Legacy: An Event Group Thriller

by David L. Golemon

  “We have come into intelligence that the West has known about this for quite some time, and throughout the years has refused to share this information and technology with the People’s Republic as well as many other nations. The monopoly of this find in Ecuador has been a well-kept secret for far too long, and now you suggest cooperation between us and your allies? Perhaps if you had come to my predecessors many years ago this situation could have been avoided.”

  “I assure you, the find was kept secret by the Nazi regime, and only recently have the facts come to light. The United States and her allies have nothing but respect for—”

  Again, the president was cut off.

  “Mr. President, I must reiterate how pleased I am that you are safe after your ordeal of this day. I am sure once the scales have been balanced by the heroic astronauts aboard the Magnificent Dragon, we can come to terms with our past on a more equal basis and work for a better future in regard to Case Blue, if that threat is really viable as you claim. Good evening, and may you have very good luck on your launches tonight.”

  The secretary of state listened and then looked at the president and shook his head.

  “The chairman has hung up, sir.”

  “Goddamn it!” The president slammed the phone down and reached for a glass of water, chasing the three doctors away with a warning look. “Get me Johnson Space Center. Conference it with Kennedy, Vandenberg, and the Cape. We go.”

  The room was silent as the president swallowed some pain medication. He looked up at the ceiling and came to a decision.

  “Get me my pants and jacket. I’m getting out of here.”

  “Where to?” the secretary of state asked.

  “Home. I want to see my wife and kids.”

  HARTSFIELD INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT, ATLANTA, GEORGIA

  James McCabe was waiting outside in the limousine for Laurel Rawlins. Even though the luxury car had windows you couldn’t see through, he felt like every set of eyes that passed the waiting vehicle were peering in at him. The mistake of allowing Jack Collins to live was a haunting reminder that you could not play by any set of rules when doing what he was attempting to do. Now he had been linked to the attacks. After tonight, it was time to disappear. In order to accomplish that he would need the good Reverend’s daughter to assure his financial payoff for a job he deemed completed. Then, after this evening’s festivities, he would make sure Laurel and the Mechanic understood that no one double-crosses James McCabe.

  The door finally opened, and even though McCabe knew it to be Laurel, he found it difficult not to react apprehensively because of his new status as the most wanted man alive—even more wanted than Jack Collins. He found it ironic that the plan he had set in motion with Jack had come full circle to bite him in his hindquarters and now they were both on top of the list as far as desperation went.

  Laurel slid into the backseat of the large black Lincoln and the driver sped away. She leaned in to kiss McCabe on the cheek and was surprised when he held his hand in the air, blocking the attempt.

  “I think we’re well beyond that,” he said, turning to face the side window.

  “I know you didn’t approve of the assassination, but—”

  McCabe looked back and simply nodded toward the small television embedded in the front seat of the limousine. There the president of the United States was waving to a crowd of reporters from inside of his hospital room. The tape was now four hours old.

  “That’s impossible. We had him—”

  “Impossible, but nonetheless there he is. And now I have an arrest warrant out for me and your father will be on the run very soon.”

  Laurel watched the taped segment of the president and she read the caption that he had already returned to the White House to be with his family. She lowered her head and turned away from the television.

  “You will remain with me throughout the evening,” McCabe said. “After my contract is complete, you will accompany me to Ecuador to consummate my ending to this fiasco. Your father will attempt to meet us there.”

  “You have to get the remaining technology out of that mine or you can forget about the riches you think you’ve earned.” Laurel reached for her cell phone and opened it.

  McCabe took hold of Laurel’s wrist. He twisted it until the phone fell free.

  “So you recruited my man to assist you in your stupidity.” McCabe smiled, then grabbed Laurel’s chin and roughly turned her to face him. “Now, my dear, do you know why your assassination attempt failed so miserably?”

  Laurel didn’t fight the roughness of McCabe’s touch. She just allowed her eyes to seek out his and remain fixed as the sickening feeling started in the pit of her stomach.

  “Your shooters turned on their seeker heads far too early. They could have launched the Stingers and then brought the software online. When the target became illuminated the Air Force would not have been able to react so swiftly.”

  “You told them to light up the target, you said—”

  “Indeed I did. Do you think killing the president would have had any bearing whatsoever on the plan? It would not. It would have only infuriated the people of this country, which you’ve managed to do anyway. After I’ve covered my tracks in Ecuador, I am finished. With money in hand I will depart forever. I suspect I can take care of all my business down south, tie up loose ends, and be on my way. You, my dear, can go for the technology in the second gallery if you wish. Personally I believe it’s going to be a little hot there in a few hours.” He smiled as he released Laurel’s chin and slapped her across the face. Then he slammed a fist into her cheek and pulled her onto the seat. He held her there, staring at her with hate-filled eyes. “And you and your father are two of those loose ends. I think you can make that call now, only we’ll change the wording somewhat.”

  QUITO, ECUADOR

  It had only taken Sebastian Krell two hours to return with three of his men to inform Jack that Everett was being held inside a fortress that was covered by an army of police. Collins took the news like a blow to the solar plexus. He sat in the large aircraft and turned away from the German commando and his gathered men. Charles Hindershot Ellenshaw III reached out and patted Jack on the back.

