Shattered Legacy (34 page)

His pace slowed as he peeled off his jacket and cast it away. The bullet had grazed his upper arm, creating a growing bloodstain on his shirt. It might have been a nick or it might have been deeper. Either way, it stung like hell. He glanced up at a mounted security cameras. He figured he was approaching the private hangar section of Vehicle Assembly Building. The more time he spent in the open, the more likely that someone would help him.

But where was everyone?

He came to an abrupt stop as he found himself alone in a large open storage area. He looked around. The main aisle was marked off with wide yellow stripes. On either side stood rows of tall metal vats, plastered with large warning signs over their shiny surfaces. He didn’t have to read them to know that the vats contained volatile chemicals. This was a bad place to be trapped.

Clutching his bad arm, he shuffled between the nearest tank to his right and the wall. He ducked under some low pipes and slid between two more vats halfway down the room. He tried to keep his breathing quiet as he stopped and listened. Only the background hum of machinery could be heard.

Then slow, deliberate footsteps sounded across the concrete floor.

“Come out, come out wherever you are,” Merrick sang softly as she entered the room.

Tyler didn’t reply. His heart was pounding. He held his breath and pressed his back against the cool metal vat. Sweat trickled down his face.

“I just have two questions for you,” she called out, standing in the center aisle. “All the information you have on my operation - where did it come from?”

Tyler swallowed. It didn’t matter if he told her or not. He was still a dead man.

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” he called out, his voice echoing throughout the place.

Merrick paused and glanced around, trying to determine where the sound came from. She smiled. “I thought you would be more grateful to someone who saved your life.”

“Saved my life? You’re the one who just shot at me, lady.”

“Believe me; I saved your skin a few times. You have no idea what you’re involved with, Mr. Tyler.”

“I’m sure it’s about money.”

“Plenty of it,” Merrick said.

“So how did Jacob Jackson get involved with someone like you? I thought he had better taste in friends.”

Merrick tilted her back head in amusement. “Jacob? Hell, he plowed his share back into your company. My share is earning me twenty percent annually in overseas investments.”

Behind the tank, Tyler closed his eyes. Small consolation, but his guess had been correct. Jacob Jackson had, in fact, been the one who sold Templar out. “So, the fire in my apartment and the assassination attempt was all part of your cover-up.”

“The attempt on your life was courtesy of an old associate of mine. He’s not a threat to anyone, anymore.”

“And those pictures you sent to my office? Who was that?”

“A nobody. I sent them to rattle you. I couldn't look after you all the time, so I figured, why not let someone else do it for me? I set your apartment on fire to keep you mobile, and then I had Jacob arrange for you to be put under bodyguard protection. All the while, I fed you the misinformation to keep you off track.”

“Lies, you mean.”

“
Misinformation
. You believed what I needed you to believe. It confused and paralyzed you.” Suddenly her eyes lost their humor as she quietly walked over to the nearest tank on the side Tyler was hiding. She raised her gun with both hands. “We both do what we have to do. You protect a dirty company, and I exploit dirty companies. Our ends justify our means.”

Tyler did not respond.

“So what now, Samson? You’ve made a hell of a mess. Now I have to kill you, anyone you were working with, your friends, and maybe even your little girlfriend. What’s her name - Teresa? Yeah, I’ll have to make it painful for her.”

Tyler clenched his jaw and bit down his anger. All he had to do was escape the room and make his way to a public place. Still crouched behind the tank, he shuffled around to one side and shoved his good hand into his pocket. “You don't want to shoot me in here.”

“Why not?”

“The chemicals,” he replied as he pulled out a coin. “If a bullet hits one of these tanks…”

“My bullet isn't going to hit a tank. It's going to hit
you
.”

With a quick motion, Tyler threw the quarter. As the coin struck the ground on the opposite side of the room, Merrick jumped at the sound and instinctively moved toward it.

Tyler took the opportunity to crouch under the pipes and move behind the next vat. He remained out of sight from Merrick as she searched for him along the opposite wall.

Looking around, he saw an exit door at the end of the aisle.

