AMERICA ONE (38 page)

“I only employ the best, Mr. Bishop. Do you have a problem with that?” Ryan asked suddenly figuring out how his chief pilot knew this NSA guy.

“General Saunders, is this renegade right about space flight?” demanded Bishop looking at the general for verification.

“It was in our most basic studies at the Air Force Academy, Mr. Bishop. You, as a former Air Force pilot, should remember. On the first NASA flights the returning astronauts were kept in quarantine for this precise reason, until they found that the amounts of radiation, not radioactive bits of material hanging on the sides of the returning craft, were not hazardous to humans.”

“Men, I want the outside of every hangar checked, and then we are out of here,” demanded Joe Bishop angrily.

“So, Bishop, the Air Force couldn’t handle you either and you sank even lower, down to the NSA, after you were politely asked to leave. I wonder why you suddenly left the Air Force. Could it have been over that million gallon fuel discrepancy at the base? When was it, about three years after you got rid of me?” added Jonesy making the older man uncomfortable.

“I was cleared of that small problem, and it is a privilege to work for the agency, Captain Jones, your discharged rank if I remember,” replied Bishop, now on dangerous ground.

“Yes, I read up on your court martial Bishop. I see that two of the officers who cleared you now work for the NSA as well. As far as I’m concerned, you are a stinking liar and a dirty little fat thief. They never found that lost million or so gallons of JP-8. It just disappeared into thin air, and it took you less than a year to lose that amount of taxpayers’ money. Ryan, I think you should get this poor excuse for a G-man slob out of here before I finish what I should have in the Air Force; scalp the SOB!”

“Mr. Jones, please go back to the briefing room,” replied Ryan calmly. “I don’t appreciate my staff insulting visitors, and Mr. Bishop will leave this airfield very soon.”

“Allen, want a cup of coffee while this plastic G-man tries to screw up more crap?” Jonesy asked General Saunders, and both pilots headed over to the hangar’s coffee machine.

“I think you should get rid of that pilot, Mr. Richmond, He will cause a lot of trouble for you and your project from the Agency,” added Joe Bishop regaining his composure.

“Is that a threat, Mr. Bishop?” Ryan asked. “If it is, I suggest you get in your aircraft and wait for takeoff. You have checked out what you want and found nothing. As of this morning, the United States of America is a free country, and I do not need to be inspected by any government agency on a whim of theirs. And next time, if the NSA wants to inspect my airfield, they had better bring the correct paperwork. I hope your boss knows you are here, because he is certainly going to hear from me. Security! Escort Mr. Bishop and his two colleagues back to their aircraft. They can wait there for General Saunders.”

Bishop looked at Ryan angrily, turned, and the dumpy man went back to his plane. The two colleagues were collected, and the three men sat inside the small jet while Ryan joined the two pilots for coffee.

“I have a problem with that guy,” General Saunders was saying to Jonesy as Ryan approached. Ryan asked the man to continue.

“After you left the Air Force, John, he got rid of two of the best techies I ever worked with, Samuelson and Piccard. They had worked on a problem with a C-17 for me for thirty hours straight; they were tired, and Bishop, who had just come on duty, demanded why they looked such a mess. Both told him where to go and both left the force a few weeks later.”

“They were excellent techies,” Jonesy agreed.

“And there were also fuel discrepancies at our old base for years after you were gone. We found out that non-Air Force jets were flying in for meetings, NSA and CIA civilian-marked aircraft we believed, and were being refueled every time they came in. Sometimes up to a dozen jets a week. They always came in empty, stayed overnight, and left fully fueled the next day. We later found out that the Air Force unknowingly was supplying fuel for free to these agencies due to budget cuts, and the flights weren’t even real business flights. It was all hushed up by General Mortimer. Careful of Mortimer, Ryan, he has very few friends in the military and certainly is not liked by any of the other Air Force senior officers I know. Whether the Chief of Staff is a friend of his, I don’t know. Also the CIA guy, Tom Ward, I remember him well from those days with Bishop. He was a good friend of Bishop’s, always getting fueled up, tanked up and staying over at the Officers’ Mess.”

“And the new president?” asked Ryan.

