“To really answer the question,” Kenyon continued, “we need to find out exactly where Ruiz picked this thing up.”
Turcotte glanced out the bouncer. He could see the shoreline of South America approaching. “We’ll know pretty soon.” Something else occurred to him. “The Black Death—”
“Yes?” Kenyon said.
“You said it was caused by fleas on rats?”
“It still is,” Kenyon said.
“But the disease itself, where did it come from?”
Kenyon shrugged. “There are millions and millions of microscopic organisms. They are evolving, changing, just as we are, except they do it thousands of times faster than us because their life spans are so much quicker.”
“But there are labs,” Turcotte said, “such as what the UN is looking for in Iraq, where people are trying to make bugs such as the Black Death — biological weapons.”
“Yes.” Kenyon frowned, not sure where Turcotte was taking this.
“Could the Black Death have been man-made?”
Kenyon laughed. “You’re talking the Dark Ages. When they still bled you to get the bad spirits out. When they believed you could change lead into gold. There’s no way the Black Death could have been man-made.”
“You’re forgetting something,” Turcotte said.
“What?”
“The Airlia were here over eight thousand years before the Black Death. Don’t you think they would have had the technology to come up with it?”
CHAPTER 13
Duncan stepped out of the plane, feeling the warm California breeze in her face. She felt light-headed for a moment. She wasn’t even sure what time it was, as she’d crossed so many time zones in the last couple of days.
She looked around. The Pacific Ocean crashed onto the rocky shore to the west. Vandenberg was halfway between Los Angeles and Monterey, home of the Air Force’s missile test base. It was also home to the alternate launch site of the space shuttle.
The launch pad for that craft was the dominating feature between Duncan and the ocean. Standing over 184 feet tall, the shuttle Endeavor was mated to its solid-rocket boosters and external fuel tank, sitting next to its tower.
Even as Duncan caught her first glimpse of the shuttle, a loudspeaker crackled and a voice rolled across the tarmac.
“T-minus six hours zero zero minutes. The count has resumed. Next planned hold is at T-minus three hours. Tower crew perform ET and TPS ice/frost and debris evaluation. ET is ready for LOX and LH2 loading. Verify orbiter ready for LOX and LH2 loading.”
“Something, isn’t it?”
Duncan turned. Six men and one woman were waiting to the rear of the C-7 she’d flown in on from the Stennis. There was a patch on their left shoulder — a half-moon on one side and a star on the other, with a dagger in between the two. The man who had spoken walked forward, hand extended. He was a tall, black man, well built, head completely shaved. He wore camouflage fatigues with the “budweiser” crest of the Navy SEALs sewn on the chest above the name tag. Duncan returned the handshake, feeling the strong grip.
“I’m Lieutenant Osebold, Endeavor Mission Team Commander.”
“Lisa Duncan, Presidential Science Adviser.”
Osebold smiled. “Here to spy on us.” He turned. “Here’s the rest of our team.” As Osebold introduced, they stepped forward.
“Lieutenant J. G. Conover is my executive officer.”
Conover was a skinny, red-haired man. He was sporting a bandage on his right hand. Seeing Duncan’s glance, he held it up. “Slight training accident.”
“Chief Petty Officer Ericson is our weapons specialist.”
Ericson was a small man, compactly built.
Osebold moved to the next in line. “Lieutenant Lopez is our medical officer.” Lopez was a dark-skinned Hispanic, a smile on his face as he shook hands with Duncan.
“Lieutenant,” Duncan greeted him.
“Lieutenant Terrel is our engineering specialist,” Osebold continued. Terrel had a big hook nose, a balding head, and tight lips. He nodded at Duncan, not moving forward.
“Terrel’s always thinking,” Osebold said. “He’s actually not too happy about the job your friend Captain Turcotte did on the talons and the mothership, because he’s been working with the NASA team on how to fix them.
“Chief Maxwell is our communications specialist.”
Maxwell was a short, stocky man, with a bright red face.
“The last member of our team is Ms. Kopina. She’s from NASA. She’s the mission specialist and our ground coordinator. She won’t be going up with us.”
Kopina was a solid-looking woman in her mid-thirties. She had brown hair, cut short. Her face was unadorned with any makeup and marked with worry lines.
“Ms. Kopina is our jack-of-all-trades,” Osebold said. “She’s the one who makes sure we can do our job in space.”
At the mention of space, Duncan looked once more at Endeavor.
“Ever see a shuttle launch in person?” Osebold asked.
Duncan shook her head.
“It’s pretty impressive,” Osebold said. “It goes up in less than six hours. We’re doing a polar insertion.”
“A what?”
Kopina answered that. “We have a different launch window into orbit from here than they do at the Cape. Vandenberg’s launch limits are 201 and 158 degrees. The orbital trajectory will be within 14 degrees of due north.
“Most people think the shuttle goes straight up, but that isn’t even close.” She pointed from the ocean inland. “The Earth rotates on its axis at about 950 miles an hour from west to east. We take advantage of that also when we launch.”
Duncan assumed Osebold and Kopina were telling her these facts to impress her that they knew their stuff. She knew quite a bit about the shuttle, but she had learned long ago to pretend to be ignorant in order to get people to disclose more than they should.
The loudspeaker crackled once more. “Initiate LOX transfer line chilldown. Verify SRB nozzle flex bearing and SRB nozzle temperature requirements. Activate LCC monitoring software.”
“What now?” Duncan asked.
Osebold extended his hand toward the van they had driven up in. “We do last-minute prep and fitting.”
“Fitting?” Duncan asked as she followed.
“Our TASC-suits.”
“Task-suits?” Duncan repeated.
“T-A-S-C-suit,” Osebold spelled it out. “Stands for Tactical Articulated Space Combat suit.”
“The bitch,” Terrel muttered as they climbed into the van.
“The what?” Duncan was surprised.
Osebold laughed. “We call the TASC-suit ‘the bitch’ among ourselves. No offense, Ms. Kopina.”
“No offense taken,” Kopina said. “It is a bitch.” She didn’t smile. If anything, the lines on her face got deeper.
Duncan buckled her seat belt. “Can I ask something?”
“That’s what you’re here for,” Osebold said.
“What exactly are you going to the mothership for?”
“To secure it,” Osebold said.
“Secure it?” Duncan repeated. “For what?”
Osebold threw up his hands. “Hey, I just follow orders. We’re to rendezvous with the mothership and try to get a secure atmosphere inside.”