Authors: Chris Keith
“North Korean politicians,” Hennessey muttered as she clicked the television off. “Everyone knows they’re lying because they’re speaking.”
At half past two, she made her way downstairs and ducked outside for some fresh air. Reporters and journalists carrying huge expensive camera equipment were arriving. Nobody seemed to recognise her, probably because she was a late addition to the balloon team. Anyhow, anonymity suited her right now because in about thirty minutes the whole world would know her.
“How would you like to be famous worldwide?”
Samuel Doe, Director of the NASA Dryden Flight Research Centre, tilted back in his chair spinning a biro in his fingers. His phone was ringing but he ignored it. “I have a special assignment for you in Britain, if you’re interested?”
She’d always dreamed of working for NASA, even as a child. She had first studied for a Bachelor of Science degree in Physical Science, then went on to do her Masters. Next came the training, which was dynamic, challenging and time
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consuming, pushing her beyond the limits of her own capability. Each learning domain was integrated; cognitive strategies, verbal information and intellectual skills; assessing and challenging the pilot through computer
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based training, distance and data knowledge, theory
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based instruction and aircraft simulation. She passed, passed, passed consistently.
Her only regret was that her father didn’t approve of her career at NASA. He couldn’t understand why she would want to risk her life testing aircraft when she should have been settling down with a nice family of her own. Aside from their old
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fashioned prejudices on love, family and commitments, both of her parents were devout Catholics attending mass every morning, talking about and trusting in the afterlife.
“You know, the fear of God is the foundation of wisdom,” her father said repeatedly. It was his life
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long phrase.
Hennessey would sigh, losing count of how many times he had said that to her over the years, even though in some recess of her mind she understood his point.
“Every time I test
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fly new aircraft, Pop, I’m closer to God than anyone in the world and trust me, I always fear him.”
Hennessey’s world was turned upside down a week after her birthday. She had been going over flight statistics with a colleague when an urgent call had been put through to her office. Within an hour of the call, she’d been excused from work and was being taken in a specially assigned helicopter to an abandoned airfield in the western part of the Nevada Desert. A dozen light aircraft filled with search and rescue volunteers were preparing to take off, lined up one behind another in an unplanned formation. In addition, two Kiowa and two Black Hawk helicopters from the Nevada National Guard were there. The heat and humidity of the afternoon was unpleasant and with the pervasive smell of hot, electrical equipment inside the helicopter, which was not air
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conditioned, Hennessey felt like throwing up. She leapt off the helicopter platform and walked hurriedly towards a cluster of people mulling over a large map strewn across the wing of a private airplane. The map had been divided into grids and showed the desert in light brown, the rugged mountain range in a slightly darker shade.
“Have they been found yet?” Hennessey interrupted, her eyes shifting from one person to the next.
One man pointing at the map craned his neck and eyed her before turning to face her. “Not yet. Sorry, you are?”
“Jen Hennessey, it’s my parents who are missing. Can you tell me what happened?”
“We believe their aircraft went down somewhere to the west about three hours ago. Unfortunately, they chose not to file a flight plan, although they were tracked some of the way. We have an extensive aerial search looking as we speak, so…”
He explained that the plane had taken off from an airport in Illinois and had climbed into the air flying to the southwest, crossing Iowa and Nebraska. Over the state of Colorado the plane had turned northwest, flying at low altitude over Utah following a path towards California before disappearing somewhere in the Nevada Desert. There had been no report of distress and no eyewitnesses, only radio silence to base judgment.
“I want to go up in one of those helicopters and help with the search.”
The man who appeared to be in charge shook his head. “I’m sorry, I ca–”
“I wasn’t asking,” she said calmly. “I’m a NASA research pilot and I know I could be of some use.”
The man’s bottom lip jutted forward and he folded his arms. “Fair enough. You can join the BH crew.”
From his belt he fished out a handheld radio and paced slowly away from the group, muttering something indistinct to someone he seemed to know. He spun sharply, returning the radio to his belt. “Over there,” he told her, motioning with a finger to one of the Black Hawks.
Jogging towards the whooping noise of the giant helicopter sitting amid a stir of sand and dust, Hennessey faintly spotted a door slide open and an arm reach out to assist her. As she climbed up, she thought of her father. “The fear of God is the foundation of wisdom.”
After the funeral, a large gathering of people turned up at her parents’ house to pay their final respects. They’d spent their whole lives in Naperville, a mid
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sized town spread across thirteen acres just thirty miles west of Chicago in Illinois. The place contained the smell of toast and black coffee, recent. Hennessey left everyone to mourn downstairs and went off on her own to mournfully explore the house, going from room to room to encourage memories.
“Thought I might find you here,” Uncle Hubert said, startling her, his arms held open. “Come here.”
She went to him and welcomed his warm hug. She didn’t cry. It hadn’t yet sunk in.
“You gonna be alright?” he asked.
“Yeah. Just give me a bit more time on my own. I’ll be down shortly.”
“Anything you say, my darling. You know, your mother and father always talked about you. They were so proud of you and they loved you dearly.”
“Yeah, I know.”
All of a sudden, like switching off a light, Hennessey felt in-tolerably lonely. Only one man had shared her life because she didn’t have time for men. Dennis Thatcher was his name and they’d shared a common interest – piloting technically advanced aircraft for their country. While Hennessey committed all her time and effort to NASA, Thatcher was doing the same to become part of the United States Air Force, one of the largest air forces in the world with over six thousand manned aircraft in service. But piloting as a career had never really happened for Thatcher after he’d been asked unceremoniously to leave USAF because of his blatant disregard for military discipline and excessive drinking. After that setback came the jealousy. Hennessey’s career was blossoming and night after night she would return to their house in San Diego to find Thatcher drunk on the couch. At first, she thought it was his way of coping with rejection. But with his drunken behaviour came unconcealed honesty. He’d developed an unshakable conviction that Hennessey had succeeded in her career because of her good looks. It led to accusations of infidelity and that made him even more obnoxious. It boiled down to the fact that Thatcher resented her because she was professionally deft and devoted to her work.
