AMERICA ONE (35 page)

“I have a potential source of investment in my company from an oil company in the Middle East, What I can divulge to you is that I will be speaking to a Royal Family controlling one of our friendly countries; and this agreement could be a real plus for our country, to tie in a more grounded source of oil. They are interested in developing a space authority of their own and would like to use my ideas to piggy back on. This country is one of the best friends to the U.S. and, naturally once any contract is signed, you will get copies of all that is going on. Only if and when an agreement is signed, will I be allowed by the King to divulge the name of his country. We are to meet in a third country, Turkey, to discuss a possible $10 billion investment, a substantial sum for me to continue my work. They want to see the actual aircraft that is propelling our shuttles into space and how we can achieve space at only twenty million dollars per flight. In-flight refueling will be necessary on the way home as this member of the Royal family can only meet with me on a certain day at a certain time, and our second mission start time for space is in a tight forty-eight hour window of my arrival for this meeting. In other words, time is tight and I cannot change the itinerary. It is out of my hands.”

“Is that Jordan?” asked Tom Ward.

“I would not like to say right now,” replied Ryan. “But, it might be.”

General Mortimer was given nods of approval by the two men in civilian dress, and the matter was put to rest.

After an hour of expensive snacks, including the same Russian caviar VIN enjoyed earlier that day high above, and a few glasses of quality California red wine and champagne, the visitors climbed back into their little jet and headed back to Nellis Air Force Base.

“It didn’t seem that they knew about Congress charging you for your plutonium,” suggested Bob Mathews as they watched the jet take off on its short return flight back to Las Vegas.

“Even the ex-president doesn’t know,” replied Ryan smiling. “At least this visit will keep them off my back for a while, and my mention of the second-hand plutonium has given me a new idea of how to extend my value to them.”

Ryan achieved the next part of the plan with the flight to Turkey via Andrews Ramstein in Germany, including in-flight refueling so that he wouldn’t have to land anywhere on U.S. soil. If he ever had to testify in court, he could honestly state that the purchase was not landed on U.S. soil, only at his airfield. It might help.

Over the next week the flight was planned by the pilots. Since the C-5 was flying over with no cargo, its usual 2,500 mile range was extended by a good 40 percent. On its return flight, the first tanker could refuel the C-5 from Ramstein in Germany, and then the second from Andrews over the East Coast to reach Nevada.

Bob Mathews, who was an expert on this type of flying, contacted the necessary Air Force personnel at Andrews and Ramstein air bases to set up the perfect timing of their outward journey; on their way home his efforts would bring two aircraft together at 350 miles an hour to transfer more fuel in the air than was often stored at a small gas station.

Several days later, with just enough JP-8 to get to Andrews, the mammoth plane took off. On board as crew and passengers were Bob Mathews, the pilot in the left seat, Maggie, in the right seat as co-pilot, both Captains Sullivan and Pitt who were backup pilots/flight engineers, two of Ryan’s experts in radio-active material, and Ryan.

Andrews was a large airfield and the base commander, an old friend of Bob Mathew’s. While the aircraft was being refueled for the flight to Europe, the base commander invited the crew in for dinner at the Officers’ Mess. Maggie stayed in the aircraft; Ryan didn’t want her recognized by any Air Force personnel. A doggie-bag was brought to her by the others to remind her of the good Air Force cooking she was missing.

Two other C-5s were heading out to Ramstein, and Ryan’s aircraft was invited to join them for the flight over the pond. Several hours later the three aircraft began their descents into Ramstein. Refueling would be a three-hour event and dawn was still an hour away when the twelve tanks of the thirsty aircraft began receiving fuel. Ryan was often on his satellite phone speaking to his contacts at their destination, 1,200 miles in front of them.

Seven hours later Bob Mathews began his descent into a small commercial airport in eastern Turkey. It was the first time a U.S. Air Force aircraft had ever landed on this short, narrow runway.

Ryan expected to see smaller commercial jet aircraft at the small five-gate terminal; he was sure that many of the passengers and Turkish flight crew would not believe their eyes when they saw a U.S. Air Force aircraft, the biggest in the world, using their airport.

