Of course, there was a pilot in case anything went awry during the flight, but on a typical trip he was superfluous during the launch. The Skyward was completely automated, the computer controlling the entire powered portion of the flight. As soon as the Skyward dropped from the carrier, the pilot didn’t need to do anything but monitor the gauges until it was time to land.
That automation was going to make it possible for Colchev to fly into space.
Building anticipation for the flight, ExAtmo had garnered extensive publicity by withholding the names of the pilots of the spaceplane and carrier aircraft as well as the two passengers. Fully suited and helmeted to maintain the mystery of their identities, they would be taken by shuttle bus to the flight line, where they would get on board the craft in full view of the crowds. The entire flight was to be recorded by telescopes on the ground. When the Skyward returned, the successful crew and passengers would be revealed in a massive press conference right on the tarmac.
Only it wouldn’t happen quite as planned.
Colchev and his men would take the place of the pilots and passengers. Zotkin, an experienced pilot rated on many different types of aircraft, would fly the carrier plane. Colchev and the other men, Nisselovich and Oborski, would climb aboard the Skyward. Once they were in the air, Nisselovich and Oborski would crawl through the mating hatch into the Lodestar, leaving Colchev alone to pilot the Skyward.
Colchev’s sole task during the Skyward’s launch would be to cut off the rocket early. After arming the Killswitch, he would depressurize the Skyward and eject the weapon, where it would continue on its ballistic arc. Then Colchev would fire the engine and use up the remaining fuel to get as much distance as he could between him and the Killswitch.
When the Killswitch went off, the electronics in the Skyward would be useless. It would be destined to crash, which was the reason Colchev needed the Icarus parachute. He’d bail out just as the Killswitch timer counted down to zero. Zotkin and the others would use traditional chutes from a much lower altitude. Ten minutes later, Colchev would land in an utterly changed world. He’d rendezvous with his comrades at a garage where they had stored an ancient diesel truck equipped with extra fuel. Together they’d make the difficult trek back to Russia through the North American wasteland, departing on a ship that they’d already contracted to meet them at the port of Seattle.
The Cessna’s wheels touching down brought Colchev out of his revelry. Guided by the flag-waving attendants, they taxied through the maze of aircraft and tents to their parking space.
Zotkin shut down the engines. He nodded at a hangar to their right along the edge of the airport.
“That’s the Weeks hangar. The flight crew is getting ready in there.”
The hangar door was closed for privacy. The shuttle bus that would take the crew to the plane was parked outside. No security was visible. The guards were all stationed around the spaceplane. The prep location had been withheld from the media, but Colchev had acquired the information from the ExAtmo files.
“Is everyone clear on the plan?” Colchev said.
Three nods.
Nisselovich and Oborski left to inspect the area around the spaceplane and verify that everything was as they anticipated.
Colchev opened the container carrying the Killswitch. He carefully removed the xenobium from its protective case and inserted it into the weapon. The tines latched onto the metal and drew it into the compartment, closing over it and shielding the radiation. Now all he had to do was enter the arming code and set the timer.
He and Zotkin unloaded the container from the plane and put it on a handcart they’d brought along. With all of the camping equipment and barbecues set up around them, no one glanced twice at them moving their luggage toward the unguarded hangar.
FIFTY-TWO
The banner on the control tower proudly declared that Oshkosh was the world’s busiest airport. The constant drone of propellers and engines reminded Tyler that the proclamation wasn’t hyperbole. Every minute there were aircraft taking off or landing, sometimes simultaneously on the two runways. More airplanes buzzed around in flight, including a squadron of P-51 Mustang fighter planes flying in formation.
There was also constant motion on the ground. As Tyler, Jess, Fay, Grant, and Morgan made their way toward the Skyward spaceplane, a Navy AWACS plane crossed in front of them and was ushered to a spot next to a white Air Force T-38 supersonic trainer and an Army Chinook helicopter, two of the many military aircraft on display. Lines of visitors formed at each of them, and the pilots were on hand to answer questions from the gawking fans. Some of them even allowed the curious to sit inside the cockpit.
On the other side of the tarmac were vintage aircraft of every stripe, from World War I biplanes to Vietnam-era choppers. Further down the runway Boeing and Airbus were giving tours of their latest airliners.
Enormous tents housing manufacturer showcases, vendor displays, and restaurants stretched five hundred yards in every direction. Outside most of the tents were innovative private plane models and experimental prototypes that the builders wanted to spotlight, hoping to make sales to the enthusiasts who came from all over the world.
The wide thoroughfares were crammed with pedestrians taking in the sights, tractors towing shuttle trams, and gas-powered carts ferrying workers and supplies in every direction. For the entire week, the airport was transformed into a small city, with a population approaching 100,000 visitors on sunny days.
“I’ve never seen so many planes,” Fay said. “This is enormous.”
“Are you doing all right, Nana?” Jess said. “We should have made you stay in Los Angeles.”
“I’m fine.”
