Perigee (24 page)

“I’m due back for shift turnover in ten minutes,” Donner said expectantly, hoping Taggart would intervene on his behalf. Going home early would’ve been a nice reward.

“They’ll need to see you back there on time,” he said. “Remember we’re doing this under the radar, but we have to stay above-board at the same time. Otherwise no one will believe us if our findings run counter to the party line.”

“The other reason you brought me in,” Donner said, finishing the thought.

“Precisely,” Taggart said, and opened the door for him. “Good day, Walter. And thanks again for your good work. This will help us immensely.”

Once alone, he closed the door, unclipped his personal cell phone and scrolled through the menu until he found his contact. To an interested observer, it looked innocent enough: “China No. 1” was a real takeout restaurant on his way home, not that he ever went there.

“It’s me. Records are in hand. Yes…yes, your tracks will be covered.”

The line went dead, and he snapped the phone closed and tossed it onto the desk. For a man who strove to keep his emotions under wraps, such a minor display of irritation couldn’t have been clearer.
Those little pricks are wound up way too tight for their own good
.

…

Will Gardner was still shaking when he cornered the secretary on her way in, and demanded an immediate meeting with Hammond and Penny Stratton. Now in Hammond’s office, he suddenly felt emotionally exhausted.

Penny leaned against a wall, arms folded, looking mad as a hornet. “What did you call it…a ‘logic bomb’? So you’re saying some hacker was trying to kill us.”

“The term ‘hacker’ doesn’t do it justice,” Will said. “This wasn’t some college kid hopped up on Red Bull causing internet mischief. This person had an objective and knew precisely how to screw around with the control code. It was ham-fisted, but it worked.”

“You’re right, of course,” she reluctantly agreed. “Flight control logic is really esoteric stuff. But back to my point: some SOB wanted us dead.”

“Sure looks that way,” Hammond said. “Whoever planted this turd blossom probably figured all the evidence would’ve burned up or been scattered to hell and gone.”

Will remained uncomfortable with the idea, but couldn’t deny it. “That was my first thought. Elegance or stealth didn’t matter. He’d have been in a hurry, and brute force would get the job done. Nothing else makes sense.”

“Add that to the long list of crap that’s not making sense,” Hammond said, and leaned forward with his most serious fear-of-God look. “Listen closely, both of you. It’s my contention that 501’s mess isn’t an accident either. Sure looks to me like this punk was looking to do something similar with them, but we can’t know without getting our hands on the plane.”

“So he just refined his techniques on us, then?” Penny asked.

“It would appear so,” Hammond said. “Keep this to yourselves, okay? I’ve already got people looking into the other mess.”

“You’re compartmentalizing this?” Penny challenged him. “I’m not a big believer in stove-piping, Art.”

“Neither am I. But let’s see what kind of independent evidence they turn up before springing this on them. If we’re both right,” he said, pointing at Will, “then we have an extremely dangerous saboteur on our hands and he’s probably inside this building. We can’t risk tipping him off.”

“Why are you telling us, then?” Will asked. “What makes us any more trustworthy?”

Penny laughed. “Because we’re the ones who almost got killed up there, genius.”

Will was deflated. “Good point.”

“Don’t be too hard on yourself,” Hammond said. “It’s not every day that you find out you’ve been targeted for assassination.”

45

ISS

Poole floated in the station’s cupola, a small observation deck faceted by trapezoidal windows. In appearance, it was not unlike an airport control tower. Though barely large enough for two people, the view from here was unmatched: you could float carelessly and enjoy spectacular vistas in any direction. He especially enjoyed the view whenever they were in Earth’s night side. Unfettered by sunlight or atmospheric haze, the universe shone like nothing he’d ever seen on Earth, even on the darkest nights at sea.

For now, he was focused on the European tug pulling away from its docking port about twenty meters away. Down below, he could hear Gerard talking with the European control center. Max Becker was remotely piloting the tug until it was safely away from the Station. Once it was clear, they would hand it off to ESA ground controllers in France who would manage its rendezvous with the Clipper.

The transfer vehicle wouldn’t have enough propellant to chase that beast down indefinitely. It barely had enough delta-v for this stunt. And they still had to latch onto one of those big rocket nozzles, the only feature that looked halfway compatible and sturdy enough to grab the docking collar. He just hoped they didn’t torque the engines clean out of the airframe.

There was only one chance to get this right. Otherwise it would be weeks before their orbits would be at a similar conjunction, long after the Clipper’s life support would have run out. If they couldn’t manage a rescue, the next mission would be to collect remains. Poole grimaced at the thought. He wasn’t prepared to turn the ISS into a flying morgue, not on his watch.

He shielded his eyes against the dazzling glare from the tug’s solar panels. It was about a half-kilometer out and still pulling away as occasional puffs from its control jets sparkled in the unfiltered sunlight. Poole imagined he could hear the
thumps
of them firing. Once the ship was safely clear of the Station’s own fragile solar wings, its primary engines would begin the long mating dance of shifting orbits to match the stricken spaceliner.

Spaceliner
. Even up here, it was hard to get his head around that moniker. It still sounded too sci-fi.

A white flash emanated behind the tug as Max fired the main engines. Almost as quickly, Gerard’s voice sounded in his headset: “Posigrade burn…delta-v plus two-five, apogee minus three point four. Standing by for shutdown,” he said in his clipped accent. The European Spacecraft Operations Center was about to take over remote control.

“Roger that. I still have it in sight, she’s burning good,” he added. “Beautiful ship you guys built there, Gerry.”

“
Merci,
” he replied. “She will do well, I believe.”

She has to,
Poole didn’t say. No sense adding any more pressure to the situation.

