Burnout: the mystery of Space Shuttle STS-281 (11 page)

"No," she sighed, writhing sensuously in his arms, "it's perfect as it is. Don't stop."

"I won't."

Within seconds, she was panting, as her body began to stiffen, arousal building. He felt the tension growing in her. Gayle's panting turned to gasps as her excitement increased, becoming nearly intolerable. Her hands locked behind the small of his back, refusing to let go, as her passion mounted.

Then her entire body stiffened, appearing to strain against invisible bonds. Crash's strong hands held her in place as he delivered several powerful, distinct thrusts. Gayle gave a low, protracted moan, and she seemed to explode in Crash's arms, writhing and thrashing wildly against him, gasping, groaning, as her body spent itself on him.

Abruptly Crash began to pant as well, his hands leaving her hips to dig into the bedclothes beneath him, as he felt a sudden intense jolt of pleasure that began at the tip of his shaft, expanding downward into his loins, then outward, blowing away all comprehensible thought. He gave a hoarse, incoherent cry, and erupted within his lover.

Crash groaned in ecstasy. His body had become an untamed mustang, uncontrolled, leaping, bucking, and thrusting against the woman who rode him. Desperate to express himself to this wonderful woman, he cried out. "Gayle!" he gasped. "I love you!"

Gayle's heart soared as she heard the cry, and knew that it came straight from his heart, unfeigned, in his moment of total vulnerability. "I love you, too, Crash!" she breathed into his ear, then her mouth clamped onto the curve where his throat met his shoulder, both in passion, and to suppress the sounds that issued from deep within her.

Crash felt the hungry kiss, and tilted his head aside in a wordless request for more. Dimly he became aware that he would have the mother of all hickeys the next day, and laughed to himself, not caring in the least.

Gradually their bodies subsided, spent. Gayle slumped on top of Crash, unmoving. Crash lay quiescent; his arms limp around his lover, content to lie there with her, still joined to her.

They drifted off to sleep, still entwined.

Chapter 9

Well before sunrise the next day, Crash had already done the morning chores, gotten the mail, showered and dressed in a chambray shirt and jeans. As soon as he was ready, he went into the kitchen, making a large breakfast for two. "Gayle!" he ducked into the hall and called into the bedroom, "time to get up!" A moan sounded from somewhere in the depths of the bedroom, followed by a rueful giggle. The sounds of motion came through the doorway moments after, and he returned to the kitchen, greeting Gayle with a kiss on top of her head as she stumbled, half-awake, into the room about fifteen minutes later, clad in a faded grey NASA meatball t-shirt and worn jeans.

"Still keepin' doctor's hours, I see," he teased with an affectionate smile. "Sleep okay?"

"Well, I did have the evening shift on 281. Not quite back to normal hours yet," Gayle made excuse, flushing and giving him a sheepish grin. "Yeah, I slept all right, considering. You?"

"Umm… I got up later on, and spent most of the night reading log books…" Crash focused on removing the bacon from the frying pan, casually keeping his back to his girlfriend.

"And keeping watch over the place, I'll bet," Gayle hazarded a guess, and watched as Crash averted his reddening face.

"Well," he said in a husky voice, "there was somebody very special to me, spending the night. I wanted to make sure she stayed safe."

Gayle, deeply touched, choked, unable to speak. She watched silently as he sat plates of bacon, eggs, and homemade biscuits on the kitchen table. "Mmm… that smells good," she managed to get out.

"Yeah. Not exactly a ‘heart healthy diet,'" Crash grinned as they sat down and dug in, "but once in awhile…"

"Yeah," Gayle agreed, then added, sad sapphire eyes glimmering, "last meal for the condemned?"

"NO," Crash insisted. "Now quit talking like that. I did some planning last night."

"Okay, let's hear it."

"All right. You and I are going to disappear, honey. I want you to take Highway 290 back into the Houston inter-loop. Go all the way to I-10, head east on the interstate, and keep going. When you get to Lake City, Florida, hit Interstate 75 south, then take the Florida Turnpike to Orlando. This is…" he glanced at the calendar on the refrigerator, "Thursday morning. I'll meet you Saturday night at 7 o'clock Eastern in front of Spaceship Earth at EPCOT. We had fun there that time, and no one will expect it. You take the medical records, and I'll get all the other stuff. We can get clothes and shit when we get to Orlando, ‘cause I've got cash. Then we'll sort it out from there. Do NOT use your real name. Use… let's see… ‘Gwen Thompson.' And try not to use your credit cards."

