Jezebel's Ladder (37 page)

The shuttle approach was simultaneously agonizing and
dazzling. Phoenix flew in from above the satellite, where the defenses were least
sensitive. The video feed and tracking data filled an entire wall of the
command center. Off to one side, they could see the disk of the Earth, with the
glow of dawn crawling over the farthest ocean. At first, the hundred-meter
Icarus field appeared as a warped pool of stars. Points of light moved across
the odd little patch like people passing by a fish-eye lens. The field behaved
in part like a giant, spherical prism. The thunderstorm off the California coast was truly eerie to watch. Nobody in the room spoke, except for an
occasional reassurance or minor course correction. All of them were hypnotized
by the beast that threatened to kill the planet. It was gorgeous. Poisonous
snakes were often the prettiest.

“This is the trickiest part of the
flight plan,” Buzz explained. “Phoenix only has a very narrow window of speeds
and trajectories that would allow it to get into position to use the tripod by
4:00 a.m.”

Only a moment after the ship passed
the Icarus field, communications began to experience difficulties. The
technicians said it had nothing to do with the satellite.

Buzz demanded, “Who’s doing it?!”

“We can’t be certain, sir. It could
be sabotage, or a defect in any one of a dozen components. There are at least a
dozen news trucks that could be hiding jamming gear and a few helicopters close
enough to use ELINT,” said the closest man with a headset.

After a few moments of
experimenting, he said, “We seem to be receiving just fine, but Quan is not
reporting reception of our signal. The problem could even be at their end. Phoenix will have to navigate the window on its own.”

The crew worked together as a team
under pressure, each member performing his function flawlessly.

“Never mind how we’re being
jammed,” said Buzz. “I need to know why.”

A woman at another console
announced, “NORAD confirms multiple launches. Repeat, missiles launched from
the South China Sea. Analyzing for target.”

Buzz turned red. “We know the
target. Rick, find out how long till the missiles get there. Bronson, get these
civilians out of here!”

Amy let herself be escorted out. PJ
hung around, riveted to the screen.

“If those missiles are Chinese,
they probably won’t have the capability to go orbital,” said Halsey, an
analyst.

“It doesn’t matter. As long as the
Star Wars system wants to shoot it down, and the Phoenix shuttle is in between,
our crew is dead,” PJ commented. One or two people glared at him but Buzz had
adopted him. He had a point, so they stayed quiet.

Buzz turned pale. “Sneaky SOBs. Phoenix can’t even dodge fast, or that would trigger the defenses. Halsey, get me the
intercept point where the laser will take out the missiles, then draw a ten
degree cone of safety around it.”

“Negative, that would place Phoenix outside the deflection zone.”

Casey, a woman on the communications
board, said, “No confirmation from Brazil, either. Our transmissions are being
jammed.”

Rick, the analyst, spoke up. “The
defenses will start shooting within twenty-five minutes.”

“So we wait till the missiles are
gone and move Phoenix back in,” said Buzz.

Several people at consoles shook
their heads.

“My calculations show them either
running out of air if we try that,” said one.

“Mine show them hitting the
atmospheric drag during EVA,” said Rick. This was like a game of foosball with
five sides. PJ’s neck was getting sore from the rapid turning.

“The jamming transmitter isn’t in
any of the trucks along the beach, or the helicopters. It’s coming from
inside,” said Casey.

“Would this be a good time to
mention that I recently lost my access badge?” PJ whispered to Buzz.

“You what?! Mister, around here, I
fire people for stunts like that,” he replied. “When I get ten minutes to
breathe, I’m going to tear you a new one. For now, just consider yourself
reamed.”

“Yes, sir!”

Alarms sounded faintly in the
background.

“What have we still got in the
Asian rim?”

“A few submarines, just in case.”

“Our missiles wouldn’t be fast or
smart enough to catch these birds.”

“The interference is coming from
inside this building, sir—the main computer room,” announced Casey.

Her news was trumped by the next
bulletin. “One of the missiles has diverted to the coast of Taiwan.” One of the big-screen monitors flipped to a land-sat view of the Chinese coast.

