The Cassandra Compact

  Smith recalled Klein’s objections when he had told him what he intended to do. The head of Covert-One shared Smith’s concern for Megan, but he also knew the danger that Smith would be exposing himself to.

  “There’s no guarantee that you’ll find her alive, Jon,” he’d said. “We need to know what we’re dealing with before I send you in.”

  “We’ll know,” Smith had promised him grimly.

  Riley’s voice crackled over his headset. “Jon, look to the southeast.”

  Smith glanced over the truck’s tailgate and saw bright lights descending quickly. On either side were the winking collision lights of the shuttle’s escort aircraft. He listened as Riley counted off the descent: “Five hundred feet…two hundred…touchdown.”

  The convoy was on a runway parallel to the one the shuttle used. Smith saw the orbiter dip as the nose gear absorbed the weight. Then the parachutes popped open, slowing the craft.

  “Here comes the cavalry,” he heard Riley say.

  Three fire trucks and a HazMat vehicle fanned out behind the shuttle, staying fifty yards back.

  Smith watched them roll by, then said, “Okay, Jack. Let’s fall in.”

  The double deuces slipped into gear and followed Riley’s Humvee as it turned onto the taxiway, then the main runway.

  “Step on it, Jack!” Smith said as he watched the shuttle reach the ramp that descended into the bunker.

  Riley obliged. Gunning the deuce, he pulled up to the ramp just as the shuttle disappeared.

  “Jon!”

  But Smith had already jumped out and was running into the bunker. Two-thirds of the way down, he felt the ramp shudder and slowly rise. Moving as fast as he could, he reached the end only to discover that he was ten feet above the bunker floor. Smith took a deep breath and jumped, landing hard, then ducking and rolling. Lying on his back, he watched the ramp slowly rise, blot out the sky, then lock and seal.

  Getting to his feet, he turned and saw the cocoon, a monstrous, white worm beneath the overhead lights. Inside it, a shadow paused in its movement and slowly turned toward him.

  Dr. Karl Bauer had been watching the shuttle park, then turned his attention to the ramp. For an instant, he thought he saw something drop from the ramp, but dismissed the thought when he felt the ramp close with a shudder. The cavern was sealed.

  “Control, this is Bauer.”

  “This is control, Doctor,” a technician replied. “Is everything all right?”

  “Yes. I am proceeding to mate the cocoon with the orbiter. When Dr. Reed is safely out, I will reseal the hatch. Is that understood?”

  “We copy, Doctor. Good luck.”

  Staring through the plastic, Smith saw Bauer’s form become more and more vague as the scientist moved through the cocoon. Careful not to allow Bauer to see him, he started to make his way to the shuttle when he noticed a perfectly round break in the concrete. Then he picked out another one. Then many more. Places where the cement had been cored for the gas lines that would feed the flames.

  On the flight deck, Dylan Reed had remained strapped in the pilot’s chair until a light on the console indicated that the orbiter’s systems had shut down completely. The descent had been nerve-racking. At the Cape, Reed had been shown computer simulations of how, in the event of an emergency, NASA computers would bring down the craft—and park it on a dime if need be. He recalled smiling and saying how wonderful that was. Privately, he’d thought: Right. A few hundred gallons of residual, high-octane fuel onboard a hurtling, ten-year-old craft built by the lowest bidder. Yet by some miracle, both the computers and the orbiter had done their job.

  Reed unstrapped himself, got out of the chair, and made his way down the ladder to mid-deck. He glanced briefly at the door that opened on the tunnel to the Spacelab. He wondered if Megan Olson had somehow survived. It didn’t matter. She would never see anything familiar again.

  During reentry, Reed had kept the communications channels switched off. He didn’t think he could bear listening to Harry Landon’s whiny questions and expressions of concern. Nor did he want to be distracted from what lay ahead. Positioning himself in front of the exit hatch, he punched in the alphanumeric code that shot back the bolts. But the hatch still had to be opened from the outside.

