Legacy eg-6

by David L. Golemon

  As Virginia Pollock and several others prepared the charts and graphs to be used in the director’s final meeting with the space groups, Niles walked to the conference table and waited. He had forced himself in the past week and a half to concentrate on the Moon and how the U.S. could get there, and had pushed out of his mind the situation with Garrison Lee and his final days.

  “Director, Alice Hamilton is on line two,” his assistant said from the outer office.

  Niles hesitated one moment before picking up the phone. He really didn’t know how to approach the subject of the senator’s health. Everything he thought of saying seemed so shallow.

  “Alice, how are you?” he asked, avoiding the main question for as long as he could.

  “I’m fine, Niles, and for the moment so is the senator.”

  Niles closed his eyes and a small smile reached his lips. Leave it to Alice to cut to the chase and place him at ease.

  “Good. I’ve been a little busy here.”

  “So we’ve noticed. We also see that Jack has been a little busy too. His face is plastered on every news broadcast from here to China.”

  “Don’t believe everything you hear,” Niles said as he placed the phone between his head and shoulder. He pulled the knot on his tie upward.

  “We never believe anything we hear, Niles. You know that. Are Jack and Carl all right?” Her voice dropped in volume. Niles suspected she didn’t want the senator to overhear.

  “Jack and Carl haven’t been heard from in forty-eight hours. They also have Ellenshaw and Golding tagging along, so that may be the reason they’re a little slow in getting to a phone.”

  “Jack always takes the strangest people on missions. How about you, Niles? Are you being careful? That assassination in Pasadena caught us by surprise.”

  “The opposition to the mission is getting stronger and far more organized than should be possible among such diverse groups. If I didn’t know any better I would think that it’s-”

  “Being orchestrated?” Alice said, finishing Niles sentence. “The senator’s exact words. He told me to tell you to look to the obvious first.”

  Compton understood what Alice and Lee were trying to tell him. This was his next project. If one group or a single individual was responsible for the loss of life in Kazakhstan, Berlin, and here in the States, he would find them. Thus far they knew the Saudi-born Mechanic was involved, but the current global operation seemed a stretch for what amounted to a small-time terrorist.

  “You take care of yourself, Niles, and I’ll let you know when things go bad here. Concentrate on what you need to do. That’s why your friend the president chose you to get this thing off the ground. He trusts you and you also just happen to be the smartest man on the planet.”

  Niles had to chuckle. “Unfortunately, we’re dealing with a little more than just this planet.”

  The line then went dead and Niles hung up.

  “We’re ready Director Compton,” the signalman said. “All interested parties have confirmed audio and visual.”

  Niles nodded and accepted the recommendations from Virginia. He stepped to the podium, glancing over at the largest of the monitors. Besides the cameras at the Johnson Space Center and JPL, he was hooked into Cape Canaveral and the Pentagon’s Space Command, and all of the general contractors for the systems that had been chosen to bring this hurried mission to its final stages. On the center monitor was the Johnson Space Center, and sitting in front of the crowded room of over two hundred men and women was the vice president of the United States, Harold Darby, the technical head of the entire space program.

  The Navy signalman pointed to Niles as the others in his conference room went to their seats. He looked at Virginia and her staff that had done so much to get them where they were today, feeling proud of her and all of his people. They fought and succeeded in coming up with a viable plan on the shortest timetable in the history of the space program. They would at least have a fighting chance.

  “Good afternoon. We’re ready to start the final assembly of the platforms. All I need to do now is step aside and hand Dark Star over to people with far more capable hands than my own.” Niles glanced again at the center screen and the stern visage of the vice president. “I have taken a lot of time exploring the facts and personal histories of all personnel involved in every aspect of Dark Star, and I have come to the conclusion that we need to stay in-house, so to speak.”

  Vice President Darby smiled as he looked around at the men and women at his table.