…

Austral Clipper

“You’re certain this was intentional?” Tom asked as he tried to gauge Ryan’s reaction to the news. “That’s a pretty serious assertion.”

Ryan covered his microphone boom with a free hand. “Makes sense,” he whispered, coldly objective though the idea made the hair on his neck stand up.

Penny replied before they could discuss it any further. “That’s become Art’s operating theory and I can’t find any reason to doubt him. Not after that ride we had yesterday.”

Sabotage
. The thought flung him into a conflicting swirl of emotions: shock, anger, fear…perhaps the strongest was dread. If this had happened on purpose, then what else might be hidden within this machine that could be turned against them? Ryan was right—too many interconnected systems had ignored their inputs all at once for it to be a single hard fault. Add Penny’s near-death experience on the Block II plane, and there was really no alternative.

“The FADEC module is our missing link,” Penny said. “We’ve got to have a look at that component and verify the work on it.”

“Not sure what we can do yet,” he said, and finished their exchange. “We’ll get back to you…501 out.” He turned to face Ryan and checked the door to make sure no one was within earshot. “That conversation doesn’t leave this cockpit. We’ll absolutely have a panic on our hands if word gets out.”

Ryan agreed. “This just keeps getting more complicated, doesn’t it? If this is true, then what else could…”

Tom cut him off. “It’s probably best to not think about that.”

“You’re right,” Ryan said. “But you’d better believe I’ll be keeping a sharper eye on everything else. In the meantime, we need to have a look at that control module.” He picked up the cabin interphone to call Marcy.

She quickly floated through the entryway. “Yes?”

“We really need to get a look at the master engine control,” he said, pointing to an access panel behind the center pedestal. “Think you can help?”

“No problem. Tools are still in storage B, right?” she asked, reaching into a small cabinet by the door.

“I’m not sure I follow…since when are you a flight mechanic?” Tom asked with surprise.

“Since never,” she said. “You didn’t know I have an A&P?”

“Airframe and Powerplant license?” he asked. “No kidding?” After what they’d just learned, it was good to have at least one pleasant surprise.

“No kidding,” she smiled, and retrieved a small tool bag from the cabinet. “Turning wrenches out in the weather gets old fast. But it’s a useful skill set now and then.”

“She replaced my car’s water pump last summer,” Ryan explained, not letting on their concerns to her. “What’s not to love about a lady like that?”

“Just for that, smart guy, you get to hold my feet while I work on these bolts,” she said, gliding past him towards the center pedestal.

“I learn something new every day,” Tom said. He gave Ryan a worried look as Marcy buried herself inside the access bay. “And some things I like knowing more than others.”

46

Austral Clipper

More power had thankfully been restored as the crew prepared for their new visitors. Unfortunately, heat apparently hadn’t made it on the list of necessary items. More importantly, the Wi-Fi connection was back up. The signal was weak, but at least it was there. Magrath huddled in a blanket over his laptop as it recharged from an open AC jack by his seat. “You’re certain we’ll have bandwidth for long enough?”

“Far as I can tell,” Wade said. “It’s tied to the data network they’ll need for rendezvous. Can’t imagine them taking it offline anytime soon.” He disapproved of the text on screen, not that he was under any illusions his boss would care. “Pretty harsh words, considering all they’re doing right now. Certain that’s what you want to say?”

“You’re bloody right it’s what I want to say.”

Of course it is
, Wade thought.
Not that he’d ever held back on matters of less importance
. He leaned in close and whispered, “This is going to stir up a real hornet’s nest down there, Colin.”

“As well it should. They’ve buggered things up well enough. How worse could it get? NASA’s coming to the rescue while Hammond’s people sit on their asses in Colorado.”

Wade knew there was plenty of time for things to get a lot worse. “Colin, nobody knows if this will really work. You need to think about the possible repercussions. We’re all scared to death,” he said, and lowered his voice. “Whitney has some sedatives…”

That only strengthened his resolve. “Xanax is for housewives,” he sneered. “I prefer Scotch.” Magrath was beyond argument, and his infamous temper had only been made worse by the cold and fatigue. Locking up the booze hadn’t helped.

Wade knew he couldn’t allow this, consequences be damned. It would create distractions that no one needed, and the old man wasn’t thinking rationally. Anything Magrath didn’t have direct influence over he took for granted as being simple and beneath him. Getting them home alive was someone else’s problem to solve.

Wade reached for the laptop, but it was already too late. His heart sank as “message sent” flashed on the screen.

“Something you need this for?” Magrath asked caustically. He might’ve been behaving irrationally, but he was still no fool.

“Not anymore,” Wade grumbled.
They might be willing to unlock the bar after all. We’ll all need a drink once this turd hits the fan.

…

Denver

In both appearance and manner, they couldn’t have been more different. Art Hammond strode purposefully onto the stage, closely followed by Leo Taggart. In comparison to Taggart’s rail-thin stature, Hammond’s stocky boxer’s frame looked almost portly. The harsh lights didn’t help, accentuating the fact that he’d been living in his office for almost three days now. Normally meticulous about his appearance at work, he still wasn’t afraid to lose the tie and roll up his sleeves when the situation demanded it. His wife had brought him a fresh suit, but he’d only taken time to throw the jacket on over his rumpled clothing. Taggart, on the other hand, was turned out in his usual Savile Row finest. He appeared ready for a presser, whereas Hammond just looked ready to get back to work, if not another hour of fitful sleep on the sofa in his office.

Standing behind a podium festooned with microphones, they faced a teeming throng of reporters under blazing television lights. Hammond raised a hand in a gesture to silence their competing shouts for attention.