“Roger, Houston,” Kessler replied before unstrapping himself and removing his flight helmet. But he held onto it. They were in zero G. Jones did the same. Both were about to go aft simultaneously.
“You first, Mike.”
Kessler used a single arm motion to lift himself toward the aft flight deck station. He threw the payload bay doors’ switch on Panel R13L, and noticed the talk-back indicator light underneath the switch changing from CL to OP, showing that Lightning’s General Purpose Computers had received his directive. The starboard door slowly opened first, gradually giving Kessler a partial view of the orbiter’s vertical fin. The port door followed sixty seconds later, and he noticed a few white tiles missing over the OMS pods.
“Damn,” Jones said. “I hope the tiles underneath are intact.”
“No shit.” Kessler nodded as he briefly enjoyed the spectacular view of northern Africa overhead before flipping the two radiator-control-release switches on the same control panel to deploy the thirty-foot-long environmental-control-and-life-support-system radiators, incorporated over the forward inside sections of both doors. Talk-back lights showed proper deployment and nominal circulation of Freon-21 coolant looping from both sides of the radiator panels for heat rejection by Lightning’s systems, including the heat that had built up on the orbiter’s skin during the ascent phase. Without radiators, the life-support system could not maintain a suitable temperature inside the crew compartment.
“Let’s go below and get rid of these flight suits.”
“In a minute. I want to see something.” Kessler turned on the payload bay’s floodlights and visually inspected the sixty-foot-long compartment.
“Looks in pretty good shape,” commented Jones.
“Yep. Looks that way. I guess we won’t know for sure until we get a chance to go out there and take a closer look.”
“But first things first. Let’s get into more comfortable clothing. These flight suits are too bulky. See you down there,” Jones said as he pulled himself through one of the two interdeck access hatches on the flight deck’s floor. Below was the mid-deck crew compartment, where most everyday living activities took place, from eating to sleeping. “Boy! This weightlessness beats the heck out of the simulated stuff on those parabolic KC-135 flights.”
Kessler shook his head. The Air Force captain was in space for the first time in his life and seemed determined to enjoy it as much as possible, even if the mission wasn’t going as planned.
Kessler watched Jones disappear through the hatch. He shrugged and dove after him.
CHAPTER EIGHT
SANCTIMONIOUS
Beware of false prophets, which come to you in sheep’s clothing, but inwardly they are ravening wolves.
Tom Pruett pinched the bridge of his nose and briefly closed his eyes as he walked toward the windows behind his desk. He stared at the overcast sky. An unseasonably low thirty degrees had brought an early frost to the Virginia countryside. Winter was settling in before summer had ended and even before autumn had gotten a chance to get started. It was like that worldwide. This would be one very cold, hard winter. But Pruett’s depression came not from that realization. He had just heard the most amazing story about a mole in the Paris office. Someone Pruett knew from his days as a case officer. He turned around and stared into Higgins’s intelligent but cold eyes, wondering how his subordinate had managed to detach himself emotionally from all this.
“Are you absolutely certain of this, Roland?”
“Beyond doubt. Stone killed his case officer, Richard Potter, during a meeting Stone had called. He’d claimed he had some vital information regarding something of national importance that could not be discussed over the phone, and that he couldn’t come into the station because it was under surveillance.” Higgins’s tone indicated disbelief. “Potter agreed to the meeting, and following standard procedure, he let me know of it before he left.” Higgins continued. “The bullet found in his chest has been confirmed to have come from a rifle which had Stone’s fingerprints. Also, we have depositions from two police officers on duty at the park during the incident. They both picked out Stone’s photograph from a stack of nearly one hundred mugshots. It all fits.”
“Yes, I can see that. It all fits too perfectly.” He walked to the bar, opened the refrigerator, and grabbed a small carton of milk. “Tell me, what would you say was his motive?”
“We’re working on that. Perhaps money? We’re not sure.”
“You better find out, and fast. I know Stone. I doubt money was his motive.” Pruett noticed his words had a strong effect on his subordinate. Higgins blinked twice, exhaled deeply, and looked away.
“I can understand where you’re coming from,” Higgins said. “But the evidence! It’s all there. And the incident earlier that day. We have reason to believe that he was involved in the murder of three French policemen during a shoot-out in a Paris warehouse. The bullets extracted from the bodies match Stone’s Beretta found in the park. Stone is a dangerous man. He must be stopped.”
“When will we get an official French police report with all the evidence?”
“Within the next couple of hours. We’ll need an additional hour to translate all the relevant portions.”
“Very well, you bring me the evidence. We’ll review it together and then I’ll make the call.”
“Sure, Tom.” With that Higgins turned and left the office.
Pruett was concerned. He had never labeled anyone beyond salvage in the years he’d been Head of Clandestine Services. And he didn’t want to now, especially someone he knew personally, but if the evidence was indeed as irrefutable as Higgins had indicated, Pruett knew he would have no choice but to issue the field alert. He still felt uneasy, even after Higgins’s convincing words. What are you up to, Cameron? Killing a bunch of cops and then your own case officer? Why? What’s your motive? Who are you working for? In another time he would have guessed the Russians, but not in this day and age. Then who? And why? It simply didn’t make sense.
One floor above, George Pruett noticed an icon turning yellow. It was the personnel icon. He clicked it and eight new icons appeared on the screen, one per area division. All were white except for the European Division. He clicked it and read about the death of Case Officer Richard Potter from the Paris office. The report had indicated that he had died from a gunshot to the chest.
Paris? The same place where the Athena scientists were killed. He leaned back on his chair without taking his eyes off the screen. What’s going on? Europe is supposed to be quiet these days. He shifted his weight uneasily, not sure what to make of the new finding. Is there a coincidence?
George switched from his algorithm to the CIA’s databanks and requested more information on Potter’s death. The system came back a few seconds later with the statement that more information would be available within the hour.
George checked his watch and returned to his algorithm.