The Cassandra Compact c-2

by Robert Ludlum

  “You're sure?” he demanded, staring at the officer.

  “Landon's positive, sir.”

  “Patch me through to him. Now!”

  He looked around the table. “Something blew on the shuttle.”

  * * *

  The bolts rocketed in Megan's direction, slamming and digging into the walls of the air lock. But because the shuttle had bucked on reentry, the door, which would have sailed right into her, was thrown violently to the left. It caromed off the wall, careened within inches of her, then slammed against another wall.

  Without stopping to think, Megan pushed off and sailed for the door, grabbing it and pinning it with both arms. She held it for a moment, then released her grip and let it float away.

  Moving through the cavity into the lower deck, she climbed the staircase to the mid-deck and headed for the hatch that opened on the tunnel to the Spacelab.

  * * *

  She blew the bolts! The bitch blew the bolts!

  Reed knew it as soon as he felt the tremors course through the craft. Confirmation came in the form of winking lights on the console, indicating a door malfunction in the air lock.

  Working his way out of the restraining straps, Reed maneuvered his way to the ladder and, like a diver plunging into water, started down headfirst. He guessed that he had about two minutes to find Megan. After that, the shuttle ride would become too rough to continue pursuit. The craft would also come out of its blackout screen. Reed had no doubt that even if mission control hadn't heard the explosion, its instruments would have registered it. Harry Landon would be peppering him with questions, demanding explanations and updates.

  As Reed snaked his way down the ladder, he found himself amazed by Megan's actions. It had taken guts ― more than he'd thought she had ― to blow the air-lock door. But odds were that she was dead. He had seen the effects of an explosion in a place as confined as an air lock.

  Reed reached mid-deck and was about to keep going when he caught movement out the corner of his eye.

  My God, she's alive!

  Reed watched as Megan, her back to him, worked the submarine-type wheel on the tunnel door. Moving to a tool case, he opened a drawer and pulled out a specially designed saw.

  * * *

  Seated in the lead Commanche, Jon Smith looked at the other grim-faced RAID agents. Right now, they all wore flight overalls. That would change as soon as they arrived at Groome Lake, where they would don their Level Four protective gear before entering the bunker.

  Turning to Jack Riley, he spoke into his flight-helmet microphone. “How far out are we?”

  Riley held up a finger and communicated with the pilot. “Forty minutes,” he replied. “You can bet that Groome Lake already has us on radar. Another few miles and they'll scramble their own chopper, or even a couple of F-16s, for a look-see.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “What's the president waiting for? Air Force One has been on the ground for almost a half hour.”

  As though on cue, a new voice came over Smith's headset.

  “This is Bluebird calling RAID One.”

  Smith responded instantly. “This is RAID One. Go ahead, Bluebird.” Bluebird was the designation for Nathaniel Klein.

  “Jon?”

  “Right here, sir. We were wondering when you'd call.”

  “We had a… a situation here. The president just ordered your flight cleared for touchdown. For the purpose of this mission, you and your people will be considered attached to his party.”

  “Yes, sir. You mentioned a situation, sir.”

  There was a slight hesitation. “Mission control reports talking to Reed just before the orbiter entered the black zone. The last thing Landon heard was an explosion, which the computers later confirmed.”

  “Is the craft intact?” Smith demanded.

  “According to the instrument readings, Discovery is still on its designated flight path. The explosion took place in an air lock. For a reason we don't know, the bolts blew.”

  “The air lock… Where was Reed at the time?”

  “On the flight deck. But Landon can't be sure about the extent of the damage or even if Reed's still alive. No one's answering up there, Jon.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY NINE

  The last thing Megan had heard over her headset was the exchange between Reed and Harry Landon, seconds before the bolts on the air-lock doors had blown. After she got up to the mid-deck, she realized that Reed would come down to investigate. He had to make sure that she was dead or injured ― either would suit his purpose. When he didn't find her in the air lock or the lower deck, he would start looking elsewhere.

