Ignition. Part 15

"Oh, man-oh, man!" he said.

He got momentarily frightened. "What if they come back for me?"

And where was Iceberg?

30.

ATLANTIS.

GATOR GREEN, LYING ON his back in the pilot's chair and facing the sky, was looking out of the front-side viewing port when he saw a reflection of bright light out of the corner of his eye. Scrambling up, he leaned across the center console C-3 and looked out Franklin's small side viewport. His helmet bounced from his lap, but he paid it no attention.

"Holy s.h.i.t! Would you look at that!" A brilliant fireball spat from the cube-shaped building, gushing through the VAB high-bay door. A purple afterimage blurred his vision.

Marc Franklin had unstrapped himself and sat on the aft bulkhead with his arms crossed over his orange pressure suit, squatting on the c.o.c.kpit wall; while the shuttle remained upright on the gantry, it was difficult to look at anything but the open sky above. Alexandra Koslovsky had leaned over the side of her chair to speak down to her comrades on the mid-deck.

The two American payload specialists on the mid-deck, Major Arlan Burns and Dr. Frank Purvis, reacted the same instant Gator blinked from the light. Burns yelled, "Unbelievable! What's going on out there? Look out the side port-you can just see it around the gantry structure."

Gator tried to blink the afterimage away to focus better on the VAB. The red-and-yellow fireball coughed out of the bay doors, and thick black smoke swirled up into the air.

Franklin climbed over and pushed Gator aside for a better view. Alexandra Koslovsky crowded up, standing on her tiptoes to look around the mission commander.

The shuttle vibrated, and a m.u.f.fled boom rattled the s.p.a.cecraft as the dissipated blast wave hit them.

The shuttle shuddered in its yoke. Taken off guard, Franklin and Alexandra stumbled from their precarious balance at the viewport. Gator reached out to keep the two from falling. Burns climbed forward and stuck his head through the deck access port. "What the h.e.l.l is going on?

We just had an explosion at the VAB!"

Finally acting like a leader, Franklin turned around and snapped to Gator, "Get on the Guard frequency, Lieutenant Commander. Find out what's going on. Follow the checklist."

"Probably the terrorists Iceberg warned us about," Gator said, dead serious. The NASA simulator instructors would hand out unantic.i.p.ated problems on "green cards," trying to rattle the crew. Some astronauts could handle it without a checklist, and others, like Franklin, needed a checklist whenever they ran out of toilet paper.

But this wasn't any green card.

Burns ducked back down into the mid-deck; the payload specialists excitedly spoke with their Russian counterparts. Alexandra knelt on the bulkhead to consult with her comrades below.

Gator was already on the comm channel, trying to get a response from either CAPCOM or the LCC, but no one answered. Gator punched in another frequency, but the LCC took forever to answer. Gator blinked in astonishment at the gruff, frightened response from one of the station chiefs on the firing floor.

"Atlantis, we have a situation here. Unable to provide details. LCC out."

"Hey, at least let me talk to the Launch Director. This is Lieutenant Commander Green-"

"Ms. Hunter is unavailable at this time. You will be advised. Out."

Alexandra Koslovsky straightened from the mid-deck as Orlov, her gangly Russian cosmonaut partner, climbed up into the shuttle's command deck. They chattered quickly in Russian.

"Okay, Launch Control is a.s.sessing the problem," Franklin said, as if the transmission had explained everything. "We need to wait until they make a recommendation. Nothing we can-"

Gator felt exasperated, turning from the radio. "It's not right, Commander. Launch Control should be yammering at the top of their lungs. We're out of touch with CAPCOM in Houston. They're keeping us in the dark, and it's no accident! What's all this baloney about staying off the air and not asking any questions?"

Franklin climbed back toward his commander's seat. "We were ordered to sit tight." He stubbornly grabbed for his heavy-duty seatbelt.

"And Iceberg directly informed us that the LCC had been taken over by a bunch of thugs. Dammit, Franklin-the VAB just blew up, for Christ's sake! And Nicole won't even respond. Panther, remember?

And she's one of us!"

From his partially obstructed view, Gator strained to see any movement around the launch area or the VAB, but it was weirdly still. Flames licked at the blackened exterior of the building, and smoke rose high into the air. No fire crews, no rescue vehicles, no NASA Security.

"Franklin, think! If this was an ordinary launch, people would be going bananas!"

