The decision was really made for him. There were simply too many technicians around the rocket nozzles.
So in a forthright manner he strode over to the gantry elevator and waited behind two other men clad in white coveralls and hard hats. The cagelike elevator descended and opened, and all three men got on board. One of the technicians turned the hand control knob and the cage began to rise. Loomis had studied the available literature on the shuttle many times, so when the elevator stopped he knew the level on which they'd halted. The wire doors opened and his two companions stepped-out. Loomis followed.
When they were out on the gantry catwalk, one of the technicians — who had a set of barn-door ears sticking out from beneath his hard hat — turned around and inspected Loomis quizzically. "You sure you got off on the right level?" he asked. His partner turned around, too.
"This is the hydrogen vent access arm, isn't it?" queried Loomis politely.
"Yeah." It was a cautious response.
Loomis smiled. "Then I'm in the right place." He touched his ID card. "Don Loomis, Occupational Safety and Health Administration. We've had some complaints filed and I was sent here to verify a few measurements. Wonder if you might lend me a hand for just a minute?" As Loomis well knew, nothing squelched curiosity better than an imposition on someone's time.
The other technician, who had a pair of goldfish bug eyes, shrugged. "What do you need?" he queried.
Loomis extracted a wind-up metal tape measure and a clipboard from his valise. He handed one end of the tape measure to the goldfish-eyed technician and pointed. ' 'Now just hold the end of this tape measure against the girder right there." Loomis pulled the tape across the catwalk and jotted down the measurement. "Very good. Now then, if you would, hold it right up here," he said, indicating the top of the elevator opening. The technician sighed and did as he was told while Loomis extended the tape to the bottom of the opening and jotted down another number.
"Say, what's this for, anyway?" asked goldfish eyes.
In a tut-tut voice Loomis said, "Safety, my friend, safety. Your safety in particular. Would you believe I once had to investigate a catwalk accident — a catwalk very much like this one, I might add — at a chemical plant. The restraining door on the elevator was left wide open and a night watchman literally walked right through the hole and fell a hundred and seventy-five feet. It was ghastly, I don't mind telling you. Absolutely ghastly. The insurance company paid a handsome settlement on that one, and quite rightly so. Now we certainly don't want anything like that happening here, do we? Certainly not. Your government has an obligation to ensure you have a safe workplace."
Goldfish eyes nodded while his flap-eared companion shifted his weight from one foot to the other and said, "Come on, Tony. We can't wait around here all day."
Goldfish eyes nodded. "You need me anymore?" he asked.
"No, no," said Loomis. "You've been most helpful. I must say, this is quite a big bird you have here." He gazed up to the top of the external tank. "When is she taking off?" he asked casually.
Tony with the goldfish eyes shrugged. "Early tomorrow morning was the last I heard. Never really know, though. Things can always go wrong."
"I'm sure," Loomis smiled. "Well, thank you so much. I can manage from here."
The two techs nodded and walked down the catwalk of the gantry arm. They were making a check on the coupling that linked the hydrogen gas vent pipe to the big orange external tank.
Loomis started making random measurements of the girders along the catwalk cage while his mind raced through the timing arithmetic. Early tomorrow morning, goldfish eyes had said. Sunrise was about 6:30 a.m., so that would probably mean the launch would be about 6:30 to 7:30 a.m. Maybe. Maybe earlier. Loomis knew that the shuttle's external tank took five hours to fuel. If lift-off was to be at sunrise, then fueling would probably begin around 1:00 a. m. If he placed the platelike device — which was a small limpet mine — on the side of the external tank, and it detonated while the tank was empty, then that would delay the mission until the tank could be replaced. But Loomis took his orders to stop space shuttle Constellation at all costs to mean stop. Not delay. And that meant obliteration of the shuttle. Besides, after eight years of spying in America, Loomis wanted the capstone of his efforts to be greater than a little hole in an empty disposable tank. No. He wanted it all. And that meant detonation during fueling. All he needed was a few thousand liters of the liquid hydrogen loaded on board, and the small limpet mine would turn Pad 39A into a pyrotechnic display unlike anything since the Challenger went down. So he guessed somewhere between 1:00 a.m. and 7:30 a.m. would be the optimum time for detonation — say 4:30 a.m. The tank should have plenty of fuel by then.
The two technicians walked past him, heading for the elevator. Goldfish eyes asked, "You finished yet?"
"No, not quite." Loomis smiled while adjusting his wire-framed glasses. "I have a litde more to do still."
"Can you operate the elevator?" asked flap ears.
"Oh, my, yes. I work on construction catwalks all the time."
They both nodded. "Okay. See you," said goldfish eyes, and they disappeared into the elevator.
Loomis kept up his measuring routine while working his way toward the hydrogen gas vent coupling. He was keenly sensitive to discovery now, but no one paid him any attention. He was just another set of white coveralls on a catwalk.
Upon reaching the coupling he knelt down and extracted the limpet mine from his valise. He set the timer for 4:30 a. m., then with some effort he peeled off the waxed-paper-like film that covered its adhesive base. On many parts of the shuttle a magnetic attachment device wouldn't work, so adhesive was used.
He laid down and carefully sandwiched the mine — which was painted a neutral cream color — between the base of the catwalk superstructure and the external tank. He had to reach out and around the bottom girder of the catwalk and push the mine against the orange aluminum surface. Since he was a devout atheist, he hoped, rather than prayed, that no one would notice his arm sticking out of the catwalk.
No one did.
Loomis backed off and inspected his handiwork. Unless you placed your eye against the side of the external tank and looked straight down, you couldn't notice the mine from the catwalk. You could probably see it from the ground, but it was in the shadows of the catwalk and wouldn't be very visible until the gantry was pulled back a short time before launch. Then it would be predawn twilight.
Satisfied, Loomis picked up his valise and walked back down the catwalk. He rang for the elevator as if he were in a hotel. The empty cage appeared and he rode it down to the ground. Without hesitation he strode to the shuttle bus, and while keeping his head low he took his place as the last of a dozen techs climbing aboard. He sat alone in a seat by the driver and gazed out the window to avoid making eye contact with the other passengers.
After the short ride the bus doors clapped open at the security building, and Loomis filed out first. He pulled the clipboard out of his valise and pretended to study it while slowly sauntering toward the security "cattle chute." He had to allow the other employees to go past so he could switch ID cards again and stay out of earshot when the guard mentioned the name Leland.
The Russian was thinking about how incredibly easy the whole thing had been when a voice from behind asked, "Do you OSHA guys do much work out here on the Cape?"