by Ted Halstead
"I can answer both questions right now. Who cares, and China," Wade said with a scowl.
Rooter shook his head. "I have to disagree with you there, boss. We need to figure out what hit the module, or we can't prove China did it. Everybody knows there's plenty of junk in orbit, and this could have been an accident."
Seeing Wade's gathering fury, Rooter held up both hands, "You and I don't believe that. We both think China did it. But if we're going to get government help to do anything about China, we need proof. I've asked my Space Command contacts to look over their tracking records for evidence to help us do that."
Rooter saw with relief that Wade's anger ebbed as quickly as it had grown.
"OK, that makes sense. What else are we doing?" Wade asked.
"Bob Hansen and the rest of his FBI team are on their way and should get here later today. Maybe they'll find something we missed. He'll also bring us up to date on what they've learned about the Florida attack," Rooter replied.
"Good. They're not going to interfere with the charity event I'm hosting, are they?" Wade asked with a frown.
"No, sir. Just as you directed, the contractor I hired will be the only supplement to your regular security detail. He's promised to be discreet, and I trust him to do that," Rooter replied.
"Fine. Now, you've got one of our old workhorse rockets, the Eagle, ready to launch satellites tomorrow from here at Vandenberg. Right?" Wade asked.
"Yes, sir, targeted to replace the ones China destroyed plus adding many more. As you know, it will be a much lighter load than the one on the rockets China just destroyed, but we haven't announced this launch. It should come as a complete surprise," Rooter replied.
"And what about our cover story on the NOTAM? Is that ready?" Wade asked.
A NOTAM was a "Notice to Airmen" sent by the Federal Aviation Administration to all pilots about any event that might interfere with a flight. Like a rocket launch.
"Yes, sir. We'll have proof we sent the draft NOTAM to the FAA through our email system but that there was a technical problem preventing its receipt. I don't think they'll be able to prove we caused the problem. Airspace over Vandenberg is always restricted anyway, so failure to issue a NOTAM shouldn't pose any real danger to flight safety," Rooter replied.
"Excellent. Now, did we swap out the payload module on the Spaceship launch due to take off from Florida tomorrow? And will it take off at the same time as the Eagle launch?" Wade asked.
"Yes to both, boss. And as we arranged, it should all happen the same day you're in San Francisco hosting that charity event," Rooter replied and then hesitated.
Wade saw it immediately and quietly said, "Out with it, Mark."
Rooter shrugged. "Look, boss, these are your rockets. What you want in them and where you want them to go is your call. But is anyone in the government going to back us up when what we're doing comes out?"
"Well, you're right to be worried. Especially since the government isn't going to have to prove what we did in court. Once both launches have been completed, I'm flying to DC to tell Hernandez exactly what I did and why. After that, the government may decide to seize all our assets, give the launch business to NASA, and sell the rest. Honestly, I'm not sure I'd blame Hernandez if he did," Wade said.
"And you're not asking first because you don't think the President would agree with what we're doing," Rooter said with a nod.
"Let's be very clear about this, Mark," Wade said. "There is no we. You're doing what I ordered you to do. You had no idea the government hadn't approved. The military could sue me for breach of contract. I'm probably also violating a dozen or so Federal criminal statutes, not to mention conducting my own foreign policy."
Rooter grinned. "You mean because we're going to ring China with satellites giving everyone in it access to uncensored high-speed Internet and thousands of Gateways to access it for free?"
Wade shook his head. "There's that 'we' again. Get this through your head. You just followed my orders, like any good company employee. I'm not taking you down with me, and that's final."
Rooter's smile disappeared, and he said, "That's not your call, boss. I don't like what China is doing to our life's work any better than you do. Maybe it makes me even madder."
Indeed, Rooter had to stop for a moment while he got his anger under enough control to keep speaking.
"You've got other businesses to take care of like electric cars and solar roofs. SpaceLink is my only child. If jail is the price to do something about the people attacking it, then I'll go to prison. I'm with you all the way, boss, and I don't care who knows it."
Wade drew a deep breath and was about to argue with Rooter but then looked at his expression and thought better of it.
"Well, then all I can do is thank you for your support. I had this image of myself as the captain going down alone with his ship. I see now that was pretty selfish."
"No, you were looking out for me, and I appreciate it. But I'm going into this with my eyes wide open, just like you. And besides, you never know. I doubt the President likes what China's doing any better than you do. Maybe this will work out after all," Rooter said confidently.
"Maybe so," Wade said automatically in response.
While thinking that if he knew Hernandez at all, the real question was whether the President would even finish hearing him out before having him arrested.
Wade didn't care. China wasn't going to get away with destroying five of his satellites and his two newest rockets.
Not if Eli Wade had anything to say about it.
Chapter Fifty-Four
Downtown Office Building
San Francisco
Mikhail Vasilyev and Anatoly Grishkov looked around the office space, and both nodded with satisfaction, though for different reasons.
Vasilyev was pleased that his primary requirement had been met. There had been no shortage of tall office buildings close enough to Eli Wade's downtown charity event to let him make the shot.
