The Roswell Conspiracy (38 page)

“If your men were captured, the police will know you’re here,” Jess said. “They’ll stop us before we even get to the spaceplane.”

“Then why did I get a call from the flight director a few minutes ago saying that they’re ready?”

“Maybe it’s a trick to lure you out.”

Colchev knew she was right, but he had no choice now but to march on assuming victory. “For the sake of everyone here, I hope you’re wrong.”

A knock on the door, followed by a shout. “Your bus is here!”

Colchev put on his helmet and told Tyler and Jess to do the same. Zotkin hefted the bag containing the Icarus parachute system and his own normal parachute as well as several bungee cords. Colchev took the handcart, the Killswitch now in a black padded duffel. His hand was inside the zippered opening, his finger near the arming button.

“They’ll notice you’re carrying that,” Tyler said.

“Oh, you mean Walden and Arshan’s film equipment?” He gestured at a pile of cameras and lenses heaped on the floor.

That shut them up. They couldn’t see it underneath his helmet, but Colchev was grinning.

Zotkin opened the door and ushered Tyler and Jess outside. Colchev followed with the handcart. When they all got on the bus, he made sure to keep the Killswitch between him and Tyler.

The driver eyed the luggage but said nothing. He closed the door and drove off.

As they approached the Skyward, Colchev spotted the massive crowd that had gathered to watch the crew board the ship. They would have plenty to tell their grandchildren someday, provided they weren’t in an airplane or a car when the Killswitch went off.

Colchev leaned over to Tyler and Jess. “Remember: wave, but no other gestures. And say nothing to the ground crew. I will be listening.”

When they got out of the bus, the crowd cheered. Colchev gave them the thumbs up, and the mob went wild. They had no idea that he was sending them an insult. As opposed to signifying that everything was great, in Russia the
thumbs up
meant “up yours”.

Tyler waved, and Jess put up both her hands in the V sign to the crowd’s delight.

After a few more waves, the ground crew escorted them to the open hatch of the Skyward. With Zotkin making sure that Tyler stayed too far away to attempt anything, Colchev went first and brought the Killswitch up with the ground crew’s help. Then Tyler and Jess climbed aboard. Zotkin was last and pulled the hatch closed behind him. The Lodestar’s four engines were already spooled up and humming.

The interior of the Skyward was flooded with light from the myriad triangular windows covering the fuselage, so they were still in full view of the spectators. Three rows of seats, one on each side, straddled the center aisle. The pilot’s chair sat in the front center of the ship. With weight at a premium and flights costing more than $200,000 per person, there was no room for a co-pilot.

“Rear seats,” Colchev said.

While Tyler and Jess were standing at the rear of the spaceplane, Zotkin ordered them to turn their backs to the windows. Pretending he was adjusting their suits, he wrapped bungee cords around their wrists and guided them into seats across the aisle from each other. Zotkin belted them in with the four-point safety harnesses so that their arms were under the nylon straps. Once they were secure, Colchev and Zotkin lashed the Killswitch and Icarus between the seats.

Zotkin climbed into the carrier jet, and Colchev closed the hatch behind him before taking his seat in the pilot’s chair. He plugged his helmet into the onboard communications system. By switching the unit between channels, he could either talk to the flight control or to Zotkin on the Lodestar.

“All right, Skyward,” the flight director said, “now that you’re on board, let’s begin the checklist.”

“Roger, control,” Colchev said. Before the director could get any further, Colchev switched to Zotkin’s channel. “Are you ready?”

“The flight controls are exactly what I anticipated. I’m ready to taxi.”

“Then do it while they still think you’re the real pilot.”

Colchev switched back to the flight director’s channel just in time to hear, “—Skyward, do you read me?”

“I read you loud and clear, control.”

“Why aren’t you following the established takeoff procedure? What’s the problem?”

“No problem here. Skyward signing off.”

He should have closed the channel, but he rather enjoyed listening to the flight director’s confused shouts as the engines powered up and the spaceplane rolled across the tarmac to the runway.

