"Unless somebody here screws up," he said, gazing around the room again, studying the white technician's uniforms, the innocent faces.
"There'll be a lot of confusion. When we start pumping liquid hydrogen into Daedalus /, the site will be pandemonium," Grishkov continued. "All you have to do is get into the cockpit of the other plane."
It would be a horrible accident, but accidents happened. They'd all heard whispered stories about the tragedy at Baikonur in October 1960, when almost a hundred men were killed because Nikita Khrushchev wanted a spectacular space shot while he was visiting the United Nations. When a giant rocket, a Mars probe, failed to achieve ignition, instead of taking the delay required to remove the fuel before checking the malfunction, the technicians were ordered to troubleshoot it immediately. Tech crews were swarming over it when it detonated.
"Then I guess we're ready." Yuri Andreevich sighed.
"We are." Grishkov nodded and reached for the phone beside the main console, quickly punching in four numbers. He spoke quietly for a few moments, then replaced the receiver.
"They'll be here in five minutes. Doktor Androv has just completed his briefing on the cockpit configuration."
"All right. I'm going now. Just get the hangar doors open, the runway cleared, and the truck-mounted starters ready. This is going to be tricky, so make sure everybody thinks we're merely taking Daedalus II onto the runway as a safety precaution after the explosion." Yuri gazed over the group of engineers one last time. Would they do it? Whatever happened, he had to get out of there and start checking the cockpit of Daedalus II before the morning's preflight crews arrived. "Good luck. By 0900 hours I want everything set."
He gave the room a final salute, out of habit, and headed for the security doors. In moments he'd disappeared into the corridor and was gone.
"Let me do the talking," Grishkov said, turning back to the others. "And let Doktor Androv translate. Also remember, he has no idea Yuri Andreevich is going to steal the other plane."
The men stirred, and nodded their assent. From here on, they all were thinking, the less they had to do with this plot the better.
Then the door opened. Standing next to Dr. Andrei Petrovich Androv was a tall man dressed as a Soviet air force major. As Grishkov looked him over, he had the fleeting impression that Yuri Andreevich had unexpectedly returned, so similar was the American poseur to Andrei Androv's own son. In height and build, the resemblance was nothing short of miraculous. This was going to be easier than he'd dared to hope. Put the American in a pressure suit, complete with flight helmet, and he could easily pass.
"He has agreed to set the explosives," Andrei said in Russian as he gestured toward the man standing beside him in a tight-fitting uniform. "Meet ‘Major Yuri Andreevich Androv.'"
The room appeared to be the quarters of a high-ranking member of the Soviet staff, now returned to the USSR. It was comfortably if sparely appointed and even had a computer terminal, a small NEC. She'd switched it on, tried to call up some files, but everything required a password. She could use it, however, as a clock. As she watched the time flashing on the corner of the screen, she tried to remember what the Soviet major had said about the schedule… the first hypersonic test of the Daedalus was scheduled for 0930. That was only an hour and a half away.
She was wearing her London clothes again, but where the hell was her bag? She walked over and sat down on the side of the single bed, thinking. If she could get her hands on the suitcase, the Uzi might still be there.
That's when she heard the sound of muted but crisp Japanese outside — the changing of the guard. The Mino-gumi kobun were keeping a strict schedule, a precision that seemed perfectly in keeping with everything else about the facility. Life here was measured out not in coffee spoons but in scrolling numbers on computers.
The door opened and one of the new kobun showed his head. At first she thought it was merely a bed check, but he stared at her mutely for a moment, then beckoned. She rose and walked over. This new goon, black suit and all, was armed with a 9mm Walther P88 automatic in a shoulder holster. Outside, the other Mino-gumi motioned for her to come with them.
That's when she noticed her bag, sitting just outside the door.
There goes my chance, she sighed. They want to keep me moving, make sure I'm not in one place long enough for anybody to get suspicious. This way I'll seem to be just another guest.
Without a word they were directing her along the hallway toward Checkpoint Central. All Tanzan Mino's kobun seemed to have free run of the facility, because the uniformed security staff didn't even bother to ask for a pass. They may have been new and alien visitors from outside this closed world, but they represented the CEO. Carte blanche.
Now they were moving down the crowded corridor leading to the South Quadrant. The walls were still gray, but this was a new area, one she hadn't yet been in. No sign this time, however, of the Soviet major named Androv.
Guess he wasn't kidding about an important test flight coming up. Something was definitely in the wind. The pace of activity was positively hectic. So why was she being moved, right in the middle of all this chaos? It didn't make sense.
She looked up ahead and realized they were headed toward two massive, heavily guarded doors. What could this sector be? Once again the Japanese security guards merely bowed low and waved her Mino-gumi escorts past.
The wide doors opened onto yet another hallway, and she was overwhelmed by a blast of sound. Motors were blaring, voices were shouting, escaping gasses were hissing. The din, the racket, engulfed her. And then she realized the reason: There was no ceiling! Even the "offices" along the side were merely high-walled cubicles that had been dropped here in the entryway of some vast space.
It was the hangar.
The actual entry at the end was sealed and guarded, but instead of passing through, they stopped at the last door on the right.
Whoever had summoned her, it wasn't Tanzan Mino. His array of personal kobun weren't lined up outside. In fact, there were no guards at all.
The leather-jacketed escorts pulled open the door, and one entered ahead of her, one behind. Inside was a large metal desk, equipped with banks of phones and rows of buttons.
Sitting behind the desk was Vera Karanova.
"Did you sleep well?" She glanced up, then immediately signaled for the kobun to absent themselves.
"Did you?" Eva looked her over — the severe designer suit, black, topped off with a string of gray Mikimoto pearls. It was a striking contrast to the short-haired engineers bustling outside.
What riveted her attention, however, was resting on the desk next to the banks of phones and switches. A Zenith.
"We have some time this morning." Vera ignored the response as she brushed at her carefully groomed dark hair. "I thought we should use it productively."
"Lots of luck, Comrade."
"It is not in either of our interests to be at cross purposes," she continued, still speaking in Russian. It was a startling change in tone from the evening before. "You and I have much in common. We both have worked at high levels in the security apparatus of our respective countries. Consequently we both understand the importance of strategic thinking. That sets us apart." She reached out and touched the laptop computer. "Now, to begin, I would very much like for you to show me how you managed to break the encryption for the protocol. The CEO was most impressed."
"If he wants to know, he can ask me himself." She helped herself to a metal chair.