Yemitov was morose. He initially had been inspired at the prospect of capturing an American shuttle, but that feeling evaporated when Vostov told him about the destruction of the Constellation. He had always admired his fellow American space travelers, and didn't like the feeling of being an accomplice, of sorts, to their murder.
Lubinin seemed to read his comrade's thoughts, and his false cheerfulness disappeared. "I understand how you feel, Sergeivich," lamented the elder cosmonaut, "but what could we have done?"
Yemitov's pale blue eyes stared back at his friend. "Nothing," he replied simply.
Finally, thought Woltman. Finally, we're getting somewhere. The AP bureau office was abuzz about the launch. The bureau chief had notified the Washington office and they were tracking the story from that end, while Woltman and two reporters from the local bureau were tracking it from the Florida end. Woltman was now on a conference call with the Kennedy Space Center press office. He'd been badgering everyone he knew in NASA all day long and had come up with a big zero. The lid was down tight on this one. Nobody would say anything. Not in Florida or Washington. They'd run into such a stone wall that his bureau chief had even started to question if there had actually been a launch. Now Woltman was glad he'd put it on the flash circuit, even though that was supposed to take the bureau chief's approval. The flash had finally triggered enough pressure to make the KSC press office squeal. Woltman had the phone in his hand, waiting for the NASA public relations guy to speak on a conference call.
"UPI, are you there?" asked the disembodied press officer.
"Yeah, I'm here," said the UPI reporter.
"AP?"
"Present and accounted for," replied Woltman in an acid tone.
"ABC, NBC, CBS, are you there?"
"Yeah."
"Yes."
"Yeah."
"I'm here, too," said the man from the Herald.
The voice on the phone cleared his throat. "This statement is from the Kennedy Space Center press office and is for discretionary release. No questions will be entertained after the statement is read… 'At four-thirty a.m., Eastern Standard Time, a space vehicle was launched from KSC on a trajectory that took the spacecraft over southwest Florida. The launch was executed flawlessly without injury to the civilian population. The nature and purpose of this mission is related to the Strategic Defense Initiative and, therefore, must remain classified. While launches over southern Florida are without precedent, the particular trajectory of this vehicle traveled over sparsely populated areas and did not present an excessive danger to the civilian population. It was specifically authorized by National Command Authorities.' End of statement."
"What kind of vehicle was it?" asked the UPI reporter.
"As I said initially, I'm not going beyond the statement," said the press officer firmly.
"Listen, buster!" barked Woltman. "I got a press release in front of me that was put out by your office a week ago. It says a shuttle — the Constellation—is slated to launch five days from now to carry a COSMAX telescope and a communications satellite into orbit. That wasn't, by any chance, the 'vehicle' you spoke of, was it?"
A few moments passed before the public relations man responded tersely: "I'm not going beyond the statement."
Woltman knew when he'd hit a nerve. "Listen, babyface, if I hire a helicopter and fly past your shuttle pads and don't see a Constellation sitting there, you're gonna look like an asswipe in every paper from Boston to Honolulu, so you'd better come across now. I'm asking you again, was it the Constellation!''
The disembodied voice cleared his throat once again,then finally emitted a barely audible "Yes."
Woltman jumped out of his chair. "What! You launched a shuttle over south Florida! Are you guys nuts? Didn't you ever hear of the Challenger? What if that thing took a wrong turn and wiped out downtown Miami? Better yet, Palm Beach? Is something screwed up on this Star Wars business? Is that what it's about? You got a meltdown on that platform reactor of yours? What's happening, sweetheart? C'mon, what gives?"
"Yeah, what gives, turkey?" echoed the man from ABC.
"A shuttle. You'd better come up with something better than a cardboard press release," demanded the Herald reporter. "This is industrial-strength shit."
"I'm not going beyond the statement," said the press officer defiantly, and the connection was terminated.
Woltman stared at the receiver in his hand. Gad. A shuttle. This was bigger than he'd ever dreamed. It had to be. Woltman had been without sleep for almost thirty-six hours now, but the vestiges of fatigue evaporated as his mind raced forward. The launch meant there was trouble. Trouble on the SDI platform. The SDI program was controlled by the Pentagon and the White House, and they were in Washington. He knew it would be impossible to get into the vortex of the story from where he sat in Miami. He'd spent two years with the Herald's Washington bureau, and still had some friends up there. He made a quick decision. He was going to D.C., with or without his stingy bureau chief's sponsorship. This was his story, and he was going to stay on top of it. He strode into the chief's office, trying to keep the words "Pulitzer, Pulitzer, Pulitzer" from intruding on his thoughts.
THE FIFTH DAY
Like dual pyrotechnic projectiles rising into the night, the SL-4 and SL-14 boosters painted two orange streaks across the black sky with their blazing tail cones.
Chief Designer Grigory Vostov should have monitored the liftoff from the launch bunker — but he didn't. Instead, Vostov stood alone in the freezing night, watching the two tongues of flame grow smaller in the distance. When they finally disappeared, he shrugged to himself and trudged off to the sleeping quarters. He'd done everything he could possibly do.
The eyes of the Teal Sapphire launch detection satellite were its high-resolution lenses, but its heart was the on-board mosaic of electro-optic sensors called charged coupler devices, or CCDs. These CCD mosaics were stimulated by radiant energy passed on to them by the satellite's infrared scanner — which is to say, temperature changes within Teal Sapphire's field of vision were rapidly detected.
Against the cold nighttime backdrop of the Kazakhstan steppes, the twin infernos shooting out of the Baikonur Cosmodrome caused the satellite's CCD mosaics to go crazy.
Brig. Gen. John Fairchild was minding the store in the Crow's Nest again when one of the phones buzzed. He picked it up. On the other end was a captain who was monitoring the Teal Sapphire satellite. The young officer said, "Launch detection, sir. Headed south out of Baikonur… no, wait — check that. I've got some separation in the signatures. Make that a dual launch. Two separate boosters. I'll get you a configuration analysis and a bearing in a minute."
Sir Isaac looked at the ground track and position of the Intrepid on the center projection screen. There was no question in his mind what was happening. He picked up another phone and buzzed Whittenberg in his office. "General," he reported, "the Russians are headed upstairs. In two vehicles."