  Reed glanced down at the pants pocket in which he’d placed the vial of variola. Suddenly, he wanted very much to be rid of it.

  Come on! he thought impatiently.

  He felt the orbiter shift slightly. Then a second time. He imagined he could hear the hiss of air as the cocoon mated itself to the shuttle. Anxiously he looked at the overhead display panel. A green light appeared, indicating that the mating was complete.

  Reed was changing frequencies on his suit radio when, without warning, the hatch opened and retracted and he found himself looking straight at the masked face of Dr. Karl Bauer.

  “You!” he cried.

  The original plan had called for Bauer to wait for Reed on the quarantined side of the decontamination chamber. But with Richardson and Price out of the picture, Bauer had decided to improve upon his scheme. Working the levers on the pedestal-mounted control panel, he raised the cocoon so that its open end mated with the shuttle. Once the seals were in place, he took a moment to slip into his new role, then opened the hatch. He almost smiled when he saw Reed’s startled expression.

  “What are you doing here?” Reed demanded. “What’s wrong?”

  Bauer motioned him to step back so that he could enter.

  “Richardson is dead,” he said bluntly. “So is Price.”

  “Dead? But how could—?”

  Bauer began to mix in the lies. “The president knows about the virus.”

  Even through his protective faceplate, Bauer saw how badly Reed paled. “That’s impossible!”

  “It’s true,” Bauer replied. “Now listen to me. There’s still a way out for us. Are you listening?”

  Reed’s helmet bobbed as he nodded.

  “Good. Now give me the sample.”

  “But how will we—?”

  “Get it out? Me. Listen, Dylan. I haven’t a clue as to how much Castilla and his people really know about Richardson and Price. Maybe they’ve already connected you to them. But we can’t afford to take the chance that they have. If you’re searched, it’s all over. But they wouldn’t dare lay a finger on me.”

  “What’s going to happen to me?” Reed demanded, his voice panicky.

  “Nothing. You have my word on that. By the time this is over, you’ll be the hero, the only survivor of a mission gone tragically wrong. Now give me the sample.”

  Carefully Reed reached into his pocket and handed over the vial. He jumped back as Bauer calmly opened it and poured out the fatal contents on a stainless-steel counter.

  “Are you crazy?” he screamed. “That’s all we have!”

  “I didn’t say that we wouldn’t take a sample,” Bauer replied.

  He pulled out a swab and a tiny, ceramic capsule, the size of a vitamin capsule. Bending over the puddle he had just created, he brushed the swab in the fluids, broke off the tip, and sealed it in the capsule. Reed watched, puzzled. He couldn’t quite snare the purpose of the capsule.

  “You’re going to carry it out like that?” he asked. “What about the decontamination process?”

  “The ceramic will protect the sample,” Bauer replied. “After all, that’s what the plates on the underbelly of this craft are made of, to preserve the shuttle from the heat of reentry. Don’t worry, Dylan. It’s all part of my new plan.”

  Something didn’t sound quite right to Reed. “So what do I—”

  Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a flash of the scalpel that cut open his suit, slicing all the way to flesh.

  “No!” he cried, staggering back.

  “Witnesses aren’t part of the new plan,” Bauer said. “If I let you come out, the interrogators would tear you apart. And because you are fundamentally a weak man, you would talk. But if you don’t survive, then I get to
write the final chapter of Discovery’s history, sad as it will be.”

  Bauer simply sidestepped when Reed made a desperate attempt to grab him. Reed fell and rolled over, then began shaking violently. His body was seized by convulsions that made his spine bend like a bow. Keeping a safe distance, Bauer watched, fascinated, as his creation went about its deadly business. He couldn’t take his eyes off Reed for more than a few seconds, not even when he began to arm the autodestruct sequence.

  Chapter 32

  It won’t be the gas jets. Something else…What?