  “Since the senseless murder of Stan Nathan a few days ago, this choice had become even more important. I had to factor in many differing elements and the person that met or exceeded knowledge in every aspect of the platforms to be used is Flight Director Hugh Evans. His knowledge of the Ares system and his experience with the Apollo program preclude anyone else taking command of the mission. Mr. Evans, you may not like it, but congratulations anyway.

  “Now, I will allow Hugh to absorb the enormity of what I’ve placed before him and give him time to decline, a notion that would immediately be rejected by the president, of course. And then we’ll cover what the base plan is. For the general contractors and their employees, the president wants me to pass along his sincerest thanks for all of the hard work you have put in.”

  On the monitor from Houston, Niles saw the seventy-four-year-old Hugh Evans stand and walk toward the back of the room, out of view of the camera.

  “Ares I and Ares II are scheduled for heavy load liftoff in seventy-eight hours. The crews will be shuttled to the International Space Station immediately after the two Ares launches. The shuttles Atlantis and Discovery will launch from Vandenberg Air Force Base, and the shuttle Endeavour from the Cape, if that mission becomes necessary because of the failure of one or both of the first launches. We were very lucky that the shuttles’ last scheduled missions kept them in fine mechanical shape. Dark Star will be one hell of a note for the shuttle fleet to retire on.”

  Niles smiled when he heard applause erupting from every view of every venue. He also saw the vice president stand and leave the Johnson Space Center mostly unnoticed by anyone.

  “The backup is, of course, the Saturn V launch vehicle. The payload, as with the two Ares rockets, has been expanded to carry the new Lunar Excursion Module and the expanded crew cabin that will eventually double as the crew capsule on the ride to and from the Moon. The Altair Lander has been massively redesigned to carry the necessary men and equipment to and from the lunar surface. Needless to say, ladies and gentlemen, this is where the real danger lies. The Altair system is totally untested-therefore the need for two complete crews and one solid backup in the Atlas. These three expanded crew capacity landers were only prototypes five weeks ago, and the engineering done to complete the systems has just been amazing. The Dark Star mission time will be a record-setting two days to the Moon, with four days there. We’ll leave coming home to another timetable.”

  Niles allowed that to sink in for the general contractors who had not been privy to the time element before today. He braced himself for what was coming.

  “At this time, I am ceasing today’s communications with all but the military and space elements of Dark Star. For the contractors who have contributed so much manpower and time in bringing these systems, expanded prototype landers, and equipment online, thank you and good-bye.”

  Three quarters of the monitors went dark inside the Event Group conference room as Niles saw the civilian aspect of the mission vanish. He looked at the Navy signalman.

  “Please bring up the astronaut training facility,” he said, opening a red-bordered file folder on the podium. He glanced up and looked at the president, who was waiting as patiently as the others.

  On one of the monitors, a room full of blue and red clad men and women appeared. They sat patiently with pen and writing tablets. They knew they were about to be briefed on the parameters of the mission ahead. In the back of the astronauts’ room, Compton saw his very own people lo
oking at up at his image. For all he knew, this might be the last time he saw the young faces of Sarah, Mendenhall, and Ryan.

  “Our mission goals,” he said, not looking into the camera, “are to militarily secure the Moon and any artifacts found there. The mission landing area is one mile from Shackleton Crater. NASA personnel will deliver geology specialists and engineers to the surface of the moon. The site will be secured by fourteen United States Special Forces personnel undergoing training in California. If the failure to secure Shackleton is likely, and it looks as if the Chinese will take it intact, the site will be destroyed. I repeat, the site will be destroyed. This act is regardless of any foreign government’s presence in or near the crater. None of you will be expected to go into this blindfolded. What follows is top secret information. The European Space Agency and NASA have been cooperating since the emergency began, for reasons I cannot go into now. The base problem here is the Chinese government. The president is attempting to gain cooperation from the People’s Republic in this and other matters, but as of this moment that issue is in doubt.”

