Asteroid Diversion Page 11

  It was just past eleven that evening when he arrived at the psychologist’s office. Dr. Blasingame waved him in and reached into the bottom of her desk drawer to retrieve a bottle of Garrison Brothers Bourbon Whiskey. Unlike its Kentucky and Tennessee cousins, Garrison Brothers featured bolder flavors of black cherry, licorice, and cinnamon. By aging in barrels in Texas locales where the weather tends to fluctuate, the Garrison Brothers bourbon tends to be more flavorful with a big taste.

  She poured a couple of straight shots into two glasses, and after they clinked them together, the two old friends downed their first round.

  Dr. Blasingame reached for a report on her desk and sighed. She spun it around and shoved it toward Chief Rawlings.

  “What’s the verdict?” he asked.

  “Below average, which surprised me,” she replied. “But, that said, it was better than you on your first try.”

  Chief Rawlings laughed and slid his shot glass toward the half-full bottle.

  She poured them both another shot and continued. “The problem was not a slow response time, but quite the opposite. It was as if he was predicting where the target would be in an attempt to game the system, so to speak. In other words, he tried to anticipate when the prompt to press the button was going to occur.”

  The former astronaut scowled. “He’s used to shooting moving targets. It’s kinda like bird hunting. You follow the target and sometimes you fire to a spot rather than at the bird.”

  “Okay. His brain was defaulting to his air-combat experience rather than performing the test as instructed. So I have to ask, did you have any similar issues with him in the simulator?”

  “A couple of times. He wants to be a fast learner, and make no mistake, he is. I’ve never seen anyone grasp the concept of commanding a spacecraft so quickly. That said, he has a tendency to skip steps, and he expresses an understanding of a procedure I show him, but later he can’t perform it.”

  Dr. Blasingame looked through the file provided by the medical team at Eglin. “Did you know he’s had at least six concussions in the last few years? Maybe we should run a CT scan and some other cognitive tests.”

  Chief Rawlings shrugged. “I guess we could do that, but I think it might be something else. Gunner is feeling an inordinate sense of urgency.”

  Now it was Dr. Blasingame’s turn to shrug. “Well, when he wakes up in the morning, he’ll be forty-eight hours from launch. Here’s what I think. This imperative to act quickly has resulted in his choosing to ignore or disregard certain critical steps. The TRAC results show that he’s trying to anticipate rather than be patient and react. You’re telling me that he claims to have a grasp of a concept, but later can’t perform the task as required.”

  “I need to slow him down, is that what you’re saying?” asked Chief Rawlings.

  Dr. Blasingame leaned back in her chair and stared at the ceiling for a moment. While she did, Chief Rawlings poured them both another drink.

  “The thing is,” she began before pausing, “you can’t slow him down. There’s no time. You just have to make him think that there’s no rush. Try to curtail his adrenaline.”

  “Oh, okay. I’m supposed to rein in a thoroughbred on the final stretch as he races to win the Triple Crown.”

  “No, let him race, just remind him to breathe, focus, and absorb. It’ll make a difference.”

  Chapter 21

  Wednesday, April 18

  Defense Threat Reduction Agency

  Fort Belvoir, Virginia

  The DTRA complex within Fort Belvoir, where more than a dozen military and intelligence agencies were garrisoned, was open twenty-four hours a day, as the war on terror never paused, and the new threat from the Russian Bear began to rise to a boiling point.

  The Sikorsky chopper that had gathered up Cam and Bear from Tyndall Air Force Base in the Florida Panhandle earlier that evening made a gentle landing on a helipad adjacent to the parking lot of the main headquarters building. Despite the late hour, lights were on in most of the offices, which were full of communications specialists, their support staff, and the handlers whom operators like Cam and Bear relied upon to keep them safe while in the field.

  When Ghost contacted them, he simply indicated that they were on a personal mission for him, on behalf of a friend. Cam and Bear never questioned his motives for calling them rather than using other operatives at his disposal who were based at the DTRA. They were anxious to stay busy, although it felt strange undertaking an op without Gunner leading them.

