Test Pilot's Daughter II: Dead Reckoning (27 page)

Christina was delighted with all the new emphasis on the space program, but she had a lot on her mind. She had long thought seeking out and destroying or redirecting such threats should be a NASA priority.
A good application for nukes,
she thought,
blow those little bastards to smithereens.

After the most fabulous three days of her life, early Monday morning, Christina found herself back at JSC in the simulator. It would be four long days of training on the military version of DROID. Michael was on the mission too, but he was training to use the shuttle’s robotic arm to pluck the capsules out of the cargo bay. Should Iranian or Russian ICBMs make it through the upper atmosphere, New Hope with a total of five destructive DROIDs would be waiting in orbit. First, one would be deployed against the Soyuz 23 in an attempt to take out precision navigation systems before the expected attack. Should that fail, or should the Iranians launch anyway, the others would be in place for a third tier of defense.

Under attack from an ICBM, DROID would fly in the opposite direction, approach head-on and explode in its path. That would release a large cloud of debris to intercept the missile at a relative velocity of almost 50,000 miles per hour. Christina had been assured any such missiles would self-destruct upon reentry.
A bag of sand,
she chuckled.
Let’s hear it for low tech.
It would be her job to put the weapons in place and stand ready to attack on Christmas Day.

The training was monotonous and exhausting, as she went over the same procedures a hundred times every day for three days. “I’ve got it already,” she would tell her instructors, but there was a longstanding rule at JSC: “No astronaut is so dense he or she will not respond to constant repetition.”

Early morning on December 22, she was to meet Michael for breakfast in the cafeteria, when Julia Baker, the Director’s secretary ran into her in the hall. Something was very strange as the middle-aged Julia didn’t normally show up for work until around 9:00 a.m. She looked as though she hadn’t slept for days, tears flooding her eyes. She grabbed Christina by the arm, looked up and down the hall and coaxed her into a small storage room. The normally composed secretary came across more like a paranoid schizophrenic, very dark around the eyes and visibly shaken. She pulled the door to and began to sob.

“What the hell?” Christina said, but the older lady was crying too hard to reply. “Julia, calm down.” She gave her a hug trying to offer some comfort. “What in the world is it?”

“Sabotaged,” she whispered. She wiped tears from her face and appeared to be getting it together. “Don’t you know? He wants you. . .dead.”

“I don’t know anything of the kind.”

“Do you still have that thing in your back?”

“What thing?” she reached around and finally remembered the subcutaneous transceiver. In the hectic period of the last two weeks, she had forgotten all about it. “How did you know about that?”

“I know everything. I should’ve told you before. . .I am sooo sorry, Christina.” She looked her right in the eyes. “I overheard when the Director ordered that thing. The tech objected, but he insisted, threatened him with his job. The day you left for that meeting with General Wallace, I heard him tell Rhani how to track you down. Then he said something that made me shudder.”

“What did he say?”

“He told Rhani. . .” she sobbed, “he told him, ‘Just make sure she doesn’t come back.’ I swear it, Christina. I didn’t know until that very moment that the Director had it in for you. Then, when I heard you were captured, I just felt horrible. If only I had warned you,” she started sobbing again. “Oh, I’m sooo sorry.”

“Are you saying. . .”

“I’m saying the Director tried to have you killed,” she spoke through clenched teeth.

“But that doesn’t make any sense. He was the one who paid off the terrorists and had me rescued.” Christina was confused.
Why is she telling me this?
All of a sudden she remembered what Wallace said, “You’re making a big mistake, Christina, a very big mistake.”

“I don’t know anything about that,” Julia said, “but I have evidence, several handwritten notes of instruction. Maybe Rhani was getting cold feet. I don’t know. He seemed to be playing both sides, and maybe he worried that if you were killed, this whole thing might blow up in his face. There is only one thing I know for sure. . .the Director was responsible, and I’m so afraid he has sabotaged your mission.”

“My God, I don’t know what to believe anymore,” Christina sighed.

“Did you know he plans on leaving the country tomorrow?”

“What? He can’t leave; we have a launch in just three days. He’s the Director of NASA!
He can’t leave during a mission. Does the President know about this?”

“No one knows. . .no one but. . .me, I made the arrangements. He’ll be picked up at his home in the morning at ten. The idiot thinks I’m in love with him. He asked me to go too, but I refused. How could anyone love such a beast? Christina, listen to me; he’s leaving with a one-way ticket to nowhere. I beg of you. Don’t get on that shuttle!”

“Don’t worry about me, Julia, I can take care of myself,” She had an idea. “Can you give me his precise itinerary?”

“Sure. But don’t let him know I told you, or he’ll be after me too.”

“Don’t worry, your secret is safe. And thank you, thank you so much for letting me know. I can take it from here. You just go home and get some rest.”

Christina’s mind was in high gear. Revenge had little time to weave its sticky web. The last time someone crossed her, he ended up at the bottom of the Atlantic Ocean. Vengeance was like a cancer, and it ate away at her soul. When she thought of Scott, she could only picture the torture she had endured and the recurring nightmares. She would never sleep through the night again. And that ringing in her ears, that horrible curse, it was another gift from Scott.
That bastard isn’t going to get away with it, not as long as I’m still alive.
She found her way to the cafeteria and saw Michael sitting off in a quiet nook. It was 6:45 a.m. and there were few people there.