  The question echoed in Smith’s mind as he hurried under the shuttle’s left wing toward the landing gear. Either Bauer didn’t know or he had overlooked the fact that there was another way into the craft other than through the cocoon. Smith stepped up on the tires, then moved onto the landing assembly. He popped open a small hatch, reached inside, and pulled down a handcrank. Fitting one end into a slot, he began turning. Little by little, the much larger hatch detached itself from the orbiter.

  Pushing the hatch to one side, Smith climbed into the belly of the payload bay located behind the Spacelab. He found himself crouching next to the get-away canisters where unattended experiments and supplies were stored. In front of them was an oval, submarine-type door—the back entry to the Spacelab.

  Inside the Spacelab, Megan Olson stared in horror as the wheel on the rear door spun faster and faster. Leaning against the sled chair, she felt dizzy and nauseated. Even though she’d been strapped in as securely as possible, the buffeting reentry had been extremely jarring. She felt as though her entire body had been pummeled.

  It’s not too late. I can still get out of here.

  Seizing that thought, she’d climbed out of the sled chair and staggered to the door that connected the lab to the tunnel. But after a few minutes of trying, she realized that either she was too weak or the door was locked from the outside.

  Fighting back tears, she had tried desperately to think of another way out. Then she had heard the sounds coming from the get-away section of the payload bay.

  Why is Reed coming back? And why that way?

  Frantically Megan looked around for something that might serve as a weapon, but found nothing. She heard the hiss of a seal breaking. As the door swung back, she moved to the side, raising both arms over her head. Surprise would be her only defense against Reed.

  First a leg appeared, then a pair of arms. As soon as Megan saw the helmet, she started to bring down her arms. Then, in that split second, she realized that it wasn’t a space suit, but one designed for biohazard work. She managed to stop her swing just as the figure looked up at her.

  “Megan!”

  She tried to grab Smith but her gloved hands slipped off his suit. The next instant he was holding her by the shoulders, his helmet bumping hers, their faceplates touching. She couldn’t take her eyes off his. She leaned against his shoulder and wept for everything that, only moments ago, seemed to have been snatched away, and was now restored. She pulled back a little so that she could look at him.

  “How did you know?”

  “They heard you in mission control. Not much got through, but enough so they knew you were alive.”

  “So you came for me….”

  They stared at each other, then Smith said, “Come on. We’ve got to get out of here.”

  “But Reed—”

  “I know about him,” Smith told her. “He was working for Karl Bauer.”

  “Bauer?”

  “He was the man you saw with Reed the night before the launch. Bauer’s onboard right now. He came to take the smallpox mutation Reed had created in microgravity. But he’s not going to just walk out of here, Megan. He has to destroy all evidence of what happened on this flight.”

  Then he told her exactly where the shuttle was parked and why, about the holding chamber that was really a giant crematorium.

  Megan shook her head. “No, Jon,” she said. “He’s doing it another way.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Megan pointed to an overhead readout she had noticed a moment ago. “That’s the autodestruct sequence, armed and counting down. Once it’s been set, it can’t be turned off or extended. We have less than four minutes before the shuttle explodes.”

  Seventy seconds later, Smith and Megan Olson were climbing out of the craft the way Smith had gone in.

  Megan shuddered when she looked around the cavernous death chamber. She turned to Smith, who was locking the hatch they had passed through.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Making sure that no one follows us.” He stepped on a tire, then to the ground. “Let’s go.”

  Moving as quickly as their bulky suits permitted, they came around the wing. Megan gasped when she saw the cocoon mated to the shuttle’s lower escape hatch and to the cavity in the far wall.

  “Is that how we’re supposed to get out?”

  “It’s the only way.”

  As they approached the cocoon, Smith could see that the hatch to the shuttle was closed. There was no sign of Bauer inside the plastic tunnel or in the pass-through decontamination area. From his RAID suit he brought out a knife with a retractable blade, and with a few bold strokes, cut an opening in the cocoon.