  Megan knew she couldn't hide from him for long. The orbiter was simply too small. There was only one escape. Making her way to the mid-deck, she floated to the door that opened up on the tunnel to the Spacelab. She gripped the arms of the wheel on the door and began turning.

  But Megan never forgot that she had her back to the ladder that connected the three levels. She would never hear Reed if he spotted her and came up behind her. The small mirror she had placed at the foot of the tunnel door would now save her life.

  In the reflection, she had seen Reed descend the ladder, hesitate, then spot her and start floating to her. She watched him stop by a tool kit, retrieve a type of keyhole saw, then keep on coming.

  Megan had the wheel on the door turned as far as it would go, but she kept her hands on the grips and pretended that the wheel was stuck. Looking down, she saw Reed drift closer, his right arm stretched out to her. In his hand, the saw looked like the pointed nose of a marlin.

  Megan let her left hand slip from the wheel. Set into the door was a release button that pulled the door open once the wheel had been fully turned. Her eyes riveted on the mirror, she judged the distance between her and Reed. Her timing would have to be perfect.

  Reed watched Megan jerk as she tried to force the wheel. Raising the saw, he floated closer. Since she was standing, he chose a spot between her neck and her shoulder. The teeth of the saw would slice through her plastic suit. The result would be instant depressurization. The air inside the suit would rush out… and the contaminated air around her would stream into the rent. Two, three breaths and the variola would be in her lungs.

  In microgravity, it is impossible to move with any real speed. When Reed started his downward swing, he appeared to be moving in slow motion. But Megan pushed off, propelling herself sideways from the door. As she did, she jabbed the release button. With a nearly inaudible pneumatic hiss, the door swung open as Reed drifted into the space Megan had occupied just a second ago. The heavy door caught him square on the helmet, whipping back his neck, then dragging him as it opened fully. His fingers lost their grip on the saw, which floated away.

  Stunned and reeling, Reed made a feeble grab for Megan as she floated around him into the tunnel. Inside, she found another button, punched it, and watched the door begin to close.

  Come on, come on!

  The door seemed to inch its way toward her. As soon as Megan could reach the grips on the wheel, she began pulling.

  She saw the flash of the saw as it sliced through the opening, only inches from her suit sleeve. As Reed drew back for another strike, she managed to close the door and spin the wheel. The locks set and Megan pulled the emergency lever to freeze them in place.

  His rasping voice made her heart jump into her throat. “What a clever girl you are, Megan. Can you hear me? Did you fix your intercom too?”

  Megan pressed a button on her unit and heard a faint crackle.

  “I can hear you breathing,” Reed said. “Or more accurately, hyperventilating.”

  “And I can hear you, but not too well,” she said. “You'll have to speak up.”

  “I'm glad you haven't lost your sense of humor,” Reed said. “Very slippery, what you did back there. You were playing possum, weren't you? Waiting for me…”

  “Dylan…” She didn't know where to begin.

  “You think you're safe, don't you?” he sa
id. “As long as the emergency locks are set, I can't get in. But if you think about it, Megan, put aside your panic and really think, that's not true.”

  Megan struggled to understand what he was referring to but nothing came to mind.

  “No matter what you think you can do, you'll never leave this craft alive,” Reed continued.

  Suppressing a shudder, she replied: “You won't win either, Dylan. I'm going to destroy the horror you made here.”

  “Really? You have no idea what I did in there.”

  Oh, yes, I do! “I'll find it!”

  “With less than sixty minutes from touchdown? I don't think so. It'll be all you can do to stay alive when we go through the last stages of reentry. And Megan? Even if you found it, what would you do ― dispose of it through the waste portals? Not a bad idea ― if we were still in space. But since you have no idea what I was working on, how can you be sure that it would die once we're in the earth's atmosphere? To jettison it would mean running the risk of possibly spreading it.”

