7
Denver
“This way, please.”
Hammond waved their latest government guest around a cordoned-off area beneath a Clipper, which looked for all the world as if its skin had been peeled off. Which was about right, as the thermal protective coatings had to be stripped and replaced on a regular basis and the underlying structure thoroughly inspected. The spaceplane sat on enormous jacks with its landing gear folded up as technicians in protective coveralls combed over every inch of exposed structure beneath.
Penny wrinkled her nose at the stinging odor of industrial epoxies and delaminated carbon fiber as they wound their way past the grounded spacecraft. The boss had made it clear that he would escort this delegation himself, though she trailed close behind to field the inevitable questions. She found it interesting that so far there’d been none.
Beyond cursory introductions (where he had oddly skipped any first name), the gentleman she knew only as Quinn hadn’t uttered a word beyond an occasional murmur in recognition of some point of interest as he toured the cavernous hangar. Surrounded by machines that represented bleeding-edge technology, he seemed indifferent. As if he’d seen it all before.
Penny watched closely. If Quinn was gawking around his head movements sure weren’t giving anything away. He looked older than she suspected he was, his weathered face speaking to a life spent largely outdoors. He appeared to habitually check the corners every time they entered a new room. His gait was purposeful and precise. Self-controlled, almost predatory. And as a healthy female, she couldn’t help but notice what had to be a well-muscled physique filling out a casual suit that looked like it rarely saw the light of day. Precisely pressed slacks, polo shirt, sport jacket…no, these weren’t his normal work clothes. She suspected dressing up for a day’s work entailed lots of rip-stop fabric and nylon webbing.
Special Ops…in our hangar? Whatever for, Arthur? She intended to corner him at the first opportunity if he didn’t give up some info soon.
Quinn showed a telling hint of curiosity as their tour wrapped up in the control center: the big screens that charted Polaris’ route system impressed him enough that he actually turned his head. A map of the lunar surface visible through the glass partitions of the EOC seemed to be of particular interest.
Their tour ended in the executive boardroom, itself somewhat of a museum and Hammond’s single personal indulgence. The paintings on its walls presented a chronology of aeronautical feats, from Lindbergh to Armstrong. Interspersed among the artwork were pedestals holding mementos and artifacts that Hammond had collected over his lifetime: a combustion cylinder from an old Wright Cyclone radial engine, an Apollo guidance computer, a wind tunnel model of the first Clipper.
It was designed to spark conversation and reflection, a reminder of their contribution to a long heritage, open for anyone to roam whenever the boss didn’t need the room. It was perhaps because of this that Penny was most surprised when Quinn didn’t even blink, instead heading straight for his seat on one side of the room’s massive conference table.
Audrey and Ryan had been waiting patiently and remained standing on the other side while Kruger stalked the perimeter with a thin black wand, waving it over every nook and cranny. He ignored their arrival, his attention fixed on a small tablet in his other hand. No doubt he was scanning for bugs while the rest of them engaged in the usual introductions and formalities. This promised to be interesting.
After everyone had taken their seats, Hammond leaned against the back of his chair. “This gentleman’s been sent here as a representative of the Defense Department. It’s been explained to me that he may be able to help us.”
Quinn looked for some kind of confirmation from Kruger.
“It’s clean. Go ahead.”
As Quinn plugged his tablet into the projector, his posture confirmed Penny’s instincts: ramrod straight and precise movements with no fumbling around. Definitely an operator. The only question was which service branch.
“As Mr. Hammond said, I’ve been authorized to share some information that you’ll want to see. I must point out it is extremely sensitive, classified Top Secret-codeword. Normally we’d have to bring you to a secure vault so it must not leave this room,” he said sternly. “I had to vouch for each one of you personally. If there’s even a hint of blowback, after I’m assigned to a cell in Leavenworth you’ll all be next in line for a Justice Department rectal exam.”
Hammond stared down his team with his best do not screw this up look, then signaled his agreement. “We’ll accept that risk. But we trust you to have some solid data on our spacecraft. Please don’t stick our heads on the chopping block for some analyst’s wild goose chase.”
“You won’t be disappointed,” he said. “It goes without saying – so I’m saying it anyway – that we can’t divulge the source of this imagery. The quality is limited by the extreme distances, but the base image—”
Imagery? They were just expecting radio signals…
Penny’s throat tightened, her senses barely registering the chorus of stunned gasps that erupted around the room. Though fuzzy, it was unmistakable: a fat cylinder of loose reflective fabric, attached to an octagonal truss that encased a half-dozen spherical tanks. An array of antenna masts and solar panels fanned out from behind.
Without a word, Quinn clicked through more pictures of the same vessel. Each came from a slightly different angle, as if it had passed by overhead: the remains of Shepard, crippled but apparently in a stable orbit.
“The hab’s depressurized,” Audrey said with alarm. The hull fabric had collapsed around its core and the flight module was nowhere to be seen. “How did you find it this quickly?”
“The math weenies at the Joint Space Ops Center used your predictions to narrow the search band.” He pushed a folder across the table, bordered with red tape and stamped TOP SECRET. Audrey snatched it and began poring over their data.
“A comforting thought,” Hammond said as he glared at Kruger. “But I suspect we’re not getting the full story, and frankly your presence makes me even more suspicious. The government’s showing an alarmingly high degree of interest in our problems.”
As usual, Penny thought.
Kruger made a show of adjusting his tie and cleared his throat. “Homeland Security,” he said officiously, “is always interested in probable hijackings.”