“That’s a US ally; the satellite is bound to respond even quicker,” said Rick.

PJ shouted, “So we have our ships
fire on a US base!” Every head in the room turned toward him. “If the
anti-missile device has a priority scheme, it will protect immediate threats to
a US installation first. We just fire the missiles far enough away from the
Chinese, and Phoenix will have its window.”

Bronson considered it. “Six to ten
missiles per submarine, fired at one-minute intervals toward Okinawa, Hawaii, or Alaska. That might give just enough time.”

“I’ll call Gabriel.” Less then five
minutes later, Buzz announced, “The wheels are in motion; we have fast track to
launch. Smith, you’re re-hired. Take one of these walkie-talkies and get your
ass down to the computer room with the others to find out what the hell is
going on.”

“Yes, sir,” PJ said, seizing his
chance to be useful again. He ran after Bronson.

They jogged the short distance to
the computer room. Once inside, Bronson literally tripped over the smoking gun,
a suction-cup device used to move floor tiles. They had no idea which section
had been tampered with, so someone had to play gopher. Since PJ was the
skinniest and had been down there recently, he was elected.

Bronson handed him a flashlight and
clapped him on the back as he began his sub-floor spelunking expedition. The
air coming out was arctic. “Be careful. We’ve already had one man electrocuted
in here today.”

The crew of the Phoenix had
gathered in the cargo bay to begin the extravehicular exercise. It sounded like
preparations would take a few more minutes, so they had a fighting chance.
Bronson had tuned their radios to the control room so that, as time got
tighter, they could stay informed of the Phoenix’s activities. However, due to
the jamming, the radios didn’t work inside the lab.

Crawling through innumerable
tangles and over several exposed power outlets, PJ did everything possible to
avoid inflicting more damage to the lab, but the equipment under the floor was
so densely packed, it grabbed at his clothing. After fumbling through half the
floor, PJ caught his pant leg on something while wriggling between a beam and a
junction box. While freeing himself, he spotted light leaking in from behind
the rack of scramblers. The tile hadn’t been properly replaced! Mere feet away,
he saw it—a hockey puck, just like the one Elroy had used.

“Bronson, did the spooks come back
to visit?” he asked through the floor.

“While you were in the chapel.
They’re around somewhere. Why?”

PJ reached his arm to full
extension and snatched the offending device. The second he switched it off,
someone on the radio shouted, “Freeze!” and a gunshot tore through the air.

PJ smashed his watch face popping
up out of the crawlspace. The display went blank.

They all heard Mr. Spacely’s voice
scream, “My leg!”

PJ’s hands were shaking too much to
put the tiles back in their rightful places. Two guards nodded to him and took
over. He needed to sit down when he heard Nick say, “Shut up, or I’ll aim
higher next time.”

His badge had resurfaced.

Bronson was already in motion,
running down the hallway. PJ snapped out of his trance and followed. For the
second time today, they had a hostage situation. “You’ll never get away,”
Spacely muttered. “This place will be swarming with snipers in minutes.”

From the mission Control room, in a
voice that told PJ how little remained of his old friend, Nick said, “Like one
farmer said to the other: I don’t need to out-run the bear; I just need to
out-run you.”

Bell, the shrink, tried to soothe
him and get him to talk while the scramblers power-cycled again. They would
have the capability to contact Phoenix in a matter of seconds. Crupkin was
radioing Control to coordinate the placement of the tripod, but no one was
allowed to respond yet.

Bell had Nick talking, but he
wasn’t saying anything encouraging. “It’s not your problem, lady.”

“If you tell us what your problem
is, maybe we could be of some assistance.”

Nick laughed. “They want this thing
to crash. They want the incident. Spacely here was paid off.”

The spook started to deny this, but
Nick wouldn’t allow it. He pulled the trigger again. From the sounds of the
screams, it was another kneecap. “The truth!”

“Yes, I took the money!”

Transmitters were green, but the
Control room was paralyzed. Phoenix had successfully aligned the tripod and was
waiting for word from them.

Bronson turned down the volume and
whispered. “All right, guys, how do we take this fruitcake out?”

