Perigee (38 page)

“I’ve heard that,” he sniffed. “I suppose that’s what you think this is?”

“Wasn’t sure, until we got Donner’s copies of the logbooks,” said Davis. “He didn’t realize he was doing us a favor, but he scanned them
before
someone made the record in question disappear,” he said, waving the copy in front of him.

“You’re busted, kid,” Hammond said.

“This isn’t right…” Taggart pleaded, finally speaking.

“You’re right about that.” Posey said calmly. He watched Chen shift his weight off of his heels, and onto the balls of his feet. His knees bent slightly inside baggy pants that were worn to conceal such telltale signs.

Chen struck with a lightning-fast hammer blow aimed at Posey’s chest, who pivoted and brought up an arm just in time to block it. Chen’s free hand reached for a utility knife clipped inside of his belt.

Posey ducked just as the knife grazed his back. He wrapped a fist around Chen’s knife hand and grabbed his wrist, sweeping his legs from behind to knock Chen off balance. As he fell, Posey quickly stepped around and twisted the arm away. As he shifted his weight onto Chen’s knife hand, he heard the man’s wrist snap with a sickening wet
crack
.

He sucked in a breath as his eyes bulged from the pain, but otherwise did not utter a sound.

“Admirable self-control,” Posey said, catching his breath as he pocketed the knife. “FBI’s going to
love
talking with you. Let me give you a preview of what they’re likely to charge you with: sabotage of a commercial spacecraft, espionage, and homicide.”

Taggart’s practiced composure finally collapsed. “Did you say
espionage?
” he sputtered.

As if “homicide” wasn’t enough?
Hammond thought.

Posey finally got a yelp from Chen as he zip-tied his wrists behind his back. “You heard me. You and Donner were too obvious. There had to be more to this.”

“No, that’s not right!” Taggart pleaded, practically confessing. “No one said a word about
spying
.”

“They rarely do. I agreed with Arthur’s theory: there were other motivations at work.”

“So we’re just talking about, what,
corporate
spying…aren’t we?” Taggart asked hopefully.

“No, we’re not,” Posey said calmly, now resting a hand on his unsnapped sidearm. “The Feds believe this character’s a covert operative for the Chinese government.”

“The
Chinese
?” Taggart wondered aloud. “But I’ve never spoken to this kid in my life,” he protested.

“Sure you have,” Posey replied, showing a record of calls from Taggart’s phone. “These numbers to your contact in Long Beach…did it not occur to you that it might be a front? That maybe your calls actually went to a contact on the other side of the building?”

Taggart stammered, finally unable to speak. And it hadn’t dawned on Chen that anyone could have possibly been listening in; he’d set up the scrambling algorithms himself.

“I don’t think Human Resources realized exactly how overqualified Mr. Chen was for his job,” Posey explained. “He is, in fact, an electrical engineer and a pretty crafty computer hacker. FBI believes he’s been a cutout for the Chinese intelligence service for years. That’s how he worked his way through college, and now he’s running his own operation. They positioned him perfectly to gain access to an organization like ours…they only needed to pick the target.”

“You little…” Hammond’s voice trailed off.

Posey looked at Taggart. “The FBI also tells me that one hundred million dollars was wired to various brokerage accounts in your name from a Beijing bank on the day of the incident. This was worth an awful lot of money to somebody.”

Taggart was shaking with anger now and cursed under his breath.

“That’s where you got the money to buy up our stock, wasn’t it?” Hammond asked. “And it just so happened that what you did to earn it also tanked our value?”

“An added benefit,” Taggart admitted quietly.

“Mr. Taggart,” Posey said, “you were a tactical feint—someone to catch the FBI’s interest after the operation finally went down. The Chinese People’s Air Force had reason for disrupting our Pentagon contracts.”

Hammond was aware of reports that the Chinese had been working on similar vehicles; it suddenly all made sense. “You did this to kill our Air Force deal?”

Chen remained on the floor, proudly tight-lipped.

“Get this dirtbag out of my office,” Hammond spat.
“Now.”

He turned to face Taggart. “Did it ever occur to you that someone who’d pay you that kind of money for corporate secrets just
might
be into something bigger, Leo? I don’t know what pisses me off more—that you’re as dumb as you are slimy, or that I was stupid enough to hire you in the first place,” Hammond snarled, and stepped nose-to-nose with him. “So you’d better answer this next question as if your life depends on it…because
it does
. Just pretend I’m St. Peter holding the keys to the Pearly Gates.”

Taggart shook as he averted Hammond’s angered gaze.

“Did that pissant do
anything else
to that plane?”

“No,” he said in a barely audible whisper. “That was it. Anything more would’ve been too obvious.”

For the first time in days, Hammond appeared relieved. “Well, Leo, you can probably guess what’s coming next. You’re fired. But I think these gentlemen can find ways to keep you occupied.”

Taggart turned ashen as two FBI agents entered the room, flanked by sheriff’s deputies. Reaching behind him, they caught his arms just as he began to collapse onto the floor, weeping. Lifting him by the elbows, the agents led him out the door as they recited his Miranda rights.

Hammond picked up his phone and speed-dialed the control center. “It’s done, Charlie,” he said in a voice leaden with exhaustion. “The spacecraft is clean.”

…

Grant hung up the phone and turned to the control stations. “Team, I need a final check, once around the horn.”

“Recovery teams are in position at primary and secondary sites, Charlie,” said maintenance.

“Weather at Edwards is VMC. Clouds scattered at twenty-five thousand, visibility unlimited, winds light and variable,” dispatch reported. “Moses Lake reports ceiling twelve thousand broken, visibility six miles, winds one-eight-zero at five knots.”

