Assurred Response

Chapter 30

Thunderstorms were building in all quadrants as the C-32A (Boeing 757) from the 89th Airlift Wing began its descent into the Corpus Christi area. The ride was not too bad, but the aircraft commander went ahead and slowed the jet to mush through the turbulence.

The U. S. Navy F/A-18s accompanying the president matched the Boeings speed and maintained their position. They would stay with the gleaming blue-and-white 757 until it turned on final approach at Corpus Christi.

In the cabin, President Macklin was going over strategy with Secretary of State Austin and National Security Adviser Hartwell Prost. Because of the mounting friction between the United States and Mexico, they had decided on a bold recommendation for President Juan Cardenas.

Now in radio contact with Corpus Christi Approach Control, the busy flight crew was coordinating their arrival with that of President Cardenas. The senior pilots from the 89th had been instructed by Secretary Austin to follow the Boeing 727 from the Presidential Transport Squadron based in Mexico City.

After a series of radar vectors and two visual turns to circumvent thunderstorms, the Boeing 757 was finally vectored into position behind the 727. Both aircraft landed in a heavy downpour and taxied to a secure area.

The Secret Service was out in force and quickly shuttled the two parties to a portable air-conditioned conference room parked only yards away. Cardenas and Macklin had agreed to have only the principals in the meeting. The various political aides and the Secret Service agents remained outside underneath shelters.

Avoiding any reference to the military confrontation that morning, the men shook hands and sat down. President Cardenas and Secretary of Foreign Affairs Antonio Ferreira were on one side of the table. On the other side of the table, President Macklin was flanked by Brad Austin on the right and Hartwell Prost on the left.

After a few pleasantries, Macklin broke the ice. "President Cardenas, Secretary Austin and I have had an in-depth conversation about the core problem that exists in your administration: the corruption in the military and in the law-enforcement branches. Please take the time to tell me how ingrained you think the problem is."

Even though he had known the question would be coming, Cardenas paused to craft his answer carefully. "The primary problem is the military. Six generals and one admiral have the military in their grip. They are clever mobsters cloaked in uniforms who recruit servicemen in their image.

"Without them in the picture, there are two generals and three promising colonels who want to help me take the steps to form a system on the U. S. model. Otherwise, we will be forever mired in graft and corruption. The crooks in uniform at the top have the weapons, the power, and the money while the citizens are defenseless."

Secretary Ferreiras eyes were downcast.

"These people are morally corrupt and totally ruthless," Cardenas said, speaking quietly and slowly. "They rule by using fear and hard-core intimidation. They will go to any length to destroy their opponents credibility, destroy their ability to make a living, destroy their personal lives, or worse."

"Or worse?" Prost asked.

"If they don t comply, members of their family or friends disappear or turn up dead. Many of the deaths are claimed by the medical examiners to be suicides. These examiners are on the military payroll as full colonels."

A few silent moments passed while Cardenas had a drink of water and regained his composure.

"President Cardenas," Secretary Austin began, "you mentioned the senior officers recruiting in their image. I take it that's the way this corruption has carried on for so long?"

"Absolutely Carefully planned ascension. Less than a month after I was elected, one of the senior generals promoted his twenty-four-year-old nephew, who had never served in the military, to lieutenant colonel. The nephew, who has a criminal record ranging from extortion to murder, is surreptitiously laundering drug money in the United States and taking care of his uncles offshore bank accounts."

Macklin glanced at Secretary Ferreira and then focused again on Cardenas. "Do the seven men — the generals and the admiral — ever get together?"

"I know they occasionally congregate at various resorts, but the outings are random and always secret. We dont know the location of the meetings until after they return to their military quarters."

"Let me suggest a course of action," Macklin said matter-of-factly. "You dont have to make a decision now, just think about it for a while. The details can be worked out later. If you want these criminals to disappear, we have the capability to do it."

Macklin glanced again at Ferreira. He was definitely nervous.

Macklin continued. "The question, President Cardenas, is basic, but fundamental to our success. Are you certain the officers you have confidence in will in fact remold the military as you see fit?"

There was no hesitation. "Yes, Im confident. There are many fine officers and soldiers who want to see the corruption weeded out of the military. It taints them and their profession, but they know the consequences if they try to change things."

Ferreiras mouth was agape but no words came out.