Then he heard Merrick's footsteps. She was on his side now, checking between and behind each tank. He guessed that she was only a tank or two away from discovering him.

He waited until he heard her footsteps again. Then, taking a deep breath, he quickly moved around the tank and padded down the center aisle. He considered making a quick escape through the door, but pushing the metal bar would make too much noise. He needed another distraction.

A slow grin spread across his face as he noticed the small red unit beside the door - the fire alarm.

Reaching out with his good arm, he yanked down on the small lever with bloodied fingers. As a deafening blare shrieked throughout the place, he shoved open the door and slipped into a small stairwell, where the alarm continued to sound. The noise was everywhere, pulsing and deafening. He forced himself to take long, deep breaths as he staggered up the metal steps. On the landing, he shoved open the door and found himself on a wide metal catwalk overlooking the private hangar wing of the VAB.

The huge, cavernous place was dark and empty.

No one was around anywhere. Tyler gripped the metal railing. He wanted to scream out in frustration.

Where the hell was everyone?

Down below were two small jet planes parked before the massive doorway. On the opposite end, under the dimmed ceiling lights, was the orbiter that he had seen earlier.

He needed to find his way back out of the building before Merrick tracked him down. He had finally confirmed the truth about Templar, and it wouldn’t do anyone much good if he were dead.

Suddenly the alarms died away, leaving behind a yawning silence, save only for the ringing that continued in his ears.

And then, behind him, the door opened.

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

“Close the doors!”

Those had been the first words out of Noah Gettleman’s mouth after the computers went down. It was a code phrase to block all outside communications. No was allowed to leave the main control room as the facility went into a state of high alert and the flight techs began contingency procedures.

Restoration of the computer systems was agonizingly slow. Every workstation in the room had crashed and needed to be manually rebooted. Network connectivity was partially down as well, so there was no mainframe access. During that time, the damaged
Naiad
continued to blaze through the atmosphere with no external guidance. Gettleman had prayed that the orbiter would still be there once communications were restored. Fortunately, it was. Only now, with the loss of computer control, the situation had gone from bad to worse.

Brian Ebeling, the assistant flight director, stood beside Gettleman on the upper level, gazing out over the frantic control room. The younger man looked haggard. He clutched a clipboard to his chest. “Have we considered having the team eject?” he asked quietly.

“Not unless a crash is eminent. And at their current altitude, an ejection is risky.” Gettleman grunted and rubbed his hands together. “I just want to know what the hell happened to our computers.”

Ebeling looked at him askance. “Didn’t you hear? There was an explosion in the administration building.”

Gettleman turned his head. “An explosion?”

“At the main data center. They’re saying it’s pretty much destroyed.”

Gettleman did not bother to ask what had caused the explosion. He took the news at face value; it was that kind of day.

“Routing our communications through Houston was clever, sir.”

“That’s another one we owe them.” Gettleman reached for the open bottle on his desk, and popped a few more antacid tablets into his mouth. “How are the transmission delays in the telemetry feed?”

“We're suffering a few seconds of lag time,” Ebeling replied. “We're working on establishing a better satellite uplink.”

“It’s hardly worth the effort.” Gettleman looked up at the wall and then remembered that the clock wasn't working. He checked his wristwatch. “They'll be landing soon enough.”

One of the technicians called out. “We’re back online! The
Naiad
just completed its final roll reversal.”

Gettleman grunted again, crunching his antacids. Finally
something
was going right.

***

The glide approach over California was rough. Without power, the
Naiad
responded sluggishly as she plowed through the atmosphere. Commander McManus glanced down at the horizontal situation indicator. The readouts showed the orbiter's location relative to their various navigation points. Only another five hundred miles before they touched down at the Thomas Dorian Space Center.

Suddenly the
Naiad
lurched and angled hard to port. Schwartz struggled to regain control as vibrations buffeted them. The roaring sound in the cabin intensified as the orbiter’s superstructure groaned under the stress.

“What is it now?” McManus asked through gritted teeth.

