Reid stood silently for a moment, hands on his hips, focused on the six large wall sized screens in front of the room. He squinted his eyes. His intuition was telling him this was a significant event. And professional disaster in the making. Just over 18 years of monitoring launches, he’s never had one like this. So far, while on his watch, there was an undetected flash, an undetected launch, a missile that was able to easily change directions more rapidly than ever seen, followed by a disappearance. Things weren’t looking good.
“Well, sir. Don’t know what to say,” said Sox as he stood up, shrugged his shoulders, and put his hands in the air. He peeked around at the other screens in the room to see if they had something in their regions. After a brief moment, he looked at the empty soda can, and sat back down.
Silence filled the air, and not a soul connected to the floor’s intercom said a word. In a very short amount of time, a strange and historical event that has never happened before, just took place in front of them. They went from silence to heart-attack mode to nothing, in what seemed like a few seconds. The keepers of the world’s launches, the very guardians that allow Americans to sleep peacefully at night, for the first time in history, just lost a target. An unheard of, ‘never’ event.
The only sounds emitting were the blowing air from the vents in the high ceiling, and the electric motors in the rotating red-lights that resembled the emergency lights on the roof of a fire-truck. Another seven or eight long seconds went by with no tones or voice chatter on the Operations Center intercom. The data feeds on the monitors were blank, more like flat lined, with no live tracking numbers on the target. Other watch standers stood and looked around the room at each other in disbelief, searching for answers, then turned to stare at Reid.
“Sox. Come on, kid. Anything?” asked Reid.
After another few moments of awkward silence, Sox spoke up, with his head down, staring at the console and floor. Quietly, said with a disappointing whisper into his headset, he delivered the right hook punch.
Sox cleared his throat. “This one has disappeared, sir.” Then silence.
Sox then delivered the knockout news that everyone in the room already knew, announced just as quietly. After another lengthy pause, Sox put his hands to his face and rubbed his eyes, then moved the microphone to his mouth. “Sir. It’s gone.”
Part 1 — Link
Shit. I hate the water. Why did I ask to come to this? Wu thought silently to himself. As Wu Lee sat in the back of the van, his palms were clammy and the pit in his stomach grew as the anxiety about the river water had really started to bother him. The acidic taste in his mouth was at an eleven on a scale of one to five. His shortness of breath, racing heartbeat, and his inability to focus on anything but worrying about the upcoming white water rafting, dominated his thoughts. He wasn’t sure if anyone else in the van could detect his fear, but he sure as shit had a good case of it.
Chinese teenager Wu Lee, a tall, skinny 15-year old boy, sat in the American family’s van, leaning his head on the window, emotionless and lost in thought about the water. He tried to think about his goal of flying airplanes one day, but he was obsessing about this trip on the water. Why did I say yes to attend this? Wearing a white tee-shirt and dark black pants, he was eating some Chinese almond cookies that smelled delicious. Gangly with dark, black hair, he towered over most of his Beijing neighbors at five foot, ten inches tall, and was driving to the White River with best friend Ford Stevens and his family. Although not feeling well, he was infatuated with the larger and warm Stevens family, along with their generous sharing of American culture.
“Mr. Stevens, ahh, what is it like to white water raft? How do you… steer?” asked Wu, with continued curiosity.
Wu was a single child raised by his mother, residing in a small, two-bedroom apartment in a high-rise tower on the same floor as the Stevens family. He excelled at running, math, chess, American movie trivia, and like any teenage boy, liked talking to girls. Wu’s father, a deceased pharmacist who died when Wu was young, never had the opportunity to bond with his son. Over the past seven years, Wu had grown close to the Stevens family in Beijing, and looked upon Mr. Chad Stevens, the patriarch of the Stevens family, as the father figure he never really had in his life.
“Wu, it’ll be a great day. I promise. Beautiful weather, water, wildlife, and some fantastic scenery. Fresh air out of the smog and pollution. We’ll take care of you… show you how to hit the water and have some fun,” replied Chad Stevens, as he drove the family van from the city into the countryside. “Ford will show you, Wu.”
Ford Stevens, the American teenage boy of the Stevens family, was in the back of the white van, too. Ford was also 15-years old, wearing blue jeans and a forest green sweat-shirt, tightly shorn brown hair with an athletic build, was one of three kids in the Stevens family. At six feet, he was also the up and coming varsity defensive end football player at Saint Paul American School in Beijing, and had exceptional athletic talent and strength. He, too, had dreamt of flying at a young age. Ford had grown up from age seven to present day with Wu as his close friend, and although they attended separate schools, they were able to spend much of their free time outside of school together.
Ford’s father, Chad, a Vice-President and petroleum engineer at Shell Oil, accepted this China promotion years ago to help expand Shell’s presence in the country. The Stevens family, resilient and flexible enough to accept moving regularly, had previously moved with Shell Oil from Calgary, to London, to Washington DC three different times, then Cairo, and, of course, Shell’s North American office in Houston, Texas. Shell was due to rotate Chad this summer back to Washington, yet again.
Piped in to the van’s radio using a smart phone was Armed Forces Radio Network, airing an American football game from back in the states.
“The Dallas Cowboys will be kicking off here in a second. Playing the Lions!” said Ford from the far side of the van, excited to hear his favorite team playing again on a time-zone delay.
Wu gave Ford a slap handshake. “Listen to all the fans in that stadium, watching the game in person. And the music, and cheering, and the singing. So much opportunity for everyone in United States,” Wu said as he listened to the game. Sitting in front of him were Ford’s younger sister Samantha, and younger brother Charlie.
“We got a game, Dad. Kickoff!” said Ford, as he shook his fist up and down, like many quarterbacks do after completing a forward pass. Ford knew it was going to be an exciting game because of the recent team owner drama, but more importantly, he was happy Wu was there to experience the day. Chad Stevens listened in closely, too.
“Chad, can you slow down please? You’re speeding along this road like you’re an Indy race car driver. Slow it down, Tonto,” said Marion Stevens, Ford’s mom. Wearing black pants and a pink fleece, her long brown hair up in a pony-tail, 45 year-old Marion was attractive and in great physical shape. She turned around from the front seat of the van to see Wu making a funny face.
“Wu, what’s with the face?” asked Marion.
“What does Tonto mean, Mrs. Stevens?” replied Wu, wondering what the American term meant.
The Stevens’ all looked at each other, then broke out in laughter. Little Sam turned her head and looked at Wu and told him it was a character from an old television show in America.