"How would we explain their disappearance?" Cardenas asked in a guarded but clear voice.

Macklin paused, frowning slightly. "They were killed in a plane crash at sea, in the Bahia de Campeche, en route to a military conference in Cancun."

Cardenas mulled the proposal. "I deeply appreciate your consideration, President Macklin."

"Were here to help both our countries; were no stranger to corruption. As you said, sometimes we have to do some weeding, be it in the military, the corporate world, or the political arena."

"President Macklin is right," Secretary Austin chimed in. "What s good for Mexico is good for our country."

Cardenas nodded. "I do want to take time to contemplate your suggestion and its consequences. Its a lot to digest."

"Think about your contribution," Prost said. "This could fundamentally change the course of Mexico."

Cardenas turned to Macklin. "Thank you for your generous support. I am deeply indebted, but I have to think about this for a while."

"We understand."

Cardenas and Ferreira rose to shake hands with the Americans. Out of respect, Macklin walked with the president and his senior statesman to the 727. He waited until the airplane began taxiing for takeoff before he boarded the 757.

"Well," Macklin said to Austin and Prost, "we might see a real change in Mexico's future. At least there's hope."

Now in a position to join the war on terrorism, the carrier's air wing was tasked with bombing specific terrorist training camps. The complexes had been clearly defined by space-based assets and unmanned aerial vehicles. Some of the sites were new and had a multitude of weapons stockpiled, including mortars, rockets, and missiles. Other sites that had been destroyed were being modestly refurbished to use as storage facilities.

The first wave of strike aircraft launched at 5:40 P. M., to be over their targets after dark. The second strike launched at 6:30 P. M., and it would follow groups of planes from Stennis and George Washington. The wide-ranging air raids, which would continue to first light, were designed to flatten several terrorist facilities. Buildings, supplies, munitions — everything would be destroyed before daylight.

Saeed Shayhidi was back in his familiar element. Although he was confident about his disguise, he avoided going to his office building. His executive assistant, Gamaa al-Harith, was his go-between. The CIA agents watching the office had no idea who al-Harith was or what he did. He was just one of the many anonymous employees who came and went during the course of the day.

Living in a modest dwelling until his new home was built, Shayhidi was selling the remaining cargo ships and tankers in his fleet, consolidating his resources into long-term investments that could not be sunk or blown apart. Yes, life was pleasant again and he still had a plethora of assets to use against the infidels.

The company lawyers were fighting with the insurance companies while Shayhidi, using his new identity, was negotiating for a new airplane. He smiled every time he thought about Macklin and the CIA. Now, after putting his life back together, he could concentrate on continuing the attacks on the United States.

Brad Austin was shaving when his wife, Leigh Ann, walked into the master bathroom. "I'm sorry to bother you, but you have a phone call."

"Tell them I'll call back in a few minutes."

"I tried that," she said with a smile. "Its urgent; someone from your office."

He wiped the shaving cream off with a hand towel and walked to the phone beside the bed. "Austin."

Leigh Ann, sensing something important was developing, brushed her teeth while she listened to her husband's phone conversation.

"What's up?" she asked, when he walked back into the bathroom.

"It looks like the bombing campaign is having an adverse effect on the hosts of the terrorist groups. Syria and Lebanon are particularly incensed about the American, Israeli, and British warships standing off their coastlines. It seems that shipping has been effectively halted."

"That sounds like good news."

"You bet." He applied fresh shaving cream. "Iran, Syria, Lebanon, and Sudan, collectively, have requested a secret conference with us at a neutral location. They want us to stop the bombing now and then make a decision about where to convene for the talks."

She looked at Brad's reflection in the mirror. "Sure. After all the attacks we've suffered, please stop the bombing — then we'll talk."

"Well, the president makes the final call, but I'm going to recommend we continue the bombing — intensify it, if possible — until they are begging us to come to the table."

"How much damage are we really doing?"

"A lot. Bombs are literally falling round the clock."

"Do you believe the leaders of the host nations can actually control the terrorist groups?"

"Not completely too many zealots are operating on their own."

"Then it just goes on?"

"Probably so, but greatly diminished." Brad turned to Leigh Ann. "Every time we have an act of terrorism perpetrated against American citizens, we will flatten terrorist compounds. They can live in rubble all their lives or stop this madness."

