“A civilian?”
“Well, not exactly. CIA. He’s the one that found them. Anyway, get dressed and see me by the Stallion in five. Let’s go, let’s go!” Davenport left.
Crowe jumped off his bunk, pulled up his flight suit, put on his boots, and grabbed the flight helmet next to his foot locker. He headed for the deck.
Vanderhoff stormed into the mission control room of the complex and walked past scientists and technicians working in coordination with cleanup crews by the launchpad. All of the fires had been extinguished, and workers were now shoveling the debris off the launching complex.
He reached the other side of the room, where a locked door led to another high-security room. Vanderhoff got his magnetic key card out and inserted it in the slot by the door. The red light above the door turned green and he heard the locking mechanism snap. The door then automatically slid into the wall. He stepped into another room as the sliding door closed behind him. There were two technicians there. Both looked in his direction. Vanderhoff addressed the younger of the two.
“It’s time to get our backup plan in motion.”
The young operator exhaled. “Sir, do you understand the implications?”
“I understand. Do it and call me when it’s done.”
“Yes, sir.”
With that, Vanderhoff turned around and left the room.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
NEW FACES
For Michael Kessler, the world seemed out of focus. The harder he squinted and blinked to clear his sight, the blurrier things got. He gave up and exhaled as he noticed a figure looking over him. Kessler tried to move but he couldn’t. He was somehow immobilized.
“Astronaut Kessler? Mikhail Kessler? Can you hear me, yes?”
Mikhail? What struck Kessler the most was not the questions, but the deep female voice and heavy Slavic accent. It almost sounded as if the woman was trying to fake it.
“Mikhail Kessler? I’m holding your hand. If you can hear me squeeze it tight.”
Kessler squeezed her hand.
“Good, Mikhail, very good. Now listen carefully. You are aboard Space Station Mir. Your government asked our government for help. Do you understand what I am saying?”
Another squeeze.
“Good. Your friend, Captain Jones, is in critical condition. It appears that he suffered internal injuries from the accident with your version of the space bicycle. We must get him to Earth as soon as possible.”
Slowly, her face came into focus. A light olive-skinned woman with short black hair and brown eyes wearing a bright-orange jumpsuit. She smiled.
“Who…”
“My name is Valentina Tereshkova. I am the flight engineer for the mission, and lucky for you I also speak English.”
“How long have I — we been here?”
“We rescued you over six hours ago. You had depleted the oxygen supply of your space vehicle.”
“Lightning… where is the orbiter?”
“About thirty meters below us. You know, you are lucky we found you when we did. A little longer and you and your friend would have died.”
Kessler scanned the compartment. It was spacious as far as spacecraft were concerned. Definitely much larger than Lightning’s mid-deck compartment.
“CJ, you said he’s in—”
“CJ? Are you referring to Captain Jones?”
Kessler smiled thinly. “Yes.”
“Yes, we have him temporarily stabilized, but he has suffered serious internal injuries. He must undergo surgery immediately.”
Kessler shifted his gaze to the Velcro straps that held him down on a horizontal sleeping station, very similar to the ones aboard Lightning. Tereshkova nodded and unstrapped him. He slowly moved his limbs and rolled his neck a few times. “Hmm… much better.”
Another person entered the compartment, a large-framed man with pronounced high cheekbones and square jaw. He floated next to Tereshkova and stared at Kessler.
“This is Commander Nikolai Aleksandrovich Strakelov. He speaks very little English.”
Kessler extended his hand. Strakelov smiled and shook it vigorously.
“I need to get in contact with Houston Control, Valentina. There must be a way to get CJ back to Earth fast.”
“We have news that the orbiter Atlantis will be launched in twenty-four hours.”
Kessler shook his head. “Twenty-four hours? Plus another eight or so to catch up with us? In your opinion, can CJ last that long?”
Tereshkova frowned, turned to Strakelov, and spoke in Russian for a few moments. She stopped and Strakelov also frowned and slowly shook his head. Kessler understood. Jones didn’t have much time to live. If he was to save his friend’s life he had to act fast. There had to be a way to get him down more quickly. He looked at Tereshkova.
“I assume you came up in the Soyuz spacecraft?”
“Yes, Mikhail, but if you are thinking what I’m thinking, I suggest you think again. We had a problem during lift-off. Several of our heat shields flared open. Most fell off. The rest are still hanging onto the spacecraft. A supply ship is due here in a month with the new heat shields. Besides, Captain Jones is in a very delicate condition. He has already suffered enough inside the rescue ball. Nikolai Aleksandrovich thinks he has several broken ribs. If we move him more than necessary, he could puncture a lung. Inside the Soyuz space is very cramped and he might not endure the trip.”
Kessler closed his eyes and inhaled. How? How could he get Jones back down in time to save him? He was in what appeared to be a no-win situation. Lightning was stranded until Atlantis delivered the thermal blankets he’d requested to patch up the sections of exposed aluminum. Atlantis would also empower Lightning enough to close the payload bay doors and get the oxygen to a safe level for long enough to reach Edwards Air Force Base in California safely. But with Atlantis over thirty hours away, Kessler decided that was not an immediate option. The Soyuz spacecraft was in no better shape, also missing heat shields… heat shields? Oh, Jesus!
He bolted up from the sleeping station. “You said there are some heat shields hanging off the Soyuz spacecraft?”
Tereshkova narrowed her eyes. “Well, yes, Mikhail. Why do you ask?”
Kessler smiled. He’d found a way. It was a long shot but he had to try. His friend’s life depended on that.
The four-thousand kilogram Intelsat 9-F2/Athena communications satellite had maintained the same orbit since its launch five years earlier. The malfunction of the second stage of the Athena rocket booster had left the twelve-by-four-meter satellite, originally intended for a geosynchronous orbit 25,000 miles over Earth, stranded in low Earth orbit. The original recovery plan by Athena had been to wait for the correct window in space and use the satellite’s still functional third-stage boosters to reach a rendezvous with an American orbiter and haul it back to Earth. But with the Challenger disaster, the salvage mission had been delayed by almost ten years. In the meantime, Athena had committed to keeping the huge two-hundred-million-dollar satellite from re-entering Earth by simply firing the booster once a month to maintain a safe orbit.
Vanderhoff finished reading the report from the young technician and smiled. It was his last chance. The Intelsat 9-F2’s boosters had just been fired for thirty seconds, but not to push the satellite to a higher and safer orbit as in the dozens of times before. The rockets were only fired after the young technician, via radio link, used the satellite’s small vernier thruster to turn the long satellite around. This caused the thrust to slow the satellite and force it to a lower orbit forty-five miles below. Vanderhoff checked his watch. There was still a chance to succeed. Even with the failure to launch his Athena rocket, Vanderhoff could still pull it off. It was risky but doable.