  As soon as they cleared security, Ghost was waiting in the hallway near the same conference room they’d used prior to their Russian mission. He motioned for them to join him, looking nervously about, something totally out of character for the steely ex-colonel.

  “Good evening. My apologies for the short notice,” he greeted them as he urged them inside the office.

  Cam entered first and noticed Special Agent Theodora Cuccinelli sitting quietly behind a laptop on the far side of the conference room. The Jackal had earned the respect of Gunner’s team during the Russian mission, and Cam regretted that she hadn’t personally reached out to thank her.

  Cam walked around the table and gave the young woman a hug. “Thank you for everything you did for us two weeks ago. After the debriefing, I wanted to call, but—”

  “That’s okay,” interrupted the Jackal. “There was no need. Besides, you wouldn’t know how to reach me anyway. Do you think Ghost is a ghost? I’m just as bad.” She made this last statement with a devious grin that caused her eyes to glisten.

  Cam studied her face for a moment and inwardly wondered if the Jackal had a little badassery deep down inside her.

  “Hey, Agent Jackal,” greeted Bear with his customary approach of using silliness to make a grand entrance.

  “Hello, Staff Sergeant Barrett,” she replied dryly, with a smirk. It was her way of toying with him.

  Ghost shut the door and began. “Everyone, please sit down. As you can see, Agent Cuccinelli is still with me at the DTRA. After you gathered the intel from Russia, and in light of what happened on Friday, this small, informally created unit will continue to work together for the foreseeable future, such as it is.”

  “Sir, that had a hint of gloom to it,” interrupted Cam. “I have every confidence in Gunner’s ability to assist NASA in whatever they have in mind for him.”

  “As do I,” said Ghost. “However, he is facing some headwinds, and that’s part of the reason I’ve called all of you here. And that is also why I wanted that package delivered to him. Chief Rawlings contacted me for advice as to who could help his astronaut team destroy the asteroid. When he laid out his proposal, I gave him Gunner’s name and nobody else’s.”

  “Is Rawlings losing confidence in the choice?” asked the Jackal.

  “No, not at all, although I haven’t spoken with him since Monday night. It’s just that he made it abundantly clear that Gunner was prohibited from outside contact, and he also got the sense that someone, or several someones, are hoping he’ll flunk out of class early.”

  “Who would want that?” asked Bear. “If they need somebody to drop bombs and find their mark, Gunner’s the guy.”

  “I have my suspicions,” began Ghost, “but I believe the answers lie in the past.”

  “What do you mean, sir?” asked Cam.

  “It relates back to his wife’s days at NASA, and, um, how things ended. I knew Heather and was very fond of her. I took a special interest in Gunner’s training while at Hurlburt Field, and I was instrumental in getting him into ancillary programs that put his career on the fast track. But before I made that commitment to my protégé, if you will, I had to make sure his family, in this case Heather, was on board. I made it a point to have informal gatherings that included their families for the occasional lunch or round of beers. I had to be one hundred percent certain that Heather would be okay with me pulling her husband away.”

  “She was,” interjected Cam. “She never complained, and bec
ause her career kept her in Houston much of the time, it actually worked out for the two of them.”

  Ghost nodded. “Yes, I know. My vetting process of Heather resulted in a close bond that made what happened to their family all the more difficult. That’s part of the reason I brought you here today. I have unanswered questions about those days three years ago, and the answers lie with a man in Crimea.”

  “What’s his connection?” asked Cam.

  The Jackal addressed her question. “He held a position as the project manager of the ISS while he worked within the RKA Mission Control Center. During his days with the Russian Federal Space Agency, he flew several ISS flights and eventually retired from space, only to take up a position overseeing their involvement with the space station.”

  “What does he know that our own people don’t?” asked Bear.