"Youd think it would dawn on the terrorists that they cant win."

"They'd rather die than come to their senses, and we can certainly accommodate them."

Leigh Ann reached for her coffee cup. "Do they really have to be pulverized, bombed into submission?"

"Yes, eradicated; not on this planet anymore."

"I see." She was shocked by his honesty.

After September eleventh, the majority of U. S. intelligence data indicated the space shuttles were high-value targets for terrorists. The greatest concern was not an attack from the ground, or from the sea, but a suicidal terrorist attack from the air. Even a relatively small general aviation aircraft could destroy a fueled orbiter on the launchpad.

Having carefully analyzed the risks, the NASA administrator and the White House had decided to increase security to wartime conditions and continue the launches. To ground the remaining space shuttles would give the terrorists another huge moral victory and delay placing critical military satellites in orbit.

Atlantis was poised for a late-afternoon launch on Pad 39B. Fueled with 1.3 million pounds of liquid oxygen, 225,000 pounds of liquid hydrogen, and 2 million pounds of solid propellant, the 4.4-million-pound shuttle was scheduled to launch a new spy satellite.

All general-aviation aircraft operating under visual flight rules were banned from a thirty-mile radius of Pad 39B, beginning twenty-four hours before the proposed launch time.

Atlantis was being protected by Florida Air National Guard F-16s vectored by AWACS and FAA radars. The fighters would cover the central and eastern areas of Florida, while Air National Guard F-15S would patrol the immediate area around the Kennedy Space Center. Kansas Air National Guard KC-135 tankers would supply fuel for the fighters.

One of the key surveillance elements for the fighter aircraft was the portable USAF/Northrop Grumman radar with a 240-nautical-mile range. The radar could track objects with a cross section of only nine feet. The unit, from the 728th Air Combat Squadron at Eglin AFB, Florida, was deployed to Cape Canaveral, several miles south of the space shuttle pad. The radar also supported USAF Avenger/ Stinger surface-to-air missile batteries located nearby.

Army Apache attack helicopters worked with NASA Huey helicopters to form a low-altitude ground security ring. Air force reserve HH-60 helicopters from Patrick AFB, Florida, patrolled for any sign of trouble and would perform rescue duties if necessary.

On the ground, scores of Humvees with 50-caliber machine guns patrolled the launch complex. Off the coast of the space center, two armed coast guard cutters provided surveillance at sea in the restricted area. Light antiaircraft guns and shoulder-fired surface-to-air missiles were deployed close to the launch site.

Anticipation on the orbiter s flight deck was building as the shuttle commander, Navy Captain Owen Paddock, and the mission pilot, Air Force Lieutenant Colonel Gavin Dinsmore, continued with the extensive preflight checks.

"Control, Atlantis shows cabin pressure nominal," Paddock reported.

"Roger, nominal."

At T-minus-thirty minutes, the ground crew secured the white room and retired to the fallback area.

Paddock and Dinsmore completed their voice checks. Paddock copied the weather for a return-to-launch-site abort and for the Transadantic Abort Sites at Moron and Zaragosa, Spain, and Ben Gu6rir, Morocco.

Four marine corps AH-1W Super Cobra attack helicopters made a pass down the beach and began a wide orbit around the shuttle facility. The gunships would remain in the pattern until T-minus-two minutes.

Paddock and Dinsmore continued the countdown with Mission Control and Launch Control including the abort check.

After a mandatory hold to catch up before beginning the final phase of the countdown, the clock resumed at T-minus-nine minutes.

"Control, Atlantis event timer started."

"Roger, Atlantis."

At T-minus-seven minutes the crew-access arm retracted. Paddock and Dinsmore secured all loose personal items.

T-minus-six minutes. "Atlantis, initiate APU prestart."

"Roger, Houston."

At the five-minute mark, Paddock keyed his radio. "Control, Atlantis is powering up the APUs."

"Roger"

"APUs are looking good," Paddock radioed.

"Atlantis, you re on internal power."

"Roger."

At T-minus-three minutes the orbiter s main engines swiveled to their launch position.

"Atlantis, main engine gimbal complete."

"Roger."

One minute later, the marine attack helicopters departed the area and flew to a distant holding pattern.

As they continued through the checks, Paddock glanced at Dinsmore. "Are you ready to light the burners?"

