m sure Martin Brusk at Earth-Exit would love to see this beautiful bird. So would that Brit guy. Designed by your team?” General Mortimer asked.

  “Correct,” Ryan replied. “The cockpit can hold four with a squeeze, two sitting in the pull-out seats on each side of the round space-docking port. The outer hatch is part of the shuttle’s outer skin for flight, and is then extended out, up as far as five feet, a foot at a time. The docking device is the same as the International Space Station and can be used for connecting with both Russian and NASA external hatches.”

  “And this is an exact replica of the one you lost a few weeks ago?” Tom Ward asked.

  “Yes, we have inspected the cargo door seals and systems, and believe we found a minor problem, and have rectified it. I doubt we can complete the race to dock humans at the ISS, but on the next flight, at least three orbits of earth will be achieved.”

  “Pity about Colonel Sinclair, she was a good and hard-working pilot,” said General Saunders.

  “Yes, an unfortunate and very sad moment,” replied Ryan looking solemn.

  “She was pilot-in-command?” General Mortimer inquired.

  “No, co-pilot. Another one of your retired Air Force test pilots was pilot-in-command,” replied Ryan.

  “So, what are your chances of winning this race?” asked Joe Bishop, an older plump man in his late sixties, with a blatantly arrogant streak.

  “Unfortunately not good after our last disaster,” Ryan continued. “Our shuttle here, Silver Bullet II, is far ahead of her time, thanks to my team. We have employed several ex-NASA guys, a dozen or so Russian scientists, all current American citizens may I add, and a few scientists from the European Space Agency, also all recent U.S. citizens. She is far superior in flight to anything the British team, or Martin at Earth-Exit have put together and, after this race is over, I hope that NASA might take me up on my offer to take my shuttle and continue to supply the ISS from Florida. I would be more than happy to one day work on an even more advanced spacecraft with them.”

  “Does everyone on your team have U.S. citizenship?” asked Joe Bishop.

  “Correct. I didn’t final-contract anyone without citizenship, and asked those who didn’t have it, to become citizens. This is an American project after all. The ex-president kindly helped me obtain citizenship for several of my specialists after hearing the fantastic capabilities these men and women brought with them. I was quite surprised how quickly the State Department, or whichever department was involved, got the necessary papers together.”

  “What happens if you don’t win, Mr. Richmond.? Will this billion dollar operation be a waste of your money?” asked Tom Ward.

  “I don’t think so. I’m willing to work with NASA in the future. This project has been a dream of mine since I was a kid, and shall I say, this very expensive hobby is far more exciting than anything I have previously done. I was aboard the first shuttle when we completed one orbit and returned to earth late last year, and I feel I have already got my money’s worth. I also hope to be on one of the shuttles into space very soon, hence the two extra seats in the cockpit. That will be my reward for success, whether I’m beaten or not, Mr. Ward.”

  “What are in all the other hangars?” asked Tom Ward directly. Ryan had been waiting for this one question and replied.

  “Understand Mr. Ward, there are several liquid gases needed for space flight. One hangar produces liquid oxygen, one each produces, liquid nitrogen, helium, argon, and of course liquid hydrogen. Each gas must be separated and kept separated, or this part of Nevada could look like the old nuclear test facility it was during the 1950s. One is for the production of xenon gas, the main fuel we use as a backup for liquid hydrogen in space. Another hangar is our computer hardware and software integration systems; the first hangar is our production plant for our space suits. We are not NASA, Mr. Ward we make everything here on site.”

  “And those panels on the trucks that have been dropping by here for the last year?” asked Joe Bishop.

  “We use those panels as sterile room panels, just like NASA needs to build space parts and pieces inside sterile compartments inside the hangars. Plastic doesn’t work and without those panels there is little chance that my project could ever make space, never mind win this race,” Ryan replied unblinking and honestly.

  “Can we see inside the hangars, Mr. Richmond?” Tom Ward asked.