"Give it time. It's only been a few minutes since the explosion-"

"And nothing has happened. That in itself should be telling us to act." He stepped up, weary of Franklin's indecision. Mission Commander or not, there came a time when action and not words made the difference. Gator's eyes shone bright as his own fear pumped him higher. "Iceberg was right. Launch Control has been compromised, and we're hostages here in the shuttle. I have no intention of being a bargaining chip for some wacko-not if I can help it. I think we need to get the h.e.l.l out of Dodge."

"Excuse please?" said Alexandra.

Cosmonaut Orlov said, "I believe I understand Comrade Gator-"

As Franklin looked at him in astonished disbelief, Gator started for the mid-deck hatch. "Hit the emergency exit baskets. We're sitting on a couple of kilotons of explosives, boys and girls, and I'm not staying around any longer to debate. Launch Control is totally FUBAR."

Small, relieved cheers rang out from the payload specialists on the mid-deck below. "Emergency egress-it's about time somebody made a decision up there!" Burns stuck his head through the hatch.

Alexandra frowned. "FUBAR?"

"f.u.c.ked-Up Beyond All Recognition," Gator translated. "What do they teach you in your English cla.s.ses? Come on, we're ready to egress."

"Apparently not American English," Alexandra snorted as she started to follow.

Franklin caught Gator's arm as the shuttle pilot made for the hatch. "This terrorist story hasn't been confirmed. We have to make sure we're doing the right thing."

"Commander Iceberg would not lie to us," Alexandra said with unshakeable confidence.

Franklin nervously wet his lips and looked around the command deck for a checklist. His stoic demeanor started to crack. "Wait, I'll inform Launch Control that unless we hear from them-"

Alexandra slipped past Gator and made her way through the access hatch to the mid-deck. Soundscame from below as the rest of the crew ran through the egress checklist.

Gator positioned himself above the hatch and said, "Marc, if we tip our hand, we're screwed. Let those terrorists figure it out for themselves."

Franklin persisted as Gator disappeared down the hatch to the mid-deck. "But what if Iceberg is wrong? This is just the kind of stunt-"

Gator looked at him, hard as ebony. "If there aren't any terrorists, Launch Control will start squawking the moment we open the hatch. At least we'll get them off their fat a.s.ses and spark some reaction."

71.

KENNEDY s.p.a.cE CENTER.

RESTRICTED LAUNCH AREA.

ICEBERG GRITTED HIS TEETH and tried to push away the thudding agony. "Keep cool," he said to himself, then hissed as a spang of pain shot through his broken bones grinding together. Chill . . . frosty . . .

The mental litany seemed to be losing its effect Iceberg skipped on his good foot and barely touched the ground with his wet cast as he staggered away from the burning VAB. Keep moving head off for the next target, gotta help. . .

Even in the mid-morning sun, he could see a second shadow cast in front of him from the flames. Slimy water from the turning basin dripped from his clothes.

Time to move on before the bad guys threw something else at him. He sure as h.e.l.l hated to walk across the sprawling swampy site, but the three-wheeler lay submerged in the mud of the turn basin. He couldn't very well hitchhike.

With a sinking feeling, Iceberg wondered how much longer he had to do all this alone. Where was NASA Security? He turned toward the far-off launchpad and debated if he should try to help his crew first.

Or Nicole. He felt overwhelmed. He couldn't do everything!

"Chill out," he said to himself. "Chill." His heart continued to pound, and the adrenaline scattered his concentration rather than focusing it.

Iceberg knew his crew, knew how they worked together, how much they had trained, each with their mission specialties and areas of research interest-but while the other six had their separate duties on the flight of Atlantis, they'd had to learn teamwork as well. And his crew was tight, like the strings on a well-tuned guitar.

Astronauts and cosmonauts had enjoyed running the obstacle courses in the training areas in the Johnson s.p.a.ce Center in Texas, getting themselves ready for their flight. Alexandra Koslovsky had established a friendly rivalry between the Russians and Americans, running their paces through the grueling course. Gator Green whipped Burns and Purvis into shape, while Alexandra pushed the two Russian mission specialists to beat them. Iceberg, as commander, swore that he could surpa.s.s the best marks of either team.

Yes, he could trust them to perform well together-but he also couldn't just leave them alone. He had the world's biggest smoke signal going off behind him at the VAB, so Gator knew something was definitely not right. Even Franklin would have gotten it through his thick head by now.

Iceberg grasped Mory's battered a.s.sault rifle and hobbled along the damp, thick gra.s.s beside the gravel tracks of the crawlerway. The pain from his foot lanced through him like a son of a b.i.t.c.h every time he stepped down on his softening cast. He winced, but kept going away from the burning VAB. He heard only the distant crackle of fire, and no NASA fire engines.

