"Me? Uh, yeah. My aunt is visiting for a few days."
"Hold up. Are we going somewhere?"
"I can't tell you that until we're there. But I would appreciate your advice. I'm pulling some favors and putting together a team."
"A team to do what?"
"Our only option; steal the nuclear weapon that's onboard the K1."
56
Space Ops
Four hours later, our helicopter touches down on a tarmac near a hangar at the far end of Cape Canaveral Air Force base. I get chills thinking about the last time I was this close to an airport.
As I help Laney, and Brian assists Markov out of the helicopter, an athletic silver-haired man in a black polo gets out of an SUV and joins us.
"Dr. Markov," he says, shaking the old Russian's hand.
"Admiral Jessup. I believe you are aware of my companions?"
Jessup gives Laney a nod then stares at me for a moment, sizing me up. "So this is our fugitive?"
"We're pretending he's under custody," says Markov. "I'd appreciate it if you didn't run out and collect the reward just yet."
"I'll take it under consideration if he promises not to steal anything." He gives me a very intense look that I can't tell if it is a joke or not. He relents and turns back to Markov, "So this is your team?"
"Indeed. Is this the facility?" Markov nods to the building. "May we go inside?" He quickly ambles towards the door on his canes.
Jessup hesitates. "Well, you need security clearances…"
"And you have the power to grant them, don't you?" Markov faces Laney and me. "Mr. Dixon and Ms. Washburn, tell anyone what you've seen in here and I'll shoot you myself."
I believe him.
Jessup shakes his head, apparently used to Markov getting whatever he wants. He takes out a keycard, unlocks the door and follows us inside.
It doesn't look like a cleaning crew has been here in years. Jessup takes us past an abandoned security desk.
"What's an Admiral doing on an Air Force base?" asks Laney, no longer able to contain her curiosity.
"Besides holding my nose? We rent this space from our pretend pilot friends." He takes us through another door and down a corridor.
"This operation started with an NRO project back in the 1960s. They wanted to build a space station specifically for spying on the Russians. They got as far as a mock-up and a facility a few miles up the road. However, by the time they figured out the logistics of everything, satellite technology and the SR-71 were advanced enough at that point to handle most of what we needed.
"But the idea kind of stuck. The Navy liked the idea of having our own reconnaissance birds and strategic space capabilities. Congress gave us a little budget to play with some ideas. Some clever, others not so much.
"One idea, straight out of the Naval Intelligence handbook, was finding ways to intercept or manipulate satellite surveillance.
"Some of our folks thought up a crazy scheme to put a mirror-tap over Russian spy satellites and control what they saw or even faking images. Another idea was to outright steal one of their birds to get a look at what made it tick.
"Of course the problem was two-fold. The first was having a vehicle that could sneak up on a satellite. The second was having a way to do all the crazy things we wanted. We played with everything, from robotics to little space-suited monkeys. This way…"
The next room is the main section of the hangar. The few working overhead lights illuminate various machines and equipment covered in plastic. There's a small mission control room and sectioned-off zones with rocket engines and workbenches and tools.
"My predecessor eventually convinced a secret congressional committee to give us the budget when he stopped talking about space monkeys and gave them something they could wrap their heads around.
"We called it Space Ops, a squad of Navy SEALS trained for space operations and the gear they'd need to pull it off." He sweeps his arm around the hangar. "A lot of this was built by SpaceX and other outfits in their backrooms. Come over here and I'll show you the main attraction."
We go through a barrier of black rubber slats and enter a chamber with a tall capsule under a tarp.
"Help me out, Dixon," says Jessup as he hands me one end of the tarp. We pull it down, revealing a very close copy of the Unicorn.
"Look familiar?"
"Yeah. I know a guy who would rent one to you for a hell of a lot cheaper than what you probably paid for it."
"But not like this." Jessup walks around the vehicle to a large hatch, twice as big as the one on the Unicorn. It seems too large for a vehicle this size and would unbalance it.
He turns the handle and pulls the massive door open. "The real money is in what's inside…"
Instead of seats and control panels, the capsule looks empty. I try to focus on a sharp cone-shaped shadow and realize I'm actually staring at something.
Jessup uses a pocket flashlight to show the outline of the blacker than black thing. It's two-meters wide and shaped like a rifle bullet. Other than the shape, I can't see any surface features.
"This material absorbs just about everything you can throw at it."
"What good does that do inside the outer capsule?" I ask.
"It doesn't stay there. The DarkStar is its own spacecraft. It launches from the capsule after it achieves orbit. A counter thrust cancels out the ejection. Assuming — big assumption — that everything works right, to any observers on the ground, the launch looks textbook. We have the second stage eject some chaff, making radar surveillance a little hazy, just for good measure."
I stick my head in to get a closer look at the spacecraft. "How does it dock?"
"There's a hatch on the bottom."
"Interesting. Wait, this thing is obviously too small for propulsive landing and if the hatch is on the bottom, where's the heat shield? It's not the light absorbing stuff is it?"
"No. It's inside."
"Inside? How does that work?"
"It's not for the craft. It's an inflatable heat shield for the occupant."
"Hold up… you mean re-entry is a space jump from orbit?"
"Yep."
"Jesus. Your SEALS are even braver than I thought. That's never been done. An inflatable shield has never been human-rated."
"This craft has a whole bunch of firsts associated with it," says Jessup.
"How many times have you sent this model up?"
He shakes his head. "Never."
"Good luck on that."
We turn around at the sound of footsteps. A stocky man with a buzz cut and impossibly straight posture is standing there. He looks like the man Captain America wants to be when he grows up.
Jessup introduces him. "This is Captain Prescott, he's the brave soul that has agreed to ride this thing — assuming we can get it on top of a rocket."
"AFI ten," Laney whispers to me.
Prescott gives my hand a firm shake. "Mr. Dixon. I understand you're going to tell me how to fly this thing?"
"Me?" I turn to Jessup. "I don't know the first thing about it. Where are your technicians and the people who made this?"
"Congress stopped funding four years ago. Right now the entire support crew for Space Ops consists of the people in this hangar and a few volunteers making their way here. The Captain is retired and volunteered for the mission."
I size him up. "Where did you do your astronaut training?"
"Aside from playing Star Wars as a kid? It'll be here with you in the next few hours."
57
Crash Course
Prescott is smart. Real smart. He's in Bennet and Peterson's league. Possessing all-around intelligence and athleticism, he could have been a physicist or pro quarterback.