“Julia Baker? The Director’s personal, or I should say,
very
personal assistant? Couldn’t be her, she doesn’t get up this early.”

“You know what they say about
assume,
ass-you-me? She has handwritten notes, hard evidence. He had this sensor planted in my back so I could be tracked. He passed the information to Rhani for no good reason, and he has plans to leave the country tomorrow. Add it up.”

“Leave?
Can’t leave, we’re launching day after tomorrow.”

“Oh he’s leaving all right, and it’s a big fat secret. Only Julia knows. Let’s see, I wonder why he’d leave the country just before the Iranians are planning a nuclear strike? Right at the very same time the President has given him the sober responsibility of protecting the U.S. of A. She said something else, Michael. Julia thinks the Director has sabotaged our mission.”

“What!
How could he?”

“I don’t know, but we’d better check around. Let’s stick our heads into some of the prep groups unannounced and see what we can find.” Christina was feeling paranoid, but after all she had been through, it seemed justified.

“That bastard!” Michael shouted. A boiling rage slowly worked its way across his face. “We can’t let him get away with this. The President thinks he’s the good guy here. What can we do?”

“I don’t know yet, but we need to think of something quick. Julia gave me his schedule. A limo is picking him up at home at ten in the morning.”

“Got an idea,” his face lit up in a big grin. “I think my new friend Billy and I might just be driving that limo and show up a little early.”

“Now you’re talkin’,” she said. “I gotta get on the simulator in twenty. Let’s eat, I’m starved. We don’t have much time. I’ll meet you for lunch, and we’ll come up with something, then we’ll call Billy and get him on it. I’m going over to Launch Prep this afternoon to talk to the folks who handle the DROIDS. I want to see if there is any way someone could screw with our mission.”

Later that evening, dark plans were made. Billy volunteered the services of his friend in the Houston area, Guido Gardner. Gardner was a hulk of a dock worker with a mean streak. At six-five and 275, he had worked as a professional wrestler. Billy figured he might come in handy.

* * *

Scott paced the floor. He had to remind himself to quit biting his nails. He peeked out the window every five minutes, and it was twenty minutes before his driver was to arrive. With D-day only a couple days away, it was time to take the money and run. Rhani had been too slow to disappear, and he was atomized. Scott peeked out the window again, afraid of the same boogieman.
He who hesitates
.

All his luggage was at the door by 9:30, and it was packed with a shit-pot-load of cash. At 9:45 the doorbell rang, and he found the limo driver on his front steps.
Odd,
he thought,
the young man looks too big for his uniform, looks like a bouncer for the Mob.
Wow, must grow ‘em big in Milan,
he mused.

“Name’s Johnny Cash, sir. It’s ah nice ta-meet-cha. Ready to go, ah when you are.”

“Fine, Mr. Cash, take these to the car, and I’ll be right with you.” Scott was glad the driver was early. He went to the bathroom and looked himself in the mirror to make sure his attire was perfect. He was known to be a well-dressed man, and where he was headed, he wanted to look his best. When he walked out the door and locked it behind, he saw the driver straining with his bags.

“Wathca got in ah here, ah tha kitchen sink? Hot tub maybe?” the driver complained. “Never seen a
man
with such ah heavy bags.”

“None of your business, son. Just get me out of here.”

When Scott followed him around the back of the car and opened the left passenger door, all hell broke loose. Two masked men jumped out and knocked him to the ground. He was stunned as he fell face first into the dirt. Punches to his backside and kidneys came in a quick barrage. He doubled over in pain.

“What the. . .”
he was so shocked he couldn’t finish the sentence.

The two men picked him up and wrenched his arms back as far as they would go. He screamed as the driver gave him a solid blow to the midsection. Gasping for air, he was finally able to say something, “Wait
. . .
wait. . .I got. . .money.” Words rattled between gasps for air.

“Money? How much money?” the driver asked.

“Millions. . .in those bags,” Scott was sucking for air. “I’ll give you a million. . . cold cash. . .to let me go.” He felt like he had been hit by a truck. He had no idea who these people were, but he knew one thing,
Every man has his price.

“Ah that’s ah nice to know,” the driver pounded him again in the stomach and slapped him beside the head so hard blood spurted out of his nose. “In the car,” he ordered. The two masked men responded in cold silence, throwing him inside and climbing in behind.

Scott tried to think, but he was barely conscious. Pain gripped his entire body. Consumed with panic, he shouted, “What in the hell do you want?”

A bag was pulled over his head, and he crunched forward fearing he’d be shot. The limo maneuvered a long distance and eventually came to a stop. The thirty-minute drive seemed like forever as he struggled with his bindings in fear of his life. His arms were numb with poor circulation. When they finally pulled the bag off, he could see they were in some sort of warehouse. As he turned to look around, a large door was being lowered. They shoved him out of the car and dragged him by his arms into a small room. There were two more people waiting there, and they appeared to be female. It was hard to tell because they all wore black uniforms and masks, all but the driver.