“That I don’t know, but Bishop has boasted about his new contacts in Washington several times, as if he could be directly reporting to somebody there. I heard that retired General Bishop was seen showing the new president, a governor then, around the base at one time several years ago. I think the president was a state governor at the time and maybe he was just doing his duty. I was returning from flight ops in Germany and dismissed the gossip as unimportant.”

Ryan thanked the base commander for the heads up and the jet taxied out and left twenty minutes later. He was satisfied about the success of the visit, also extremely happy that Saunders and Jonesy were old buddies, respected each other, and he might have found a possible ally in future times of need.

“Beware of Bishop,” added Jonesy as they watched the small jet takeoff and quickly disappear. “That piece of crap is a walking psychopath.”

“So are several others in Washington, Mr. Jones, and I hope General Saunders is a good man. I also have my contacts in Washington, but rather limited after the last elections.”

The next day, life got back to usual. Jonesy was still weak from space and didn’t do well in the morning’s run. VIN ran beside him, easily looking the more powerful runner with his metal legs, and Suzi ran at the rear for the first time ever, hanging out with her Herr Noble.

Later that morning, there was a phone call for Penny Sullivan. The call needed to be taken in the security office with a guard listening in. It was an old friend from McChord Air Force Base. Her old friend had decided to leave the Air Force due to a quick and already ended romance with another officer, and wanted to ask Penny what she was doing. Penny asked her how she had got this number, and her friend, Kathy Pringle, said that she had been given the number from the base commander at Nellis.

“Ryan, I have a friend looking for a job,” reported Penny at the pilot briefing later that morning. She was my flight teacher on C-17s for two years at McChord. It seems that a short romance has suddenly forced her to leave the Air Force. She is a darn good pilot, far more experienced than me. Maggie, you might know her, Colonel Kathy Pringle. She must have gone through the Academy the same time you were there.”

“Yes, she was a year behind me!” replied Maggie happily. “We flew gliders together at the Academy and then I instructed her on C-130s at Seymour Johnson in North Carolina a couple of years later.”

“I think we could use another pilot. You said that she got your number from Nellis?” Ryan asked. Penny nodded. “Mr. Jones, do you trust General Saunders?” Jonesy nodded that he did. “He is the only person there who I believe who has our number. Let’s see if this works out and we can trust both of them. Ms. Sullivan, ask your friend to call the Nellis base commander and see if he can get her to Creech for pickup ASAP. I’m sure Mr. Noble needs a new bottle of Jack Daniels.”

An hour later, the news came through to Ryan’s phone. The pilot briefing was still going on, with Jonesy describing the problems of living in space. VIN had just been debriefed on subjects like spacewalking and listening to Frank Sinatra, and Jonesy had just started his description of space and living with VIN when Ryan’s phone began to buzz. This didn’t happen very often and Ryan listened for several minutes, his face showing little emotion.

“Sorry about that, team” he said, after finishing the call. “It seems that the Earth-Exit team launched into space this morning and connected up with the International Space Station a few minutes ago. It is all over the news and there is live feed. Mr. Noble, please turn on the television.”

“…..we are so happy to be aboard the ISS with their crew and, as a gift from earth, we have brought a bottle of good Californian champagne, fresh orange juice and made-this-morning on earth, fresh Danish for the crew up here,”
said a smiling man in a space suit holding up the gifts for the ISS crew.

“Well, the race has been won by team Earth-Exit, very closely following the failed attempt yesterday by the Astermine team out of Nevada,”
carried on the news reporter with the space crew working on releasing the cork.

“He better put his finger on the top of the bottle. Oh! There it goes! Champagne all over the space station!” remarked VIN as they watched the floating liquid escape from the open top and head out in every direction in millions of droplets. “Jonesy and I are experts in the field of space drinking, aren’t we, partner?” Jonesy said nothing.