"All right. But I've got a better idea. Why don't you come with me?" Gayle proposed, trying not to seem anxious at the prospect of going alone.

"Two reasons: One, it'll be harder--on whoever the hell it is that's masterminding the cover up--to get us, if we split up. Two, I've got a couple of things I need to arrange before I can afford to disappear, and I'll feel better if you go ahead and get out of pocket."

"All right," Gayle sighed, defeated. "I'll go get my junk and load up the Suburban."

About an hour later, they both stood beneath the live oak, beside Gayle's vehicle. Her luggage was just visible through the dark tinted windows of the cargo area in the back. "Be careful, Crash," she whispered, hugging him.

"You too, Gayle," he murmured, lifting her chin to kiss her. "I'll see you at the Mouse Kingdom." He watched in silence, a foreboding feeling of anxiety gripping his gut, as she got in the sport utility vehicle, started the ignition, and drove away.

As he turned to go back into the house, Crash thought he heard, in the near distance, the sound of an engine starting. He paused for a split second on the threshold, startled, then continued inside, locking the front door behind him.

Once inside, he paused to muse for a brief moment.
I know every sound on this place, and that wasn't one of ‘em
, he realized, growing worried.
There's no road or other house for a couple of miles in any direction, until you get off my ranch … and what happened to Phantom? He was up half the night last night, barkin' like an idiot at Gayle's Suburban, but this morning… nothing. He didn't even come out to tell her goodbye,
he recalled with a shock.
That doesn't sound good.

Crash flipped on the light in his study, then went to his bedroom and grabbed his binoculars. Running to the great room in the front of the house, he slipped inside the room and combat crawled across the carpeted oak floor to the large picture window, where he cautiously raised his head over the sill.
Nothing in the yard…
He raised the binoculars and scanned the area. Since the house was situated in a shady clump of live oak on the top of a rolling hill, it commanded a good vista, and with the aid of the binoculars, Crash had an excellent view for at least a mile.

"Shit," Crash breathed, in shock at what he saw. Off to the left of the house, about three-quarters of a mile away in an empty pasture, on one of the roads Crash had cut in for the farm truck, sat a black Jeep Cherokee. Two men in dark clothes stood beside it in the early morning light, brazenly watching the house as the sun rose behind it. A small, furry black mound lay nearby, and as Crash zoomed the binoculars on the object, a pool of congealing blood became discernible around the animal's body.
Aw, hell,
Crash thought, appalled, as he recognized the pitiful remains of his faithful little four-footed companion.
Phantom, ol' buddy…

He blinked a moment, clearing his blurred vision, then continued to scan the group. Several pieces of equipment lay spread out on the hood of the Jeep. An ominous trail of pale dust hung in the still morning air, leading away from the Jeep.
Another vehicle must have just left,
he inferred, then suddenly understood.
Oh, damn, damn, DAMN… Gayle.
"They're after her," he whispered aloud, horrified, terror gripping his heart.

Crash dropped flat to the floor, desperate, thinking fast. He had to try to catch Gayle before they did. But they'd see him if he took the truck down the driveway. He had to slow them down, in any case, or they'd be on top of him before he could get far. He raised his head again, and scanned the entire area within sight of the window.
No others. Good.
Dropping back down, he crawled out of the room, then ran to the kitchen, where he used the binoculars to check around the barn.
Looks like they're it. This might just work, then. Gotta move fast, faster than I've ever moved in my life.

Slinging the binoculars over his shoulder, Crash hurried into the bathroom, dug in the cabinet, and got out a heating pad, then hastened into the study. Forcing himself to saunter over to the window, he closed the curtain, then switched on the PC. While it booted, he plugged the heating pad into the power strip, plopped it into his desk chair, and turned it on, selecting the high setting.
If they're using infra-red sensors,
he thought,
that might confuse ‘em for a bit.

Turning to the computer, he brought up the web browser, selected the bookmark for the noisiest web site he could think of, and initiated the audio system. Then he picked up the phone and dialed his brother's number.