Particularly with the McMillan TAC-50, it should be no challenge at all, Vasilyev thought.
But only one building met another critical requirement. That the windows be as close to jet black as possible.
The human eye was excellent at noticing objects that didn't belong, even from a great distance. Like, say, a black rifle barrel poking out from a clear glass windowpane.
Against a dark background, however, spotting that barrel became a much greater challenge. The windows weren't totally black, but Vasilyev had known that would be unlikely.
But they were dark enough. His rifle would never be found by chance. Vasilyev thought it unlikely even someone searching for it with a scope would find it in time.
He wasn't going to leave the barrel sticking out of the window for long.
Grishkov's concerns were completely different. First, that their vantage point be easy to secure.
There was a single door leading into the office suite. Grishkov had replaced the door lock's cylinder with a German one from the consulate's stock, which had several advantages.
First, it worked. Designed for precise interaction between the cylinder body, pins, balls, and springs, it would open to Grishkov's key. A stuck or jammed door wasn't something they could afford.
Any American criminal seeking entry would find his usual tools wouldn't do the job. Top-ranked even among German cylinders, these locks were as close to tamper-proof as possible.
Since he had only replaced the door lock's cylinder, Grishkov doubted any investigation once they had gone would discover the alteration. And even if it did, the German product would do nothing to implicate Russia.
Even more important, Grishkov had discovered an excellent escape route out of the building. He scowled briefly as he thought about the capsules Alina had given him, as well as Vasilyev. Along with their orders, just before they had boarded their flight to San Francisco.
Grishkov was going to do everything possible to avoid taking them. He was returning to Arisha and his sons, and that
was his top priority.
Keeping his partner alive would be nice too.
Grishkov's gaze swept around the office space. Also high on his security list had been a clear and unobstructed view of the door from all vantage points. No matter how good the lock, any door could be forced.
The office was completely unfurnished. The sharp chemical smell that had pervaded the space on their first visit from the carpet's cleaning had thankfully dissipated. There was nothing but lighting overhead and carpet underfoot.
Ideally, Grishkov had wanted to rent an entire floor but knew that was unlikely. Not for financial reasons, since Smyslov had told them their budget was virtually unlimited for this mission. But because downtown office space was in high demand in this city.
But the agent in charge of obtaining this space for them had done as well as he could. Only two other offices on this floor were occupied. Neither dealt directly with the public and so could be expected to have few visitors.
So far, that expectation had proved accurate. On the short walk from the elevator to their office door, Grishkov and Vasilyev had never encountered anyone. Even better, when Grishkov had been forced to stand in the doorway for several minutes to change the lock's cylinder, he had seen no one.
The building's lobby, though, always had plenty of people. And cameras.
The low-tech solution Grishkov used for both of them was windbreakers with attached hoods. In rainy, foggy San Francisco, they certainly weren't the only ones wearing them.
Grishkov knew using a hood had a significant advantage over the classic "cap and sunglasses" approach from his time in law enforcement. One of the key reference points used in facial recognition was the ear, fully concealed by a hood but not a cap.
They both wore thin leather gloves to avoid leaving fingerprints. Since they had worked with the Americans before in Afghanistan, Grishkov and Vasilyev assumed their facial images and prints had been collected by an American intelligence service, either CIA or DIA.
It's what they would have done.
"I think it's time," Grishkov said.
Vasilyev glanced up from his position next to the TAC-50 and nodded.
Grishkov had only one regret starting out on this mission. He knew he would have to leave behind one of his favorite tools from his days as a detective.
It was a German glass circle cutter he had bought with his own funds. He had used it many times to cut out a hole in a windowpane for two different purposes. The most common was to insert a monitoring device, either video or audio, to collect evidence in criminal cases.
Grishkov has also used it to enter homes after unlatching a window without breaking the glass and alerting those inside. Twice he believed coming upon heavily armed criminals from behind thanks to this technique had saved his life.
Grishkov counted the money he'd spent on this German tool as very well spent. Especially when, thanks in part to its help, he became the youngest ever Chief Homicide Detective for the entire Vladivostok region.
He sighed as he attached the suction cup to the glass pane in front of Vasilyev's rifle and began turning its six-wheel turret. Given the scene they'd be leaving behind, Grishkov knew he couldn't leave with the tool.
If police stopped them, it would be difficult to explain.
It didn't make him any happier about parting with his old friend.
There, Grishkov said to himself with satisfaction as he could feel the glass give way but remain firmly within the suction cup's grip. Carefully, he pulled the newly created glass disc inside the office suite.
One of the first times he'd used the tool, Grishkov had failed to pull straight back and dropped the cut glass on the wrong side of the window. That time he'd been lucky. The room inside had been carpeted and unoccupied, and the glass hadn't shattered.
If a glass disk dropped dozens of floors onto a San Francisco street, though, Grishkov expected people to notice.
Wind rushed through the hole, as both Grishkov and Vasilyev had expected at this altitude. This time, it had been up to Vasilyev to select the solution to the problem.
