Chapter 10
They rushed the hermetically sealed containers to the Air Force's Foreign Technology Assessment Department at Wright-Patterson Air Force Base in Dayton, Ohio. FORTEC scientists emptied the contents of each box-the strangely spongy cubes which had been recovered from Kennedy International Airport's bloodslicked runway 13-Right-into separate bio-containment vessels.
The head scientist was about to insert his hands into the rubberized gloves that fitted into the examination bubbles when a man in a three-piece suit barged into the room waving a folded sheaf of official-looking paper.
"What is this man doing in here?" the FORTEC scientist cried. He was wearing protective garments, as was every other man in the room. The room had been sealed and pressurized to P-3 to prevent suspected alien microbes from leaking in or out of the containment bubbles.
"I couldn't stop him, sir," said the guard. "He has authority. "
"What do you mean, authority?" The man in the suit showed a badge.
"Federal marshal," he said. "I'm subpoenaing these specimens. "
"Subpoena? This is a restricted military laboratory. We're under quarantine."
"Until the legal technicalities are dispensed with, you are forbidden to examine these specimens."
"Forbidden! By whom?"
"Well, this suit has been filed by the Defense Advanced Research Projects Agency," the federal man said, handing over a set of papers. "And this is one from the Department of Health and Human Services. The National Bureau of Standards, the Centers for Disease Control, the FAA, and the Sierra Club make it an even half-dozen," he finished, handing over the remaining documents.
"Do you realize we may be dealing with some kind of extraterrestrial matter here? By the time this drags through the courts, these specimens may deteriorate beyond study. If there's a threat to our national security involved, we won't be able to deal with it. Do you understand that?"
"I understand my job," said the federal marshal as he left the room. "That's all they pay me to understand."
The President of the United States was not happy. The Air Force, Coast Guard, and National Guard had called off their search. There was no sign of the lost shuttle Yuri Gagarin within the search radius, which had been expanded another thirty miles in all directions. The gist of the reports from the three military branches was that the Gagarin was unfindable.
"Unfindable," the President grumbled. "They gave up. That's what it is. They finked out on us."
"There's another possibility, Mr. President," interjected the Secretary of Defense, who was ultimately responsible for the actions of America's military machine.
"What's that?" the President asked. He was seated at his desk in the Oval Office.
"The shuttle might have been taking some sort of evasive action when it went off our radarscopes. It could have flown out to sea, close to the deck, as they say in the Navy, and off to Europe and Russia."
"Then why are the Soviets still screaming for their shuttle through diplomatic channels?"
"Conceivably, the shuttle might not have made it home."
"And what about the man who was seen climbing aboard the thing at Kennedy. Any word on him?"
"The latest intelligence reports are sketchy, Mr. President. According to the CIA, the FBI has identified an abandoned pickup truck with Missouri license plates left at the airport. It's registered to a farmer who reported it stolen several days ago. It's believed that the pickup was stolen by a federal fugitive named Earl Armalide, who is wanted for income-tax evasion, flight to avoid arrest, and the murders of several LEOs."
"Lions?"
"Law-enforcement officers," said the Secretary. "You may have seen this man's siege on the networks."
"The survivalist with the hilltop fortress? That's the man who escaped into a Russian shuttle?"
"I know it sounds unlikely, but that's what our friends over at the CIA think the FBI has uncovered."
"Think? Why not ask the FBI directly? Don't they return CIA calls?"
"Well, Mr. President, there's such a thing as interagency rivalry. The CIA feels if they ask the FBI for a favor now, the FBI may want it returned at an inconvenient time. You know."
"I know that we're all supposed to be on the same team. That's what I know," the President said furiously. He grabbed the phone and asked the operator to get the director of the FBI.
"What else do we know?" the President asked the Secretary of Defense while he waited.
"We have a problem with the specimens removed from the airport runway. The FORTEC people have been unable to analyze them. It seems that there have been several injunctions filed against them."
"Injunctions?" The President's face shook with controlled fury. He could not believe what he was hearing. "Well, yes. It seems the CDC, DARPA, and a few others are claiming that the recovery and analysis duties on those specimens were their individual provinces."
"If I could, I'd fire the whole bunch of them!" shouted the President. Into the phone he said, "What? No, not you, Mr. Director. I was talking to the Secretary of Defense. Wait." The President put the FBI director on hold and turned to the other man. "Quash those suits. I don't care what you have to do. Divide the specimens among everyone. Just get them analyzed. We have a major incursion by a Soviet space vehicle and no one is functioning. This is the United States government, not Romper Room!"
"Yes, Mr. President," said the Secretary of Defense sheepishly as he left the Oval Office.
The President was in no mood for small talk so he asked his question of the FBI director without preamble. "What can you tell me about the man who was seen climbing aboard the Soviet shuttle at Kennedy?"
"Mr. President, we think he was Earl Armalide, a self-avowed survivalist and federal fugitive. We theorize that the Soviet spacecraft was hijacked by an accomplice of Armalide's and that the two men have escaped to an unknown third country, but we admit the evidence is circumstantial."
"The idea is beyond the absurd-wouldn't you also say that as well?" demanded the President.
"Well, it would seem unlikely. Armalide did not become a wanted criminal until days before the Soviet shuttle was launched. Not enough lead time to plan an operation this major. And the Bureau doesn't consider it likely that the Soviets themselves would land the shuttle at Kennedy to rendezvous with Armalide."
"It's a long way to go to evade income tax," the President agreed dryly.
"But the Air Force personnel on the runway have identified photos of the man, so we are ninety percent certain that Armalide did board the Gagarin prior to its taking off."
"I find it difficult to swallow. Is there anything else?"
"Yes, we have a recent report that Armalide was sighted at a fast-food restaurant near Rye, New York." There was silence on the line.
"Mr. President. Are you still there?"
The President's voice, when he spoke, was remote and metallic. "Isn't Rye within the supposed crash radius of the shuttle?"
"Yes, it is. Which is why we lend credence to the report. But our agents have turned up no trace of the man."
"Excuse me," said the President. "I have another call to make. An important one."
The President slipped out of the Oval Office, informing his staff that he was going to take a short nap. He knew one of them would leak it to the press, but that was unimportant. If the world only knew what he was really doing when he took his supposed naps ... Well ... The President smiled inwardly. They might impeach him. Then again, they might repeal the Twenty-second Amendment and give him another term of office.
The President sat on the edge of his bed and opened his locked nightstand drawer. He removed a telephone. It was a standard AT cept it was hot-coal red and had no dial or push buttons. The President lifted the handset to his ear and waited.
The voice of Dr. Harold W. Smith came on the line. "Yes, Mr. President?"