Much of research piloting was concentration, on and off the job, and to Hennessey that meant dealing with fear and anxiety in a solitary manner, which explained why she had always lived alone. Nevertheless, Hennessey had been attracted to Thatcher because his methods were old
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fashioned and romantic. Those attributes had long since faded. Now, sitting next to him on the sofa, they talked some but she soon found she was reaching the uncomfortable stage in the evening when the small talk began to run dry and, as an effect of the alcohol Thatcher was consuming, truth began to leak out.
“I’ve been thinking. I’d like you to…I think you should be a housewife. It’d do us both good, I think. That’s just my opinion.”
“Who’s gonna pay the bills? You’re unemployed.”
“I’ll find something. You should be here, taking care of things, and you know, maybe we should think about children.”
Hennessey’s lips tightened around her teeth. “I think we should go our own ways,” she said.
“Why? Who are you sleeping with now?”
“It’s comments like those that are pushing me away. I need time alone right now.”
Thatcher put down his glass. He tried hard to act sober. “If it’s something I’ve done, I can change. I can give up the drink.”
She shook her head silently.
“I see.” He picked up his gin bottle and gulped a load of it down. “I knew your career would come before me.”
“Actually, it’s got nothing to do with my work at NASA.”
“Ah, save it, Jen.”
Staggering out of the house, closing the door forcefully behind him, he shouted something outside in the street but Hennessey didn’t catch it. With her parents deceased and her relationship with Thatcher over, Hennessey immersed herself in her work, putting in overtime, proving she was dedicated to the cause and establishing herself as one of the best, most reliable research pilots at NASA. Samuel Doe had noticed it and she fitted the profile for the mission he had in mind. She had US citizenship, a pass result for the NASA space physical similar to a military or civilian flight physical and the minimum of one
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thousand hours of flight time in a jet aircraft as the pilot in command, a target she had far exceeded.
The Dryden Flight Research Centre in California was NASA’s centre for aeronautical flight research and atmospheric operations. Inside DFRC, standing in Samuel Doe’s office, Hennessey listened as the details of her assignment became clear. “In a nutshell, Jen, your mission will involve launching Chandra II into the stratosphere. Will Thorndike has gone to Britain to meet with the project manager of Fable
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1 and should be calling me some time tonight. So I will brief you in full in the morning when I have all the details. Come to my office first thing and we’ll discuss it. I realise that flying a balloon is a little different to what you are used to, well, a lot different, but if you’re interested, you’ll be sent to Britain to meet with Brad Sutcliffe and his crew.”
“Okay, I’m intrigued.”
They parted ways. Doe glanced back over his shoulder. “One other thing, Jen. You’ll need to have training in specially modified simulators for every type of emergency or contingency imaginable.”
Hennessey grinned. “Piece of cake.”
“I thought you might say that.”
The mission to the edge of space presented the pilots with a catalogue of dangers. The vacuum of space was an extremely hostile environment. In the stratosphere, breathable air and atmospheric pressures that prevented haemorrhaging were absent. Familiar with such harsh altitudes and changes in environment, Hennessey knew that her experience was going to prove invaluable to the Fable-1 crew and was already looking forward to it.
For Hennessey, standing outside the Moorland Links Hotel, nothing about the day had been right so far. She hadn’t slept well and she was too tired. Her morning coffee had been too weak. The weather outside was far too miserable, the rain too heavy. Right now, the hotel was far too crowded. Nobody from Fable
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1 had introduced themselves yet or come to her room to greet her that morning. Nobody had prepared her for the press conference. And now, through her dark sunglasses, she saw a man with a rather big head sprinting towards her fixing his necktie over a crumpled white shirt. The strange man gave her a seedy grin, but she pretended she hadn’t seen it.
Entering the hotel foyer, she made her way to the Chandelier Ballroom as it was where everyone else seemed to be heading and went straight backstage.
He had the air of someone powerful, someone composed and self
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assured. He sat astride his GSX1300R, the engine ticking over slowly, like his pulse. The Suzuki sports bike had not a single sticker on it; the colour was black. He wore a black helmet and a black leather outfit with black boots. His watch was a Rolex. Feeling good about himself as he stared out at the towering wave
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lashed cliffs, bays and fishing alcoves, he lifted his visor and sucked in the sea air. For a brief moment the rain stopped, allowing a burst of insipid sunlight to bounce off the local ancient fishing village. Two and a half thousand miles west across the Atlantic Ocean was America and he wondered if he might get the chance to see it from the stratosphere in the space balloon.
Simon Matthews was Brad Sutcliffe’s business partner. He was also Claris Faraday’s older cousin at thirty seven, and today was a crucial turning point in the space flight expedition after the failed attempts of the past few years.
He read his watch, deciding it was time to go and started his engine.
The clock struck right on three when Matthews rocked up at the Moorland Links Hotel, entering the complex with a long wheelie all the way up the driveway to the entrance. Every space in the car park was full, so Matthews parked on a segment of lawn, kicked down the stand on his motorbike, took off his leatherwear and locked them inside the bike’s panniers. Dressed in his suit, he strolled confidently into the hotel to find that everyone had taken their seats in the Chandelier Ballroom. Plenty of time, he thought, as he strolled into the bathroom. He doused his face with cold water and in the mirror saw a short man glide into the bathroom with a cool, smooth rhythm. The small man gave him a polite nod. “Awful day,” he said, slipping down the zip on his jeans at the urinal.