  “Unfortunately, no, Mr. Ward. They are sealed from the inside. Many of the scientists working in there live in those sterile environments, and even I don’t go in there until a project is finished, and it is safe for me to enter. I haven’t been in Hangar One over there for a month. They are building a more sophisticated docking chamber and Hangars Two and Four are beginning to build a replacement shuttle and were sealed only last week. They are sealed now for the next several months.”

  How do the people working in there eat and sleep?” asked General Mortimer.

  “We pass food through a hatch once a day. It enters their living chamber. They cannot enter their working areas until they have gone through a shower and dust collector system, the same used in the European Space program. Different shifts enter for a week and then swap out. I was told that Airbus has the same sterilization systems for their intricate work areas.”

  “So does Boeing,” added General Saunders.

  “Pity, I would have felt better having a full tour,” added Joe Bishop. “But, hearing that all the people working here are citizens, and that you could be working closely with NASA in the future makes me feel more confident.”

  “More confident about what, may I ask?” replied Ryan.

  “We, at the NSA, have to always be sure that there are no hidden agendas in large projects, Mr. Richmond. We have the American public to protect. Tom Ward and I have seen things around the world which would shock most people. We also need to know what is going on across America, to protect the population and, of course, the government. Your project was becoming suspect with all the materials being shipped in here. Also, and thanks to the ex-Commander In Chief, you were allowed some of our plutonium-238. Where is that?”

  “Unfortunately somewhere in the far corners of space,” replied Ryan truthfully. “It went up with our last flight. Is there any chance of some more?”

  “I doubt it, Mr. Richmond,” replied Joe Bishop. “The new president certainly wouldn’t allow any more. How is the government going to be compensated for the last load that was destroyed?”

  “I believe the $10 million I paid Congress for the loan of the plutonium will help compensate for its loss,” added Ryan sarcastically.

  “You paid for the stuff?” Tom Ward asked.

  “That is correct, Mr. Ward. I paid that amount for a twenty-four month loan of second-hand, and virtually useless, plutonium-238, something any terrorist agency wouldn’t even want or find of much use.”

  “Oh!” replied both men and left it there.

  “General Mortimer, I would like to fly your C-5 Galaxy to Europe, via Andrews and Ramstein for refueling and then on to Turkey,” continued Ryan, facing the two Air Force officers. “May I have permission to do this one flight? And I would accept three of my four remaining Air Force offered tanks of JP-8, one at Andrews and Ramstein for the outward flight, then part of a load from a KC-125 tanker over the English Channel, and then a second KC-25 over the U.S. East Coast during the return flight. Bob Mathews and Captain Sullivan will be the pilots and your Captain Pitt has become a good C-5 flight engineer. Since we are
flying empty, I don’t need any of your pilots for this extended flight, just your permission.”

  “What reason would you need to fly the C-5 to Turkey, and why would you need in-flight refueling?” asked the general.

  “I have a potential source of investment in my company from an oil company in the Middle East, What I can divulge to you is that I will be speaking to a Royal Family controlling one of our friendly countries; and this agreement could be a real plus for our country, to tie in a more grounded source of oil. They are interested in developing a space authority of their own and would like to use my ideas to piggy back on. This country is one of the best friends to the U.S. and, naturally once any contract is signed, you will get copies of all that is going on. Only if and when an agreement is signed, will I be allowed by the King to divulge the name of his country. We are to meet in a third country, Turkey, to discuss a possible $10 billion investment, a substantial sum for me to continue my work. They want to see the actual aircraft that is propelling our shuttles into space and how we can achieve space at only twenty million dollars per flight. In-flight refueling will be necessary on the way home as this member of the Royal family can only meet with me on a certain day at a certain time, and our second mission start time for space is in a tight forty-eight hour window of my arrival for this meeting. In other words, time is tight and I cannot change the itinerary. It is out of my hands.”

