“Bonjour, Marcel. Tell me, old friend, are we going to have time to get Ariadne skyward before the rains begin?”
A warm smile spread across the grizzled meteorologist’s face upon catching sight of the source of this query.
“Good morning to you, Jean Moreau. If LeMond can keep us on schedule, we will just make it. Otherwise, it doesn’t appear promising.”
Absorbing this observation, Moreau looked up into the screen of one of the several wallmounted video monitors that were conveniently placed inside the control room. He took in a close-up view of the same rocket that he had inspected outside. Most aware that a launch delay would be costly, he scurried over to the room’s central console, to check the progress firsthand.
Just as he reached this station, which was dominated by several manned, interconnected computer terminals, the room filled with the cold, feminine voice of the launch monitor.
“I minus five minutes and counting.”
Relieved that the liftoff appeared to be right on time, Moreau approached a rather lanky, longhaired figure seated at the station’s center. Before the colonel could greet this technician, the young man caught sight of him out of the corner of his eye. Smiling, he rose to exchange handshakes.
“So you made it back, Colonel,” greeted Jacques LeMond with a wink.
“How was the fishing?”
Brushing aside this question, Moreau offered one of his own.
“Meteorology indicates that we won’t have time for a single delay. How do the systems look?”
The young technician seemed surprised with his haste.
“Have you no confidence in your own protege, Colonel? Everything appears just perfect. I see no reason that we won’t have a liftoff right on schedule.”
With this, Moreau’s mood lightened.
“Of course I have confidence in you, Jacques LeMond. Otherwise, I would have never left in the first place.”
Meeting his assistant’s broad grin, Moreau looked to the nearest video screen as the room’s monitor speakers again activated.
“I minus three minutes and counting. All ground personnel should be clear of the launch pad.”
With his gaze still glued to the picture of the Ariadne visible before him, Moreau didn’t even notice Jacques LeMond return to his console. The colonel’s mind was cluttered with thoughts, and he was hardly aware of the continued passage of time, until the familiar female voice again sounded.
“I minus sixty seconds and counting… five, four, three, two, one, ignition!”
With a wall of flame and a rumbling roar, the Ariadne’s four solid-rocket engines burst forth above a fiery tongue of spent propellant. As this mixture of powdered aluminum, ammonium per chlorate synthetic rubber, and other exotic additives interacted, a thrust of over one million pounds was generated. In response, the Ariadne soared off skyward.
The atmosphere inside the control room was thick with tension as the video screen filled with the sight of the rising behemoth. This tenseness was relieved only after the monitor speakers once more activated.
“Trajectory appears good. All conditions go for full throttle.”
This revelation was met by an excited chorus of cheers and applause, for with full throttle the most critical phase of the launch had passed.
Jean Moreau’s attention remained glued to the video screen until he was certain that the solid-rocket motors had jettisoned from the booster cleanly, and that the Ariadne’s first stage had fired properly. Only when this was confirmed did he allow himself a sigh of relief.
The Ariadne’s main engine was but a speck on the television screen when Jacques LeMond gathered at his side.
“That looks like another one for the Consortium, Colonel. I hope our Japanese customers will be satisfied. Oh, by the way, in all the excitement, I forgot to give you this envelope. It arrived by special courier late last evening.
Moreau’s assistant handed him a sealed manila envelope, which he quickly opened. His eyes lit up upon reading its contents, yet all too soon a distracted, serious glow colored his expression.
“Well, Colonel, what’s it all about, or can’t you tell me?”
Moreau seemed called back to life with this comment.
“I’m sorry, Jacques, but it’s a dispatch from the Commandant’s office. The old man wanted to share with us some rather unfortunate news regarding the Americans. It seems they lost another one of their Titan 34-D’s. It went down over Vandenberg early yesterday morning.”
“Those poor Yanks,” returned LeMond with a shake of his head.
“First it was the shuttle, now it’s the Titan. Even with all their billions of dollars, they can’t even get a satellite into orbit. Who knows? Until they get their difficulties ironed out, maybe they’ll come to us for help.”
Moreau grinned wisely.
“You just might have hit upon something, my friend. It would sure beat asking the Soviets for assistance, and just think what the Consortium could do with all those extra funds.”
LeMond’s response was influenced by the voice of their monitor, who announced that the Ariadne’s second-stage motor had fired right on time. With youthful exuberance, he flashed his superior a hearty thumbs-up.
Jean Moreau was barely conscious of this gesture, his thoughts a million miles away. While his mind’s eye focused on the Ariadne’s payload as it prepared to deploy itself in outer space, he carefully folded the dispatch he had just received and placed it inside the flap of his jumpsuit’s breast pocket. Deep within his subconscious, he was already beginning to calculate the novel opportunities this news could portend.
Chapter Six
It was late afternoon by the time Lieutenant Colonel Todd Lansford finally made his way to the bluff overlooking Vandenberg’s Point Arguello. He had spent most of the day indoors, studying the bathymetric charts of the waters he presently stood before.
Seeing firsthand the raw immensity of the area of ocean his search was to be centered in gave him a new respect for his present assignment. Added to the difficulty of this herculean task itself were the political pressures that he was already beginning to feel.
From the contents of the various phone calls he fielded throughout the day, it was most obvious that Washington was in a hurry for results. Of course, he had been the lucky one chosen to fulfill their impossible bidding.
As a senior officer with SAM TO the Air Force’s Space and Missile Test Organization, Lansford had been given the tough assignment of coordinating the search for any debris that might have survived the recent Titan 34-D failure. Such evidence was of major importance in determining the exact reason the missile had gone down. Since a design fault would mean that the entire Titan program could be threatened, no Titan would be launched until a reason for this most recent failure was determined. This fact made his present mission that much more significant.
Carefully scanning the surrounding terrain, the fifty-four-year-old officer was well aware that most of the search operation would be taking place under the Pacific. The reason for this was simple, for the Titan had just began arcing over Pacific waters when it had exploded in a fiery mass of debris and flame.
Compounding the difficulty of this underwater search was the fact that the topography of the sea bed there was extremely inhospitable. The jagged nature of the very bluff he presently stood on was a prime example of the type of physical environment that they’d be facing.
Cut from primordial volcanic rock, Point Arguello was a wild, desolate spot. It was formed by a semicircle of serrated rock with needle-like pinnacles and razor-sharp reefs that had been a nightmare for navigators throughout the decades. Originally labeled La Guijado del Diablo, or the Devil’s Jaw, by the Spaniards, the reefs had been responsible for the sinking of dozens of tall-masted, treasure-laden galleons.