The implication hung like a storm cloud. Penny noticed that Hammond remained surprisingly composed, so it hadn’t taken him entirely by surprise.
She, however, felt decidedly less reserved. “Hijacked? Mind sharing your basis for that theory?”
The agent was unflappable. “We’re not at liberty to discuss that yet,” he said with a glance in Quinn’s direction.
Quinn shot back an annoyed look, which Penny decided was a clue they could probably trust him. “Not at liberty…” she said. “You bring us pictures of our missing ship and then tell us its a secret? It’s our ship, and we’re going up there in three days no matter what. So if you know something about where the rest of it is, now’s the time to share with the class.”
Hammond had likewise run out of patience. “I’ve had about enough of this hide-the-salami game, Kruger. You’ve stonewalled us every time we’ve gotten close enough to actually learn something useful. We have a badly damaged ship with a missing control module, way the hell out at the Moon, and now you’re suggesting our passengers are behind it…all of whom made it through preflight screening,” he said, letting the implication hang. “Did I miss anything?”
“You’re assuming that only your passengers are behind this,” Kruger said.
Hammond glowered at the agent. “Now just one damned minute…”
Penny was incredulous. “You’re actually going to suggest that one of our own crewmembers was involved?” She saw Ryan also bristle at the implication while Audrey was strangely detached from it all, instead rifling through Quinn’s briefing papers while they argued with this pinhead.
“I need you people to step back and take an objective look at this,” Kruger began defensively. “We’re talking about a spaceship. The cross section of people who can both afford a ticket and be competent enough to fly it is exceedingly small.”
“Same for most old-fashioned hijackings,” she argued. “D.B. Cooper didn’t know anything about flying a 727. All he needed was to get the crew to do what he wanted.”
“And how many airliners have been commandeered by a psychotic crewmember?” Kruger countered.
Quinn cleared his throat. “Agent Kruger, we have some information that concerns you as well.” He turned to Penny. “Ma’am, our intelligence services are extremely compartmentalized. There are good reasons for that but it does make sharing information difficult. This is one of those times.”
“I flew strategic bombers before I was an astronaut,” Penny explained. “B-1’s with live nukes plus various and sundry other brands of nastiness. We practically needed an Executive Order just to get new toilet paper for the women’s john. So what else do you have for us?”
Quinn looked to Kruger, who reluctantly nodded his approval. “Two of your passengers are of particular interest to the counter-terror community: Kamran Varza and Omar Hassani. They’ve both popped up on our threat boards under different names over the last year, but were never tied closely enough to rate any professional attention.”
“By ‘professional attention’, you mean…”
“Snatch-and-grab operation,” Quinn said. “No ma’am. Until now there’s been nothing to warrant committing the assets. We didn’t even know they were aboard until yesterday.”
“Little late now,” Penny said. “How’d these two make it past the security screening?”
Kruger shifted uncomfortably. “Everyone cleared the no-fly list. They were flagged as ‘selectees’ until we could correlate all the different aliases.” A step down from the no-fly roster, being on the “selectee” list meant they had nonetheless pinged Homeland Security’s radar.
Hammond had heard enough. “And you didn’t tell us?” he thundered. “You people could screw up a one-car parade, you know that?” Penny rested a hand on his arm and squeezed until she felt his tension subside.
“Our screeners followed their normal procedure,” Kruger said. “They were under instructions to monitor and record the subject’s movements. Apparently no one considered a trip like this to be an immediate threat. That will change.”
That drew a scornful hoot from Ryan. “Closing the barn door after the horse is already out? Beautiful. Is TSA just too busy feeling up all those grandmas flying back from Miami for the winter?”
“Polaris wasn’t the only organization to get that information after it was too late,” Kruger said, briefly dropping his aloof façade. “I’ve been in law enforcement too long to be sandbagged by a bunch of half-assed mall cops.”
“So what can you tell us about them that we don’t already know?” Hammond asked, more calmly this time. “Since we don’t have access to Washington’s omniscient data mine.”
“Dr. Varza is well known to anyone who owns a TV, so pretty much everybody. He’s become quite wealthy as a science popularizer and environmental advocate. His business partner, Omar Hassani, is the one who initially flagged the no-fly database under a different name. Varza seemed more like guilt by association, but his Iranian family connections roused some suspicion. We were more concerned about his involvement with environmental extremist groups.”
“The ‘earth firsters?’ Great,” Hammond said. “So he’s been dealing under the table with a bunch of eco-terrorists and his partner’s working for the Islamic Caliphate. I can’t wait to hear about the others.”
No one had said anything about that, Penny realized. So Arthur did have his own sources.
“I understand you met Imam al-Aqsa.” So it hadn’t escaped Kruger’s notice either. “The others aren’t that surprising for this kind of expedition: Dr. Joseph DeCarlo is an expert on free-electron lasers and remote sensing. He’s worked with Varza in the past. The others are relative nobodies: Jonathan Briggs is a mechanical engineer, Ernest Hadley is a software coder. Both have experience working for a handful of other spacecraft manufacturers. Individually they wouldn’t ping our radars,” he explained, “but taken together they make a formidable team. Especially when two of them have some unsavory acquaintances.”
“Wouldn’t be the first time we have bad actors monkeying around with our spacecraft,” Hammond said. “So what are we going to do about this?”
“We?” Quinn asked. “Interesting that you would frame it that way.” He checked his watch. “It’s time we took you on a road trip.”