Mr. Tompkins was waved past the KSC security guard hut at entry gate 3T, then turned left onto Kennedy Parkway North. He drove over Banana Creek and past the shuttle recovery runway on his left before turning right on Beach Road. Then he pulled into the employee lot outside the Pad 39A security access building at Gate 5C and parked the Toyota.
Mr. Tompkins was now approaching the most vulnerable point in the whole scenario. He possessed a realistic KSC Pad 39A employee ID with his own photograph laminated on it, but with Leland's name. The procedure at the security post called for the guard to look at both the ID photo and the employee to make sure the two matched. The guard would then check the name on the access list as in, along with the time. If this particular guard happened to know Leland by sight, then the game was busted. But there were so many workers in the pad area that this shouldn't be a problem — or so he hoped.
Mr. Tompkins waited until there was no employee traffic through the access building, for he didn't want to stumble into any workers who might know Leland by name. Seeing the coast was clear, he walked into the ' 'cattle chute" and up to the guard booth, where he thrust out his forged ID with authority. The man in uniform perfunctorily glanced at the card, then at the face, and made a notation on the clipboard. "Leland. Nine oh seven. In," he said while scribbling.
"Right," said Mr. Tompkins, now Leland, as he walked past the locker room and out to the shuttle bus waiting area. For safety considerations, the parking lots and buildings at KSC were kept well away from the launch pads, and gantry workers were ferried back and forth between the access building and Pad 39A on small shuttle buses.
Leland didn't have to wait long for a bus, and he was alone as he boarded the vehicle. During the quick drive to the pad he switched ID cards. The second card looked much like the first, except now Leland had turned into Donald Loomis, site inspector for the Occupational Safety and Health Administration.
As the bus approached the shuttle pad, Loomis noticed something off in the distance that looked like a Roman candle shooting up in the air. He had no idea what it was, but didn't have time to worry about it.
The Northrop KD2R-5 target drone banked away from the beach near Titan Complex 40 at KSC and traveled about a quarter mile over the Atlantic Ocean. The Army specialist played with his remote-control joysticks and the aluminum monoplane turned again, coming to a course parallel with the beach at about five hundred feet altitude.
"Okay, Major," coached Warrrant Officer Hogan, "put it in the circle and wait for the 'engage' light."
Mission Specialist Sandford Watkins peered through the viewfinder of the Stinger surface-to-air missile and easily lined up the propeller-driven drone, which was traveling at 80 knots. When the morning sun glinted off the drone's dark aluminum skin, the red "engage" light lit up in the viewfinder and Watkins squeezed the trigger, causing the missile to pop out of the tube muzzle. After the Stinger "jumped" about forty feet from the launcher, its solid-fuel propellant ignited and the small missile took off, leaving a corkscrew tail of smoke in its wake. Watkins watched the high-powered dart as it vectored off in the wrong direction. He would've sworn it was going to miss the drone, but then it made a sharp climbing left turn and quickly gained on the lumbering target. When the small aircraft disappeared in a ball of flame, Watkins couldn't help yelling, "Awwwright! Man, this is more fun than shooting pop-bottle rockets."
Hogan grinned. "Yes, sir. I know the feeling. I think you've got the hang of it. Now, let's try it with this contraption on."
Watkins shrugged. "Okay. I'm not sure whose idea this was, but I'll give it a try."
"As I understand it, Major," said Hogan, "some air crapper came up with this brainstorm."
Watkins laughed. "Figures. I can't tell you how nice it is to see another Army face around here, Mr. Hogan. I feel a little lonely at times."
"I understand, Major Watkins. Say, how did a ground pounder like you ever become an astronaut, anyway?"
"Beats me. Somebody in the Pentagroin must have dropped my file into the wrong in-basket. Ready? Heave."
The two men lifted up the top half of the extravehicular space-suit, sans oxygen pack and maneuvering unit, and draped it over Watkins's torso. The major raised the clear visor so he could breathe easily, and took another Stinger from the Army warrant officer. Hogan spun his finger in the air, indicating he wanted another drone launched, and almost immediately a monoplane was catapulted off its small ramp.
The first Stinger Watkins fired with the suit on went wild. Fortunately, all the nearby airspace had been closed to air traffic and there was no danger of downing an innocent Cessna. On the second shot, Watkins contorted himself so he could peer through the eyepiece with the helmet on, and the missile got close. The third Stinger was dead on.
"One more drone, Major?" asked Hogan.
"Let's do it."
And the last aluminum monoplane was scattered over the ocean.
"Help me get outta this thing," pleaded Watkins. "It's kinda hot without the cool suit on."
Hogan assisted him, then began a critique. "For your purposes, I think you can handle the Stinger with no problem, sir. Your target will be stationary, and that will make things a lot easier than tracking a moving drone. Plus, as I understand it, the Intrepid is quite a bit larger than our drone."
Watkins nodded. "To say the least."
"However, I must point out that what we're doing here may not really apply to an outer-space environment. The guidance fins on the Stinger will be useless in a vacuum, and this missile isn't spin stabilized. So all I can recommend is that you essentially bore sight the weapon and let 'er rip. Just stay at least four hundred meters away to allow enough distance for the warhead to arm before it impacts. Okay?"
Watkins nodded. "I hear ya. Actually, I seriously doubt if we'll need these. If we have to disable the Intrepid, I plan to do a little number on her OMS rocket fuel lines, and for that all I need is a big set of pliers. But if the Russkies show up, just shootin' one of these things off should scare the hell out of 'em and keep 'em at bay."
Hogan took off his soft fatigue hat and wiped his brow. "Major, just between us ground pounders, is this thing for real? I mean, are thp Russians really trying to heist one of our shuttles?"
Watkins shrugged again. "All we can do is go on the evidence, and the evidence tells us that a hijack can be the only explanation. By the way, until this thing is resolved, you and your crew are quarantined here at KSC. There's a tight security lid on this."
Hogan nodded. "I understand, sir, and so do my crew. I told 'em if they so much as opened their mouths about being here I'd turn 'em into sopranos real quick."
The bus halted and Mr. Tompkins turned postman turned Leland turned Loomis stepped out with his valise, saying "Thank you" to the driver. He now confronted the gantry and had to make a quick decision, In order to execute his mission with the platelike device, he needed access to a vulnerable part of the launch vehicle for a few moments — unobserved and alone. That was going to be difficult, because a gantry before launch was busy as an ant hill, with white figures scurrying around, reading gauges and making system checks. Loomis gave the scene a quick once-over — he would have to attempt something at the base of the orbiter around the engine nozzles, or ride the elevator up and take his chances on one of the upper levels of the gantry. Above all, he couldn't hesitate, for that would draw attention to himself.