"Be gone, Jimmy, please be gone like I told you," he mouthed almost prayerfully, as the phone rang. Moving to the window, he peeped through with the binocs, and saw the two men lean over the equipment on the Jeep's hood.
That answers that question. The phone's bugged. I wonder how long they've been watching…?

The phone clicked as the other end of the line answered. Jimmy's voice announced, "Hi, you've reached the Murphy residence. We're not in at this interesting moment, but leave your message and we'll get back to you as soon as we can."

As he listened to the new message, Crash smiled in relief.
Good job, little brother. You got my message and got the hell outta Dodge. That's one bunch I don't have ta worry about. At least, I hope.

As the answering machine shrilled in his ear, Crash began talking fast, extreme worry translating as excitement in the tone of his voice. "Jimmy, it's Crash. I've figured it out. I know what happened to
Atlantis
. And it wasn't Jet's fault. In fact…" Crash went out on a limb, watching through the binoculars, "Jet wasn't even at the controls. Get over here right away. I'll fill you in."

As he hung up, Crash saw one of the men scowl fiercely, then slam his fist down on the hood in anger and frustration. The pair in black scrambled to gather up the equipment, stowing it in the back of the Jeep, in preparation for a quick getaway. Crash tensed in unpleasant anticipation. When he saw one of them reach into the Cherokee and pull out a large pistol, then slip it into a shoulder holster, he knew they meant business.

"All right, they can't cut across the pasture ‘cause of the fence, so they'll have to take the road," Crash told himself, as he rapidly analyzed the situation. "That means I've got about ten minutes, max. Time to get my ass in high gear."

Glancing around the room, he grabbed a huge handful of data sticks from the stack of evidence and dropped them in his shirt pockets until they bulged, buttoning them shut. Several more data sticks on lanyards likewise went around his neck, inside his shirt. Three more, without lanyards, went into his jeans pocket.

Spotting the stack of mail, he saw an overnight express package from Lisa, and snatched it up.
Probably the transcript and tape dub,
he thought. He grabbed the laptop, still in its travel case, and ran back to his bedroom.
For once I'm glad I hate to unpack,
he thought as he caught up the duffel and headed for the back door.

Cautiously he glanced out the kitchen window, seeing nothing to put him on alert, then slipped out the door, locking it behind him. He slung the duffel over his shoulder and made for the barn at a dead run.

"C'mon, Yaw, ol' boy," Crash told his quarter horse while he saddled up as fast as he could, flinging gear into saddlebags, "we gotta make tracks--no, I guess we gotta not make tracks--and fast. Never thought I'd be glad of a drought."

Leading Yaw out the back of the barn, Crash listened with his entire being.
Nothing yet. But they probably won't bring the Jeep all the way to the house. That would be a dumb move that could get them seen from the road, and from what I've observed, they aren't that stupid. That'll slow ‘em down, then, because they'll have to walk up the hill.
He glanced at his watch, making a quick decision.
I should still have a couple of minutes left. I'll risk it.
Mounting Yaw,
Crash turned the horse away from the house and urged him into a gallop on the sere, sunburnt grass, being careful to keep the barn between them and the house. To Crash's relief, the ground was so hard, Yaw's hoof beats didn't raise so much as a puff of dust.
But Yaw veered off to the right, starting to move out of the protection of the barn's extensive silhouette as viewed from the house.

"Dammit, Yaw!" Crash exclaimed, reining his recalcitrant horse back onto the desired path, and pushing his right calf into the horse's side, "break left! I don't have time for this fool running-out shit of yours! You'll get us both killed!" After a moment, the horse yielded to the cues, and horse and rider continued on at speed.

About a half a mile away in the back pasture was a creek, a tributary to the nearby Brazos River, now cut some five or six feet deep into the surrounding soil by the last hurricane's flash flood. Crash rode down between its banks, then dismounted and led Yaw along it until he could see the house. A curl of black smoke rose from the front of the house into the clear blue sky. Crash's eyes grew wide in shock. "No, they didn't," he whispered, horrified. "Dear God… not my house. Not my home." As he watched, orange flames appeared in the first floor windows, and moments later, he heard the sound of glass shattering as the windows broke in the heat of the fire.

"Oh, damn," Crash whispered, agonized, face drawn in pain as he watched his home destroyed. Then he turned away, mounted Yaw, and slunk downstream.