Ron, too, has been caught in that distraction all day, canceling any productive work as he watched the words on his computer screen.
“Pretty amazing, huh, Ron? Just one guy, but I can’t quite stop reading him. And… frankly, he’s making a lot of sense on some things.”
“Mr. President, two items. First, the Chinese have just let it be known that they’re going to launch on Saturday to go get him regardless of our plans to launch EndeavorSaturday around noon, and the Russians plan to launch Saturday at the same time. On top of that, the Japanese Space Agency says they’re preparing an emergency launch for Friday.”
“You’re kidding!”
“I wish I were.”
“This is ridiculous. What are they going to do if they all make it up there? Draw straws? Has Shear tried to discourage them?”
“No. He’s encouraging them. The Russians in particular. He says it’s because Endeavormay not be ready, even though they’re already on the extended countdown.”
“Call Shear at home, will you, and tell him now’s the time to pare this down to one reasonable backup launch. I know he can’t control those folks but he can beg and wheedle.”
“I’ll tell him.”
“And the second item?”
“Nothing we can do about it, but we just celebrated a completely unexpected, undeclared national holiday. Actually, more like international.”
“What are you talking about, Ron?”
“A large segment of our business community is reporting massive absenteeism and the retail sector is reporting plummeting sales. Everyone’s staying home to read what Dawson is writing.”
“Really?”
“There are estimates out there right now that over two thirds of our people are actively watching this, word by word, and probably close to a billion worldwide.”
“How is that possible?”
“Mr. President, there are live feeds coming through beepers, moving sign boards, radio, television, cable, AM, FM, Web casts… you name it. In China, too, it’s virtually everywhere, with simultaneous translation. You remember we’ve remarked how fast the world can become a global village?”
“Yes.”
“Well, now add all these other forms, including PDAs and the galaxy of so-called Wi Fi ‘hot spots’ around the nation. Cell phone screens, too. I’ve even heard that one of those advertising blimps is hovering off Malibu right now and scrolling Dawson’s words.”
“A blimp?”
“Yes, sir. If this continues, we might as well shut down any form of transportation not connected live to this thing. We have wire reports about hundreds of travelers changing their flights at the last minute to airlines that have live TV aboard. If it goes through Saturday, it may paralyze most of the civilized world.”
“Good heavens.”
“The AP is carrying a tale about an international flight on which one of the flight attendants remained on one of the audio channels for the entire thirteen hours reading the transcript aloud as the pilots downloaded it from the cockpit.”
The President is silent as he’s drawn back to his own TV screen, Dawson’s words snagging his attention.
“Wait, I want to read this.”
I have to admit I feel guilty about this, too. So much so that if I were able to survive and return, one of my first acts would be to go to the nearest U.S. Attorney and give him a copy of everything I just wrote. And the sad part is that now that I go back through it, I realize I do know where the evidence is… where the bodies are buried, so to speak. Right there in my filing cabinet in my den under the 2004 tab. The folder with the red exclamation point on it and a rubber band around it. By the time anyone reads this, I’m sure everything in that cabinet will have been long since burned or buried in some landfill. But I know in my heart that there had to be at least a few patients out there who died or had a terrible time because the good old reliable Vectra penicillin they’d bought from us wasn’t working. No one… not the doctors, nurses, or pharmacists who trusted us implicitly… would have ever suspected the reason was simple greed. Someone needs to be prosecuted for this.
“Did you see that, Ron?”
“Yes, sir. So did most of the country.”
“Vectra knowingly sold bad penicillin?”
“We should act on this, don’t you think?”
The President is nodding and pointing to the phone. “Let’s get Justice moving on this in the morning. No, wait. Those records he mentions. Let’s get those protected.”
“FBI then?”
“Yes. Quickly.” He turns back to the TV, quietly addressing the unseen writer as Porter hurries from the Oval.
“So, what other bombshells do you have for us, Kip?”
Chapter 29
John Kent has lost count of how many nighttime approaches he’s made to the KSC runway in one of NASA’s T-38s, but this one is unannounced. He rolls the sleek twin jet onto a stable final approach, working the throttles forward and back to keep the supersonic trainer on speed across the threshold. Touchdown and aerobraking are followed by a rapid taxi to the ramp where an unmarked NASA car is waiting, the driver bringing the ladder over as John cuts the engines, opens the canopy, and finishes the shutdown checklist. The man is on the top of the ladder now and John reaches over to shake his hand before unstrapping.
“Griggs! Great to see you.”
“Glad you’re here, old sport. I’m beginning to feel like the French underground versus Vichy.”
“World War II-speak again, Griggs?”
“Can’t keep an amateur historian down. Need help outta that tin can?”
“Nope. Stand back please, and don’t try this at home.” He pins the ejection seat, unstraps, and stands before swinging a leg carefully over the side and climbing down.
He joins Hopewell in the front seat of the car.
“Why am I here, Griggs?”
“I need your help, John. We’ve got a presidential directive to launch and a soft sabotage operation being run by our dear administrator to prevent us from launching,” he says, gesturing toward the Pad 39 launch complex visible in the distance bathed in lights. “I don’t know why Shear is silly enough to believe he can send an operative into my space center and not be found out.”
“The woman you told me about?”
“Miss Dorothy Sheehan. I’ve had one of my guys watching her, and where Sheehan shows, nothing goes. She’s not red tagging anything herself, but throwing her HQ weight around so that anything she points to someone gets excited about. All day today it’s been one crisis after another, not a one of them legitimate. I’ve warned Curtis, because I think he’s in cahoots, but I don’t have enough evidence to go over Geoff’s head to the White House.”
“And the bottom line is?”
“We’re not going to make this window, John, if this crap continues.”
“Of course he’s been against this from the start. Anything involving DiFazio…”
“Is he wrong, John?”
“Yes, dammit!
“But we don’t want another Challenger,John. And, Bubba, since you is my bona fide partner in crime, I want to review everything they’ve fingered so far and have you take a long look at the overall plan.”
“Look over your shoulder?”
“Exactly. I’m afraid of pushing too hard, even against this rotten interference.”
“Where are we going?”
“Back to my office. And before you ask, yes, I’ve got Kip Dawson’s monologue punched up on my computer. You were busy boring T-38-sized holes in the sky, but just before I came out to pick you up, he was talking about a huge scandal involving his drug company employer, and if someone doesn’t end up in the hoosegow over it, I’ll be shocked.”
“Good Lord. He writes it there and things happen here, and he doesn’t even know it. Talk about the power of the pen.”