Shattered Legacy (27 page)

The dark rings under his eyes betrayed his exhaustion. He ran a hand over the dark stubble on his chin. He needed to get back to New York. With new evidence showing up about Templar’s IPO, he was on the path to becoming a full-blown scapegoat. If the company decided to cut him loose, he would be entirely on his own.

Now it was a matter of finding out who was out to get him. Merrick was his primary suspect, of course. She had warned him about Templar’s past, and pointed him in a direction that confirmed his suspicions. Now that he found out the truth, it was coming back to haunt him. The timing wasn’t a coincidence. He was being set up.

But who had set fire to his apartment? Who had tried to kill him when he left the nightclub? Merrick could have killed him at any time. If it wasn’t her, then it meant that someone else was out to get him.

Perhaps someone close.

Two sharp raps sounded from the door. Tightening a white terrycloth robe around his waist, he walked out into the dark room, peered through the peephole, and then opened the door.

Lynn Anholt entered, still dressed in her business suit. She noted Tyler’s robe. “I can come back.”

“It’s all right,” Tyler replied. “What’s going on?”

“I’ve arranged for a private tour of the space center tomorrow morning.”

“Great. Is Ramona coming with us?”

“No.”

“Even better.”

Tyler walked across the room to shut off the air conditioner beneath the window. It died with a final rattle, leaving behind an empty silence. Slowly he pulled back the curtains. Bright moonlight bathed the room as he looked out through the window. After a few moments, Lynn walked over. She followed his gaze to the half-moon that hung in a cloudless blanket of stars.

Tyler stared at the sky, transfixed.

A few moments later, he said, “When it comes to protecting a client - when the moment comes that you must put everything on the line for them, how do you know that you’ll actually do the right thing?”

“I don’t think I understand your question, Mr. Tyler.”

“I mean, what makes you take the bullet? In that most desperate moment, what drives you protect your client over yourself?”

Lynn thought about that for a moment. “I believe in what I’m doing,” she said. “It’s my job and my duty. For me to do my job, that duty must trump my own self-preservation.” Then she turned away and headed for the door. “Better rest up, Mr. Tyler. We have a big day ahead of us.”

When she was gone, Tyler sat down on the edge of the bed. As he watched the night stars, he knew he was in for a sleepless night.

He thought about contacting Teresa again, but it was too late to call her. Besides, he thought, she would just be jealous that he was in New Mexico to see the
Naiad
landing.

An “historic” event, indeed
.

FRIDAY

(AP) Seven new space exploration companies have gone public in the last twelve months, raising over twelve billion dollars, and making the aerospace industry the fastest-growing IPO sector in the market today. - At the Thomas Dorian Space Center, thousands of spectators are gathered in what many consider to be the most anticipated spacecraft landing since the maiden flight of the Space Shuttle Columbia in 1981.

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

Halogen lights arced across the vaulted roof of the Vehicle Assembly Building, casting crisscrossing shadows though the support beams and onto the gleaming orbiter below. Small groups of workers crawled over different sections of the craft, preparing it for its scheduled shakedown flight.

“Okay, let's do it,” said the first technician, as he slid a metal access plate to one side. He and his partner were working on an electrical conduit on the flat wing section, just in front of the number one starboard engine. The technician dropped to his knees and shifted his portable light to one side. With two hands, he lifted his heavy power driver, jammed the tool into place over the knuckle-sized screw, and in quick succession secured it to the large coupling ring. He yanked the drill free and slipped the tool back onto his belt. Then he slid the access panel back into place and stood up and stretched.

The second tech nodded in satisfaction and tapped the screen of his tablet computer, transmitting the job report back to Control. That marked the end of the job, and the end of the shift. Ten hours on a single wing subsystem was enough for anyone. The two turned to leave, but stopped short as they found someone blocking the way, silhouetted before a garish halo of lights on the scaffolding. The technicians hesitated, squinting at the figure.

“What's that?” snapped Tony Kanavos, as he stepped into the light. He pointed down where the two techs had been working. “What’s that?” he asked again.

