The Mayan Apocalypse (14 page)

C
harles Balfour's chest swelled with pride, and he did his best to hide it. By plan, Quetzal was the center of attention, not him. That didn't matter. His was and would be for some time a secret pride. He stood at the front of the refitted 747's passenger cabin. Everything he could see looked new, and the sixty-year-old bald, beer-bellied engineer standing next to him was explaining what else was new. The man, like engineers everywhere, wore a white shirt with a pocket filled with pens, pencils, and, to Balfour's utter surprise, a small slide rule. The engineer, Ron Presnell, explained that the rule had belonged to his grandfather and had been passed down to him. “It's a great conversation starter.”

“As you can see in this prototype, the interior has been gutted and replaced with seats in a first-class style. That lowers the aircraft's passenger capacity but allows us to carry more fuel, just in case we need to stay airborne longer than expected.”

“Seems wise,” Quetzal said. “Of course, that also means—”

“What else?” Balfour interjected quickly before Quetzal could say something stupid like, “—fewer paying customers.”

“Well, we've updated the galley and food storage, so no one is going to go hungry while airborne. The forward heads as well as those aft have been enlarged for greater comfort. The aisles are wider so people can move around to stretch their legs. All the seats recline like those on overseas business class flights.”

“Very good, very good.” Quetzal seemed genuinely impressed.

Presnell seemed to stand a few inches taller. “Thank you. We've
also made structural improvements. We've been very selective in the planes we've chosen. It's one thing to replace fatigued metal skin, but it's an entirely different thing to rebuild a wing. Did you know the wings of commercial aircraft are the most intricate things on the plane?”

“I didn't know that,” Quetzal said. “We are blessed to have someone so knowledgeable.” Presnell grew another inch. “We can't be too careful.”

Now that's the Quetzal I know and love
. Balfour kept his smile to himself.

“I agree. I've set up a triple-check system in which foremen inspect the work of craftsman and technicians, and two engineers check them.”

“How does that impact the production schedule?” Balfour touched one of the purple-fabric seats. Each headrest bore the logo of a phoenix, the mythical bird that rose from its own ashes and the universal symbol of new beginnings.

“It slowed us at first, but we have it down pat now. Since the work is largely repetitious, we have been able to speed up production. Every worker has become practiced in his or her personal activity. We gain time with each refitted aircraft. For the most part.”

“For the most part?”

“Big birds like these are very complicated machines and each presents its own challenge. Some engines require more work than others; some hydraulic systems need to be replaced while others just need maintenance and new fluids. Every beast is different.”

“Avionics?”

“We've updated crucial electronics and hardened the indispensables against electromagnetic bursts. If the sun shoots an EMB our way when we're aloft, the avionics will be unaffected.”

“Now the big question.” Balfour waited until Presnell had made eye contact. “Are you on schedule?”

The man didn't hesitate. “No.”

“No?” Balfour clinched his jaw. “How far behind are you?”

“I didn't say we were behind.” Presnell's smile revealed a smoker's teeth. “We're a week ahead. You'll have your planes, and if I have anything to say about it—and I do—you will have them early, fully tested and ready to fly.”

“You don't know how good that is to hear.” Balfour set a hand on the engineer's shoulder.

“I'm highly motivated, Mr. Balfour. The money is good; the challenge is noble; and my family and I have seats on one of these babies.” He paused. “We do have seats, right?”

“Absolutely, Ron. Absolutely. We couldn't do this without you. We will not leave you and yours behind. Just remember, we can't take everyone, so keep that to yourself.”

“My lips are sealed.”

Balfour followed Quetzal into the Bombardier. Before one of the cockpit crew closed the door and entered the flight deck, Quetzal quickly found his seat, pulled a glass tumbler and a small bottle of Chivas Regal from a side compartment, and poured two fingers' worth. “You want a hit?”

Balfour grimaced. “You know I don't drink.”

Quetzal raised the glass to his lips and sipped the golden fluid. “That makes me suspicious of you. I don't trust men who don't drink.”

“Yet here we are, linked at the hip.”

Quetzal chuckled and raised his glass. “To destruction and fear.”

“I hope you'll put that away before takeoff. I'd hate to see that glass flying around the cabin.”

“If this is flying around the cabin, then we have bigger problems. Not to worry. I'll put it back where it belongs. I have time for one drink.”

