She turns to Martie. Their eyes meet and Rhonda takes in her friend’s face. It’s the drained visage of a person unaccustomed to death, who has just witnessed a friend slaughtered before her eyes. It is the polar opposite of Rhonda’s resolve.
Rhonda moves her left arm, shows her friend the tie. Martie stares at her. Rhonda silently mouths the words: ‘Get ready —’
‘Henri, her left arm isn’t tied down properly.’
‘What?’ Nico turns, grabs the pistol from his backpack, studies Rhonda’s arm. He’s mortified by the mistake.
Rhonda stares at Martie. It’s the second time she’s been flabbergasted this week. ‘You’re with them?’
‘I’m sorry, sweetheart.’ The apology sounds genuine.
‘Thank you, Ms Burnett.’ Nico unbuckles his belts, leans back, yanks off the cable tie, straps it on properly, makes sure it’s secure. He slides back into his chair, nods a chastened ‘sorry’ to Henri.
Rhonda’s eyes drill into Martie. ‘What the hell’s going on?’
‘You won’t understand.’
‘Understand what?’
Henri turns to the southerner. ‘Maybe she will.’
‘No, she won’t.’ Martie looks at Rhonda. ‘But even if you understood the reason you’d never agree with our course of action so there’s no point discussing it.’ Her voice is calm, measured, like she long ago found justification for the actions she would take tonight.
Rhonda has no words. She’s never had her feelings for someone she held close turn so abruptly. She’d seen it happen in movies and on television, but had always thought it a lazy contrivance. Yet here she was, hating a woman who had been her best friend just moments ago. ‘Why are you strapped into the chair?’
The Frenchman answers. ‘Because we knew you’d try something and would confide in your friend.’
‘I’m sorry, darlin’.’ Again, Martie sounds genuine.
Nico turns from the MacBook to Henri, nods. ‘We’re ready.’
The Frenchman triggers his comms box and speaks into his headset’s microphone. ‘Mr Burke, you have fifteen seconds to untether the umbilical or another one of your people will die.’
Henri knows that if the shuttle is tethered it can’t fly. The umbilical fuel lines that link the spacecraft to the gigantic ball-shaped bottles at the far corners of the pad need to be disconnected before launch, otherwise they will rip free and spew liquid hydrogen and oxygen across the launch complex, after which the noxious chemicals will be ignited by the heat of the shuttle’s engines and the whole kit and caboodle will explode.
Severson wishes he could stop time. He’d then be able to plan a course of action. Instead he has fifteen seconds. Less, because he’s wasting precious seconds wishing he could stop time.
Should he untether the umbilical? He doesn’t know. What he does know is what’s displayed on the monitor in front of him. One of the masked men holds a gun to Sam the Walrus’s head.
‘Five seconds, Mr Burke.’
Severson has the power to decide the old man’s fate. To play God. He turns to Jeremiah Wexford, who sits to his right. The bearded technician stares at him and waits for his order, fingers poised over his keyboard.
Severson nods.
A low clunk. Judd knows the sound. The fueling umbilical is being untethered from the shuttle. He still doesn’t believe the shuttle can be launched but now thinks this group just might try. Considering the explosive power contained within the external tank and solid rockets, it makes what he needs to do now all the more urgent.
The German turns around.
That’s the advantage Judd needs. He punches the mesh screen in front of him, grabs the end of the vent with both hands and hauls himself into the room head first, the sound of his body sliding along the narrow metal duct nothing short of deafening. He drops and hits the floor. His injured hip screams in protest but he blanks out the pain, scrambles to his feet and charges the German.
The German thinks the sound is coming from the crew access arm outside. He pivots towards the White Room’s door and completely turns his back to Judd.
Yes! Judd now has the element of surprise. And, even better, a pistol is shoved into the German’s belt behind his back. If Judd can get that gun this all ends now. He lunges towards it.
Tango in Berlin realises his mistake and pivots and Judd misses the pistol. The consolation prize is that he hits Tango hard, drives him into the far wall. They bounce off and thump to the floor.
Judd lands on top of the German, their faces so close he can smell his breath, which is surprisingly fresh. Judd headbutts him. Tango’s head flicks back and whacks the thin carpet. Judd scrambles to his knees and wrenches at the German’s torso, to turn him over and get the pistol.
Tango’s fist connects where Judd’s jaw meets his skull. The pain is exquisite. Stunned, Judd keels over and slumps to the ground without throwing out a hand to break his fall. If the situation wasn’t so dire it’d be comical. His head hits the carpet with a dull noise.
The German finds his feet, drags the Glock from his belt and swings it towards his attacker.
Nico works the MacBook’s keyboard.
‘IMU pre-flight alignment, GPC and BFS complete.’
Henri nods as Nico hears a sharp intake of breath from behind him. Clearly Ms Jacolby’s surprised they have control of the spacecraft.
Running a software package of Nico’s own design, the MacBook is linked via a high-speed USB2 cable to a port on one of Atlantis’s five IBM AP-101 flight computers. Years ago, when the tender went out to convert the shuttle fleet’s old-style analogue flight deck to an entirely digital ‘glass’ flight deck, Nico hacked into the server of the bidder with the weakest security and downloaded the specs. After three months of studying the plans and writing code, he created a software package that allows him to control all the spacecraft’s systems from his MacBook without interference from Launch Control.
Unfortunately, taking control of some launch pad functions, such as untethering the fuel umbilical and retracting the catwalk, had proved to be impossible. The only way that can happen is through the good graces of the man in charge of Launch Control.
Dirk aims his pistol at Judd Bell. He wasn’t dead after all, but he soon will be. He won’t be able to expose Dirk’s true identity and the German couldn’t be more relieved about that.
The astronaut flicks up his right foot. It hits the fleshy underside of Dirk’s left hand and the pistol is knocked upwards.
‘Scheisse.’ Dirk’s so busy being relieved he takes too long to pull the trigger. He re-aims, but the astronaut swings his foot again. It has more power this time and kicks the weapon clean out of Dirk’s hand. The Glock loops across the room and hits carpet a metre from the door.
Dirk sprints for it but the astronaut swings his foot again, trips him. Dirk thumps to the ground. He clambers to his feet but the astronaut lands top of him, knees first, and drives him into the ground. Pain shoots across Dirk’s back. He ignores it and looks up. The pistol’s five metres away.
He swings a fist up and back, hits the astronaut in the face, momentarily stuns him. Dirk pivots, loops an arm around his neck, wrenches it tight.