The first tech looked down at the open access panel. “What?”

“You didn't secure that plate.”

“So?” answered the second tech. “Your crew is taking over for us. You finish up.”

Kanavos was shaking his head. “That’s not procedure. Everything gets put back the way you found it. Everything! Did you sign off on the job yet?”

The techs rolled their eyes, shrugged, and walked off. Kanavos wasn't their boss, so his reprimand held little weight.

He wiped his hands on his hips, shaking his head in exasperation. The auxiliary power units that provided power to the engine's hydraulic systems needed special care. Even if someone was supposed to continue your work, you were still required to close up. In the aerospace industry, lax maintenance work was responsible for a majority of mishaps. In a vehicle as complex as the
Naiad
, there was no margin for error. Even a missing nut could cause a disaster. Kanavos wasn’t going to accept shortcuts on his watch. Not anymore.

He frowned, wondering when he became so responsible. Then his radio squawked twice.

He stepped onto the scaffolding and looked out over the railing. Down below, a forklift scooted by, passing a tech that was waving his arms for attention.

Kanavos used the emergency ladder to climb down since it was faster than the metal stairs. He jumped off the third-to-last rung onto the cement floor. A heavyset man with a bad complexion and thick glasses signaled him to follow.

“Cliff wants to see you,” the man stated as they crossed the busy floor.

“What's he doing here this time of day?”

“I don't know. All I can tell you is that he’s pissed, and he wants to see you.”

“But I didn't do anything,” Kanavos replied automatically.

The other man shrugged. “I was just told to get you.” He pointed to the personnel exit. “He's in his office.”

Kanavos passed through the large double doors. The noise level dropped off considerably. He walked past a small breakout room. Several people were seated around a table, talking and laughing. In his mind, he imagined they were laughing at him.

Maybe he was in trouble for what he had done for Noah Gettleman.

Or maybe it was something else. He tried to recall whether he had done anything over the last few days that could have gotten him in trouble. Nothing came to mind. Two offices down on the left, he stopped before the closed door with a cheap plastic nameplate that read 'Cliff Newlon'. The blinds were closed over the frosted glass window. Kanavos took a breath and raised his hand to knock, when he heard another round of laugher erupt from the break room.

He took another, deeper breath, and rapped on the door window.

“Come in,” boomed the voice from inside.

Kanavos opened the door and took a tentative step into the office. He let the door close behind him.

Under harsh fluorescent ceiling lights, Cliff Newlon was leaning back behind his slate-gray metal desk, his hands clasped tightly behind his neck.

“Hey, big guy!” A big grin spread across Newlon’s face. He spoke as if the two were long-lost friends. “They want to see you over at the Tower, Tony.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, really,” Newlon replied, straightening himself. He was obviously curious as to why his most troublesome worker was being summoned to the Control Tower. He squinted and his smile faded a bit. “They called me up, told me they wanted you there immediately. What’s going on?”

Kanavos looked right back at his manager, frowning slightly. “That was all? They just said they just wanted to see me?”

“They weren't very chatty.”

Kanavos felt a surge of relief.

Newlon appeared to notice his subordinate relax and then dropped all pretense of friendliness. “What's this about?” he demanded. “What have you been doing?”

Kanavos shrugged. “I don't know, Cliff. Maybe they’re finally going to fire me.” He cocked his head to one side and stared at his perplexed manager. “Maybe it’s a transfer. Hey, maybe it’s a
promotion
. Guess I won’t know until I get there, huh?”

Then, with an obnoxious grin, Kanavos turned and left.

***

“Doctor Gettleman?”

Noah Gettleman was standing before his terminal, one hand pressed against his headset while he ran his free hand down the list of scrolling numbers on his monitor, oblivious to the commotion around him.

Kanavos leaned a little closer and repeated over his shoulder, “Doctor Gettleman?”

Gettleman looked up and glanced back. Kanavos stood with his hands in his pockets, chewing a large wad of gum. His bore a look that was a cross between anticipation and worry.

“You wanted to see me?” he asked.

Gettleman tossed his headphones on the desk and gestured to an empty chair beside him. “Have a seat, Tony.”