  “Is that Jordan?” asked Tom Ward.

  “I would not like to say right now,” replied Ryan. “But, it might be.”

  General Mortimer was given nods of approval by the two men in civilian dress, and the matter was put to rest.

  After an hour of expensive snacks, including the same Russian caviar VIN enjoyed earlier that day high above, and a few glasses of quality California red wine and champagne, the visitors climbed back into their little jet and headed back to Nellis Air Force Base.

  “It didn’t seem that they knew about Congress charging you for your plutonium,” suggested Bob Mathews as they watched the jet take off on its short return flight back to Las Vegas.

  “Even the ex-president doesn’t know,” replied Ryan smiling. “At least this visit will keep them off my back for a while, and my mention of the second-hand plutonium has given me a new idea of how to extend my value to them.”

  Ryan achieved the next part of the plan with the flight to Turkey via Andrews Ramstein in Germany, including in-flight refueling so that he wouldn’t have to land anywhere on U.S. soil. If he ever had to testify in court, he could honestly state that the purchase was not landed on U.S. soil, only at his airfield. It might help.

  Over the next week the flight was planned by the pilots. Since the C-5 was flying over with no cargo, its usual 2,500 mile range was extended by a good 40 percent. On its return flight, the first tanker could refuel the C-5 from Ramstein in Germany, and then the second from Andrews over the East Coast to reach Nevada.

  Bob Mathews, who was an expert on this type of flying, contacted the necessary Air Force personnel at Andrews and Ramstein air bases to set up the perfect timing of their outward journey; on their way home his efforts would bring two aircraft together at 350 miles an hour to transfer more fuel in the air than was often stored at a small gas station.

  Several days later, with just enough JP-8 to get to Andrews, the mammoth plane took off. On board as crew and passengers were Bob Mathews, the pilot in the left seat, Maggie, in the right seat as co-pilot, both Captains Sullivan and Pitt who were backup pilots/flight engineers, two of Ryan’s experts in radio-active material, and Ryan.

  Andrews was a large airfield and the base commander, an old friend of Bob Mathew’s. While the aircraft was being refueled for the flight to Europe, the base commander invited the crew in for dinner at the Officers’ Mess. Maggie stayed in the aircraft; Ryan didn’t want her recognized by any Air Force personnel. A doggie-bag was brought to her by the others to remind her of the good Air Force cooking she was missing.

  Two other C-5s were heading out to Ramstein, and Ryan’s aircraft was invited to join them for the flight over the pond. Several hours later the three aircraft began their descents into Ramstein. Refueling would be a three-hour event and dawn was still an hour away when the twelve tanks of the thirsty aircraft began receiving fuel. Ryan was often on his satellite phone speaking to his contacts at their destination, 1,200 miles in front of them.

  Seven hours later Bob Mathews began his descent into a small commercial airport in eastern Turkey. It was the first time a U.S. Air Force aircraft had ever landed on this short, narrow runway.

  Ryan expected to see smaller commercial jet aircraft at the small five-gate terminal; he was sure that many of the passengers and Turkish flight crew would not believe their eyes when they saw a U.S. Air Force aircraft, the biggest in the world, using their airport.

  Bob was shown where to taxi by a Turkish airport civilian police car, and steered the aircraft to the cargo area of the airport where they came to a halt in front of a large hangar.

  Bob began the checks to open the large forward nose door, and once the nose was opened, the hangar doors were opened; all he could see was a flatbed truck inside the hangar with three large, square, wooden freight crates, each the size of an SUV. The old rusty flatbed reversed out and Bob was quite surprised to see the rear of the old truck’s bed begin to rise to the cargo floor height of the C-5, a dozen feet higher than its load. This vehicle looked as though it had been modernized just for this one load. He went down to the cargo area to watch the loading. Captain Pitt, experienced at loading an aircraft of this size, was already at the front nose door watching the three crates slowly rise up to the C-5 door height.