Tyler thought she looked anything but. They were all exhausted from the constant travel and fitful sleep on planes, but Fay had gotten the worst of it. Dark circles under her eyes and a haggard droop in her shoulders gave away that she was on the ragged edge. Though she was the fittest seventy-five-year-old he’d ever known, age and illness were catching up with her.
When they had made the connection between the Killswitch and the Oshkosh AirVenture, Morgan had tried to convince the FBI and her superiors to send agents to stop the launch of the spaceplane or at least guard it until it took off. But her suspension had seriously undermined her credibility, and they wouldn’t listen because of a new development.
The private plane carrying Colchev had blown up over an unpopulated region of Canada. Homeland Security suspected that he got cold feet about bringing the xenobium into the US and continued on to Russia. All indications were that the explosive material was mishandled and detonated in flight. Canadian authorities were rushing an investigation team to the area, assisted by forensic units from the FBI and US Air Force. With the trigger gone, Homeland Security felt that the threat from the Killswitch had evaporated, though there was still a massive effort to locate the expensive prototype.
But Tyler didn’t believe Colchev would be so careless or would give up so easily. Which meant his group had to get to Oshkosh and either obtain proof that Colchev was coming there or stop him themselves. Jess had suggested calling in a bomb threat, which would cause the event to be evacuated and the flight to be aborted, but Morgan nixed that idea. She was worried that if Colchev suspected interference in his plans, he might panic and set off the Killswitch in the middle of the air show.
Overnight flights to Chicago were fully booked, so Tyler called for one of Gordian’s executive jets in Seattle to come down to Los Angeles and pick them up. It had the range to take them directly to the air show. He also requested that pistols be packed on the jet since Morgan’s weapon had been confiscated. If they were going to meet up with Colchev’s men again, doing so unarmed would place them at a disadvantage to the Russians.
A maintenance delay taking off from LA made the trip longer than it should have been, so they didn’t land in Wisconsin until only an hour before the launch was supposed to occur. It didn’t leave much time, and despite Fay’s valiant eff
ort, she would only slow them down.
“Fay,” Tyler said, “how are you feeling?”
She smiled wanly. “Just a little tired.”
“Nana, why don’t you take a seat under those umbrellas by the food court?” Jess said, picking up on Tyler’s intention. “That way you can keep an eye on the Skyward and let us know if you see anything unusual.”
Fay looked like she was about to protest, but Jess’s hand on her shoulder changed her mind.
“Maybe you’re right. I can stay out of sight there. If I see Colchev, I’ll call you.”
“Perfect. And remember to drink some water. You could get dehydrated quickly in this heat.”
Fay squeezed Jess’s hand. “Be careful.”
“We will.”
“Oh, and if you see Colchev, I wouldn’t mind very much if you shot him.” With those parting words, she left.
Tyler, Jess, Morgan, and Grant picked up the pace as they headed toward the spaceplane.
“She’s a good role model for you,” Tyler said.
“I want to be just like her when I grow up,” Jess said.
“When will that be?”
“In about forty years.”
At the cordon separating the crowds from the area around the spaceplane, they got a good look at the unusual aircraft. Ground crews swarmed the exterior making the final checks before the flight, and yellow-shirted security personnel surrounded the airplane.
“We need to convince them to abort the flight,” Morgan said.
“Without your credentials, that’ll be difficult. Why should they believe us?”
“I’ll disable the plane myself if I have to.”
“We won’t get within twenty yards of it,” Tyler said.
A man from the ground crew passed them. Morgan grabbed his arm. The surprised technician must have thought she was an overzealous onlooker, until she lifted her shirt to show him the gun tucked in her waistband and gave him one of her cards.
“I’m Special Agent Morgan Bell,” she said. “We’ve gotten a report that someone may try to interfere with today’s flight. Has anything unusual happened this morning?”
The nonplussed crewman looked at the card and then at Morgan with wide eyes. The confidence in her tone convinced the man she was who she claimed to be.
“No, ma’am,” he said. “We’ve got everything under control, and all systems are go for the launch.”
“What about the crew?”
“They’re still in the Weeks hangar getting prepped. Should be here in thirty minutes.”
“Who’s in charge here?”
“That would be Robert Gillman. He’s the flight director. You’ll find him in the mobile control center over there.”
He pointed at a trailer with a satellite dish mounted on its roof.
“Tell him I’m coming to talk to him,” Morgan said, releasing the man. He nodded and trotted toward the trailer.
“What do you think?” Grant said.
“You and I will meet with the flight director, try to get him to scrub the demonstration. But I don’t want to put all our eggs in that basket. Tyler, you and Jess go find the flight crew and see if you can delay them until we get some real security out here. And if you spot Colchev or his men, do not engage. Call me first.”
“Sounds like a plan,” Tyler said.
As Morgan and Grant trotted to the command center, Tyler and Jess headed back the way they came. Tyler checked the official guide and found the Weeks hangar on the map.
“That’s all the way over on the opposite end of the airport,” Jess said. “Even if we jog, it’ll take a while to get there.”
Tyler spotted a utility cart parked behind the EAA Welcome Center. He took Jess’s hand and ran to it. The key was still in it.