FIFTY-FIVE

Grant strained at his handcuffs as he watched the Lodestar reach the end of the runway. The aircraft began its takeoff roll a second before he heard the engines go to full power. After ten minutes of telling their tale to the arresting officers, he and Morgan were not getting a sympathetic ear. The policemen’s major concern was clearing them out of the busy pathway so that the incident wouldn’t disrupt the event.

“You have to listen to us,” Grant said to the officer guiding him to the oversized utility cart. “You have to call the flight director of the Skyward and tell them there is someone here who may have planted a bomb on their plane.”

“Right. And those unconscious guys are Russian spies.” They’d already carted the Russians off in medical units. “Look. We’ve relayed your concerns to the appropriate people. We’ll take you to the security office. If your ‘story’ checks out, then we’ll see if we can find the other Russians.”

Grant and Morgan were shoved into the cart, and they motored away.

As the cart passed the main food court, a shout called out to them. When the cart didn’t slow, the shout became a scream of bloody murder. That finally got the officer to stop.

“What the hell is going on now?” he said.

Fay ran over to them waving her arms, dashing around to the driver.

“I need their help,” she said, breathing hard.

“Do you know these people, ma’am?”

“They’re friends of my granddaughter. What’s going on?”

“We caught them after they beat two men to the point of unconsciousness. We’re taking them to the security office. You can meet us there.”

The officer’s radio squawked. “Moline, where are you?”

“Moline here. We’re at the food court near the Heli Center.”

“We’ve got a major problem with the spaceplane demo. They lost contact with the pilot, and then he just took off.”

Grant felt his stomach sink. Colchev was already on his way up.

“That’s what I’m telling you!” Grant said. “The spaceplane is being hijacked.”

“And for all we know, you’re in on it. Now shut up!”

“Moline,” the voice on the radio said, “get over to the flight ops and see if you can give them a hand.”

“We’ve got suspects in custody.”

“Damn it! All right, bring them back here. I’ll get someone else.”

Moline put the radio away. “Ma’am, we have to go—”

Fay jabbed the muzzle of a Glock pistol against Moline’s rib cage, taking care to keep it out of sight of passing patrons. “No. You let them go. Now.”

Moline snickered at the seventy-five-year-old. “Is this a joke?”

“Do I look like a comedian?” Fay said with a deadly serious stare. Moline’s smirk faltered.

“Fay,” Morgan said, “where did you get that?”

“Tyler gave it to me. You didn’t think I would be the only one to come here unarmed, did you?”

Grant supposed he shouldn’t have been surprised that she’d want her own weapon after the way she handled that shotgun in New Zealand.

When Moline hesitated, Fay poked him with the Glock. “Don’t make me shoot you.”

Moline nodded at the other officer, who unlocked Morgan’s cuffs and then Grant’s.

“What do we do with them?” Morgan said, retrieving their weapons and the officers’ guns as well.

Grant looked around and saw a row of Port-a-Potties on the other side of the food court. “Over there.”

As inconspicuously as possible, they put the two officers into the potties and locked the doors with the handcuffs. The men might scream for help, but it would take time for anyone to get them out.

“Good job, Fay,” Grant said.

“I had to do something. Tyler and Jess are on that plane.”

Grant and Morgan looked at each other in confusion, then back at Fay.

“Are you sure?”

Fay nodded. “They were wearing spacesuits, so when I was watching them get out of the shuttle bus, I thought they were the crew. But then I saw the shorter one put up her hands in the ‘V for victory’ sign.”

“I don’t get it.”

Fay’s words came out in a gusher. “In New Zealand if you do the sign palm-out, it means ‘victory’. But if you do the sign palm-in, it means ‘screw you.’ You know, like giving the finger. Well, the shorter one gave the palm-out version to the crowd, but then she definitely gave the palm-in version to the two men on either end. Then when I saw the taller man put his hand on her hip to escort her to the plane, I recognized their walks. It was Tyler and Jess. Now they’re on board the plane with that madman. You have to help them!”

“They must have the Killswitch on board,” Morgan said. “How long until they launch the spaceplane from the carrier?”

Grant had read up on the Skyward on the flight there. “If the pilot climbs hard, they can be in launch position in fifteen minutes.”

He could see Morgan doing mental calculations. She shook her head. “Not enough time. The closest air base is in Madison. Unless they scrambled right now, they won’t be able to get here in time to …” She glanced at Fay. “… to force them down.”

