“See you tomorrow morning, Blainey,” Wareagle said fondly before snapping McCracken’s helmet into place.
“Hopefully.”
“Hope has nothing to do with it. Just give yourself up to the spirits. They’ll take care of the rest.”
“I thought you said they don’t roam the skies.”
“The skies will be new for them … as they will for you.”
Blaine shrugged.
He kept his eyes away from those leading him from the preparations building toward the shuttle van that would take him to the launching pad. Wearing a helmet at this point was not an unheard-of practice but not the expected one either. The guards and technicians, though, didn’t seem to be paying much attention. This was, after all, just a dry run. The real thing was tomorrow and they were saving their enthusiasm and emotion for then. Today being Christmas was a blessing as well, an added preoccupation for workers forced to be away from their families.
Wareagle’s mission, meanwhile, was to remain in the preparations building and keep anyone from entering the room in which the real weapons officer lay unconscious until Blaine was safely on board Pegasus.
McCracken was helped into the waiting van that drove across the black tar toward the shuttle. The gantry still rested near it, to be removed as soon as Pegasus’s final crew member was deposited inside. Blaine breathed easier. Besides the driver, only two men had accompanied him in the van, and neither spoke.
Blaine, though, was boiling inside his suit and the confinement of it was nearly unbearable. Never mind the fact that he was about to suffer a launch into deep space with no training or preparation whatsoever. Worrying about that would do him no good at this point. The fact was he would soon be on board Pegasus, leading it on an intercept course with the killer satellite that would begin its deadly pass at eight P.M. that evening.
The two men who had accompanied him helped Blaine down out of the van and joined him in a small elevator that was open in the front. The ride up the gantry to the shuttle’s hatchway seemed interminable. Blaine passed through it uneasily with the men’s assistance and then climbed upward to the front cabin dragging his air conditioner along. As he drew nearer the cockpit, an impatient voice laced with a southern accent found his ears.
“I don’t know where he is, I tell ya. They told me he’s on his way, boss. … Yeah, I know. But I’m just saying that if I get up in space and can’t take a shit, I might open a window and let it fall right on your lap.” The speaker, the commander obviously, turned toward Blaine as he made his way through the doorway into the cockpit, holding tight to the handgrips. “It’s about time, Gus.” Then, back into his headset, “He’s here, boss. We’re ready to begin the launch sequence.”
By the time the captain turned toward him again, McCracken had his helmet off and a nine-millimeter pistol in his hand.
Captain Paul Petersen did a double take, eyes bulging. “What the blue blazin’ fuck is—”
Blaine cut him off with his best rendition of a Spanish accent. “Take thees plane to Cuba, mahn.”
“You’re being what?” Nathan Jamrock emptied a pile of Rolaids onto his desk.
“Hijacked,” came Petersen’s monotonal reply.
“You can’t hijack a space shuttle!” Jamrock shrieked. “The flight’s not even scheduled until tomorrow.”
“We’re bumping things up a bit,” a new voice said.
“Who is this?”
“Santa Claus. I left my sleigh in a tow zone last night and I’ve got to get back to the North Pole pronto. The wife, you know.”
“What?”
“Mr. Jamrock,” Blaine continued in a more serious tone, “I have a bomb on board this shuttle wired to go off with a simple touch of my finger. Twenty pounds of potent plastic explosives. Captain Petersen will confirm all this later. For now, just consider what would happen if Pegasus’s multi-ton fuel tanks went up. Remember Challenger? I’ve heard the effects on ground level would not be unlike a minor nuclear explosion of over three kilotons. Lots of damage. Kiss Cape Canaveral good-bye.”
Jamrock popped four Rolaids into his mouth. The man knew what he was talking about. How he had gotten on board the shuttle was something else again. But he had done the impossible and thus must be assumed capable of anything.
“Okay,” he relented, “how much do you want?”
“Money? None. I want the shuttle. It launches within one hour or I push the button.”
“What? That’s … impossible!”
“A dry run is close enough to the real thing to make the necessary changes, Mr. Jamrock.”
“No, we can’t work that way. The program’s different since reactivation. We can’t take chances. Lives are at stake.”
“My point exactly. One hour.”
Jamrock searched for a way out, couldn’t find one. “Why?” he managed. “Why are you doing this?”
“Is this communication line open?”
“What do you mean?”
“Can anyone else hear what we’re saying, dammit?”
“A few,” Jamrock admitted. “I put out the emergency signal.”
“Well, I hope they’ve got top security clearances,” Blaine said into his mouthpiece, gun still held on the pilot and copilot. “This isn’t a random act, Mr. Jamrock, nor is it political. I know the basis of Pegasus’s mission tomorrow. Only tomorrow will be too late.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Adventurer was destroyed by something in space and you’re sending Pegasus up to return the favor. This shuttle’s armed with laser cannons that may or may not be a match for what it’s going to be taking on upstairs.”
“How do you—”
“It doesn’t matter. I know what we’re fighting here. I know what it’s capable of and I know who put it up there. And I know what’s going to happen at eight o’clock tonight if it isn’t destroyed. But most of all I know the damn thing’s coordinates so you brains down here can plot an intercept course heading.”
“You’re not making any sense,” Jamrock gasped, realizing he was.
“You’ve got to trust me.”
“How can I trust someone who’s trying to hijack a space shuttle?”
“I’m not trying, Jamrock. I’ve already done it. And don’t even bother considering anything melodramatic like a commando raid because it won’t work and a lot of innocent people would get blown up for the effort.”
Jamrock hesitated. He needed to stall while security got a fix on what was going on. The FBI was already on the way.
“I need specifics. Names, dates, explanations of who’s behind these … things you allege.”
“There’s no time. If you haven’t called the President yet, you’re about to. Let me speak to him.” Blaine smiled faintly. “Tell him it’s McCrackenballs, and I’m ready to bust some more nuts.”
Chapter 33
The cubicle containing the direct line to the White House was hot and stuffy, suffering from poor ventilation. Jam-rock completed a summary of what had just happened.
“Did the shuttle commander confirm the existence of these explosives?” the President asked at the end.