“Not really, General. They have grown accustomed to Dimitri’s frequent train trips, along with his two sojourns home each year. We have been fortunate his mother can’t see and is only semilucid.” Corbin found himself wandering away from the subject.
“So the contact is made on board the train?” Blaylocke had all the information she needed, except the when.
“Yes. The agent buys a ticket to the destination indicated by the plant. When the agent visits the toilet facilities, Dimitri joins him for a brief update.”
The Marine commandant had an observation. “The train noise, the clanking of the wheels, would make it virtually impossible to record a conversation or eavesdrop at a urinal.”
“Precisely, General.” Corbin leaned back and waited for the vice president to speak.
“So, Ted, we can anticipate information from the Kremlin operative within twenty-four hours?” Blaylocke wanted substantive information as quickly as possible.
“That is correct.” The CIA director could not bring himself to address the woman as Ms. Vice President, let alone ma’am.
Blaylocke wanted to make a judgement on the value of the forthcoming information, if any. “But we don’t know if the information gleaned from the operative will be of any value in the present situation.”
“That is correct.” Corbin fidgeted, uneasiness showing in his demeanor.
“Any questions, gentlemen?” Susan Blaylocke waited to see if the secretary of defense, or any of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, had questions for the director of Central Intelligence. None did.
“Thank you, Ted. You have been very helpful.” The vice president smiled slightly, removed her glasses, and closed her briefing notes.
“You’re welcome, and … ah, I will inform you of any findings immediately on receipt,” Corbin stammered, being respectful without using a title, or the dreaded ma’am.
Blaylocke faced the other staff members. “Well, gentlemen, we expect to hear news from Lajes in the next hour,” Blaylocke looked at her wristwatch and noted that it was two minutes past seven, “so I recommend we adjourn for breakfast and reconvene here at eight o’clock.”
The five astronauts assigned to the SDI satellite placement mission had been awakened early. Breakfast would be later, they were told.
“Plan to attend a briefing in thirty minutes.” End of statement. Door shut.
“Well, I appreciate the guy’s candor,” Air Force Col. Lowell Crawford, mission commander, joked as he waited his turn at the well-used coffee pot in the NASA briefing room.
“Yeah, Skipper, the guy should get a PR job where his personality could really shine,” chimed in Navy Lt. Cmdr. Henry “Hank” Doherty, the mission pilot.
Alan Cressottie, mission payload specialist, struggling into his powder blue flight suit, was the last of the flight crew to enter the small room. He was a popular and jovial member of the astronaut corps.
Cressottie waved to everyone, then threw a sealed cardboard container of doughnuts into the air. “Gotta be prepared!”
“Is that the Cub Scout or Boy Scout motto?” Doctor Minh Tran, mission payload specialist, asked with a grin spreading across his face.
Doherty, the picture-perfect astronaut, plucked the box of doughnuts from midair as Marine Maj. Ward Culdrew, mission specialist, replied. “Naw, that’s the Marine Corps motto, ‘Semper Preparedness.’”
There was a scramble for the dilapidated microwave as Hank Doherty “nuked” the dozen old-fashioned glazed doughnuts for one minute.
“Semper preparedness?” Cressottie laughed. “Drew, you ever finish grade school, or did you get that far?” Cressottie loved to bait his friend, the Marine Corps aviator and rookie astronaut.
“Yeah, sure did,” Culdrew grinned at Cressottie. “Even went on to junior high school. Pledged the fraternity ‘I felta thigh.’ “
The banter ceased as Rex Hays and Mission Controller Ken Stankitze entered the room.
“You’d think NASA could spring for a new microwave,” Doherty mumbled as he pried the door open on the charred and dented oven. He quickly served doughnuts around the cabinet and grabbed his steaming coffee.
Everyone took a seat as Doctor Hays and Stankitze greeted the astronauts. Hays walked to the podium, while the gaunt mission controller had a seat in the front row of the briefing room.
“Well, fellas, hell of a time to get you out of bed, but we’ve had a change of plans.” Hays wasn’t upbeat, nor did he appear dejected.
The astronauts had cautious looks on their faces. Had the mission been scrubbed again? Was all the training down the drain?
“You men are aware of the global tension at the present time, and the increased security here at the cape,” Hays said. “We have been informed by the secretary of defense to launch the SDI mission at the earliest possible time. Unannounced, no media, middle of the night.”
Hays looked at the faces of the crew. Surprise, shock, then relief registered on the five astronauts.
“The president has decided to go for launch early, in view of what happened in the Atlantic. He believes the Russians won’t attempt anything with the general secretary under scrutiny in Lajes.”
Hays gave the crew a moment to collect their thoughts. “We plan to launch this evening, gentlemen.”
Again, surprise registered on the five faces in the audience.
Colonel Crawford, caught off guard, spoke first. “Can we do that? We haven’t completed the preflight checklist yet. The fueling will take—”
Hays raised a hand, quietly silencing the concerned command pilot.
“The final fueling is under way. We are keeping everything low-key. Business as usual. That sort of thing.”
Hays looked at the mission controller. “I’m going to turn the briefing over to Ken now. He can supply you with the details and I’ll meet with you later this morning.”
Hays turned from the battered podium, motioned to Stankitze, and left the room. The mission controller walked around the podium and unfolded his notes.
“As Doctor Hays explained, Columbia is being fueled at this time. We anticipate an oh-two-forty-five launch time. The software is being reprogrammed as I speak, and the window will be fifty-five minutes long.”
“What about security?” Culdrew asked.
“Every effort is being made to ensure this day doesn’t seem strange in the normal prelaunch cycle. What that means, in a real sense, is the troops are being informed of the change of plans. However, their orders are explicit. They are to remain in a low-profile posture.”
Stankitze saw that Crawford had a question. “Yes, Colonel?”
“What about the media?” the pilot asked.
“They aren’t going to be very happy with us,” Stankitze replied.
Laughter filled the room.
“The media is being informed, during a press conference at noon, that a launch will take place four days from now, as per schedule.”
“They’re goin’ to love you, Ken.” Culdrew couldn’t resist a jab at the serious-minded controller.
“No doubt,” Stankitze chuckled, then continued, “the media will believe this evening is a dress rehearsal.”
Laughter.
“They will have to leave the launch site at the scheduled time, as usual, so nothing will seem out of the ordinary. We hope.”
Stankitze turned his pad over, then explained the new sequence of events.
“Since the satellites are already on board Columbia, the logistics aren’t very difficult. You will have breakfast, attend another briefing with Doctor Hays and the launch coordinators at oh-nine-thirty, and meet the press hounds at eleven hundred hours. I don’t need to remind you to keep your mouths shut.”
Stankitze glanced at his schedule. “This afternoon, after lunch, Crawford and Doherty will follow the normal schedule for proficiency flying. The Thirty-eights will be available from thirteen-thirty to fifteen-thirty hours.”