“Positive comm with the crew. Houston has their visual and IR tracking feeds linked to our network,” Penny said from her ‘CapCom’ station. “Telemetry will go live when they power up the plane.”

“Set retro burn countdown clock for three hours, thirty-eight minutes…mark,” Grant said. “Showtime, gang.”

76

ISS

Ryan was back in the hab module, struggling once more with the bright orange emergency spacesuit. Wade was already in the airlock being assisted by Sergei, who by now was adept at donning the cumbersome garments in zero-g.

It was now Marcy’s turn to help him. She fussed with the metal locking collar around his neck before pulling the helmet down over his ears. “Hang on, here it comes,” she said, trying to bring it down swiftly. The headphones had gotten painfully hung up on his ears the last time.

She managed to get it down with one tug and locked it in place. “There you are, looking like a real spaceman,” she said admiringly. “Now let me see your backpack.”

“You’re turning into an old hand at this,” he said as she effortlessly spun him around.

“Hush. I’m working.”

“Nice of Poole to top off our O2 tanks,” he said as she continued to check him over.

“Even nicer of him to look the other way while Max does our dirty work,” she said, turning him back to face her. “You’re all set.”

“Thanks Marcy,” Ryan said. “Couldn’t have done this without you.”

“I owed you one anyway. Just help us get Tom home, all right?”

“Will do. I’ll try not to break anything else, either.”

“That includes you, hotshot. We’re all counting on you.
I’m
counting on you. Be safe…please,” she implored, and pulled him into a tight hug. “I’ll see you in three weeks.”

“Promise?”

“Promise,” Marcy said, and planted a kiss on his cheek before locking down the visor.

…

The olive-green Russian ship approached slowly and came to a stop two kilometers away, beyond the opposite wing of the station. Ryan and Wade stayed in the airlock as Max locked down the remote box, preparing to carry them over to 501.

“Final pressure check?” Max asked.

They checked each other’s backpack panels. “Both holding steady,” Ryan said. “Wade’s actually a little higher.”

“I feel better already,” Wade said as he tugged at his suit. “The guest gets the extra O2, huh?”

“That’s us—‘Service Above and Beyond’,” Ryan replied, aping their advertising slogan. “You don’t seem happy with the fit.”

Wade looked up from his chest fittings on the surprisingly trim garment. “It’s almost like a diving dry-suit. You sure this really works?”

“I’d rather wear one of those than this monster,” Max observed helpfully. He was in the standard-issue white ISS mobility suit, a comparatively large and cumbersome affair. “You’ll be able to work a lot better than I can.”

Looking over Max’s bulky suit, Ryan became concerned. “Can you really run the remote in that get-up?”

Max extended his hands and wiggled his fingers. “Of course.”

“Just make sure you’re on the ball or this’ll be a real short trip,” Ryan said seriously. “It’s on, ladies.”

…

Denver

Their video feed from the Station went live just as Houston called in.

“Go ahead, Houston,” Penny answered. “We’re all standing by here.”

“We’re go for recovery EVA, Denver,” Audrey said. “Non-essential personnel are all secured aboard the Soyuz escape vehicles. Both Polaris spacewalkers are prepped and their suits are holding pressure in vacuum. Our ‘walker is ready on the Kibo arm,” she said, referring to a small robot arm on the Japanese module. Max would ride it over to
Austral Clipper’s
entry, with the others in tow.

“Sorry for the inconvenience, Houston. We appreciate your assistance,” Penny said, giving their ‘official’ reply. It was no small matter to stage another ad-hoc spacewalk, even for the purpose of recovering Tom’s remains. Having their ship blocking a much-needed supply mission gave them necessary cover for the rest. “Please tell them to be careful,” she added. “We’re all counting on them.”

…

ISS

“Comm check,” they heard Max call over their headsets. Both men crouched against opposite sides of the open airlock as he steadied himself on a foothold attached to a manipulator arm like the one that held fast to
Austral Clipper’s
tug.

“Ryan’s up.”

“Wade’s up.”

“Very good,” he answered. “I’m coming back with the safety tethers now.”

They saw him emerge from the blackness, bright white, with safety lines in his hands. They each grabbed a tether and clipped it to d-ring harnesses on their waists.

“Good. Now, push off gently towards me. Ryan first.”

A slight push of the toes sent Ryan drifting off, and Max easily caught him with one hand.

“Excellent. Now Wade...remember, you still have mass, so don’t push too hard.”

Grateful for the reminder, Wade barely flexed his knees and nevertheless went sailing out the airlock. It was easy to forget that he could still generate a lot of momentum, but Max was prepared and caught him roughly.

The three of them floated together, arms interlocked, with Max firmly attached to the robot arm. “We’re ready to transfer, Renee,” he said. His companions each had about four hours’ worth of breathable air in their backpacks, and he knew they’d need most of it for their return.

From inside, Watson began to slowly swing them out towards the spaceplane. Ryan knew where they needed to be, and guided her in.

“Left about two feet. That’s good. Keep bringing us straight in now,” he said calmly. “And…stop.”

She had brought them within arm’s length of the main cabin door. The simple mechanical linkage would be easy enough to open; with the ship powered down, it was their only way in.

“See that big handle in the center?” Ryan pointed out to Max. “Just grab either side, pull it towards you, and turn clockwise.” Being secured to the arm, Max was the only one who would be able to twist it without tumbling in the opposite direction.

The lever wouldn’t budge. Lifting his gold sun visor, he gave Ryan a skeptical glance.

“Don’t worry,” Ryan assured him. “They’re always like that.”

“In space?” he asked. “Long-term exposure has some interesting metallurgical effects. Cold-welding, for instance.”