  Pete Golding saw for the first time the closeness of Colonel Collins and his second in command, Carl Everett, and felt he had to do something.

  “Major Krell, would it be possible to get me video of the building the captain is being held in?” Pete asked.

  The German tuned to Pete and shook his head. “Anything is possible, Professor, but what practical good would a video of the police headquarters be?”

  Pete stood from his chair and paced the aisle. He placed his hand to his chin. That was when Charlie Ellenshaw saw that Pete was formulating a plan. He had seen it before when Golding worked with him on a few projects with help from Europa, his baby. When Pete went into planning mode, he was a dynamo.

  “To start, I need every exit the building has. I also need to know approximately where Captain Everett is located.”

  “I can tell you that,” Sebastian said, wondering what the tall and very thin Golding was getting at. “He’s being held in the detention area in the basement. The security for a country like Ecuador is far beyond what it was a few years ago. There’s no rushing the building to break the captain out.”

  Pete stopped pacing and looked up at the German. “Rush the building? I’m afraid what I’m thinking is far more ambitious than that.”

  “Okay, Pete, what gives?” Jack asked, as he regained a margin of hope.

  “If I can do what I think I can with the help of Europa, I can maybe give the captain a window of about five minutes.”

  “A five-minute window to do what?” Sebastian asked and looked from Golding to his men. There was a smirk on the commando’s face.

  “Why, to allow Mr. Everett the time he needs to walk out of that building.”

  Jack smiled and looked back at Sebastian. He returned his gaze to Pete. “Of course. What were we thi
nking?”

  FAITH MINISTRIES, INC., LOS ANGELES, CALIFORNIA

  The ten-man team of FBI agents from the Los Angeles field office had waited for twenty minutes. The second team had just raided the palatial residence of the Reverend Samuel Rawlins. The Reverend was not at home, meaning the odds placed him at his office. They had to act before anyone informed the evangelist that the FBI had a warrant for his arrest.

  The agent in charge of the team nodded his head and the ten men ran to the glassed-in offices of Faith Ministries with guns drawn, identifying themselves as federal agents. The staff of forty office workers stood as one. Some of the women screamed and others panicked at the abruptness of the raid.

  “Everyone down, down, get down!” the lead agent called as he ran the forty paces to the large double doors with gold lettering across them. He placed his shoulder on the polished wood as he hit it on the run. He was covered by three other men as he aimed inside the office. He saw immediately that there was no one there. He cursed and stood, holstering his weapon.

  “Check the employees,” he said to the men who had followed him into the office. “Find out where the Reverend has gone.” He stepped around the large ornate desk and saw that the computer was still on. He adjusted the monitor with his wrist, not wanting to place his fingerprints on anything in the office. On the large screen monitor was a live shot of the Vandenberg launch facilities. “Inform Washington that Reverend Rawlins is not here.”

  The field agent knew that in one hour all air traffic over Los Angeles and the far west side of California was due to be shut down for security reasons for the double-double launches of the shuttles and the Ares platforms, but to his way of thinking that was far too much time.

  “Damn it, contact Washington. I need the commercial and private corridors for Los Angeles shut down an hour early. No planes in or out.”

  As his men started calling on radios, the man in charge of the L.A. field office watched the countdown of the Dark Star mission hit the sixty-minute mark. As the clock went to fifty-nine minutes he had a feeling in his gut that the evangelist had this particular CNN broadcast on for a reason, and he also suspected the Reverend was already in flight out of the state. The suspicion that he was in partnership with this Colonel McCabe was slowly being confirmed. He looked at his wristwatch and saw that it was two P.M. Pacific Time.

  On the monitor, the view of Vandenberg Air Force Base showed the Combat Air Patrol as the group of four fighter aircraft shot over the launch pads for the final time before the launch.

  “Well, at least they have the launches well covered. I don’t think anyone will mess with the Air Force on this one,” his second in command said as he safed his weapon and placed the nine-millimeter into its holster.

  The lead agent looked at the man and shook his head.

  “Yeah, that’s what worries me.”

  “I don’t get you.”

  “They had the same Combat Air Patrol over Washington last night and they still attempted to kill the president.”

  The two agents were interrupted by a third who walked into the office.

  “The director contacted the Pentagon. All air traffic except for military and law enforcement has been shut down from Oregon to Ensenada.”

  “This goddamn thing is far too large in scope for the Reverend and this Colonel McCabe—someone is backing them, and it’s not just your regular bunch of terrorists. This has to be an organized military action.”

  “Well, preliminary data on the weapons used last night say that the Stingers were definitely from the lot numbers on the manifests of the ones stolen from Raytheon. If they were backed by a government, why go to all the trouble? Why not use that government’s military equipment?”

  “I don’t know, but as I said, this is too large in scope for one man, I don’t give a damn how rich he is.”

  An hour later, the agent’s worries would be borne out.