  Ghost wandered around the room to stand next to the Jackal. “I’ve had Agent Cuccinelli nose around a little bit, and we’ve learned that this project manager, Karlov, suddenly retired three years ago and was moved from Moscow to Crimea, where he took a job as a professor. He was only forty-three years old at the time, young as retirement age goes in Russia.”

  “Do you think he knows something about Heather?” asked Cam, who was showing an excited, genuine interest in pursuing this lead. She’d always had questions about that day.

  “Listen, Major Mills, I know that you and Heather were close—” began Ghost before Cam interrupted him.

  “We were best friends, sir. I introduced her to Gunner. Like you, I truly liked her, and I loved the two of them together. They had the kind of love that I wish I could find someday.”

  The room fell silent as Cam became emotional thinking about her friend. She regained her composure and apologized.

  Bear was ready to get started, so he asked about the operation. “Do you want us to have a talk with this Karlov guy? What exactly are we expecting him to say?”

  Ghost smiled and sat down next to the Jackal. “Agent Cuccinelli, since you have the clearest head regarding the players involved, why don’t you explain what we’re looking for, and then I’ll discuss the logistics of their insertion into Crimea.”

  “Do I get to fly a Valor again?” Bear’s voice was hopeful.

  “No, this time you two will be entering the front door as respected scientific journalists.”

  Cam started laughing. “I can pull it off, but I don’t think he can.”

  “Shut up, Cam. I can act smart, too.”

  Chapter 22

  Wednesday, April 18

  Building 9

  Johnson Space Center

  Houston, Texas

  With less than forty-eight hours to liftoff, Gunner remained singularly focused on his training and his upcoming mission. However, his mind couldn’t help but wander to Pop and his extended family, Cam and Bear. He’d been given the satellite phone for a reason, but he was certain it wasn’t for the purpose of phoning home to chitchat. He’d resisted the urge to call them on several occasions, especially at night when he lay in bed, processing the day’s activities and the monumental task before him.

  Make no mistake. Gunner Fox fully understood what he’d signed on for. Outwardly, he played it nonchalant, rarely discussing the threat the asteroid posed to the planet. He was very workmanlike in his approach, gathering and absorbing the information by day, and digesting it in the privacy of his room at night.

  Today was another important step in this greatly abbreviated training process. Spacecraft were very different from the combat jets and experimental airplanes that he flew. The technology was complicated and required a working knowledge of physics and engineering.

  Gunner was used to going fast. He’d broken sound barriers and traveled to heights only experienced by a few aircraft pilots. The designs of spacecraft had taken a hyperjump in the last decade. Prompted by an administration that wanted to return America’s space program to greatness, expert designs and innovative engineering made faster-than-speed-of-light spacecraft, solar electric propulsion, and composite cryogenic storage tanks a reality.

  Chief Rawlings took Gunner on a brief tour of these new innovations as they sipped coffee that morning. He stopped at a scale model of the IXS Enterprise, a conceptual interstellar spacecraft designed by NASA scientist Harry White.

  “Star Trek is alive and well,” quipped Gunner as he walked around the twelve-foot-long model. The spaceship was centrally located and wrapped by two large rings.

  “These warp bubbles are the key to interstellar travel,” began Chief Rawlings, pointing to the rings. “Currently, we can travel as deep into space as we want using solar electric propulsion. The problem is that we’d travel so slow the astronauts wouldn’t live long enough to reach their destination. With these warp bubbles, a spherical ring is created that, theoretically of course, causes space and time to move around the ship, pushing and pulling it forward at unimaginable speeds.”

  “I can only imagine,” said Gunner. “I’m still trying to wrap my head around driving the Starhopper at sixty K an hour.”

  “Well, it’s like you said, speed is all relative to the objects around you. The old saying passed me like I was standing still applies here. Once in your space, drawing a bead on your target, everything slows down because there isn’t anything to indicate how fast you’re going. The key is matching the velocity of this booger.”

