Gibbs chuckled. "No, certainly not."
The preppie's attitude was maddening. Mason took another step forward. "Then why?" he demanded again.
"Let's just say that the laws of cause and effect in these matters are a bit above your head. And well above your labor grade."
Above my labor grade, eh? Mason thought. Ah, politics! I should have known. "Let me guess," he began. "It's no secret that you have powerful friends."
"You might say that."
The whole business was now becoming clear. Mason began to relax a bit. "And some of these so-called friends told you they would appreciate it if our astronauts did not return?"
Gibbs just smirked again. To Mason, that was as good as a confession.
There's just one question left, Mason thought. Maybe the ass will blurt the answer. "In the Administration or the opposition?"
This time Gibbs' smile was not merely condescending, but almost sadistic. "I don't see how that's any of your business, but rest assured that they have sufficient influence to make sure I don't end up like that poor lunatic Holloway."
As the others stared at him in outraged amazement, Gibbs turned to leave the room. "Well, so long," he said with amusement. "Work hard, little people. Just think, if you're successful and get the crew home, you'll make Colonel Townsend a very rich man. Who knows, he may even send each of you an autographed picture of his new yacht."
Gibbs started to stride out. While his back was turned, Mason motioned to Alicia, who picked up a telephone.
"Darrell," the Mission Control manager called out.
Gibbs condescended to turn back a final time. "Yes?"
"Do you really think those powerful friends will go to the mat for you?"
"Of course."
Mason looked the younger man in the eye. "And why is that?"
Gibbs answered with the confidence of a teacher explaining the facts of life to a dunce. "Because if they don't, I'll implicate them."
Tex interjected. "I'll bet that's exactly what Oswald thought."
"Oswald?" Gibbs appeared slightly confused.
"Lee Harvey Oswald," the Texan explained, showing his bad teeth again. "Before your time. I suggest you get yourself some life insurance, son."
Gibbs paled. He made for the door, but was stopped by two big security guards who appeared in the doorway.
Mason smiled. "I think, though, that you'll get a chance to do a little more talking than Oswald did."
As the guards handcuffed the Special Assistant, Mason picked up his console phone. He held Gibbs' cellular in front of Tex.
"Now we find the man on the grassy knoll," the manager said dryly.
CHAPTER 24
CAPRI CHASMA
OCT. 31, 2012
UNAWARE OF THEIR near-rendevous with death, the pair in the Homeward Bound ERV soundly slept the night away. Townsend's wristwatch alarm awakened them at the edge of dawn the following morning. The two explorers would need the maximum time for their difficult trek out of the canyon.
After a quick breakfast, he and McGee made final preparations for the hike out of Valles Marineris. They subjected every piece of their gear to a final checkout. The colonel wrapped the computer card in soft packing material, after which he placed the wrapping in a plastic container and stuffed it into McGee's pack. The two men then zipped into their Marsuits.
Townsend turned to his companion. "Ready for the hard part, Professor?"
"You realize, Colonel, that once we start climbing, there's no turning back and there's no stopping. We can't survive a night outside in our suits. We make it all the way back to the rover, or we die."
Townsend snapped his helmet into position. "Roger, let's go." Through his helmet, his words sounded oddly distorted, but his resolve was unmistakable. McGee donned his helmet as well; then they strapped on their packs and cycled out of the ERV airlock. Townsend reached up to secure the outer hatch before joining McGee at the foot of the ladder.
McGee gave the Homeward Bound one fond farewell glance, and they were off.
It was about seven A.M., local time, but they set out at a rapid clip, knowing the climb would take longer than the descent, and that being caught in cliff shadows at sunset meant certain death.
At a forced march, they managed to reach the base of the first major ascent before noon. Along the cliffside hung the last line they had rappelled down the day before. Both men stared up at the endlessly tall wall of rock. The thin wind blew fine dust, and the rope swayed gently.
We've made good time, McGee thought. If the weather doesn't get any worse, we might make it out. A big "if."
McGee tested the line with a strong tug. "Ready, Colonel? There's no turning back after this."
Townsend gave a grim nod behind his helmet, and they began to climb. The two men reached the top of the first rope, then started scrambling across a boulder field. As they climbed the second rope, a wind blew ever more fiercely. Without pausing, they continued the ascent, climbing, trudging, bouldering, scrambling.
Finally, in the late afternoon, they reached the last rope. The wind, which had been only troublesome at the start of the climb, now blew out of control, picking up scouring dust and howling in the vanishingly thin atmosphere. The sky darkened with dust, obscuring the sunset in the west. McGee noticed the air temperature growing colder by the minute, and despite the thinness of the air, the hurricane-speed winds were delivering a horrible chill. He looked up the rope at the sheer cliff that extended high above them until it disappeared into the murk.
Townsend seemed exhausted. "Not the best climbing weather," he said. There was a distinct shiver in his voice.
McGee heard that shiver and knew what it meant. The colonel's not going to make it. Age and lack of proper technique had taken their toll. The older man was clearly played out. With a little rest he might have had a chance, but neither of them had any time to rest.
McGee made the offer anyway. "Want to try waiting it out?"
There was a momentary pause. "No. Only an hour of daylight left. We've got to go. Now."
The voice of courage, McGee thought. If we wait, we both get to live a few hours, until the night gently takes us. If we go, I have a fighting chance—but he will fall.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
McGee mentally saluted the colonel and started up the rope. The wild motions of the swaying line made the climb a nightmare. More than once, he crashed into a rocky outcropping that revealed its existence too late as it loomed up unexpectedly. He hauled himself up the line like a madman; he knew he couldn't take this treatment for long.
Suddenly there was no cliff face above him, only a ledge at face level. He scrambled over it and lay panting on the ground. It had taken six minutes of sheer hell, but he'd reached the rim of the endless canyon.
Now, how to get Townsend up? McGee had hoped to be able to haul the man up on the rope. But on the climb up he'd noted that the line was badly frayed. It was now too likely that a moving cord would scrape itself to pieces on some rock, and the colonel would drop to his death. No, climbing was the commander's only chance. He stood up and turned his Marsuit radio to maximum. "Colonel, I'm at the top. It's not too far. Go for it."
At the base of the final cliff, Townsend shivered in the howling gale. While waiting for McGee to climb, he had taken a short but necessary rest, but every muscle in his body felt sprained. He heard the professor's encouraging summons to ascend, but was realistic enough to know that he just didn't have it left within him. But he knew he couldn't stay where he was, either. It was getting darker and colder by the minute. To remain here meant death. To ascend meant death. Retreat was impossible.