  VANDENBERG AIR FORCE BASE, SANTA MARIA, CALIFORNIA

  In the history of space flight, the world had never seen such a sight as was on display at the spaceport at Vandenberg. Rising like the spires of ancient Egypt were four towering behemoths of the modern age. The space shuttles Endeavour and Discovery, with their liquid fuel tank and double solid rocket boosters, were waiting for their turn at the most historic event in space flight history. The two shuttles were poised to be launched into space after the Ares platforms with the crew capsule and the lunar lander. They would follow only fifteen minutes later, closely tailing the remotely controlled rides of the giant Ares. Then they would meet up at the International Space Station for the linking of the lander and the Dark Star command modules, all safely conducted from the confines of the space station.

  At the second site were the Ares V and Ares I launch vehicles, both carrying the Altair Lunar Excursion Modules, designated Thor 1 and Achilles 1. The two cargo-carrying vehicles held not only the landers but also the crew command modules. The total payload minus the weight of the twenty astronauts was estimated to be the largest in space exploration history. If there was to be a failure in the missions, outside of an attack, the complicated delivery would be it. The two rockets sat gleaming in the California sun as their solid rocket motors awaited the command to lift them into space.

  The reasoning for launching the Ares first was simple. If one didn’t make it, the need for one of the aging shuttles to launch would be a moot point, saving the possible failure of that system and the lives of the shuttle crew and its ten male and female passengers.

  The engineering of the remote aspect of the launch of the two Ares had done its job. The rendezvous with the space station would be conducted by sophisticated remote systems from the Jet Propulsion Lab in Pasadena, where the most brilliant men and women in that area of expertise had gathered to finalize the rendezvous. The space shuttles, after they had cleared the Vandenberg towers, were then placed under the command of Hugh Evans and his mission control team in Houston. Then, after the connection and linking of the command modules and Lunar Excursion Modules Thor and Achilles, Mission Control would take the twenty men and women the rest of the way to the Moon—and hopefully back again.

  Operation Dark Star was minutes away from commencing with its most important aspect—the launch of the Ares I and Ares V vehicles.

  JOHNSON SPACE CENTER, HOUSTON, TEXAS

  Hugh Evans was sitting at his station watching his men and women far below. These were the new youngsters of the space program, the people who would have the honor of launching into space the last shuttle missions NASA would ever orbit. He glanced at the video of the platforms as they sat majestically awaiting launch at Vandenberg. The helicopter view was stunning and he couldn’t help but get goose bumps as the view showed the giant towers of all four platforms. He closed his eyes and gave a small prayer for all involved in the most ambitious program NASA or his country had ever undertaken.

  “Hugh, there seems to be a debate about the loading of the liquid hydrogen for the Atlas. The engineers from Canaveral are saying it should be done earlier so they can check for leaks.”

  Hugh opened his eyes and looked over at a man he had known for years as the telemetry specialist for propulsion, a position the older man had held since the time of Apollo 11 in 1969. He had been a young man then like himself, a young buck wanting to make his mark in the engineering program at NASA. Now here they were trying to do battle with not only an aging system sitting on launch pad 3-B at the Cape but with the young engineers who didn’t like the way the older men did things. Hugh hit the communications button on his console.

  “Who am I speaking to?” he asked into his headset.

  “This is Jason Cummings, fueling specialist for Apollo,” the man said from Cape Canaveral.

  “Jason, this is Hugh Evans. Do we have a second backup to the Ares launches besides the Apollo?”

  “Uh, no sir, we don’t,” the young engineer answered, as Hugh looked over at his old friend and shook his head, wondering when people would look at the obviou
s before committing themselves to a course of action.

  “Then if there are fuel leaks on the Apollo, could you fix them in the time frame we have before the mission would be scrubbed and the failure of Dark Star—which by the way is not an option—would have to be contemplated?”

  “You know we couldn’t, sir, but for safety’s sake I suggest—”

  “Listen to me very carefully. The safety standards for launches are all well and good, but this is a mission that has to come off. The president believes we have to have people up there and that means that everyone involved with Dark Star has just become expendable, are we clear on that?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Then we start pumping O2 and H2 into the Atlas at the appointed time, and that will be exactly thirty minutes after the Ares vehicles are airborne.” Evans started to slam his hand down on the COM switch, but then he looked over at the older engineer. He smiled. He reached out and flipped the connection off as easily as a light switch.

  “Kids,” he said with a large smile. “You would think they were averse to flying by the seat of their pants or something.”

  The engineer returned to his station as Hugh finally stood.

  “Give me a go no go for launch of Ares I and Ares V. Ares I platform?”

  “We have a go, Flight.”

  They went down the list of telemetry stations until all but the shuttle’s final go no go questions had been answered. As Hugh looked at the last four command questions on the list, it was the final two that worried him far more than anything else.

  “CAPCOM Dark Star 1?” he said, looking down at the console and concentrating on the last two questions on the well-thought-out list.

  “CAPCOM, Dark Star 1—Go—Flight.”

  “CAPCOM Dark Star 2—Go—Flight.”

  Hugh looked around once the two grounded astronauts from the old shuttle missions called out their telemetry status and his eyes settled on the floor below, at all of the other telemetry stations and technicians that would see the missions through to the Moon. Then he asked the last question of the men who had nothing to do with the flights except for their very protection.