The Omega Command (43 page)

“Range seventeen hundred fifty meters,” the copilot muttered.

“I’m gettin’ us the hell outta here!” shouted Petersen.

“The energy torpedo, did you see where it came from?” Blaine asked rapidly.

“What?” the captain returned as he began to roll the shuttle.

“There was a black spot in the middle of all those reflectors. It’s gotta be a door in the base the thing has to open to fire at us. I saw it!”

“That doesn’t mean you can hit it,” Petersen pointed out.

“But if I can, it’ll mean a direct shot to the guts and kiss that thing good-bye.”

“Terrific,” Petersen moaned.

Pegasus
had come all the way around now and was fleeing at top acceleration toward the sharpening California coast.

“Range fifteen hundred meters,” said the copilot. “Auxilliary power’s just about had it. We’ve lost the left laser cannon and can only generate a few more bursts from the right. … Range seventeen hundred fifty.” Then, to Petersen, “We’re pulling away.”

“Only until the gas runs out…”

“That’s it!” Blaine screamed. “Turn this thing around!”

“Huh?”

“Turn it around and kill all the thrust and defensive systems. Just leave me a final burst from the laser cannon.”

“Have you gone fuckin’ nuts?” Petersen challenged.

“No! Think! The thing moved right on top of
Adventurer
before it fired because she couldn’t defend herself. The satellite sensed that. It doesn’t think, it just responds. We’ve got to make it respond the way it did with
Adventurer.
”

“Range twenty-five hundred,” from the copilot.

“Captain!”

Petersen squeezed his lips together and fired the maneuvering jets to roll
Pegasus
around toward the satellite once more. When the maneuver was complete, he killed the main batteries to the shields and cut back to standard computer orbit.

“Range two thousand and closing,” announced the copilot. “Fifteen hundred and closing…”

Blaine locked the thing into the center of his firing grid. He had to be sure, had to make his last burst count. His hands felt stiff as boards, but they’d do the job well enough.

The satellite kept coming at them, growing into more of the individual cubes of the grid as it approached.

“Range one thousand and closing …”

“What the hell are you waiting for?” Petersen shrieked. “
Kill the fucker!
”

The killer satellite loomed near them like a giant hawk spreading its wings over its prey, the steel support legs looking like talons.

Blaine raised the joysticks so the center of the firing grid was in line with the area of the satellite where the door had opened to release its last energy torpedo.

“Range seven hundred fifty meters …”

Blaine saw a black area in the shape of a square appear amid the thing’s reflective surface, indicating the door had opened again. He closed his eyes and squeezed both red firing buttons.

There is no sound in outer space, but there is vibration, and the one that came when the last burst of
Pegasus
’s laser cannon pierced the guts of the killer satellite shook McCracken’s stomach up to his mouth. His teeth snapped together and he felt himself slammed backward against his seat. His eyes closed for an instant, and when they opened, he wanted to hoot and holler for joy and would have if he could have found his breath.

Because the viewing windows were filled with a beautiful circle of silent orange which absorbed the remains of the killer satellite into oblivion. What few particles remained showered harmlessly toward the ridge of the Earth’s atmosphere.

“
Heeeeeeeee-yahhhhhhhhh!
” Petersen shouted, one hand struggling to control
Pegasus
from the shock waves and the other slapping Blaine on the shoulder. “We did it! We fuckin’ did it!”

And
Pegasus
passed over the California coast.

The expiration of the blue light on the main monitoring board in Houston had sent most of the mission control personnel to their chairs with heads bowed, weeping silent tears. Nathan Jamrock sat stone-faced amid it all. He held the direct line to the President in his hand and wished there was something encouraging he could say.

Then all at once a voice split through the thick silence and tension in the room, seeming to come from heaven or somewhere almost as high.

“Houston, this is
Pegasus
. Sorry you boys missed all the fun. …”

Petersen said more, but nobody could hear him through all the shouting and screaming.

“The heat shield’s my biggest worry,” Petersen repeated at the close of his report. “We can get all other necessary functions patched up good enough, but we’ve lost a lot of tiles, maybe as many as a third from the nose area.”

