When the Killswitch went off, the electronics in the Skyward would be useless. It would be destined to crash, which was the reason Colchev needed the Icarus parachute. He’d bail out just as the Killswitch timer counted down to zero. Zotkin and the others would use traditional chutes from a much lower altitude. Ten minutes later, Colchev would land in an utterly changed world. He’d rendezvous with his comrades at a garage where they had stored an ancient diesel truck equipped with extra fuel. Together they’d make the difficult trek back to Russia through the North American wasteland, departing on a ship that they’d already contracted to meet them at the port of Seattle.
The Cessna’s wheels touching down brought Colchev out of his revelry. Guided by the flag-waving attendants, they taxied through the maze of aircraft and tents to their parking space.
Zotkin shut down the engines. He nodded at a hangar to their right along the edge of the airport.
“That’s the Weeks hangar. The flight crew is getting ready in there.”
The hangar door was closed for privacy. The shuttle bus that would take the crew to the plane was parked outside. No security was visible. The guards were all stationed around the spaceplane. The prep location had been withheld from the media, but Colchev had acquired the information from the ExAtmo files.
“Is everyone clear on the plan?” Colchev said.
Three nods.
Nisselovich and Oborski left to inspect the area around the spaceplane and verify that everything was as they anticipated.
Colchev opened the container carrying the Killswitch. He carefully removed the xenobium from its protective case and inserted it into the weapon. The tines latched onto the metal and drew it into the compartment, closing over it and shielding the radiation. Now all he had to do was enter the arming code and set the timer.
He and Zotkin unloaded the container from the plane and put it on a handcart they’d brought along. With all of the camping equipment and barbecues set up around them, no one glanced twice at them moving their luggage toward the unguarded hangar.
FIFTY-TWO
The banner on the control tower proudly declared that Oshkosh was the world’s busiest airport. The constant drone of propellers and engines reminded Tyler that the proclamation wasn’t hyperbole. Every minute there were aircraft taking off or landing, sometimes simultaneously on the two runways. More airplanes buzzed around in flight, including a squadron of P-51 Mustang fighter planes flying in formation.
There was also constant motion on the ground. As Tyler, Jess, Fay, Grant, and Morgan made their way toward the Skyward spaceplane, a Navy AWACS plane crossed in front of them and was ushered to a spot next to a white Air Force T-38 supersonic trainer and an Army Chinook helicopter, two of the many military aircraft on display. Lines of visitors formed at each of them, and the pilots were on hand to answer questions from the gawking fans. Some of them even allowed the curious to sit inside the cockpit.
On the other side of the tarmac were vintage aircraft of every stripe, from World War I biplanes to Vietnam-era choppers. Further down the runway Boeing and Airbus were giving tours of their latest airliners.
Enormous tents housing manufacturer showcases, vendor displays, and restaurants stretched five hundred yards in every direction. Outside most of the tents were innovative private plane models and experimental prototypes that the builders wanted to spotlight, hoping to make sales to the enthusiasts who came from all over the world.
The wide thoroughfares were crammed with pedestrians taking in the sights, tractors towing shuttle trams, and gas-powered carts ferrying workers and supplies in every direction. For the entire week, the airport was transformed into a small city, with a population approaching 100,000 visitors on sunny days.
“I’ve never seen so many planes,” Fay said. “This is enormous.”
“Are you doing all right, Nana?” Jess said. “We should have made you stay in Los Angeles.”
“I’m fine.”
Tyler thought she looked anything but. They were all exhausted from the constant travel and fitful sleep on planes, but Fay had gotten the worst of it. Dark circles under her eyes and a haggard droop in her shoulders gave away that she was on the ragged edge. Though she was the fittest seventy-five-year-old he’d ever known, age and illness were catching up with her.
When they had made the connection between the Killswitch and the Oshkosh AirVenture, Morgan had tried to convince the FBI and her superiors to send agents to stop the launch of the spaceplane or at least guard it until it took off. But her suspension had seriously undermined her credibility, and they wouldn’t listen because of a new development.
The private plane carrying Colchev had blown up over an unpopulated region of Canada. Homeland Security suspected that he got cold feet about bringing the xenobium into the US and continued on to Russia. All indications were that the explosive material was mishandled and detonated in flight. Canadian authorities were rushing an investigation team to the area, assisted by forensic units from the FBI and US Air Force. With the trigger gone, Homeland Security felt that the threat from the Killswitch had evaporated, though there was still a massive effort to locate the expensive prototype.
But Tyler didn’t believe Colchev would be so careless or would give up so easily. Which meant his group had to get to Oshkosh and either obtain proof that Colchev was coming there or stop him themselves. Jess had suggested calling in a bomb threat, which would cause the event to be evacuated and the flight to be aborted, but Morgan nixed that idea. She was worried that if Colchev suspected interference in his plans, he might panic and set off the Killswitch in the middle of the air show.
Overnight flights to Chicago were fully booked, so Tyler called for one of Gordian’s executive jets in Seattle to come down to Los Angeles and pick them up. It had the range to take them directly to the air show. He also requested that pistols be packed on the jet since Morgan’s weapon had been confiscated. If they were going to meet up with Colchev’s men again, doing so unarmed would place them at a disadvantage to the Russians.
A maintenance delay taking off from LA made the trip longer than it should have been, so they didn’t land in Wisconsin until only an hour before the launch was supposed to occur. It didn’t leave much time, and despite Fay’s valiant effort, she would only slow them down.
“Fay,” Tyler said, “how are you feeling?”
She smiled wanly. “Just a little tired.”
“Nana, why don’t you take a seat under those umbrellas by the food court?” Jess said, picking up on Tyler’s intention. “That way you can keep an eye on the Skyward and let us know if you see anything unusual.”
Fay looked like she was about to protest, but Jess’s hand on her shoulder changed her mind.
“Maybe you’re right. I can stay out of sight there. If I see Colchev, I’ll call you.”
“Perfect. And remember to drink some water. You could get dehydrated quickly in this heat.”
Fay squeezed Jess’s hand. “Be careful.”
“We will.”
“Oh, and if you see Colchev, I wouldn’t mind very much if you shot him.” With those parting words, she left.
Tyler, Jess, Morgan, and Grant picked up the pace as they headed toward the spaceplane.
“She’s a good role model for you,” Tyler said.
“I want to be just like her when I grow up,” Jess said.
“When will that be?”
“In about forty years.”
At the cordon separating the crowds from the area around the spaceplane, they got a good look at the unusual aircraft. Ground crews swarmed the exterior making the final checks before the flight, and yellow-shirted security personnel surrounded the airplane.