  At every location from the Pentagon’s Space Command headquarters, to Pasadena, U.S. Air Force personnel started handing out sealed orders to every man and woman assigned to flight control, security, and engineering positions for the mission.

  “If, in a military circumstance, the European and American personnel see a viable chance at taking the technology if it falls into Chinese hands, they are to take it regardless of cost. If not, destroy the technology in place. Study the mission parameters, and at this time I will say good-bye and wish each and every man and woman Godspeed.”

  BOROUGH OF SPANDAU, BERLIN, GERMANY

  Spandau Prison was built in 1876 and demolished in 1987 after the death of its last inmate, Rudolph Hess, Hitler’s right-hand man in the early days of the Nazi regime. The old prison was torn down before it could become a shrine to the neo-Nazi movement across the globe. Today there was nothing left to mark the site where the convicted Nazi hierarchy had tended gardens and made paper.

  The lone structure still standing was a brick building. The facade was nothing to write home about as it stood stark against the darkness of the night.

  “So, how do we get in?” Everett asked.

  “We don’t. The weapons we asked for are meeting us here, along with an old friend of mine. Right now I think we should step out of the car and let them know we’re here.”

  Everett, Ellenshaw, and Golding were confused as to Jack’s methods, but they did as he said. A brief moment later they became even more confused when Collins raised his arms into the air as though surrendering.

  Everett did the same and gestured for the two professors to follow suit.

  “You want to let us in on what’s happening, Jack?” Carl asked quietly, as his eyes scanned the darkness around the building.

  Collins didn’t answer. Instead, he allowed their guests to do it for him. Several red laser beams pierced the night air and each man standing around the car had three pin-sized red dots targeting their chests.

  “Wow, this is really uncomfortable,” Everett said as he recognized the lasers for what they were.

  Ellenshaw saw the three dots on his jacket and swiped at them like they were bugs.

  “Doc, hold still please,” Jack said. Ten dark figures stepped from the trees surrounding the lone building.

  “Oh, my,” Ellenshaw said as he saw the black-clad men.

  “I take it we’re caught,” Pete Golding said. He watched the heavily armed masked men approach them cautiously.

  “Easy, Pete. I think these guys may be the result of Jack’s phone calls,” Carl said as he saw one large man take the lead.

  The lone figure stood still as he looked Jack and his men over, then took two steps forward and removed his black hood.

  “You know, officially I have orders to hunt you down and place a bunch of bullets into your head and face, maybe one in your ass also.”

  Jack lowered his hands and smiled. “Oh, I saw you and your unit the moment we drove up,” Collins said.

  “Bullshit, Jack. We had you cold.”

  Collins walked forward and held out his hand. The other black-clad commandos lowered their weapons and surrounded the colonel.

  “How in the hell are you, Sebastian?” Collins asked, holding out an extended hand. “And thanks for not shooting me in the head and face, and especially my ass.”

  The two men shook hands and the large German slung his automatic weapon over his shoulder.

  “I’m fine, Jack. Better than you, anyway.”

  “Mr. Everett, meet Major Sebastian Krell of the German army. He’s the team leader of the elite counterterrorism force GSG 9. He’s an old buddy of mine from the Gulf War.”

  Krell shook Everett’s hand and looked him over.

  “I smell U.S. Navy in this man, Jack.”

  “You don’t miss a beat. Mr. Everett here is a SEAL-he comes in handy from time to time.”

  “I’m impressed with Jack’s new friends,” he said to Carl.

  “As I am with the company you keep,” Everett said. He released the man’s hand and gestured to the nine commandos around them.

  “Ah, I just keep them around for running errands and getting coffee.”

  Major Krell held out his hand and two of his still masked men stepped forward and handed him two items, a bag and a thick file.

  “Here’s four nine-millimeter handguns stolen from my daughter’s room,” Krell said, joking, while handing Everett the black bag. “There are ten clips of ammunition inside as well. And this is what you specifically asked for, Jack. We just went in an hour ago and retrieved them from the museum.”

