Taking in these harsh words, Lindsay struggled to contain himself. No one knew better than he the utter importance of the Keyhole system. Yet, if the Soviets were indeed readying themselves for a surprise attack, was there anything the U.S. could do to stop them?
Almost four decades had passed and the world was still in the shadow of nuclear doom. If the politicians had only backed up their cries for disarmament with concrete actions, the threat of total apocalypse could have been substantially alleviated. As it stood now, the planet was living on borrowed time. There was no telling how much longer their luck would hold.
Sobered by this thought, Lindsay leaned forward expectantly as a high-pitched tone sounded from his monitor. As the screen began filling with data, his eyes narrowed.
“We’re receiving the latest GEODSS telemetry from Diego Garcia, Captain. I’m afraid the odds are down to forty-eight percent that Alpha will make Tyuratam.”
“That’s just great,” replied Maddox succinctly.
“My gut told me that she’d never make it. Bring down Baker and let’s get done with it.”
Turning to his right, Lindsay could see that Andrew Weston had still not returned to his console.
Though the station’s director was very well capable of reactivating the satellite himself, the importance of this particular mission demanded the attentions of a specialist. If Weston did not return soon, he’d be forced to pass the responsibility onto Sunnyvale. As it turned out, the sudden, piercing wail of an alarm siren served to make up his mind for him.
“Christ, it’s Alpha! She’s breaking up!”
“Then damn it, Doctor, bring down Baker!” cried Maddox.
No sooner had Lindsay’s hand reached the yellow handset that contained the direct line to Sunnyvale than he noticed that a newcomer had arrived at the previously vacant console to his right. Immediately he stood and made his way to this individual’s side.
“Thank God that you got here, Andrew,” said Lindsay breathlessly.
“We just lost Alpha. If you had arrived a few seconds later, I would have already transferred Baker’s reawakening to Sunnyvale.”
“Sorry about the delay, Doc,” commented Weston, as he efficiently began feeding data into his keyboard.
“I can give us booster phase on Baker in forty-seven seconds.”
While the senior technician continued his adept accessing, the blue-uniformed figure of Captain Maddox positioned himself behind Andrew’s right shoulder.
“Exactly where’s Baker at the moment?”
quizzed the officer.
Lindsay, who stood to his left, pointed towards the perspex map.
“We should see her coming over the Arctic Circle any second now. She’s traveling the same orbit as Alpha, at an altitude of twenty-five hundred miles. We’ve got to get her down to three hundred miles before she becomes operational.”
Both men had their eyes glued to the screen when a single blue dot began flashing to the north of the island of Novaya Zemlya.
“We’ve got her!” cried Lindsay excitedly.
“How much longer to booster ignition, Andy?”
Not bothering to take his eyes from the monitor screen, the senior technician replied, “Twelve seconds and counting.”
The atmosphere was tense, and all heads were turned to the digital clock that crowned Weston’s console. With excruciating slowness, the seconds ticked away. Only when the counter hit zero did the senior technician access a series of rapid commands.
Another thirty seconds passed. This time it was Lindsay who broke the tenseness by pointing toward the perspex screen and commenting.
“She’s over the coast of Siberia now. The booster phase should be shutting down just about now. Do we have a confirmation as yet, Andy?”
The senior technician was quick to answer.
“I show a negative on booster ignition. We’ve as yet to receive data from Diego Garcia.”
“What the hell is taking so much time?” cried Maddox impatiently.
“We should have brought down this Keyhole hours ago, instead of waiting until the last minute to do so. She’s already over central Siberia.
If we miss Tyuratam, we could have all hell to Pay-Not bothering to respond to the officer, Dr. Findsay kept his eyes glued to Weston’s monitor. He found himself holding back a smile when the screen began filling with a series of coded telemetry data. He allowed Weston to interpret it.
“Diego Garcia reports booster ignition. Keyhole Baker is approaching operational altitude. Presently awaiting verification of an attainment of the three-hundred-mile threshold before continuing with function activation.”
A serene grin flashed across Lindsay’s face as he turned to address Maddox.
“If all continues as planned, Captain, we’ll have Baker on line in plenty of time to photograph those ICBM fields. Don’t you worry so.”
The director’s words did little to ease the captain’s doubts. Not knowing what had gotten into the Defense Department to even consider asking for NASA’s assistance in the first place, Maddox silently cursed the ineptitude of the system he served. Military matters were best handled by military personnel.
Civilian involvement, however well intended, just never worked out. When NASA’s programs had been put on hold several months before, the Government should have immediately replaced these technicians with an Air Force staff. At least their competency couldn’t be questioned. At the moment, he didn’t know whom to trust.
“Verification of Baker’s operational orbit has just been received,” commented the seated NASA technician dryly.
“Proceeding to activate all optical and digital transferral systems.”
Captain Maddox took in this positive report, yet the tenseness in his gut remained. His glance went to the perspex screen and he saw that the flashing blue dot was still well north of the Aral Sea. If all continued smoothly, perhaps there still was a chance that they’d have those photos of Tyuratam after all. Yet inwardly he doubted it. Forcing himself to keep an open mind, he hoped that his instincts were wrong.
Beside him, Dr. Lindsay also studied the map of the Soviet Union. The director’s thoughts were of a much more optimistic nature. Surely, any second now, the first pixels would be transmitted. This would give them plenty of time to fine-tune the camera’s focus to insure that the ensuing photographs were of a firstclass quality. Knowing very well that the next few minutes would be critical, he found himself instinctively crossing his fingers as Weston’s monitor again activated.
“We’re receiving an incoming signal,” announced the senior technician.
“Transmission frequency appears strong. Awaiting primary pixel receipt.”
As Weston prepared the specialized printer that would duplicate the film currently being processed aboard Keyhole Baker, the two observers, who stood behind him, stirred uneasily. When a full minute passed and the printer had yet to trigger, this uneasiness became amplified. Captain Maddox was the first one to voice his frustrations.
“Baker’s rapidly approaching those missile fields, Doctor. Are we going to be able to get those photographs that we need?”
Not really certain what was causing the delay in transmission, Lindsay bent over to query his senior technician.
“What’s going on up there, Andy? Baker should have had plenty of time to transmit those initial pixels.”
Still concentrating on his keyboard, Weston took several seconds before responding.
“I don’t understand it, Doc. The platform shows a one-hundred percent operational capability, yet we’re unable to receive a photographic transmission.”
“Perhaps the problem lies in our end,” offered Maddox.