The Swiss-made wind meter Vasilyev had used before was no longer in production, but an American equivalent was readily available. For security purposes, it was probably better to use a meter any American could purchase anyway, Vasilyev thought.
The consulate had ordered Vasilyev's selection, a highly accurate meter including a barometer for the most precise wind measurements. It measured current wind speed, average wind speed, maximum gust, temperature, local barometric pressure, and altitude. All this information was shown on a digital display. Obtaining a reading only required pressing a single button.
As far as Grishkov was concerned, the meter's most important feature was its attached lanyard. Before going anywhere near the hole in the window, he had it securely knotted around his wrist.
Vasilyev had read the device's promotional materials. They said its 90-degree rotating anemometer head would let him measure how much crosswind would be applied on the side of his bullet without having to move the wind meter or do angle calculations.
Vasilyev had Grishkov move the meter several times. Then he did his own angle calculations.
And came up with the same result as the meter.
Both Vasilyev and Grishkov still considered it time well spent.
Grishkov trained his Japanese 20х50 binoculars on the building entrance across the street where Wade was expected to make his appearance. Reporters and their equipment were there, which was a relief.
It had been clear from the outset that Wade could avoid the assassination attempt they were planning. All Wade had to do was enter the building where his charity event would be held through its underground garage.
Grishkov and Vasilyev, though, agreed that everything in Wade's file suggested such a decision was doubtful. Wade's egotism and stubbornness may well have been critical to his success in business.
But they were about to prove less than helpful when it came to security planning.
The Internet had once again demonstrated its value as a research tool. They had set up for their attack well in advance of Wade's expected arrival. But Grishkov knew from reviewing video footage of Wade's appearance at the same charity event in earlier years that Wade would be late.
So, when first ten and then twenty minutes after Wade's announced arrival time passed, Grishkov wasn't concerned. Instead, he made productive use of the time by carefully examining the surrounding buildings.
If a counter-sniper team was operating anywhere nearby, Grishkov could see no sign of it.
As thirty minutes stretched to forty, though, Grishkov began to worry. Had they miscalculated?
Though Grishkov had said nothing, his concern was still obvious to Vasilyev. He glanced up at Grishkov and smiled.
"If Wade decides not to come or goes in through another entrance, there's nothing we can do. So, why worry about it?" Vasilyev asked.
Grishkov shrugged and nodded. Why indeed?
Vasilyev's father could well have made the same observation, Grishkov thought. Instead of saddening him, the thought was oddly reassuring. Despite the limited time that Alexei had been able to spend with his son, he had still managed to pass on the most important lessons.
Grishkov could at least see that the reporters were still there. If Wade had appeared inside after arriving through some other entrance, they would undoubtedly have learned about it and departed.
At last! A long black vehicle slowed and finally stopped in front of the building. Reporters quickly converged around it and just as rapidly were pushed back by the men who emerged from the vehicle.
And who were joined by more men exiting a smaller vehicle that had pulled up directly behind the larger one.
The professional in Grishkov approved. One team charged with keeping the reporters at a distance where they could take good quality photo and video and call out questions. But not threaten Wade's security.
Another team serving as a moving physical barrier to a
ttack.
"Two guards on sides, two more front, and back. Target in center," Grishkov called out.
"Target acquired," Vasilyev replied.
Grishkov knew that meant Vasilyev would fire as soon as he had a clear shot.
Charity Event Building
San Francisco
Retired Commander Dave Martins had used the Knights Armaments SR-25 rifle over nearly his entire Navy career. Called the Mk 11 Mod 0 by the Navy and the M110 by the Army, it had been used by Seal Team snipers to carry out many challenging missions. Martins thought its use to kill the terrorists holding Captain Phillips hostage on a pitching lifeboat in 2009 was probably the most impressive example of the rifle's capabilities.
Not to mention the skill of the Seals firing the rifle, Martins thought with a grin.
The Mk 11 wasn't the longest-range sniper rifle available. But the distance to the three buildings with a line of sight to the building he was in wasn't that great and certainly within the MK 11's range.
Rooter had come through on every count. It turned out there were about a dozen vacant or recently rented offices in each of the three target buildings. Martins and his two other men, both retired Seals, had maps of each building showing their locations.
None of them needed the maps now. Each of them had committed the office locations to memory. It was the sort of capability each of them had demonstrated countless times throughout their careers.
Rooter had also obtained access to the offices Martins had requested as the ideal spots for him and his men to surveil each target building. Each of them covered one building. Martins had naturally taken the building that he would have selected if he had been planning to assassinate Wade.
Bob Hansen had turned out to be surprisingly helpful. Martins had expected him to insist on taking over the counter-sniper operation, but instead, he had promised full cooperation. That had included giving him a radio to connect directly with an SFPD captain if Wade was attacked.
Only an amateur would reveal his position by extending his rifle barrel outside an office window before Wade's arrival. And Martins doubted very much that people who had managed to blow up a rocket in Florida would hire any but the most qualified professional.