“Come on, boss, let’s go out and take a look.”
Dan followed the heavyset launch director out into the bright morning sunshine and squinted up at the smoky trail of.the booster’s exhaust, starting to kink slightly where the higher-altitude winds pushed it.
A bright flash of light startled Dan for an instant, until he realized it was the spaceplane’s rocket engine lighting off.
From inside the blockhouse they heard, “Separation confirmed. Spaceplane engine ignition confirmed.”
The launch director gave Dan a lopsided grin. “Okay. My workday’s finished. Think I’ll take my crew down to the motel and have a few beers.”
Matagorda Island, Texas
Dan had never seen Kinsky so worked up.
He had driven from the blockhouse back to Hangar A in the beat-up Chevy and rushed upstairs to his office, intent on calling Lynn Van Buren at the Caracas airport. But he saw from the expression on April’s face that trouble was brewing.
Before he could ask, she said in an urgent whisper, “Len’s in your office.”
“Right,” Dan said, remembering that he had told the public relations director to wait for him. “I’ll handle it.”
April gave him an I hope so expression as he opened the door and stepped into his office.
Kinsky was at the window, his shirt rumpled, his hair disheveled, his face blotchy red with anger. He whirled to face Dan.
“You launched it! Without telling me!”
Dan went to his desk but remained standing. “I didn’t tell anybody except the launch crew.”
“That’s the dumbest goddamned thing I ever heard of!”
“Len, don’t take it personally. I wanted to keep this as tight as possible so nobody from the government could step in and stop me.”
“They’re going to step in now, you crazy bastard.”
“I might be crazy,” Dan said calmly, trying to lighten up the mood, “but my parents had been married for years before I arrived.”
Kinsky was not placated. “This is a fucking disaster! You can’t go firing rockets off whenever you want to!”
Dan sat in his desk chair and tilted back slightly. “Len, you’re my P.R. director, not my boss.”
“What happens when the plane cracks up? You’ll be finished! Wiped out!”
“It’s not going to crack up. And there’s nobody in the plane. She’s flying on automatic.”
“How are you going to land it, then?”
“On automatic. If we need to, we can control her remotely for the landing.”
Kinsky paced across the office, shaking his head.
“She’s not landing here,” Dan said. “We won’t have any trouble with the FAA about clearing airspace, if that’s what’s worrying you.”
“You should have told me, Dan. I’m supposed to know these things.”
“I didn’t tell anybody except the launch team,” Dan repeated. “Hell, even the service crew didn’t know we were going to launch her. I told them this would be a static test.”
“I should’ve been told,” Kinsky muttered, still pacing. “How’s it look, your P.R. director being kept in the dark. Nobody will believe that. They won’t believe I didn’t know.”
“Len, it’s on my head, not yours.”
“The hell it is! They’re going to lean on me. People expect me to know, Dan! I get paid to know!”
“You get paid to handle public relations for Astro Manufacturing Corporation.” Dan tried to smile. “I think I’ve just handed you the juiciest news story of your career, Len. You’ll have the media crawling all over you in a couple of hours.”
“The hell I will,” Kinsky growled. He stopped his pacing and glared at Dan. “I quit! I’m getting out of here.”
Stunned, Dan heard himself say, “You can’t quit. I need you more than—”
“I quit!” Kinsky shouted. “I’m out of here!”
“You’re going back to New York?”
“No! It’s none of your business where I’m going.”
He banged the door open and practically ran out of Dan’s office and past April’s desk. Sitting with his mouth hanging open, Dan could hear the clanging of his footsteps echoing off the hangar walls out there.
April appeared in the doorway, looking apprehensive.
“What in the nine billion names of god got into him?” Dan asked, puzzled.
April shrugged. “Are you all right?”
“Yeah, sure,” Dan said, still bewildered at Kinsky’s rage. With a shake of his head, he thought that Len would probably come back once he’d cooled off.
“I’ve got to talk to Van Buren in Caracas,” he said to April, returning to business. “No interruptions while I’m on the horn with her.”
April nodded and returned to her desk. She saw Dan’s private phone line light up on the desktop phone console. Picking up her own phone, she quick-dialed her home number, hoping that Kelly hadn’t gone out.
Kelly Eamons was sitting on the unmade sofabed in the living room of April’s apartment, arguing with her partner Chavez on her cell phone.
“You’ve got to get back here, Kelly. The brass upstairs wants you back in the office, pronto.”
“We’re getting close to a break, Nacho. I can feel it.”
Chavez’s image in the tiny cell phone screen looked like a darkening thundercloud, though his voice was quietly intense. “You know what I’m feeling? I’m feeling the hot breath from all the way upstairs right on the back of my neck.”
“Hold them off for a few more days.”
“We don’t have a few more days. Upstairs wants you back here in the office. They say there’s no budget for field work on this case.”
“Nacho, there’s something going on here. Really there is.”
“You’ve got to get back here, Kelly. No fooling, kid.”
“Give me two more days.”
“I can’t give you anything.”
“Tomorrow, then.”
“Today. I need to see your smiling face here in the office before close of business today. Comprende?”
The apartment phone rang. Saved by the bell, Eamons thought. “I’ve got to run, Nacho.”
“You damned well better be running back here, partner. You’re making me look bad, you know.”
“Right. See ya.” Eamons clicked the cell phone off with her thumb and picked up the phone from the table beside the sofabed.
“Kelly?” April’s voice. She swiftly told the FBI agent of Kinsky’s nearly hysterical shouting at Dan.
“He said he’s leaving. Quitting the company.”
Eamons thought a moment, then asked, “How deep do you want to get into this?”
“What do you mean?” April asked.
Shifting the phone to her other ear, Eamons replied, “Are you willing to call Kinsky? Are you willing to go over to his apartment?”
Roberto saw that some kid had scrawled WASH ME across the dust-covered back doors of the panel truck he was using. With a sullen growl, he pulled the checkered bandana from the back pocket of his coveralls and erased the graffito. Better to have a clean spot. Somebody might remember a WASH ME message, identify the truck maybe.
Inconspicuous. Roberto tried to stay as inconspicuous as possible. His size worked against him, but he wore a workman’s frayed coveralls and drove an ordinary pickup truck. Just another Hispanic working man, as far as anyone could tell. The region was full of Latinos, greasers, spics, darkskinned men with moustaches and sad brown eyes, old before their time because they had to do the shit jobs that the Anglos wouldn’t touch. Roberto seethed with anger as he drove southwest out of Houston. The multilane expressway petered into U.S. 59, a dual-lane highway as far as Victoria, where he would turn off onto route 77.
He kept to the speed limit. No sense getting picked up by some Texas Highway Patrolman who’d like nothing better than to run in a Latino ex-con. Cars, busses, even semi rigs roared past him. Roberto snarled inwardly at the rich guys in their fancy convertibles and sports coups. A blonde woman in a silver BMW zipped past him, chattering away on the cell phone she had plastered to her ear. Bitch! Roberto thought. I’ve stolen better cars than yours.