The dream had something to do with his aircraft, but what it was, wasn’t clear. He wondered if Rachel would roll her eyes at the bizarre nature of the story when he told her about it in the morning.
Rachel!
Wait… wasn’t she in bed next to him? Was he home? No, home wasn’t that loud, or cold. He recalled being very cold, and she was, too. He should ask her… if he could just roll over and hold her.
But rolling over seemed strangely difficult. His body wouldn’t respond.
Arlie forced his eyes open and looked to the left, past the hovering face of someone in an orange flight suit. Strange. Why would he dream about an orange flight suit? This dream was getting really weird, and he could see Rachel lying down a few feet away with people hovering over her, too.
“Rachel?” Arlie was pretty sure he had called her name, but he hadn’t heard his voice. Yet Rachel was moving her head and looking in his direction.
That’s okay then, he concluded, trying to smile back at her as he drifted off to sleep just as the door to the helicopter was yanked open by a waiting team of med techs.
FIVE
TUESDAY, DAY 2 UNIWAVE FIELD OFFICES ELMENDORF AFB, ALASKA
Major General Mac MacAdams had listened for twenty minutes to an unctuous presentation by Joe Davis on why the central feature of Project Skyhook, the so-called “Boomerang Box,” was ready for Air Force acceptance.
“Joe, let’s cut to the heart of the matter here, okay?” Mac interrupted.
“Certainly, General.”
“You and your folks do a great production number, you know. Great graphics, video, sound, and fury. All that’s missing is a soft-shoe routine with top hats, and, of course, a truly functional system I can approve.”
“Sir?” Davis looked alarmed, and Mac smiled at his discomfort and sat forward.
“Joe, for God’s sake, don’t you think I’ve been around this business awhile?”
Davis sat back in his swivel chair on the other side of the boardroom, his feigned confidence rapidly leaking away.
“Well, of course I know you’re a very experienced guy…”
“Joe, look at me. Cut the bullshit, okay? When I made brigadier general and a four-star pinned on my star, he shook my hand and said, ‘Congratulations, General MacAdams, no one will ever tell you the truth again.’ I’ve always been determined not to accept that tendency on the part of subordinates, and I’m sure as hell not going to accept it from a contractor I need to be able to trust, okay?”
“Yes, sir,” Joe Davis replied, his face a fine shade of gray.
“Something happened last night that threatens this entire project, and you’re not going to happy talk your way out of it. You know it. I know it. Your guys on the Gulfstream know it, and in fact I imagine they’re working themselves into a frenzy right now trying to solve the problem. Right?”
“Well, yes, they’re working on it.”
“We nearly lost those boys last night, Joe. If nothing else had worked and that Gulfstream had slammed into a supertanker, we’d be facing another version of the Exxon Valdez.” He decided to bypass the fact that two sidewinder missiles had been seconds away from launch on his command. “If that had happened, Skyhook and Uniwave would be history, and my career would be history, just to name the threshold victims.”
Joe Davis took a deep breath and nodded. “I know that, Mac. I was really scared when they couldn’t disconnect, but it was…”
“And I hear you about the bad circuit board. That was the initial problem. You’ve made that point. And I know your guys are out there at the Gulfstream right now on the ramp trying to add a second disconnect circuit in case something strange happens again tonight. But, Joe, there are no emergency disconnects in the Boomerang design. This little box is supposed to bring back a B-52 or even a B-2 if the pilots on board can’t, or won’t, do it themselves. We don’t want a way for anyone on board to disconnect. That’s part of the main safety logic, in case someone ever goes nuts up there. You know the reasons for this black project, for God’s sake.”
“Of course I do.”
“We’re not installing an emergency disconnect on the actual deployed system, and if we need one to buttress the test, then the test fails.”
“But, Mac, it’s a safety issue.”
“Absolutely. No, go ahead and install it tonight, but understand that if you use it, the test is over.”
Davis was trying to hide the fact that his hands were shaking slightly and his voice had become raspy with stress. The two other Uniwave project employees in the room were sitting in shocked silence, and trying to look invisible.
Mac MacAdams thrust himself out of the chair and turned to the far end of the carpeted, secure meeting room, his lean, uniformed, six-foot frame towering over the much shorter Davis.
There were framed pictures on the walls, Mac noted. He’d never really noticed them before, but they were the type of evocative aviation images that stirred the heart of a pilot on a primal level. Mac let his eyes rest on one for a few moments, following the amazing vortex of disturbed water trailing a low-flying B-1 in terrain-following mode buzzing a lake, an image painted so realistically it looked like a photo.
“Joe,” he began, still facing the wall before turning back to the project director. “Here’s the deal. You either lay all the company’s cards on the table right here, right now, or I’ll almost guarantee you non-acceptance. Understood?”
Davis’s hands were out in a beseeching gesture. “Mac, please! I’m trying to level with you.”
“Really? Then explain to me where in that presentation anything was mentioned about the possibility of a logic glitch in the program? Why’d the system drive that Gulfstream down to precisely fifty feet and hold it there, Joe? You think I’m an idiot? That’s not hardware, that’s software, and we’re not going to waste each other’s time explaining why we both know that. Look, I’m not unsympathetic to your position. I’m interested in keeping our major defense contractors healthy, and I’m certainly aware that you’re hanging by a thread as a company with this project. But what happened last night is not as simple as you’re trying to make it. So, either I get answers by six P.M. this evening, or the acceptance test is off until next Monday at the earliest, and you’re into contract penalty territory.”
“Six?” Joe Davis looked as if he’d just been handed a death sentence.
“I’ll see you back here, in this room, at six sharp. And, Joe, have Dr. Cole in here as well as the two Gulfstream pilots.”
“Dr. Cole isn’t going to fly tonight’s test.”
“Why not?”
“Ah… scheduling conflict, I think.”
MacAdams straightened and pointed toward the table. “Have him in here, Joe. That’s not an option.” He turned and swept out of the room before Davis could reply.
Ben Cole slowed his pace along the jogging path overlooking Runway 05 and cocked his ear, trying to identify the extra sound rising above the roar of a departing F-15. As the waves of noise from the powerful engines subsided, an electronic warble pulsed into prominence and he stopped to dig out his cell phone and check his message.
“Don’t bother,” a female voice said from a few yards behind. Ben turned, startled to see Lindsey White, his immediate supervisor under Joe Davis, approaching down the path. “The message is from me asking where I could find you.”