  He paused. “You didn't see the bodies, did you? Just as well, really. But if you had, you wouldn't even think of dispersing a virus.”

  Reed chuckled. “Now you're asking yourself, where would I have put it? How would it be disguised? So many questions, and no time to find the answers. Because we've just about reached our next bumpy ride. If I were you, I'd find something to hang on to ― fast.”

  Megan heard the click of the microphone as Reed signed off. Then she felt a tremor race through the ship as the orbiter cut through another layer of the earth's atmosphere. Without looking back, she began pulling herself down the tunnel toward the Spacelab.

  * * *

  Reed climbed back up to the flight deck and managed to strap himself into the commander's chair as waves of turbulence hit the shuttle. The orbiter shuddered, then yawed. Checking the instrument panel, Reed noted that the orbital maneuvering system engine had fired, slowing the craft just enough so that gravity could take effect. If all went well, gravity would pull Discovery out of orbit and into a gentle glide to earth.

  The shudders became a series of vibrations as the craft's speed dropped from twenty-five times to two times the speed of sound. Then the buffeting ceased altogether and Discovery turned into its glide path. The communications blackout had ended and Reed heard Landon's urgent voice.

  “Discovery, do you read? Dylan, can you hear me?” After a pause: “Our instruments registered an onboard explosion. Can you confirm? Are you all right?”

  I don't have time for this right now, Harry.

  Reed closed the communications channel and glanced over the instrument panel until he found what he was looking for. He'd told Megan that she was mistaken in thinking that he couldn't get past the locks on the door to the tunnel. He wondered if she'd figured out how. Probably not. As bright and as capable as Megan was, she was still a novice. She couldn't have known that a switch on the flight deck could override the locks on the tunnel door.

  * * *

  There wasn't much to hang on to inside the Spacelab, so Megan improvised. In the center of the lab was a metallic object that looked like something between a modern-day torture rack and a high-tech recliner. Its technical name was a Space Physiology Experiment. The crew called it the sled chair. There, crew members, lying on their backs and strapped in securely, underwent tests on joints and muscles, the effects of gravity on the inner ear and on the eyeball, and various other experiments.

  Having strapped herself into the sled chair, Megan managed to ride out the turbulence. Now she undid the straps and, with substantial effort, got to her feet. Light-headedness, caused by decreased blood volume, hit her immediately. Megan knew it would take at least a few minutes for the volume to increase as the orbiter approached earth. The process would have been faster if she'd had some water and salt tablets.

  But you don't. And you're running out of time!

  She looked at the dozen racks that served as stations for Spacelab experiments.

  Think! Where would he have put it?

  Megan's gaze traveled to the space accelerator measurement system, then to the critical point facility. No. She started to move to the microgravity vestibular investigator module, then stopped.

  A virus… Reed rearranged the order of the experiments. He put himself first, taking my place! He needed the Biorack!

  Megan stepped over to the Biorack and fired up its systems. The LCD was blank.

  Whatever he did, he erased the records.

  Looking into the Glovebox, she discovered it was empty.

  This is where you did your work, you son of a bitch. But where did you put the results?

  Megan checked both incubator units, the access and control panels, and the power panel. The latter had been on even before she'd touched the Biorack's operating system…

  …because the cooler is on!

  Megan opened the cooler and checked the contents. Everything was in place. Nothing had been taken out or added. That left the freezer.

  Pulling down the panel, she quickly inventoried the contents. At first glance, everything could be accounted for. Not satisfied, she pulled out one rack of standard test tubes, checked their markings, and set the rack back. She repeated the process with two more racks. In the third, she found a tube with no markings.

  * * *

  As soon as the shuttle's flight had stabilized, Reed unbuckled himself from the commander's chair. He entered an override program into the computer, set the timer, and activated the sequence. If his judgment was correct, he should reach the door to the tunnel just as the program released the emergency locks.