Balfour studied his partner. The problem with him was that one drink led to several others.

The cell phone in Balfour's pocket sounded. He retrieved it and pressed it to his ear. He listened for a moment, then said, “Details.” He listened carefully. “Thank you, I'll be in touch.” He returned the phone to his pocket.

“Problem?” Quetzal swallowed the last of the Scotch.

“Nope. Good news, really.”

“Judging by the cheesy grin plastered to your face, it must be fabulous news.”

“It is. A killer asteroid is headed for Earth. It could impact our planet in December of next year. Now that's worth smiling about.”

“You are one sick puppy. You know that, don't you? You're the only guy who could be happy about that kind of news.”

“Why not? It proves the Mayans were right. It also proves I'm right—again.”

Dr. Michael Alexander hung up the phone, looked at the office door he had closed a few moments before, and gazed through the door's window. No one was watching him, but that gave him no relief.

He moved his gaze to the customized BlackBerry he held. Charles Balfour had given him the phone and told him to use it if he learned anything interesting. Although he hadn't said so, Dr. Alexander assumed it was encrypted. He hoped so. He might be the director of the European Space Agency's Near Earth Orbit Laboratory, but he wasn't free to discuss his discoveries without permission of his superiors. He had been faithful to keep secrets, but three million euros had a way of dissolving an underpaid scientist's commitment. Besides, all he did was make a phone call.

He swiveled his chair so he could face the large computer monitor on a side desk and reviewed the frightening discovery again.

Finding objects in near-Earth orbit—NEOs—was not unusual. There were nearly two million objects near the earth. Most were
small, and the majority would never come near the planet. Still, some did come uncomfortably close as they sailed through space at high rates of speed. Small objects—ten meters across or so—came within a quarter million miles of Earth on a weekly basis. Larger objects were another matter.

One such object, an asteroid called 2010 GA6, passed within the moon's orbit in April of 2010. In astronomical terms, 200,000 miles was a close flyby, but it presented no danger to the planet.

Every once in a while, an unexpected object, previously unseen, made an appearance and gained the attention of scientists who monitor such things.

One of the prospective end-of-the-world scenarios described by scientists and doomsayers is that of a large body from space hitting Earth. It had happened in the distant past. But no such major event had occurred in recent history.

The last thought made him pause. He knew better than that. Eugene Shoemaker of the US Geological Survey estimated that a space object large enough to release the amount of energy given off by the atomic bomb dropped on Hiroshima hits Earth about once a year. These go largely unnoticed because they occur in unpopulated areas or the ocean.

He thought of the reports of impacts that took place in historical times. In 1490, 10,000 people in China's Shanxi Province were killed by stones falling from the sky; most likely fragments from the breakup of a large asteroid. Many scientists dismissed the number of fatalities as an exaggeration, but that didn't matter. People died.

A twenty-kilometer-wide ocean crater on the New Zealand shelf southwest of Stewart Island was most likely caused by a large impact. Ice core samples place the event in 1143.

Of course, the most famous recent event occurred in the Tunguska region of Siberia. In 1908, an asteroid or comet—scientists still argue about this—exploded three to six miles above the ground. The airburst felled eight million trees over an area of 850 square miles.

Such events happened, and there was nothing to say it couldn't
happen again. The fact that a cataclysm had yet to occur over a populated area meant nothing. It was, to Alexander's mind, just dumb luck.

On his screen were several telescopic photographs showing white dots in the background. One dot was larger than the others, and when compared to photos taken later, the dot showed that the object it represented was moving—and moving fast.

The calculations were early, and many things could happen in the days ahead, but if the early numbers were right, 2012 GA12 would smack Earth right on the nose.

Alexander opened his desk drawer, removed a plastic bottle, and poured a half-dozen Tums into his mouth.

To Andrew Morgan, the only thing keeping this from being the “third degree” were hot lights and threats of a jail term. Donny and Janie entered the room from Janie's office before Jaz Kinkade had finished closing the office door behind him.

“You okay?” Donny looked concerned.

“I'm fine. Why, don't I look okay?” Morgan stood and stretched his back.

“You know what I mean. Did the guy threaten you or try to extort money or favors—”

“No. You'd be the first to know, and the cops would be the second.”