“We’ll borrow this. Hop on.”
Tyler started it up and aimed it toward the northern hangars, dodging pedestrians until they got into the open and he could floor it.
“Is this what your life is like now, Tyler?”
He suddenly realized that this was the first time he and Jess had been alone together since leaving Peru.
“You mean, gallivanting around the world on caffeine and no sleep, barely living through each day?”
“Not to mention stealing vehicles and blowing up Air Force jets.”
“I don’t do this kind of stuff all the time,” Tyler said. “But it does seem to be happening more frequently the last couple of years. Do you like the craziness of it?”
“Yes. No. Both.”
“It sounds like your doctor friend does something similar.”
“This Doctors Without Borders job is short-term. Andy’s not going to be doing it forever.”
At the north field Tyler cut through the entrance to the aircraft parking area. The gunmetal gray hangar was up ahead.
“Then what’s next for you?” Tyler said. “The house in Queenstown? A private practice where he’s stitching up snowboarders and bungee jumpers? Kids?”
“Do you want kids?”
“I did when I was with Karen.”
“And now?”
“Does it matter?”
“It does to me.”
“Only with someone I love.”
“Would you be willing to give up the globe-trotting?”
“Someday. If the right person came along.”
“But you didn’t with Karen.”
“That was a few years ago. A lot’s happened since then.”
Jess gave his leg a squeeze and remained unusually silent. He didn’t know what that meant, and this wasn’t the time to delve into it further. They had reached the hangar.
Tyler and Jess got out of the cart and walked to the door. He tried the handle, but it was locked. He knocked and after a few moments heard the rhythmic squeak of rubber soles on a polished concrete floor. The footsteps stopped on the other side of the door.
“Yes?”
“I need to speak to someone in charge,” Tyler said.
“What is this about? We’re very busy.”
Tyler was about to respond, then stopped himself. The voice. He’d heard it just yesterday.
Zotkin.
He and Colchev were inside. With less than thirty minutes before the launch, Tyler and Jess could go back with this definitive proof and get the entire police force to surround the hangar.
“Oh. I guess we can come back later.”
But with that response, Zotkin must have recognized Tyler’s voice, too. The door flew open.
Zotkin took aim with a pistol, but Tyler barreled forward before he could fire, knocking Zotkin backward. He kneed the Russian in the groin, then elbowed him in the side of the head. Zotkin went down before he knew what had happened.
Tyler took his weapon and gave it to Jess. He yanked Zotkin to his feet and drew his own Glock, pressing it against the man’s temple.
“Move,” Tyler said, pushing him forward, one hand clenching his collar.
They turned the corner and saw six men lying against the hangar door, all of them bound and gagged.
“Put your gun down,” came a voice from behind him.
Tyler whirled around. Colchev was hunched over an open container holding the Killswitch.
His finger lay on the red arming button.
“I’ve set this timer to zero, Dr. Locke,” Colchev said. “Put your gun down or I push this button and a hundred thousand people die.”
FIFTY-THREE
Despite Morgan’s arguments, the flight director wouldn’t call off the launch. He said that the company had everything riding on this demonstration to secure more investment funding, and without a direct court order, the flight was going forward. With no official identification, her speculation about a stolen weapon being snuck onto the spaceplane sounded like the ravings of a lunatic, even with Grant there to corroborate her story. She would have threatened him at gunpoint if she thought it would change the man’s mind, but she knew that would just divert attention to the control center, leaving the space
plane unguarded.
They exited the trailer and resorted to their only option. Sitting on a bench near the spaceplane, they used the infrared goggles to scan the crowd. Bystanders would think they were using high-tech binoculars to watch the airplanes.
“Do you think these guys will still be tagged?” Grant said.
“The ID dust is persistent,” Morgan said. “The ones who escaped in San Diego will still have some of it on them.”
Grant sighed dramatically. “Ah, San Diego.”
“Oh, my God. You’re not going to get all mushy about what happened, are you? You were just there at the right time.”
“Mushy? Hell no. Can’t a guy reminisce about a fun afternoon?”
“Good. Because that’s all it was.”
“Fine with me.”
They scanned for a few more minutes before Grant said, “But just for the record, I wouldn’t mind having another afternoon like it.”
Morgan smiled. “Maybe we’ll find the right time again.”
“I know a great hotel in Chicago. When this is over …” Suddenly Grant went quiet and tensed up. “There’s one of them. Twenty yards away.” He was pointing at a man with a rounded face and dark hair wearing a grey T-shirt and jeans. He must have just come from behind the trailer housing the control center. She put the goggles up and saw the man covered with red crosshairs.
“How do you want to take him?” Grant said.
“I’ll approach from the front and distract him while you sneak up behind him.”
“You mean like this?” a voice behind them said. Morgan felt the barrel of a gun jammed into her back. “Move and you die.”
The man they’d been observing strode toward them, a pistol tucked underneath the event program in his hand. He cautiously pulled the pistol from her waistband, then took Grant’s.
The Roswell Conspiracy Page 29