"The sooner the better."

"Atlantis, H-two tank pressurization is okay. You are go for launch at this time. Good luck."

"Go for launch," Paddock replied. "Thanks."

At T-minus-twenty-five seconds the shuttle countdown switched to the onboard computers.

"Fifteen seconds and counting."

"Here we go," Paddock said over the intercom, to the rest of the crew. "Going flying now."

Precisely at 3.8 seconds the computers commanded the three space shuttle main engines to start, each producing 375,000 pounds of thrust.

"We have main engine start — two, one, zero."

At T-plus-2.64 seconds, the orbiter s two powerful solid rocket boosters ignited, each creating 2,650,000 pounds of thrust. There was no turning back now, no shutting down the rocket boosters. The space shuttle was committed to at least a partial flight. Propelled by over 6 million pounds of combined thrust, the orbiter levitated off the launchpad.

"We have liftoff! We have liftoff of space shuttle Atlantis!" Seconds slowly passed. "The tower has been cleared; all engines look good."

Paddock keyed his radio. "Roger, Houston, looks good from my view."

"Beginning the roll," Houston reported.

"Roger, rolling."

Belching billowing clouds of gray smoke and shaking the ground, the huge shuttle began a slow roll to the "heads down" position. All eyes were glued to the magnificent orbiter.

No one saw where the missile came from. The mushrooming clouds of smoke from the solid rockets obstructed the wisp of telltale smoke. The missile hit the shuttles main engines, destroying two of them.

"Atlantis, we show two main engine failures!"

"We have trouble!" Paddock said excitedly. "W^re returning to launch site, two engine failure."

The RTLS option was used if the main propulsion system malfunctioned in the first four minutes and twenty seconds of flight.

Paddock and Dinsmore could not begin the critical RTLS maneuver until the solid-propellant boosters burned out and were jettisoned. On the flight deck. Paddock and Dinsmore were going through the emergency checklists and trying to figure out what happened. Other systems were affected by the emergency, but the orbiter was intact and pressurized.

The rest of the stunned crew was preparing to go into the water if Paddock had to ditch the shuttle.

There was a constant stream of dialogue with Houston, but no one had any idea what happened. Visions of Chollmgrr and Columbia flashed through the minds of most support personnel. The news from the launch site was blood-chilling for the controllers in Houston.

A number of pieces from the shuttle s main engines had impacted close to Pad 39B.

The mission controller elected not to say anything to the flight crew. At this stage of the emergency the information was not helpful and the controller didnt want to distract Paddock and Dinsmore.

Continuing on its trajectory, the orbiter finally jettisoned the two reusable solid rocket boosters. The space shuttle and external tank would continue down-range on the power of the one main engine, both orbital maneuvering engines, and the four aft-firing maneuvering rockets.

Paddock would wait until he had barely enough propellants in the tank to reverse the direction of flight. This would be a "rabbit s foot" moment during the difficult maneuver.

On the ground, emergency vehicles of all types were converging near the runway. Rescue boats were standing out to sea.

With Dinsmore backing him up, Paddock began a 5-degree-per-second pitch. Come on — don't blow this maneuver.

Time seemed to go into slow motion until the orbiter was almost headed toward the landing site. That s when the exotic propellants were exhausted and the main engine expired, followed by the separation of the huge external fuel tank.

Paddock turned to Dinsmore and shook his head. "Well, I hope everyone brought their swim fins along."

Dinsmore nodded. "Looks a bit low on energy."

Tm going to have to improvise: aim closer to the end of the runway and then wrap it up tight."

"Yeah, only option to make the runway."

Paddock talked to the crew and kept them apprised of where he was in the evolution. He also conferred with the controllers at the Kennedy shutde landing facility and was given the current winds.

"Were not making the numbers," Paddock said in a dejected voice. "Just shy, maybe four or five percent."

"Atlantis, Houston."

"Go, Houston."

"How does it look?

"Not promising, but we still have a chance "

"Roger."

With eighty-five seconds to touchdown, the crippled orbiter was descending on a steep 22-degree glide slope through 13,100 feet, 420 mph, 7.6 miles from the ^ooo-foot-long and 300-foot-wide runway. The landing strip had a i,ooo-foot overrun at each end for improved safety.