Nathan Jamrock swallowed four more Rolaids. The knots in his stomach didn’t loosen. “What about the bottom?” he asked, aware that the heat shield on the shuttle’s underside was the most crucial.

“Tiles ninety-five percent accounted for, but I can’t tell what reentry might do to them after what this tub’s been through.”

“They’ll hold tight, Paul. I glued them myself. But things will get a little hot.”

“We’ll wear our summer clothes, Nate. Oh, and there’s something else. The shifters sustained some real bad damage. Looks like you guys got an excuse for them not working this time around.”

“I’ll take the responsibility.”

“How’s the weather at Edwards?”

“Clear, calm, and sunny by dawn. That’s 6:03.”

“We’ll set down by seven.”

“I’ll have the band waiting.”

“And a bathroom.”

“A slight change of plans, Paul,” Blaine said softly after they had completed seven hours of grueling repairs that included Petersen having to spend some tedious moments on the outside of the craft to realign
Pegasus
’s navigational beacons.

“Uh-oh …”

“See, Paul, any way you cut it, I’m still a wanted man. There are still too many people working for the guys who put that thing up in space, and I’m a threat to them. Getting a medal from the President would be nice, but staying alive’ll do just fine for now.”

Petersen shrugged. “I guess you know these people pretty well.”

“Too well. Omega’s not over. It won’t be until all the people in positions of control are exposed. They’ll be waiting for me, if not at Edwards, then somewhere else down the road.”

“I understand. What do you want me to do?”

Blaine told him.

Pegasus
reentered the atmosphere right on schedule. The loss of so many heat shield tiles forced the cabin temperature up over 110 degrees, uncomfortable but not life-threatening, and most important the underside shield worked magnificently. The retrieval crew on the ground at Edwards Air Force Base in California broke into spontaneous applause when it was announced that the shuttle was on its way.

In Houston Nathan Jamrock had sworn off Rolaids once again and returned to cigars, which seemed to have an infinitely superior effect at settling the stomach. On the main board, the blue blip represent
Pegasus
came lower and lower. Then came a three-minute radar lapse before ground spotters at Edwards and the surrounding area would make their first visual sightings.

“You see her yet?” he asked his direct link on the scene in California.

“Is she off your screen?”

“What are you talking about?” Jamrock demanded, tossing his cigar aside. “She’s been off my screen for over three minutes now.”

“There’s no sign of her here, sir.”

Another phone rang on Jamrock’s raised terminal. He picked it up and told his man in California to hold on.

“Houston, this is California tracking. We just picked up your returning shuttle on our screen.”

“Where the hell is it?”

“As near as we can tell, making a descent into the Utah salt flats. …”

Jamrock started grasping for some stray Rolaids tablets.

“Thanks for the lift,” McCracken said as he walked down the steps of the space shuttle
Pegasus
.

“The pleasure was all ours,” Petersen answered from the doorway. “You can fly with us anytime.”

Blaine begged off. “Once is enough for one lifetime.”

“Suit yourself.”

A Land-Rover driven by Johnny Wareagle raced down the barren flats toward the shuttle’s position. Blaine waved to him.

“Sorry I had to make you miss the reception party at Edwards,” he apologized to Petersen.

The captain winked. “I hate parties.”

They smiled at each other and Blaine walked off. The Land-Rover pulled to a stop and he climbed into the passenger seat next to Wareagle.

“The spirits were with you up there, Blainey.”

“They made pretty damn good astronauts, Indian.”

Epilogue

“THERE’S JUST ONE
thing I don’t understand about all this,” Sandy Lister said after McCracken had completed his account of the events since he and Wareagle had left Maine. She lay propped up on pillows in a room in the discreet doctor’s office. A hospital had been out of the question under the circumstances, and she was making a fine recovery from her wound here. The damage to her leg would not be permanent. “If Hollins was behind the plot from the start, why’d he agree to let me interview him?”

“Because he didn’t plan to tell you anything some good investigative work couldn’t have told you anyway. And he was afraid that if he turned you down, you might have dug deeper and come up with something about his link to Krayman Industries he couldn’t let be uncovered.”