Grant shook his head. “You’re right. Who knows how long it’ll take to convince them that there’s enough of a threat to send up the fighters.”

“What about the fighters here?” Fay said, pointing at the T-38, whose portable start cart was already attached. “They could go up and find the spaceplane.”

“No good,” Morgan said. “The T-38 is a trainer. It’s unarmed. All the planes here are. Besides, without orders from their chain of command, they wouldn’t do it.”

“You could,” Grant said.

“Me?”

“You were a fighter pilot. Can’t you fly that?”

Morgan looked at the T-38 again and then back to Grant. “You’re serious?”

“What other choice to do we have?”

Morgan pursed her lips in thought before she finally nodded. “You’re right. Come on!”

She sprinted toward the T-38, leaving Grant to pull Fay along behind her.

The trainer’s pilots were standing next to the jet talking to a patron. Morgan pushed the man out of the way.

“Captain, I’m a federal agent. I’m commandeering your airplane.”

The baby-faced pilot smiled at her and then started laughing hysterically. He turned to his subordinate, a lieutenant. “Hudson, did you put this pretty lady up to this?”

The puzzled lieutenant joined in the laughter and shrugged.

“I don’t have time for this,” Morgan said, pulling out her pistol.

The pilots got quiet fast.

“I’d listen to her,” Grant said.

“What the hell is this?” the captain said.

“I don’t have time to explain, and you wouldn’t believe me anyway. Give me your helmet.”

“The hell I will.”

She looked up the stairs leading to the cockpit. “That’s okay. It must be in the cockpit. Is your plane prepped and ready to fly?”

“You’re taking my plane over my dead body.”

Fay pulled her pistol and pointed it at him. “That might happen, son. Because my granddaughter is a hostage on the spaceplane that took off. Now give this woman the keys or whatever she needs, or I’ll shoot you myself.”

“This is truly a matter of national security,” Morgan said. “There is an EMP weapon on board the spaceplane. If it reaches launch altitude, the entire US infrastructure could be destroyed. I’m a former F-16 pilot, and I’m going to bring them back down before that happens. Understand?”

“What’s your call sign?”

Without hesitation, she said, “Buster.”

Despite the situation, Grant couldn’t help a slight smile. He was quite sure that Buster stood for “Ball Buster”.

The captain frowned at her. “I’ll fly up myself if I get confirmation about this.”

“No time. Fay, keep an eye on them.”

Morgan ran up the stairs. Grant dogged her footsteps. At the top she turned to see him right behind her.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m coming with you.”

“No, you’re not.”

“What if you get vertigo up there? I’ve got a helicopter license. I can’t take off in one of these things, but I could keep the stick steady if you black out.”

“I’ll handle it.”

“Are you willing to bet the future of the country on that?”

She pursed her lips.

“I know what you have to do up there,” Grant said. “If they won’t land, there’s only one other way to bring them down.”

“That’s why I don’t want you there.”

“That’s my best friend we’re talking about. If you have to ram them, I want to be there to make sure Tyler doesn’t die in vain.”

She paused, wrestling with the decision, but he could tell she knew he was right.

“Okay,” she said grudgingly. “Get in the front seat. I’ll fire up the start cart.”

As Grant climbed in and squeezed into the pilot’s helmet and parachute, she ran back down the stairs and gestured frantically at Fay, who waved her gun at the two pilots when they didn’t respond quickly enough. Morgan ran back up the stairs and got in the rear cockpit seat.

“I told Fay to get the pilots to release the start cart once the engines are powered up. She’ll also get them to retract the stairway.”

They closed the canopies and strapped in. Grant kept his hands off the controls. The instrument panel was ten times more complicated than the light helicopter he flew.

The engines rumbled to life. He cranked his head around. The APU was pulled away, as were the stairs and wheel chocks. He gave the V-sign to Fay, palm out. She returned the gesture.

Grant thought they didn’t build them that tough any more and had to correct himself. The woman sitting behind him was the real deal, too.

Morgan released the brakes.

“Time to intercept?” Grant said.

“Can’t say. Even using afterburners, it’ll be close.”