  “Go through,” he told Megan, then followed her into the cocoon.

  Once inside, Megan turned when she no longer felt Smith’s hand on her shoulder. She found him staring at the hatch.

  “Jon, we’re running out of time!”

  Then she saw the cold, pitiless expression behind his faceplate, the grief in his eyes. His anger spilled into her as she pictured the bodies of her crewmates, the terrible way they had died. She understood exactly what he intended to do.

  “Go down the tunnel,” Smith said. “Don’t stop. Don’t look back. There’s a decontamination chamber right behind the blast door.”

  “Jon—?”

  “Go, Megan.”

  Smith didn’t think of the time that he had left, of the odds of making it out of the chamber alive. He knew that men like Bauer, rich and powerful, seldom if ever paid for their crimes—especially since those who could have condemned them were already dead. Worse, Bauer would try again. Somewhere, sometime, there would be another Cassandra Compact.

  Smith hurried through the small decontamination pass-through—the size of a shower stall—and came up to the hatch. Through the rectangular porthole he saw the mutilated body of Dylan Reed and Bauer, holding a ceramic capsule in the palm of his hand.

  He wasn’t going to bring out the entire sample. He didn’t need to. A drop would be more than enough. A drop he could hide in his suit; that would be enough to re-create the monstrosity.

  Crouching, Smith opened a panel at the bottom of the hatch and engaged the manual override. He rose just as Bauer turned, his expression one of total disbelief.

  It can’t be…!

  Smith saw Bauer’s lips move but didn’t hear his words until he had changed the frequency on his helmet radio.

  “…are you doing here?”

  Silently he watched as Bauer punched the keypad, watched as his incredulity dissolved to horror when the hatch didn’t open.

  “What are you doing here?” Bauer screamed. “Open this hatch!”

  “No, Doctor,” Smith replied. “I think I’ll leave you with your creation.”

  Bauer’s face was contorted with fear. “Listen to me—!”

  Smith changed the frequency and began walking away. He thought he heard fists falling on the hatch, but knew that that was just his imagination.

  “Control, this is Smith. Where’s Olson?”

  Static crackled in his ear, then a familiar voice came through. “Jon, this is Klein. Megan is safe. She’s in the decontamination area. She told me that the autodestruct was armed.”

  “Bauer did that.”

  “Where is he?”

  “Still inside.”

  After a moment’s hesitation, Klein replied, “Understood. We’re opening the blast door, Jon
. But you only have a few seconds. Hurry!”

  At the end of the cocoon Smith saw the huge door start to swing open. With sweat pouring off him, he forced himself to move even faster. There it was, the cavity cut into the wall at the end of the cocoon.

  Then the door stopped and began closing. He was still at least fifteen steps away.

  “What’s happening?” he demanded.

  “The door closes automatically,” Klein shouted back. “It will seal five seconds before the blast. Jon, get out of there.”

  Smith forced his screaming muscles to move even faster. One step, one second, one step, one second…

  The blast door moved relentlessly, reducing the size of the opening. With a final desperate effort Smith hurled himself forward, hitting the leading edge of the door, squeezing himself through as it brushed by him and locked.

  Seconds later, he was thrown to the ground as the earth seemed to rear up and something like a giant’s fist slammed into the blast door.

  He opened his eyes to white: ceiling, walls, sheets. With a soldier’s instincts he lay perfectly still, then slowly, carefully moved his neck, hands, feet, arms, and legs. His body felt as though it had gone over Niagara Falls in a barrel.

  The door opened and Klein walked in.

  “Where am I?” Smith asked, his voice weak.

  “In the land of the living, I’m happy to say,” Klein replied. “The doctor tells me that you’ll be just fine.”

  “How—?”

  “After the shuttle exploded, Jack Riley and his team went into the decontamination chamber, put you through the process, then got you out.”

  “Megan?”

  “She’s fine. You both are.”

  Smith felt his limbs turn to jelly. “It’s over,” he whispered.