“Makes sense. So it’s over then.” When Blaine didn’t respond, Sandy’s face grew concerned. “It
is
over, isn’t it?”

“I don’t think so,” he said finally. “I mean in the minds of Washington it is, and that’s the problem. There are hundreds of people out there, maybe thousands, who owe their positions to Krayman Industries. Sahhan’s troops are still out there, too, along with the mercenaries. And don’t forget the billions of Krayman Chips in place all over the country. So it wouldn’t take much for a smart man in the Krayman hierarchy to pick up right where Hollins and Dolorman left off. With a few modifications, the Omega command could still be given.”

“Are you telling me the government would allow that to happen with everything they know?”

“They don’t know a damn thing. All they have to go on is what I told them from the space shuttle, and I was vague. They can’t move because they’ve got nothing to move on.”

“What about Terrell’s suggestion to get the names of Krayman Industry plants from the computer on Horse Neck Island?”

“Without the specific access codes, we wouldn’t have a chance.”

“Then you’ll have to go in and tell them everything.”

“How far do you think I’d get? Do you think Hollins’s people will simply stop gunning for me? I don’t. The kill order stands. I trust the President well enough, but that’s as far as it goes.”

“What if I tried my network, or a different one?”

“Try anything, lady, but don’t expect to get very far. We’ve got no proof, and without it anyone who takes this on camera would look like a damn fool. Besides, you think that boss of yours was the only one in television Krayman Industries had in its pockets?”

“So you’re saying Washington will do nothing if left to itself?”

“By doing nothing, they’re accomplishing something—saving their asses. The people at the top fear embarrassment more than assassination. They can’t risk exposure of how close they came to losing control. It makes them look ineffective, which is just what they are, but so long as the illusion holds up, who’s to know? Even if I got by Krayman’s people, I’m not sure I’d be able to find anyone in the capital to listen to me. Remember what Terrell said about everything coming down to one group seizing control from a weaker one? Well, if everything about Omega comes out, that might just happen—quite legitimately—on Election Day. They can’t take that chance.”

“So the bad guys want us dead and the good guys want us quiet,” Sandy concluded grimly.

“There are no good guys, just levels of bad.”

Sandy raised herself up more. “Then why don’t you just walk away from it all, find yourself your own private island in the Caribbean?”

Blaine shook his head. “No, I can’t. The job’s not finished and if it stays that way, the country just might be. I still believe, Sandy. When you come right down to it, that’s all I’ve got.”

They looked at each other for a long moment. Sandy tightened her features. “You could have sent flowers and a card, Blaine, but instead you came in person. This is all leading somewhere, isn’t it?”

“Yes, but I’m not sure where myself. All I know is that you’re right about exposure being our best, our
only
chance to stay alive and end this for certain.”

“But how?”

“I’ve got this crazy feeling, but before I can pursue it I’ve got to ask you some questions.”

“You gonna tell me what this feeling is?”

“Not until I’m sure. When I am, you’ll be the second to know. Let’s just say there’s only one way to expose Omega irrefutably and only one man who can help us do it. It’s a long shot, but it’s all we’ve got.”

“Ask away,” Sandy told him.

Christmas had brought with it forty-degree temperatures and the beginnings of an early thaw. The boatman had spent his holiday with his whiskey. Between swallows he had started repairs on his battered craft. The island was quiet now, less ominous, sulking in the shadows across the bay like a beaten bully. The boatman was finally alone, which was just the way he wanted it.

The sloshing of shoes through the slush made him poke his head through the opening in the boat’s engine compartment. A big, bearded man was approaching, better groomed and less anxious than the last time the boatman had seen him.

“Good afternoon,” said McCracken.

“Seems to be,” returned the boatman as he climbed back upon his craft’s deck. “If you come to bring me a Christmas present, friend, you’re a day late. And if you’re after my boat again, you might notice she ain’t exactly seaworthy.”

“It’s not the boat I’m after, it’s you.”

“Don’t think I caught that, friend.”

“I think you did … Mr. Krayman.”