“Then I bet it carried a reconnaissance platform of some type.”
Though his host didn’t answer, the mere look on Lansford’s face indicated that Fuller’s second guess was a correct one. Taking in the contained silence that now filled the car, he sat back as Lansford turned the vehicle into an asphalt parking lot. After parking it in a reserved space, the officer led the way out of the vehicle and toward an elongated, four-story brick office building. Quick on his heels, Richard Fuller followed Lansford into this structure’s entrance. Once past security, they began their way up three flights of stairs. This brought them to a wide, linoleum-tiled hallway. The lieutenant colonel’s office was the second one to the left.
No sooner had they walked into the doorway than they were excitedly greeted by the stocky, red-haired figure of Master Sergeant Vince Sprawlings.
“I was just trying to get you on the car phone, sir. You just got a call from Secretary Fitzpatrick’s office. I told them that you were probably in transit, and that you would return the call at once.”
Taking this all rather calmly, Lansford beckoned towards his guest.
“Master Sergeant Sprawlings, I’d like you to meet Dr. Richard Fuller of the Naval Oceans System Command. The good doctor arrived along with the crew of the Marlin and will be assisting us with the Titan salvage operation. Please see what you can do to speed along his every request. Now, how about getting me Mr. Fitzpatrick on the line? It’s not every day that we’re graced with a personal call from the honorable Secretary of the Air Force himself.”
Guiding Fuller inside the door to his inner office, Lansford seated himself behind a rather large walnut desk. The Doctor took his own seat in one of the two high-backed leather chairs that faced this desk. His gaze remained on his host, whose hand was about to pick up the telephone when its intercom button chimed a single time.
While Lansford proceeded with a rather formal, polite conversation, with few words actually spoken by him, Fuller scanned the office’s interior. Except for the desk, chairs, a single table, and a compact bookshelf, the floor furnishings were at a minimum.
This wasn’t the case with its walls, which were covered with all sorts of commendations, pictures, and maps. Studying these more closely, he spotted a series of framed eight-by-ten-inch photos that showed a variety of aircraft. Fuller identified a Fairchild A-10 Thunderbolt, a General Dynamics F-16 Fighting Falcon, a Lockheed C-130 Hercules, and a McDonnell Douglas F-4 Phantom. Set on an opposite wall was a large poster of a Rockwell B-1B bomber in flight.
Pinned to the wall beside this awesome-looking aircraft was a detailed map of the base itself. It included a good portion of ocean, which formed Vandenberg’s western boundary. It was while he was visualizing the currents that undercut this portion of the Pacific that Lansford hung up the phone and addressed him.
“Sometimes I seriously wonder just what makes those guys in Washington tick.”
“I know what you mean,” replied Fuller.
“You look like you just heard an earful, Colonel. Can you share it with me?”
For a good thirty seconds Lansford merely sat there, silently appraising his guest, before replying.
“I really shouldn’t, but you’re going to be figuring it out sooner or later anyway. Of course, I’d appreciate your discretion. In the hands of the wrong people, the information I’m about to pass on to you could cause us all sorts of problems.”
Accepting Fuller’s solemn nod, Lansford continued, “The failed Titan missile that you will be helping us piece back together indeed carried a top-secret reconnaissance platform as its payload. This particular model of Keyhole was the most sophisticated version that we had yet attempted to get into orbit.
Beyond its normal capabilities, it had cloud-piercing radar, night-vision sensors, and a new type of digital transfer ability to insure photos of an unprecedented quality.
“It is the practice of the United States to have at least two Keyholes in orbit above the Soviet Union at all times. Unfortunately, our primary platform has fallen from orbit and its back-up has mysteriously failed. With the loss of the Titan, only a single land based Keyhole remains in our inventory. To boost it into space, a suitable Titan rocket will take over a month to assemble. This leaves us with only a single vehicle readily available to get it into orbit, the military space shuttle, the Condor.
“It was only late last night when orders were received here directing us to prepare both the mothballed orbiter and its launch site for possible action.
That call from the Secretary confirms those directives, and raises our intended level of preparedness only one notch away from an actual launch. Though Vandenberg has yet to put a shuttle in space, that may all change in the days to come.”
Solemnly absorbing this information Fuller sat forward and asked, “Has the Condor been adapted to meet the Challenger board’s recommendations for design changes?”
Lansford shook his head.
“I’m afraid those changes have yet to be implemented either here or anywhere else as yet.”
Clearly disturbed by this revelation, Fuller protested, “Then how in the hell can they even think of using the Condor just to get a damn satellite in orbit?
Not only could they very well lose the last remaining Keyhole, but the shuttle and its crew as well!”
Lansford nodded in agreement.
“You’re right, the risk is great. Yet what else can we do? Though I still don’t know for certain, rumor has it that the Soviets are up to something that seriously upsets the current balance of strategic power. Because of this, it’s imperative that we get that Keyhole skyward no matter what risks are involved.”
“I still can’t see it,” replied Fuller.
“There’s just too much at stake.”
“That’s just it,” said his host.
“Washington wouldn’t even be thinking of putting the Condor into the air unless there were no other alternative. I can only pray that they know what they’re doing. Right now, all that I can do is perform the job at hand to the best of my abilities. Which reminds me, I imagine you’d like to take a look at a chart of the Titan’s preliminary debris field as determined by the U.S.S. Razorback sonar.”
Without waiting for a response, Lansford reached into his drawer and removed a folded chart. Smoothing it out before him, he handed it to his guest. With practiced ease, Richard Fuller examined this bathymetric chart of the Pacific Ocean off Point Arguello. Its unique feature was dozens of tiny red dots that began approximately three and a half miles from shore and stretched in a thin, elongated pattern westward.
“That debris field is comprised of over five hundred separate contacts,” commented Lansford. “It’s over five miles long and four hundred feet wide. Your mission, and that of the Marlin, is to determine its exact extent. Then you’re to begin the job of classifying each separate piece of wreckage. Your priorities are twofold. Not only are we desperate for any evidence that might point to the reason the Titan failed, but we also must know if any portion of its payload has survived. If the Soviets were to pick up that Keyhole, our entire space intelligence program would be completely compromised.”
With his eyes still glued to the chart. Fuller responded, “I’ll need a complete set of maps showing the sector’s topography, current, and magnetics.
Bathymetric charts of the sectors both to the immediate west and south would also be appreciated.”
“Just ask Master Sergeant Sprawlings and it’s yours,” returned Lansford, who pushed back his chair and stretched his legs.
“I want to thank you again for giving us a hand with this. Doc. The Air Force is indeed fortunate to have the benefit of your expertise.