  Climbing down the ladder, Reed entered mid-deck and plodded his way to the door. He had only a few seconds to wait before the locks popped open. Working the wheel, he pushed open the door and began crawling through the tunnel. Reaching the end, he pulled open the door to the Spacelab. There was Megan, standing by the Biorack, searching the cooler.

  Reed came up behind her. His right arm caught her across the chest while his foot swept her legs out from under her. Gravity did the rest. Megan fell back, landing heavily on her shoulder and rolling over.

  “Don't bother getting up,” Reed said into his microphone. “Can you hear me?”

  He saw her nod, then opened the freezer and pulled out a rack of test tubes. He knew exactly where he'd placed the one containing the variola and there it was. Tucking it into a pocket with a secure Velcro flap, he stepped back. Megan had rolled over so that she could look at him.

  “You can still stop this, Dylan.”

  He shook his head. “You can't put the genie back into the bottle. But at least you'll die knowing that it's our genie.”

  Reed never took his eyes off her as he backed away toward the door. Stepping into the tunnel, he closed the door and locked it.

  The overhead clock read twenty minutes to touchdown.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  A little over an hour had passed since Air Force One had landed at Groome Lake, Nevada. Escorted by a pair of F-15 Eagle interceptors, it had come in on the same runway that, a decade earlier, had been built to flight-test the B-2 bomber. As soon as the presidential platform was on the ground, a contingent of air force security accompanied the chief executive and his working group to the shuttle landing facility a mile and a half away.

  In spite of the heat, the president insisted on walking along the runway with his group and then down the ramp into the holding area. He glanced around at the interior of the bunker. With its smooth concrete walls, broken only by outlets for the gas jets, it reminded him of a giant crematorium.

  Which is really what it is…

  The president pointed to a cocoonlike tube, eight feet high, five feet wide, that ran from one of the walls into the middle of the bunker like a gigantic umbilical cord.

  “What's that?” he asked an air police lieutenant.

  Castilla turned when he heard the soft whir of an electric golf cart. Seated beside an air force security guard was Dr. Karl Bauer.
When the cart pulled up alongside the group, Bauer got out and, nodding at members of the entourage, walked directly to the president.

  “Mr. President,” he said gravely. “It is good to see you again. Although I wish it were under more pleasant circumstances.”

  The president knew that his eyes were his weakness. They always gave away his moods and emotions. Trying not to recall what Smith and Klein had told him, he forced himself to smile and to shake the hand of a man he'd once respected, who had been honored at the White House. Who's a fucking monster.

  But what he said was, “The pleasure is mine, Dr. Bauer. Believe me, I'm grateful that you're here.” He gestured toward the cocoon. “Maybe you could explain this.”

  “Certainly.”

  Bauer led the way to the end of the cocoon. Looking inside, the president saw that the last six feet of the chamber were sealed off from the rest, creating a kind of vault or air lock.

  “This portable cocoon is my own design and manufacture,” Bauer said. “It can be flown anywhere in the world, set up in a matter of hours, then coupled by remote control to the target. Its sole purpose is to extract an individual from a hot zone that may be difficult or impossible to enter ― which is the situation we are faced with.”

  “Why not go directly into the shuttle, Doctor? Surely with protective suits that's possible.”

  “Possible, yes, Mr. President. Advisable? No. We have no idea what is loose on board the orbiter. Right now, we have one survivor, Dr. Reed, who is not contaminated. It would be best to bring him off the ship and put him through the decontamination process rather than risk sending someone to get him. There's less chance of an accident, and we'd be able to find out very quickly what happened.”

  “But Dr. Reed doesn't know what happened,” the president objected. “Or what we're dealing with.”

  “We can't be sure,” Bauer replied. “Under the circumstances, it's not unusual for people to have observed or remembered more than they think they do. In any event, we then send in a robot probe to take samples. There are full lab facilities here. I will be able to tell you within the hour what it is we're dealing with.”