I could feel the plane level off and glanced over at the attitude indicator. It was nearly centered. We were in level flight.
"You want ‘er?" Bull asked.
"Absolutely!"
I placed my hand on the control stick between my legs. As soon as Bull felt the plane pull up a bit, he released his stick. I leveled off again and aimed for the highly visible nuke plant, just up the river valley.
"What are the rules for flying around the plant?"
"500 feet above all structures. No loitering."
Bull was not one to make lengthy conversation. Straight to the point.
I checked the altimeter again. Still around 2800 feet. We were plenty high. Not wanting to give any trigger-happy security guard a reason to shoot at me, I decided not to fly directly over the plant — instead, proceeding straight past to its southwest.
From our airborne vantage point, I could see the whole plant layout distinctly through the clear cockpit canopy. I could have even taken a picture if I had wanted to. But I had already seen enough aerial shots on the web, so that wasn’t necessary.
The spent fuel building was the large green metal structure between the two reactor containment towers. If I were a terrorist who wanted to approach the pool building, I would fly low and from the north.
I could be as low as I wanted over the river and not be violating anything. But about 600 feet above the ground seemed the right altitude for an attack. From there it would be possible to dive at 45 degrees straight into the center of that building.
I was not technically a pilot; but even I could do it easily. 600 feet down at a 45 degree angle doing 160 knots would take less than three seconds.
That’s three seconds from legal to lethal!
I would give that scenario some more thought later. Right now, I had a chance to fly.
After we were well clear of the nuke, I climbed to just under 3000 feet, the maximum altitude at which I could still fly wherever I wanted, and any direction I chose.
"Will this thing let me do a 45 degree dive at full throttle?" I asked Bull.
He smiled. "That’d be less than two negative Gs. No problem."
"Okay. Tighten your seat belt. We’re going down."
I nosed the plane downward while I opened the throttle. As the downward pitch on the attitude indicator approached thirty degrees, I could feel the seat belt pressing on the top of my lap, and my buttocks began lifting off the seat. When the indicator reached 45 degrees, I was pinned firmly against the lap belt and shoulder restraint, and not touching the seat bottom at all.
It felt suicidal — which I guess it was.
I didn’t leave the plane at 45 degrees very long before I began to pull back on the stick, gradually lessening our rate of descent until we were, once again, flying flat and level. Our present altitude read 1800 feet on the altimeter. We had only been diving for about 8 seconds. Our maximum airspeed had topped 180 knots.
It would definitely be possible to impact the fuel building in a plane like this one from 600 feet aloft. But what sort of damage could it do to the plant? I would do the math later.
Bull flew us around the countryside, staying below 3000 feet on the altimeter, and doing some impressive acrobatics. "Hang on," Bull said. He leaned us over into a 60 degree left bank. My body pressed severely down into the seat. I tried to lift my right arm. It felt like lead. Bull held the turn for a full 360 degrees, then leveled off.
"Two Gs," he said, with no discernable inflection.
"Impressive."
CHAPTER 26
An objective name for the professor’s invention might be a ‘potassium electrolysis separator.’ The theory was relatively simple. The execution, exceedingly risky.
Farris would use the professor’s device to extract pure potassium from the pile of potassium chloride outside. This is how it would work –
1) Farris would boil the potassium chloride, transforming it from a solid to a gas;
2) Electricity would separate the potassium element in the gas from its chlorine companion atom;
3) The pure potassium gas would cool until it became solid potassium metal.
It sounded easy enough. But the details made the process much more complicated. This is a more precise description of the professor’s device, and how it really would work.
The bottom section of the device was the ‘burner.’ Made from heat-resistant stainless steel, graphite, and glazed porcelain, it could withstand the full brunt of the oxy-acetylene flames. The mixture of acetylene and oxygen gases fueling the burner would have to be in perfect proportions to generate enough heat to boil the potassium chloride.
The electrolysis chamber was the ‘cooking pot.’ The temperature in this chamber needed to reach 760 degrees Celsius (1400 degrees Fahrenheit) to boil the potassium chloride. The body of the electrolysis chamber was made of heat-resistant materials similar to the burner’s. The working parts were a bit more exotic.
Suspended in the ‘pot’ were the terminals of an incredibly powerful electromagnet. The anode, or positively charged pole, was made of graphite. The cathode, or negatively charged pole, was titanium-encased mercury. When the flames brought the potassium chloride to a boil, and the compound turned into a gas, the electromagnet would rip the positively charged potassium atoms from the negatively charged chlorine ones.
Making a strong enough electromagnet to tear apart the molecules required four of the largest diesel electric generators on the market. They were situated behind the barn. Together, they could produce more than 1.1 megawatts of electricity — enough to power a small village.
Next to the pot, but separated from the heat by a half-wall, was the ‘cooler.’ Inside the cooler, the temperature of the gaseous potassium dropped, changing the potassium first into a liquid and then a solid. As it condensed, the liquid potassium dripped down a ceramic plate into white ceramic collection trays, where it cooled further, solidifying into ingots of pure potassium metal — like muffins in a muffin pan.
The poisonous chlorine gas byproduct vented through a port on the opposite side of the pot, where an exhaust fan channeled it through a PVC-lined duct and to the open air outside the lab.
To a chemist, the whole arrangement was something to behold! A farm milk house, converted to a hi-tech chem lab, complete with a fantastically fierce super-heater, an unimaginably strong electromagnet, and an elegant and effective elemental separator.
A little more than a month ago, Farris wouldn’t have thought it possible. Praise be to Allah!
Finished admiring the look of the lab, Farris decided to try out the equipment to see if it all would work as designed. The heating system was first.
He confirmed that both the acetylene and oxygen lines were pressurized and securely connected to the combination valve on the ‘burner.’ He inserted his striker into a hole in its side, opened the valve slightly, and gave the striker a click. A spark flew from the striker, but no flame ignited. He clicked it again. One more spark and the burner flared to life.
The radiant heat was instant and dramatic. Distortion appeared in the air above the chamber almost immediately. Even at this low setting, the heat was uncomfortable. Farris gradually increased the intensity of the flame. The burning oxy-acetylene plasma was a bright bluish-green in the center, surrounded by a bushy, secondary flame, purplish yellow in color. The heat rapidly became unbearable.
Farris dialed the gas down, then off. He was going to need a more robust cooling and ventilation system in the lab, or he, himself, would cook. He opened the lab door to let some fresh, cooler air into the room. He would direct John to arrange the enhanced cooling and ventilation he needed.