Kanavos sat down and looked around. From the raised platform, he had a complete view of the control room. Everyone carried strained expressions, as if they were stock exchange traders on a day the market was plunging.

“Tony, I’d like to thank you for your help. You risked a lot on my behalf, and I appreciate it.”

“No problem.” Kanavos glanced down at the desk. Papers and schematics scribbled with handwritten notes were strewn about. “Is everything all right?”

Gettleman ignored the question. The Flight Director opened his desk drawer and pulled out an envelope. “I believe I promised you something when we made our arrangement.”

Kanavos took the envelope, slowly opened it, and pulled out a large laminated card. He looked up. “This is a pass to the observation decks.”

“Actually, it’s a seat in the VIP observation gallery. The only way you’ll get a better view of the landing is if you set up a lawn chair on the runway.”

Kanavos turned the pass over in his hands. A crooked grin crossed his face as he slipped it into his breast pocket. “I don’t know what to say.”

“Don’t say anything. Just have a good time.”

Kanavos stood and stuck out his hand. “Thanks.”

Gettleman shook it, and then he looked over Kanavos's shoulder to see Jack Kroft coming up the steps.

“You’d better get going,” Gettleman muttered. “You won't want to miss the landing.”

Kanavos glanced back. “Right,” he said, patting his pocket. “Thanks for everything, Dr. Gettleman.” Then he stopped and remembered. “Oh, and about my transfer…”

Gettleman folded his hands over his gut. “You’re a model employee, Tony. Truly exemplary. Your record will soon reflect that. Look for your transfer request to be approved next week.”

Kanavos gave a thumbs-up and slipped away as Gettleman stood and walked over to meet the agency director.

***

The delivery mission to the ISS was a qualified success. Commander Roland McManus wished they had also launched the Worldstat weather satellite, as had been originally planned. However, the company felt that was one job too many for a maiden flight.

“Ready to go home, guys?” Elliot Schwartz asked from his seat. The three astronauts were already strapped in for the return to Earth. They were wearing their spacesuits and spoke to each other via internal communicators.

“I could stay up here forever,” McManus replied, as he gave the straps over his chest a final tug. The orbiter was moving in a controlled drift away from the space station. From the forward view ports, they could already see the station growing smaller against the backdrop of stars.

“Careful what you wish for,” Schwartz said, giving the station a nod. “Or you'll end up like those poor bastards, stuck in that floating tin can for months at a time.” Then he turned to the work at hand and checked his readouts. “Our OMS engine status is green. Vapor isolation switches are closed. We’re ready for deorbit burn.”

McManus returned his attention to his work. He reluctantly activated the primary communications channel. “Control, this is
Naiad
. We've disengaged from the ISS. Auxiliary power unit prestart is complete, over.”

Schwartz flipped two switches. His displays flashed new graphics. “APU switches are on,” he told the commander. “Deorbit computer program activated.”

The radio crackled. “
Naiad
, this is Control. You are go for deorbit burn. Proceed to the coordinate zone. We'll uplink and synchronize navigation readings. Over.”

“Copy, Control.
Naiad
out.”

Schwartz engaged a manual firing of the engines. The astronauts felt a low rumble through the cockpit. The stars outside the view ports slowly began shifting as the orbiter began to turn tail-first toward Earth. Schwartz used his hand controller to maneuver the craft as he kept an eye on the readouts and the attitude direction indicator.

The reverse engine thrust would slow the orbiter down as they lost altitude. After half an hour, they would have descended to an altitude of about four hundred thousand feet. From there, the atmospheric entry would officially begin.

“I'm getting a minor heat spike over the port thrust cowl,” Schwartz reported. He tapped the main readout screen with his gloved finger.

McManus, who was limited in movement because he was strapped into his seat, pulled up the data on his own console. “Are you seeing this, Control? Over.”

The answer came after a few moments of brittle silence. “We're looking into that heat spike,
Naiad
. Cancel deorbit burn command. Repeat, cancel deorbit burn command and stand by for further instructions. Over.”