Not wanting to use the speed brake, which doubled as the rudder at the back of the shutde s vertical stabilizer, Paddock concentrated on maintaining the optimum glide slope to make the runway. He keyed the intercom and spoke to Dinsmore. "Rocket Two, what do you think?"

"Maybe we should have talked with one of our real rocket scientists."

"No time, have to make the call."

Thirty-three seconds to touchdown, 2.1 miles from the runway, 356 mph out of 1,700 feet.

"We re not gonna make it," Paddock announced to the crew, as he banked the orbiter in preparation to ditch offshore. He initiated the pre-flare. "Brace yourself for ditching!"

Paddock glanced at Dinsmore. "We leave the gear up; dont touch the landing gear."

"You can bet on it."

"Call my speeds," Paddock said, as he began the flare to 1.5-degrees nose up, "and altitude."

"Three-hundred-five, altitude one hundred thirty feet."

Using his considerable flying skills, the former navy fighter pilot nursed the shutde lower. Fortunately there were no boats in his path.

"Two-sixty-five, eighty feet."

Paddock began bleeding off airspeed.

"Two-fifteen, twenty feet."

Holding the orbiter in ground effect — in this case, water effect-Paddock slowed Atlantis and eased it down. He deployed the split-rudder speed brake and made a slight adjustment in attitude.

"Two hundred, maybe ten feet."

The water was reasonably smooth, and the shuttle skipped a couple of times before it made solid contact. Paddock held the nose up as long as possible before it fell through and contacted the surface, sending a wall of water washing over the orbiter. The deceleration to a full stop was fairly benign and the pilots scrambled to get out of their seats.

"Let s go!" the shuttle commander ordered. "Out the hatch!"

The crew removed the left-hand overhead window near the aft crew station behind the flight deck. They grabbed the life raft, draped the thermal curtains over the side of the vehicle, and tossed out a rope to descend to the water.

In less time than it took to get all seven of the crew in the life raft, rescue boats began arriving. Everyone thought the orbiter was floating until they realized it was resting on the bottom.

At the same time the space shutde had jettisoned its external fuel tank, the mystery of what happened to the orbiter was solved. A NASA Huey helicopter carrying heavily armed security personnel was slowly flying along the beach looking for debris from the damaged shuttle. When they spotted suspicious items, they radioed the location to searchers on the ground. They in turn marked the item and left a guard at the site.

One of the observers in the helicopter noticed a slight movement along a low beach ridge. The helicopter made a 180-degree turn, approached the spot, and descended to land. Like a phoenix rising from its own ashes, a young bearded man rose from the sand and shot himself in the head with a small 22-caliber handgun.

Upon further investigation, the security personnel discovered a partially buried man-portable surface-to-air missile launcher. The SA-18 Grouse missile was manufactured by the Machine Production Design Bureau, Kolomna, Russian Federation. It had been hermetically sealed in an opaque shrink-wrapped plastic container.

The identity of the suicidal terrorist was uncertain. The Middle Eastern man had no ID, but given the fact that so many Russian-made military items were turning up in Iran and Iraq, there was a good chance he was from one or the other country. It made no difference; all countries that hosted terrorists were going to pay for the attack.

A tattered wet suit, dive mask, snorkel, and the plastic container for the SAM were buried a few feet away from the slant hole the man had dug with a compact entrenching tool. He also had a tan-colored sixteen-inch-long, two-inch-diameter plastic pipe he used to get fresh air when he was completely covered with sand.

From the two empty canteens and the seven energy bar wrappers, security personnel figured the terrorist must have come ashore at least three nights before the launch date. Many of the searchers wondered if there were other terrorists hidden under the sand. Armed ground parties soon began combing the beach in both directions.

Three boats and a group of divers searching offshore from where the terrorist hid found a Diver Propulsion Vehicle. The DPV was anchored to the bottom in seven feet of water. The tow vehicle was a battery-powered propeller-driven scuba diving accessory that eliminates exertion on the part of the diver or swimmer. The discovery explained how the terrorist had managed to bring so many items ashore. Where he launched from was anyone's guess.

The terrorist had almost destroyed the orbiter. It would take time to refurbish Atlantis, but she would fly again. Security at the space center would increase even more, especially when Congress got involved and the television cameras permitted unlimited face time.