“Why do we need to?” PJ asked
hollowly. His hope and compassion were nearly exhausted. “He’s thinning the
local rodent population.”

They had reached Buzz’s office,
which had a commanding view of the hostage situation if one peeked between the
Venetian blinds. When Phoenix tried to move forward with the tripod array, the
computer attached to the third telescope crashed. It couldn’t handle the load.
The shuttle needed Control to keep the device on target. Rick announced that US
countermeasures were almost exhausted and the Chinese missiles would be drawing
fire within twelve minutes.

Bell negotiated, manipulated, and
begged, but could gain no ground against Nick’s raving. Bronson asked, “Reggie,
could you hit him from here?”

The guard next to him shook his
head. “Too many people, too much equipment and distance between us.”

“What the hell does this guy want?”

PJ spoke up. “I know this guy, or I
did. He’s in it for the revenge. Nick will take it outside if you let him.”

“Christ, do you make it a business
to know every psycho in the state?”

Hoping to save the lives of a few
billion strangers, PJ said, “Offer him an infirmary nearby. Tell him they have
sulfur and rubber hoses. He’ll deal.”

Even the most hardcore guard in the
group moved away from him for suggesting they help Nick torture this man. “It
goes against everything that my parents taught me, but I want to live.”
Besides, Spacely had worked Nick over for hours, and a few minutes of payback
didn’t seem out of line. When Buzz balked, PJ pressed, “You’ve got to choose:
one traitor or the Phoenix. If the Phoenix goes, we all do.”

“What are you talking about?” asked
one guard.

“Do it,” Buzz ordered.

Bronson said to PJ, “You stay here
and talk to the nut. Give us a minute head start. Direct him through the south
corridor. That will give us a shot. As soon as he’s out, Control can lock down
and finish the mission.”

Soon, PJ was alone. After sixty
seconds of self-loathing, he opened the blinds. Nick blew a hole in the window
as his friend jumped to the side. Over the intercom, he said, “Nick, it’s me.”

“Go away; I’m busy.”

“I want to help.”

Nick shook his head. “It’s all over
but the screaming. You can’t stop the sky from falling, but you can have a good
time while it does.”

PJ swallowed hard and clenched a
webbed chair back to steady his voice. “That’s what I’m trying to help you
with. I found a place you might like to visit. It has scalpels, syringes, and a
whole lot of interesting drugs for you to use on that lab rat.”

His face changed; beatific
satisfaction stretched his features. With a smile, he pointed to two people in
the crowd. “You and you, put this garbage on a roller chair and push him to the
infirmary. We’ll go out that door,” Nick said pointing north.

Without sounding too eager, PJ
said, “But the map up here says the other way is shorter.”

“Thanks, I’ve been in this spider
web before.”

PJ radioed Bronson, but he didn’t
have time to move his men into a new position.

The second Nick was gone from the
room, people barred the Control room doors and Buzz was on the line to Phoenix. They had about ten minutes till the fireworks were scheduled to start. Quan stayed
with the device and ordered the Phoenix away at the maximum, safe, burn rate.

There were more gunshots in the
halls. Reports the guards gave Buzz over his headset said that Nick had made it
to the infirmary with his hostage. Once at his destination, Nick let his
helpers go. However, several people had been injured in the impromptu raid, and
now there was nowhere nearby for them to be treated. Thankfully, they couldn’t
hear the screams from the Control room. Buzz ignored security as they made
plans for another siege.

Quan, with help from NASA
navigation networks, steered the tripod on a slow, steady course to the point
of ignition. When they reached the five-minute mark, Buzz ordered Quan to pull
out and let the automatics take it the rest of the way.

PJ sat in the office chair, a mute
observer.

“That’s a negative,” said Quan. “The
auto-alignment doesn’t work on the third leg. It has older firmware than the
other two. Whenever I let it go, it drifts. This is going to have to be
finished on manual.”

The room was silent for a moment,
in reverence. Commander Quan was going to guide the ice personally to allow the
others the chance to escape. He was going to sacrifice himself. Buzz spoke
again at last, “Roger. It’s been an honor, sir. Any last requests?”