  Collins took the offered file and looked up at Sebastian. “Thanks, this will help.”

  “Your president is a very persuasive man.”

  “He can be, but I imagine I’ll still be in hot water when I get home.”

  “Who did it, Jack?” Sebastian asked, getting serious for the first time.

  “We think James McCabe may be in on it, but we’re not sure.” He looked at the German commando in all seriousness. “We’re still piecing this thing together.”

  “McCabe? Jesus, I know he’s dirt, but something like this?”

  “Money makes for a good motive. I suspect that’s all it takes with him.”

  The large German turned and gestured for his men to back away. As they watched, the commando team blended into the darkness and was gone.

  “I wasn’t going to charge you for the file and the weapons, Jack, but now I am,” Sebastian said as he stepped closer to Collins. “I want whoever is responsible for the bombing. No matter what the protesters were doing there, and their reasons, they didn’t deserve that. They are still German citizens.”

  “You got it. If it’s McCabe, you can have him. As a matter of fact, there may be something you and your government would have an interest in helping us with in Ecuador.”

  “Just call us, Jack,” Sebastian said, turning around and walking away. “Mr. Everett, watch that guy,” he shouted over his shoulder. “Just because he was in on training us doesn’t mean he’s worth a damn.”

  Everett smiled and looked over at Collins as he inserted a clip into one of the nine-millimeters.

  “I like him, Jack,” he said, glancing over at Golding and Ellenshaw. He shook his head when he saw they still had their arms raised. “It’s okay, guys. The scary men are all gone.”

  Ellenshaw and Golding slowly lowered their hands and looked at Everett and Jack.

  “Do you two know anyone that leads a normal, dull life?” Pete asked Collins.

  “Only you, Pete, only you.”

  INCHON INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT, SOUTH KOREA

  The hangar was leased to Chan Ri International. The company was a lesser known aircraft manufacturer that specialized in avionics packages for advanced fighter aircraft. The packages were made up of fire control systems and other avionics that were used by the Western powers. Most Asian stock
market watchers were a little surprised when Chan Ri stocks suddenly sprang to life after a three-year period when most traders thought the company was on the way out following the introduction by the U.S. of the highly advanced F-22 Raptor, the new fighter for the twenty-first century that left Chan Ri technology far behind. But somewhere along the way the company had received a massive influx of capital, and try as they might, agents of the Securities and Exchange Commission could not uncover where the money had come from.

  The twenty-five-year-old Grumman F-14 Super Tomcat sat gleaming inside the small hangar as several technicians checked the hard points along the fuselage of the U.S. Navy fighter jet. As the first of the two weapons was raised into position just below the starboard hard point, the pilot walked over to make sure the job was being done right. He placed a gloved hand on the plastic nose cone of the missile and felt a rush of power course through his hand and then his entire arm. He rolled his eyes and knew he was coming home again. The small pilot almost dropped his black-painted helmet onto the floor of the hangar as he felt the euphoria. The South Korean technicians turned and wondered why this pilot, whom they had just met that morning, was acting so strange.

  Former naval aviator Thomas Green finally removed his hand from the missile and stepped back. He watched the final loading and was satisfied that the long, heavy weapon was placed properly. He stepped over to the rolling munitions cart and saw the second weapon as it sat gleaming white under the bright fluorescent lights of the hangar.

  Green had been free just thirteen weeks from the maximum security penitentiary at Huntsville, Texas, where he had served ten years of a twenty-year sentence for an abortion clinic bombing that had killed three nurses and the doctor who owned the building. Unfortunately for the former Navy pilot, he had also killed two of the protesters, his own people, outside the clinic. All of this had been spawned by a woman he had once called his wife, who had murdered their unborn baby while he had been deployed to the Persian Gulf in 1991 during the First Gulf War. Since then, Green had found God, and God had placed the burning sword of righteousness into his hand and told him to strike. Two powerful swords were being placed on his aircraft at that very moment.