The vibrations made the controls a blur, but Schwartz still managed to make out the reading. “We just lost a left aileron.” A frantic beeping sounded. On the center screen, a schematic appeared, with part of the wing marked in red. “What’s left of the port engine is on fire.”

“Control, we're coming in hot,” McManus reported over the radio, trying to keep himself from shouting. Sweat beaded his brow, tickling him. He wished he could wipe it away, but his helmet prevented that. The
Naiad
was now lurching uncontrollably. He feared that another explosion would be their last. “You copy that, Control? We're coming in hot! Over.”

***

“What happened?” Noah Gettleman shouted. His head turned from side to side, demanding an answer.

“There was probably combustion of residual fuel,” volunteered a flight engineer.

Gettleman spoke into his headset. “
Naiad
? What's your condition? Over.”

“We're still on an optimal approach vector,” McManus replied, “but we may need more time to steady the ship.”

Gettleman pointed to one of his station techs below, who looked up and shook her head no.

“That's a negative,
Naiad
. You're not going to be able to pull another orbit. Landing here is your only chance. Over.”

“Could we make a better landing in the desert?”

“Negative,
Naiad
. We want you landing at DSC. We have support crews standing by. Over.”

“Copy, Control. We’re lowering the landing gear now.
Naiad
out.”

Gettleman turned to an aide. “Are the observation areas evacuated?”

“Spectators have been moved to the south field. We’re moving people off the property. All of the orbiter maintenance buildings have been evacuated.”

“Good.”

Then Gettleman’s cell phone sounded. It took him a moment to realize from the ringtone that it was a personal call.

He saw the caller ID, and his heart dropped.

He pulled one earphone aside from his headset and raised the phone to his ear. “Hello, Ana.”

“Noah? What’s going on?”

At the sound of Commander McManus’ wife, Gettleman’s voice softened. “Hey, I’m kind of busy right now.”

“What’s happening to the ship?” she asked. “I’m watching TV. They said there are engine problems and they might not be able to land. Is that true?”

“Not exactly.”

“What do you mean, ‘not exactly’?”

“Ana, please…”

“Tell me what’s happening to my
husband
!”

Despite his personal feelings, he knew he couldn’t share information with a civilian. But here was a friend looking to him for support and assurance.

“I’m doing everything I can to get our men back safely,” he told her.

“I’m scared, Noah.”

He paused, searching his mind for the right thing to say.

“Landing gear deploying,” reported a flight engineer.

“Just keep praying, Ana.” Gettleman cradled the phone to his face. “I promise you that we’re doing all we can. I’ll … I’ll talk to you later. I have to go now.”

Then he hung up. He set the phone down on the desk and put his hands to his face.

“Landing gear fully deployed.”

On hearing that, Gettleman took a deep breath and released it. He adjusted his headset and refocused on the task at hand. “Just keep it together,
Naiad
, you're doing good.” He watched the stations below for any sign of trouble. He brought his fist to his mouth and bit hard on his knuckle. On the main monitors that had just blinked back to life, he watched large portions of the
Naiad
schematics flash from yellow to red.

“We can’t hold it!” McManus shouted over the channel.

“Another explosion,” reported one of the techs. “Feather control on the right aileron is gone!”

Suddenly, the control center erupted with shouted orders and status updates, but without computer control, they could do little but watch and wait.

Gettleman lowered his head, letting the noise fade into the background. As he looked back up and stared through the observation windows at the blue horizon, one horrible thought kept pounding through his mind.

They weren't going to make it.

CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

Samson Tyler lunged at Merrick with his good arm extended, knowing that he didn’t have a chance in hell of disarming her.

He was right. Merrick sidestepped his clumsy attack and drove her left fist into his gut, driving the wind from his chest. As he doubled over, she followed through with a pistol butt across the side of his head. The impact of the blow didn't register until he fell against the catwalk railing, sending all sorts of new pain through his wounded arm. He hung onto the railing with his good hand. His eyes squeezed shut, blinded with pain. He tried to moan, but his lungs couldn’t manage to suck in a breath.