About a million miles away, he spotted the Armored Personnel Carrier in the vicinity of the shuttle complex. At least Gator and the rest of the crew would be helped by the rescue team if they took his advice and evacuated the shuttle. The astronauts could scramble out and use the emergency baskets; the APC would meet them at the blast shelters and whisk them away from the launch area.

But why wasn't the APC responding to the VAB fire? All emergency crews should have been rushingto the huge facility. Surely every military and security installation in Florida would be aware of what was going on; NASA had agreements with all the military bases for security support. Mr. Phillips had made his ransom demand for the whole nation to see. And the VAB explosion had provided a signal no one could ignore. The smoke would have been seen for miles around on the flat swamplands, from the press stands, from the state highways.

Yes, Iceberg thought, it would only be a matter of time before the cavalry arrived. But he had never been one to sit around waiting. Trying to ignore his pain, he speeded up his pace.

32.

ATLANTIS GANTRY.

OKAY, KIDDOS," GATOR GREEN said. "Ready for emergency egress. This is it-no turning back."

He gripped the handle on the shuttle's hatch and positioned himself for better leverage. With Atlantis pointed upright on the launch-pad, he stood on the mid-deck bulkhead, using the c.o.c.kpit's back wall as the floor.

"Go ahead and do it," Franklin ordered, still sounding skeptical. "Our b.u.t.ts are going to be in a sling if you're wrong about this, Lieutenant Commander-but while I'm here we may as well make it a textbook evacuation."

Gator turned the manual handle of the orbiter's thick door, bypa.s.sing the automatic systems. All indicator lights around the hatch burned a steady green. He grunted as he pressed the handle. The turning mechanism gave a little, then stuck. He felt a sudden chill. Great-now what? He strained against the handle until it moved with a sudden jerk and then spun freely. He pushed the shuttle's hatch open wide.

Automatic alarms shrieked, drowning out the creaking and snapping of super chilled metal of the external tank and the low rumbling of the gantry hydraulics.

"So much for sneaking out unnoticed," Gator yelled over the din. He motioned for Burns and Purvis to exit first. "Let's go, guys!"

Behind him, Franklin waved the two mission specialists through the thirty-inch hatch. "Lead the way-the cosmonauts will follow. By the numbers, hustle!"

Burns ducked, grabbed the edge, and pushed himself out. The White Room chamber at the end of the access arm was still attached to the hatch.

"Go, go, go!" screamed Gator. "Come on, it's not a fashion show!"

Purvis followed next, bounding through the hatch without touching it.

Gator gestured for the two Russian payload specialists. Orlov and his partner moved with astonishing grace in their orange pressure suits; they reached the White Room before Alexandra even moved up to the hatch. She stooped in front of the hatch, looking fl.u.s.tered.

Just what they needed-a traffic jam at the emergency exit. "Get moving." Though smaller in stature than the muscular female cosmonaut, Gator picked Alexandra up and shoved her through.

Franklin gripped Gator's elbow and tried to urge him on. "I'll take the rear. Commander's privilege."

Gator shook off the shuttle commander's arm. "Experience counts, Franklin. For G.o.d's sake, don't try to be a hero-get going."

Franklin started to protest. "I'm the commander, dammit."

"No reason to go down with the ship. I've gone over this drill a dozen more times than you, sir. Now get your b.u.t.t in gear."

Franklin looked as though he were going to continue protesting, but instead he closed his mouth and ducked through the hatch. Gator followed, slipping into the connected White Room chamber. So far so good.

If the creeps had waited another few minutes into the countdown before forcing a halt, the walkway itself would have pulled back cutting off the emergency baskets. Then the Atlantis crew would have really been held hostage. As he sprinted down the access arm, Gator thanked G.o.d for small errors. Then he froze at the sight of a gantry surveillance camera.

Their every move was being broadcast back to Launch Control. And presumably the watching terrorists as well.

33.

LAUNCH CONTROL CENTER.

THE AUTOMATED SURVEILLANCE CAMERAS on the gantry of launchpad 39A showed Atlantis's emergency egress hatch popping open. Sensor alarms sounded on the firing floor, sending the trapped engineers and technicians into greater agitation.

Mr. Phillips looked up, startled. Lights blinked red at monitor stations; status symbols reported the unexpected occurrence. This wasn't supposed to be happening, and he found it most annoying, after all the other troubles he had encountered.