“These are mock-ups. Besides, you could take a sledgehammer to a real weapon, Major, and you wouldn’t set it off — it’s called a one-point design. It can detonate only if a certain timing sequence is initiated. They use a high explosive, something like TNT but a lot more stable, to slap the radioactive material together. The high explosive initiates the implosion.
“They’ve hurled those warheads against the ground at hundreds of miles an hour, shot at them, put them in fires, set off high explosives next to them — in fact, done just about everything possible, and they still don’t detonate. That’s one thing I’ve got to say about the failsafe measures that the Department of Energy put into them: it’s almost impossible to set one off accidentally.”
McGriffin nodded. He surveyed the room. It was another room full of facts, but he felt he had gleaned the salient points from the tour.
It was a knack he had picked up as a cadet. He had rarely cracked a book, but he paid attention in class. Just by listening and taking notes, he was able to maintain a high B average. It had taken him through four years of grief, and he developed a way to quickly grasp what was important. He never knew when any of the information he digested might come in handy.
As he turned to leave the vault, he pulled his hand away from the warhead. Mock-up or not, he still played it safe.
“Sorry I’m late.” McGriffin jumped out of his Corvette and shut the door behind him. “I overslept.”
Vikki brushed back her hair, smiling. “It’s five minutes after. It must have been some wild party for you to sleep this late.” A plane roared overhead, drowning out McGriffin’s reply.
He led her into the aero club hanger. He raised his voice over another plane that just started its engines. “Actually, I work nights. It’s tough trying to catch up on sleep during the day — especially when it’s so nice outside.” Opening the door for her, they stepped into an air-conditioned room. “Ever fly in a light plane before?”
She hesitated slightly. “Only once.”
McGriffin picked up a pen and started filling out the aero club’s rental papers. “What did you think of it?”
“I don’t know. I guess I didn’t really care for it. It was awfully bumpy.”
McGriffin didn’t look up. “Probably hit a patch of thermals. Afternoons are notorious for that: the ground heats up the air, and the hot air rises.” He pushed the papers across the counter and added his credit card to the pile. A man flipped the papers over and studied them. McGriffin turned and leaned against the counter. “Depends on the pilot, too. If he’s good, he can miss the roughest spots.”
Vikki cocked an amused eyebrow at him. “And you’re good?”
“The best.” McGriffin grinned. The attendant pushed a key and a logbook across the counter. McGriffin grabbed them and opened the door for Vikki.
Heat rose in shimmering waves across the asphalt apron. The planes were secured to the ground by a series of ropes. They sat thirty to fifty feet apart from each other, lined up and pointing toward the taxiway. McGriffin pulled out the logbook and glanced at the numbers embossed on the front. Looking around, he spotted a small Cessna with a matching number.
Reaching the craft, he walked quickly around, inspecting the engine, flaps, fuselage, and tail. Vikki followed him, fascinated with the thoroughness with which he scrutinized the small craft. She followed him as he ducked under the tail section.
“That seems a lot of work.”
McGriffin put his hand up against the vertical stabilizer. “What?”
“You know, pilots are supposed to be all macho and that. Man against the wild, jumping into the open cockpit and going one-on-one against nature. You look like you don’t trust whoever got the plane ready for you.”
McGriffin wiggled the stabilizer, then stepped back. He wiped grease from his hands. “I don’t. I figure it’s my life at stake, so I need to take time to make sure the thing works the way it’s supposed to.” He unfastened a securing line and quickly gathered it in.
Vikki put a hand up to her face, shielding her eyes from the glare. “They do it in the movies.”
“When machines get this sophisticated, something’s always bound to go wrong. You just can’t ‘kick the tires and light the fires’ anymore. Come on.” He boosted her up into the plane and showed her how to buckle the shoulder straps.
McGriffin started the engine and eased the Cessna out from the parking apron. His eyes flew over the gauges: attitude, oil pressure, temperature, rpm — the Cessna had ten times fewer instruments than he was used to in a C-17, but the danger of flying remained the same. If he used any less concentration, it could be the last time he’d ever fly.
Vikki spoke to him, interrupting his train of thought.
“Sorry.” McGriffin shook his head and grinned at her. “I get so wrapped up in this, I tune everything out. What did you say?”
“Where are we going?”
“Besides up? Nowhere in particular. I thought we’d just try to catch some of the sights. Is there anywhere you’d like to go?”
“Well, I was up in the mountains a few weeks ago. How about there?”
“No problem.” Turning the small craft, he scanned the sky for incoming traffic. The tower gave him permission to proceed onto the runway. He pulled off the taxiway and onto the immense strip of asphalt. The end of the runway disappeared two miles away, engulfed in a shimmering mirage of water.
“Ready?” Not waiting for an answer, he brought the engine to full throttle and started down the runway.
McGriffin kept his eyes on the runway, periodically flicking them to the instrument panel. They passed a huge marker on the side displaying the number 13. In the distance, spaced every thousand feet, the numbers 12, 11, and on down to 1 were visible. He glanced at Vikki. “Put your hands on the wheel. When I say ‘now,’ pull gently back on it.”
As the airspeed indicator rose, McGriffin waited, until, “All right — now.”
Vikki jerked her wheel. McGriffin stopped the wheels from coming all the way back and instead eased them to a set position.
The small craft left the runway with plenty of length to spare. McGriffin said, “Congratulations. You’ve just taken off for the first time. Try flying us up to altitude.” He kept a hand loosely on his wheel.
Vikki kept her eyes straight ahead, seriously trying to keep the plane in a constant ascent. “The runway’s so long. Why did they build it like that if we didn’t need all of it?”
“The aero club uses Wendover Air Force Base’s runway — it’s over two miles long for the military aircraft.” McGriffin didn’t finish saying that it was that long only because of the nuclear weapons at Alpha Base. The old weapons were so large and unwieldy that they needed an extra-long runway to ensure that the transports had plenty of room to take off with the additional weight.
McGriffin banked the aircraft in a gentle turn, heading toward the mountains. Vikki mimicked his movements. McGriffin said, “Say, you’re pretty good at this. Are you sure you haven’t flown before?”
“This is my first time in a cockpit.”
“I’ll have to work on my instructor’s license so I can get you a pilot’s license for yourself.”
She laughed. “I said I liked it — not do it every day.”
McGriffin took them out of the bank. “All right, I’ve got the aircraft. Just show me the way.”
Vikki looked down at the ground. “I can’t tell where we are.”
McGriffin pointed out a double strip of roads below them. “That’s the interstate. Wendover Air Force Base is below us, and Nevada is to the left.”
“Uh, follow I-80 west. It’s about five exits before you turn north.”