  Gunner finished his coffee and stepped away from Chief Rawlings to throw the cup away. He caught a glimpse of himself in a shiny piece of spacecraft and noticed his beard. He recalled that he hadn’t shaved in several days, and his typical five-o’clock shadow had become furry.

  “Chief, I’m putting a lot of trust in you, and especially in the engineers at SpaceX. The Raptor engines designed to power the Super Heavy booster have not been tested in space. Listen, don’t get me wrong, I have no problem being the first. That’s my job here on Earth; why should space be any different?”

  “Well, the biggest difference will be the amount of power at your disposal. The Super Heavy combo is capable of delivering two hundred twenty thousand pounds into low-Earth orbit. The Raptor engine combo was designed to send their stainless-steel Starship, the one you saw at Wallops, all the way to Mars. It’s gonna be strapped onto your Starhopper. Trust me, you’ll have the power to keep up with IM86.”

  Chief Rawlings led him out of the enormous hangar, which housed the experimental spacecraft, toward the simulation rooms attached to Building 9. As they approached, the seasoned NASA veteran began to address Gunner’s progress.

  “Gunner, yesterday you spent time in the simulator learning the basic operations of the Starhopper. Fortunately, certain aspects like landing and docking are being omitted because you’ll have crewmates to handle those functions. I’m concerned as to whether you have a full grasp of the relationship between navigating the spacecraft and the use of artificial intelligence to map your targets.”

  “Chief, I understand that at times yesterday, it appeared to be a little rocky. Everybody learns differently. Some have to study, absorb, and then give it a try. I like to dive right in, especially during sim time. Trust me, I hear everything you’re telling me, and it goes inside my brain for future reference. I can’t explain how I do it, but everything gets stored for retrieval on an as-needed basis. I’ll be ready.”

  Chief Rawlings slapped his new protégé on the back and gestured toward a nondescript steel door marked no entry. He swiped his NASA security badge, and a green light illuminated as the door popped open.

  “I suspect today is the day you’ve been waiting for. You’ve learned to fly, and now, you’ll learn to kill the killer.”

  “That’s what I do best.”

  For the next several hours, Chief Rawlings and Gunner navigated the Starhopper within the virtual world of a flight simulator. The two made an excellent team, using one another’s knowledge of spaceflight and air combat to systematically attack a simulated version of IM86. After the morning session, Chief Rawlings was
feeling better about Gunner’s progress.

  “Well, you were clearly in your element this morning. I see why Ghost recommended you.”

  “Ghost? My Ghost?”

  Chief Rawlings laughed. “Yeah, your Ghost. He and I have been old friends for years. When I asked him for candidates to undertake this mission, he didn’t hesitate in giving me your name. And, by the way, you were the only one he suggested.”

  Gunner stood a little taller and nodded his head. “I have a lot of respect for my former commander. Chief, um, I haven’t always toed the line, if you know what I mean. Ghost has bailed me out of a few, um, predicaments.”

  “I’ve been there, young man. Trust me. Let’s grab a bite to eat, and I’ll explain why blasting this rock is much more difficult than the morning session revealed.”

  While they were eating, Chief Rawlings relayed the concerns the scientists had. “Gunner, I’ll be honest. Many of the scientists who’ve proposed various methods of diverting an incoming asteroid have chosen options other than nuclear weapons. I believe that they’re against the use of nukes in general, and therefore, they argue against their use in space for any reason. Their preferred method is to simply crash a spacecraft into the asteroid to divert it just enough to miss Earth. It’s too late for that.”

  “Which is why I’m here,” interjected Gunner.

  “Right, in part. There is another concern that I need to bring up to you. The simulations run through computer models show that an asteroid of this size might reconstitute itself. Yes, the asteroid will crack considerably, with debris flowing outward like a cascade of ping-pong balls. However, despite the fractures caused by the impact, the heart of the asteroid, its core, will not be damaged.”

  “The gravitational pull will remain,” added Gunner.