Bob was shown where to taxi by a Turkish airport civilian police car, and steered the aircraft to the cargo area of the airport where they came to a halt in front of a large hangar.

Bob began the checks to open the large forward nose door, and once the nose was opened, the hangar doors were opened; all he could see was a flatbed truck inside the hangar with three large, square, wooden freight crates, each the size of an SUV. The old rusty flatbed reversed out and Bob was quite surprised to see the rear of the old truck’s bed begin to rise to the cargo floor height of the C-5, a dozen feet higher than its load. This vehicle looked as though it had been modernized just for this one load. He went down to the cargo area to watch the loading. Captain Pitt, experienced at loading an aircraft of this size, was already at the front nose door watching the three crates slowly rise up to the C-5 door height.

“Looks like the same system we use back at the airfield,” Bob said to Pitt. Ryan and his two scientists watched the loading from the concrete apron below the aircraft.

“Exactly the same,” replied Pitt. “It also seems to have the same wheel system which will run the three crates into the cargo bay. The base on each crate has been modified to sit on the same tracks the shuttles use, and the middle one, I’m told, is the heavy one, at three tons. The others are European food supplies for the airfield personnel, and weigh one ton apiece. The entire cargo only weighs five tons, Colonel, so we won’t see much more fuel usage on the way home with such a light load.”

“Is that a Geiger Counter in the boss’s hand?” Bob asked realizing what Ryan and his two guys were holding. “I thought we were coming here to meet a king or something.” Bob had not been in on any of the meetings and wasn’t told of the real reason they were flying to Turkey.

Michael Pitt told him what he was allowed. “That story was for the interested parties who came to visit. One of these crates holds a special power unit for space travel, and as you can see, might show radiation.”

“Is that why we are surrounded by Turkish police cars?” asked Bob. “May I assume this is our next load into space in thirty hours?”

“Correct!” Michael smiled. “Ryan doesn’t want the government to know that it even arrived in the states. One could say that it is hazardous cargo in transit, not needing customs approval. Straight in, straight out, in transit! Why do you think we are all being paid so much, Colonel Mathews? Not a bad deal for a bit of hazardous cargo.”

Bob happily agreed with that statement. He could enjoy a far better life after two years of retirement work for Ryan. He would be able to afford a new larger cruiser and go fishing in Florida.

He went back to the flight engineer’s table in the cockpit to plot the flight home, and input the five-ton cargo into the computer to calculate the aircraft’s fuel needs. The tanks still two-thirds full; a top-up would be due over Ramstein, and then one over Maryland for their last leg into Nevada. Bob Mathews, who was as good as any flight engineer, worked out what he would need to suck out of the two air tankers that were going to meet up with them on the way home.

The stop at the Turkish civilian airport had been planned for a duration of three hours. Ryan knew that military cameras in space would be following their every move, so he had arranged for the arrival of a white civilian jet, which just happened to park close by, and he entered the jet for an hour. It cost him plenty but it was worth it.

He was also hoping that the three crates would look like a gift, or supplies, and, in fact, the two crates full of eastern food and delicacies fit that description. He was quite partial to a bar or two of “Turkish Delight” every now and again, himself.

Bob watched as two hours later, the small Gulfstream jet took off and Ryan walked out to the apron with a stack of what looked like white envelopes, and shook the hand of every Turkish policeman around the aircraft; there were thirty or more of them, and Bob noticed that Ryan handed each man an envelope. He was sure that the envelopes had some financial benefits in them.

Ryan then met with the three men in the hangar who had been there to deliver and load the cargo, and again envelopes were handed out. They all shook hands. Ryan signaled Bob to close the nose and then sat down in the hangar for a tiny cup of Turkish coffee.

Michael Pitt checked the positioning and tie-down of the cargo, and Ryan spent several minutes with the men in the still-open hangar drinking coffee and chatting.

The flight back to Ramstein was uneventful. The Stratotanker was climbing into the agreed location and Bob, a little rusty at in-flight refueling, was ribbed by the tanker’s young pilot about being a little off with his aim. After pumping in 25,000 pounds of fuel, they said their goodbyes, and the C-5 flew out over the Atlantic.