“We have reports in from yesterday’s launch, that the Astermine Company had difficulties with some magnetic field, which caused a problem with their shuttle space thrusters. These thrusters were to propel Astermine’s shuttle up to the space station. Even though Astermine’s shuttle completed twenty-one orbits of earth, it wasn’t enough to claim the ten million dollar prize money. The president himself is flying out on Air Force One to Earth-Exit headquarters later today to present its CEO with the trophy. Comments are already in from the British team in the race. It seems that there are no hard feelings from the other competitors, and their CEO said that the British project, to take passengers up at $200,000 each, was only weeks away. I’m sure congratulations from Astermine’s Ryan Richmond to Earth-Exit aren’t far behind. NASA, who has been watching the progress of all three companies, is expected to intern one of these companies into its new space program, and it looks like Earth-Exit is the current favorite. And now for the latest weather….”

Ryan got on the phone and congratulated the CEO of Earth-Exit.

A week later VIN waved at the same police cruiser in its usual place after picking up Colonel Pringle, a tall extremely good looking pilot, a bit younger than Maggie. It was good to feel his Audi around him again, but it had taken him a while to get his metal leg movements gentle enough not to spin the four tires on his way down to Creech Air Force Base.

After a day’s worth of the usual entry requirements into Ryan’s airfield, Kathy Pringle was the quickest person ever to be immediately present at the next day’s pilot briefing. Normally Ryan checked them out first, but it seemed he was a little taken with her, and she had happily signed a contract and agreement as soon as she arrived; her friends, Penny and Maggie, had completed all the same papers and she trusted them implicitly.

For the first time, Suzi and Mr. Rose also attended the pilot’s meeting. Bob Mathews wasn’t in attendance, nor were his pilots.

“I would like to welcome the newest member of our pilot staff, Colonel Kathy Pringle, who is leaving the United States Air Force in a week,” began Ryan. “She has the rest of the week to use up her leave and, General Saunders was most accommodating in allowing her to come over here on such short notice.”

He observed Maggie’s and Penny’s warm welcome to the new girl earlier at breakfast. They seemed very happy to reunite, and there was a lot of camaraderie between the three girls. Ryan thought Kathy Pringle was extremely good looking; a long-haired, six-foot tall California blonde with a deep raspy voice, green eyes and only two inches shorter than he. She was a year or two older than he was, had large laughing eyes and he immediately felt good that she had joined the crew. She also looked much like Sharon Stone. Now, his team of beautiful Air Force “she-pilots,” as the chauvinistic Mr. Jones always called them, looked more like Charlie’s Angels. Maybe he should call them “Ryan’s Angels” but decided to get on with business.

“Ms. Pringle, under the supervision of Ms. Sinclair and Ms. Sullivan, has signed the contracts to allow her into our inner pilot circle. Ms. Pringle is single, has no dependents and, I believe will become an asset to you, our flight crew. Ms. Pringle will immediately go into shuttle simulator training with Mr. Pitt for the next few months. She told me that she doesn’t have a fear of heights, even the dark Frank Sinatra heights of space!” There were some sniggers at his joke.

“We are six days away from our third launch, but first I must bring you up-to-date on our last week of outside news. As you know Earth-Exit won the competition, and it was amusing to watch the president tell the world on television that Earth-Exit was his favorite company to win the race, and he was behind them all the way. He should be, he has over $50 million invested with them, and has been an investor for a couple of years now. His telling the world that NASA has the government’s blessing to take over Earth-Exit for two billion dollars is, in theory, giving him a 300 percent return on his money. Not very many people know this. It is very possible that he now finds himself in an awkward position, and I’m sure he doesn’t want the world to know about his previous dealings. We have all the necessary information on his investments as well as our friend General Mortimer’s even larger investment in the same company, and we will keep that information under lock and key until needed.

“Second, our friend General Mortimer phoned me from the Pentagon and wanted to know what our new plans were, and whether I was going to continue. I told him we were. An hour before his call, which I was expecting, I spoke to a friend, the current head of NASA, Bill Withers. We are on friendly terms, even though I employed most of his best scientists and engineers when he laid them off. Now he wants them back and naturally I declined his offer. What I did discuss with him is the failing Russian satellite. He considers it to be the most dangerous object about to fall back to earth, anticipated next year. I told him that my next attempt was in a week’s time and, since I now couldn’t win the race, my team could try and solve this dilemma. He was extremely positive about our team flying up there and seeing if we could lift the old beer can, as Mr. Jones calls it, into a higher orbit. He had an agreement from the Russian government an hour later, stating that we could destroy the station if we needed to.