The general flipped a switch and watched as an oscilloscope danced across one of the screens.
“Fastmover, I have initiated the voice modulator control. Do you read me?”
“Yes sir. You’re still five by five.”
“Good. I see you’re approaching 100,000 feet. Everything looks good from here, how does it feel to you?”
“As smooth as baby’s butt. It doesn’t get much better.”
“Excellent. Head for the ceiling”
“Initiating pulse engine sequence in five, four, three, two, one, Mark.”
The general watched the monitor as the altimeter began to wind up like a spinning clock. The Su-12 cleared 200,000 feet in less than a minute and had reached 18,000 miles per hour. He couldn’t help but stand there with a smile on his face. A little over a minute later he could see the altimeter starting to slow and then hover as Fastmover reached the top of the thermosphere.
He watched as the outside temperature started to climb. They had reached the point where the sun's energy would rapidly heat the exterior of the craft.
“We are at 400,000 feet,” the astronaut reported.
“Ten-four. How was the ride?”
“A little buffeting at 300,000 feet, but it only lasted a few seconds.”
“Outstanding. You are go for one orbit,” the general said.
“Don’t go anywhere, we will be back before you known it,” the pilot joked.
The general sat down at last and clasped his hands together. All they had to do was bring it home safely and then he could move to the final stage of his plan.
Once the BlackStar was in orbit he would tie up any loose ends. Eller, Dr. Yuriss, Beck, and the two guards at Beacon would all have to be disposed of. It was a small price to pay for the end result, at least in his mind. Of course Gimbel would have to go at some point but not until he was sure he was of no further value to the program.
While waiting, he called the tower for a report on what they had on radar both the short and long range.
“Just our normal traffic outside the restricted fly zone. Nothing out of the ordinary,” the controller said.
“Good, very good,” was all he said.
No one would know the Fastmover was completing an orbit except the astronauts and him.
“Thor. This is Fastmover.”
“Go.”
“We are nearing completion. We will be starting our reentry procedure in four minutes.”
“Just bring the baby on home safe and sound.”
“You can count on that,” the pilot replied.
All Devin could do for now was wait. His eyes were transfixed on the monitors. He could see the two pilots going through the checklist.
“Initiation in three, two, one, now.” He watched as the pilot punched a few buttons and the cockpit pitched to a downward angle. The altimeter started to unwind, moving faster and faster as they started the descent from seventy-five miles up.
He watched the commander of the craft start to pull the nose back up so that the tiles would dissipate the heat. The craft hurled through the mesosphere, and he could see the flames start to stream past the cockpit as the heat built up, allowing the friction to slow the rate of descent. Then came the stratosphere and finally the troposphere.
They were directly in the center of the projected glide path to bring them to the approach to runway 14L. They would have nearly five miles to bring the craft to a halt. The general watched as it broke through the 50,000 foot mark and started to line up for final approach.
“On final,” Fastmover said.
“You are five by five here.”
Triple sonic booms echoed across the desert as the Su-12 streaked toward touch down.
The craft came in and flared slightly before touching down in a cloud of burned rubber and dust. They were down safe. He could see the pilot deploy the parachute as the speed bled off. Three miles down the runway it was traveling at only 150MPH. At mile four it rolled to a stop. They were home, safe and sound.
“Welcome back, Fastmover.”
“Thank you. Can we do it again?” the pilot said.
“And again, and again,” the general joked back.
He took a deep breath. One more giant segment of his plans had been accomplished. Now he if he could get that little prick Gimbel to get the BlackStar ready to deploy on time, he would be all but finished.
Lynn had waited until the scheduled time for the Su-12 to make its flight. She knew the general would be occupied with the test and it would be her best chance to try to help Raymond. After she had retrieved the note that Angie had given her, it had taken her over an hour before she deciphered it.
*&%((*#. It was a phone number. 875-9984. She spent the next hour figuring out how she was going to give Angie a message in case they were listening in on her phone. She dialed the number and a sleepy voice answered.
“Beck residence.”
“Angie? This is Lynn Yurris.”
“Lynn?” her voice became instantly awake.
“I’m the one with the smashed fingers,” she said.
“Certainly. I remember those poor things. Is there a problem?” Angie asked.