Seven hours later, with the sun about to set over the western horizon and a strong headwind from a cold front, they met up with the second air tanker over Maryland and took on enough fuel to get back to Nevada.

Maggie took over the flying duties from Bob Mathews after the second refueling; they arrived in Nevada thirty minutes late due to inclement weather the flight went through over the Atlantic. She touched down lightly on the runway and taxied the C-5 to its usual place on the apron.

She and Penny were told to get some rest, Michael Pitt would see to the unloading. The two women headed off for a good night’s sleep before they were to fly into space ten hours later.

Michael Pitt was responsible for overseeing that the three crates were unloaded and transferred to their proper destinations; two were taken over to the supply depot, and the heavy one was broken out of its crate in Hangar Six and readied for loading into
Silver Bullet II
. The load was gray and lifeless—a lead cube about six feet high, six feet wide and ten feet long. It was as smooth as lead could be made and had one opening, a hinged door with an active security pad on it and a battery underneath the pad. Michael had it placed next to the shuttle while a second rectangular crate was opened and its contents loaded into the rear of the shuttle.

Ryan checked both crates with a Geiger counter several times during the flight into the states and again when the wooden crate was broken away from the lead block. It was the same, a slight movement in radioactive emissions, but nowhere dangerous for humans.

The second crate was removed and he saw the body of the empty nuclear reactor housing, about the size of a Volkswagen Beetle. Somebody up there in space would need to fill it with the contents of the lead capsule. The reactor had the same lead walls, this time painted a bright green. This unit had a window in the door and Michael could see that the lead was about a foot thick. The weight was 1.1 tons, and that meant this flight was again at maximum.

He organized the roof crane and slowly lifted the reactor housing into the rear area of the shuttle’s cargo bay. The solid rocket fuels had just been loaded and the shuttle had a dozen thick umbilical cords coming out of it, keeping the fuels at their necessary temperatures.

Michael, and the team of a dozen loaders, needed to be careful; after the reactor was installed, small explosive devices, with about a tenth of the power of a normal hand grenade, were set up and armed to release the cargo when necessary. The shuttle had several other personnel working in the flight deck, and even a few wiping down the gleaming aluminum outer body work, as if she was to be entered into a race.

The hangar was busy. Only so many people could fit into the cockpit and for every one of four scientists inside the flight cockpit, there were a dozen outside looking at computer monitors or ticking off checks on clipboards. This shuttle wasn’t coming back for a couple of weeks.

The first piece of cargo took an hour and finally it was in and tight. Now the crane needed to lift the heavier lead case. There were four steel rings on each of the four corners of the hangar on the side with the entrance. The 30-ton lifting crane was positioned over the slightly rectangular lump, and the hangar system didn’t notice the weight as the unit left the ground. It took time, but finally the two pieces of cargo were secure and the shuttle roof doors closed and sealed. Then the whole unit, with the hangar groaning this time, was raised up and placed onto the loading vehicle ready to get the shuttle into the C-5 once the second liquid hydrogen refueling was complete in a few hours’ time.

When the second refueling was complete, three-quarters of the shuttle was loaded through the nose into the Galaxy; before the shuttle was fully loaded, pilots wearing full space suits would be helped into the shuttle. A special lift would help them up to the bed where a carpet was placed on the steel frame over a wooden floor, and they would enter the craft. There was no room inside the cargo bay of the aircraft with the shuttle in there, and they would be literally trapped in the cockpit when the door was sealed from outside. The last few feet of the shuttle’s nose would then enter the aircraft and the nose door sealed. The pilots could not get out again.

The truck looked similar to the loading system on all large jet aircraft, just ten times longer. Its 150-foot rear bed had long motorized steel wheel runners on its floor area which slid the shuttle inch by inch onto the rails inside the mother aircraft.

Maggie and Penny, the shuttle’s two pilots, were fast asleep while Michael was still working. He would be number two pilot to Bob the next morning, and would manage a couple of hours of sleep before takeoff.