  “Looks like the same system we use back at the airfield,” Bob said to Pitt. Ryan and his two scientists watched the loading from the concrete apron below the aircraft.

  “Exactly the same,” replied Pitt. “It also seems to have the same wheel system which will run the three crates into the cargo bay. The base on each crate has been modified to sit on the same tracks the shuttles use, and the middle one, I’m told, is the heavy one, at three tons. The others are European food supplies for the airfield personnel, and weigh one ton apiece. The entire cargo only weighs five tons, Colonel, so we won’t see much more fuel usage on the way home with such a light load.”

  “Is that a Geiger Counter in the boss’s hand?” Bob asked realizing what Ryan and his two guys were holding. “I thought we were coming here to meet a king or something.” Bob had not been in on any of the meetings and wasn’t told of the real reason they were flying to Turkey.

  Michael Pitt told him what he was allowed. “That story was for the interested parties who came to visit. One of these crates holds a special power unit for space travel, and as you can see, might show radiation.”

  “Is that why we are surrounded by Turkish police cars?” asked Bob. “May I assume this is our next load into space in thirty hours?”

  “Correct!” Michael smiled. “Ryan doesn’t want the government to know that it even arrived in the states. One could say that it is hazardous cargo in transit, not needing customs approval. Straight in, straight out, in transit! Why do you think we are all being paid so much, Colonel Mathews? Not a bad deal for a bit of hazardous cargo.”

  Bob happily agreed with that statement. He could enjoy a far better life after two years of retirement work for Ryan. He would be able to afford a new larger cruiser and go fishing in Florida.

  He went back to the flight engineer’s table in the cockpit to plot the flight home, and input the five-ton cargo into the computer to calculate the aircraft’s fuel needs. The tanks still two-thirds full; a top-up would be due over Ramstein, and then one over Maryland for their last leg into Nevada. Bob Mathews, who was as good as any flight engineer, worked out what he would need to suck out of the two air tankers that were going to meet up with them on the way home.

  The stop at the Turkish civilian airport had been planned for a duration of three hours. Ryan knew that milit
ary cameras in space would be following their every move, so he had arranged for the arrival of a white civilian jet, which just happened to park close by, and he entered the jet for an hour. It cost him plenty but it was worth it.

  He was also hoping that the three crates would look like a gift, or supplies, and, in fact, the two crates full of eastern food and delicacies fit that description. He was quite partial to a bar or two of “Turkish Delight” every now and again, himself.

  Bob watched as two hours later, the small Gulfstream jet took off and Ryan walked out to the apron with a stack of what looked like white envelopes, and shook the hand of every Turkish policeman around the aircraft; there were thirty or more of them, and Bob noticed that Ryan handed each man an envelope. He was sure that the envelopes had some financial benefits in them.

  Ryan then met with the three men in the hangar who had been there to deliver and load the cargo, and again envelopes were handed out. They all shook hands. Ryan signaled Bob to close the nose and then sat down in the hangar for a tiny cup of Turkish coffee.

  Michael Pitt checked the positioning and tie-down of the cargo, and Ryan spent several minutes with the men in the still-open hangar drinking coffee and chatting.

  The flight back to Ramstein was uneventful. The Stratotanker was climbing into the agreed location and Bob, a little rusty at in-flight refueling, was ribbed by the tanker’s young pilot about being a little off with his aim. After pumping in 25,000 pounds of fuel, they said their goodbyes, and the C-5 flew out over the Atlantic.

  Seven hours later, with the sun about to set over the western horizon and a strong headwind from a cold front, they met up with the second air tanker over Maryland and took on enough fuel to get back to Nevada.

  Maggie took over the flying duties from Bob Mathews after the second refueling; they arrived in Nevada thirty minutes late due to inclement weather the flight went through over the Atlantic. She touched down lightly on the runway and taxied the C-5 to its usual place on the apron.