America Read Free

and every malfunction the fertile brains of the engineers could conjure up.
    A minor electrical problem delayed the countdown for several seconds, perhaps twenty, but the technicians rerouted data around the malfunctioning distribution bus so smoothly most of the observers didn’t know there had been a problem.
    Tick by tick, the clock worked down. All conversation ceased among the spectators.
    Ignition!
    With a roar that was awe-inspiring, the first-stage rocket engines ignited. For only a moment was the beast still chained, then it began to rise. Through the bombproof windows only white-hot fire could be seen, so everyone not staring at a computer screen looked at a monitor.
    Slowly, majestically, the rocket rose on a pillar of fire, perceptibly accelerating.
    As the intensity of the noise began to diminish, the view on the monitors became an upward look at the dazzling exhaust plume of the rising rocket.
    Jake Grafton realized he had been holding his breath. His skin tingled. He exhaled, then forced himself to breathe regularly as the rocket slowly shrank to a dot of brilliant flame on the monitors.
    Now he was aware of the controllers’ voices, talking to chase pilots, talking to each other, talking to tracking stations downrange. He clearly heard the first hint of trouble. “Bahamas tracking has gone off the air, apparently power failure.”
    He was watching the monitor when he saw the flash that meant the first stage had expended its fuel and dropped away as the second stage ignited.
    The exhaust was a white-hot star in the monitors, low on the horizon, high in the atmosphere, accelerating.…
    â€œAzores tracking is down. We are the only station with contact, and we’re going to lose it in twenty-five seconds.”
    â€œMissile is changing course! Two, three, four degrees left … six, eight…”
    Jake glanced at Gattsuo, the launch director, who stood like a statue staring at the monitor, listening to the reports. The missile should not be changing course. With a nuclear reactor aboard the satellite, the United States could not afford, ethically or politically, for the missile to wander off course and crash wherever, contaminating the crash site for thousands of years. On the other hand, if the missile managed to place the SuperAegis satellite in orbit, perhaps the orbit could be successfully altered later, saving the mission and the billions of dollars involved. Gattsuo was the man on the spot; the decision to destroy the missile his to make.
    â€œSecond-stage burnout in five seconds … four … three … two …
    The star in the center of the monitors that was the second-stage exhaust winked out. Leaving … nothing!
    â€œThird stage has failed to ignite,” the male voice on the PA system intoned flatly. “Missile seventeen degrees off course. We’ll lose contact in nine seconds … eight…”
    As the seconds passed, Gattsuo’s face reflected his agony.
    â€œSelf-destruct,” he ordered. “Destroy it.”
    Nothing on the monitor. No flash, nothing.
    â€œThree … two … one … radar contact lost!”
    In the crowded launch module dead silence reigned. It was broken finally when Stephen Gattsuo said disgustedly, “Shit!”
    In the seconds that followed that comment, Jake Grafton distinctly heard a strident feminine voice ask, “Where’s the knife?”
    *   *   *
    In the hours that followed, a parade of helicopters ferried the VIPs off the Goddard platform. They were a subdued lot, even Congresswoman Sam Strader, who knew better than to gloat. As they filed up onto the helo platform and stared at the empty place where the rocket had been, they even ignored each other. It was as if they had witnessed something obscene and were ashamed they had been there.
    Jake Grafton and the liaison team remained behind. As the hours passed, the tracking stations