Flight of the Condor

Chapter Two

Fifty-seven miles to the northwest of Santa Barbara, California, a massive peninsula extends out into the Pacific. Isolated, except for a handful of small towns, this rugged piece of landscape is dominated by rolling, scrub-filled hills, deep, fertile valleys, and forests of oak, cypress, and pine. It was because of the absence of any significant human population that the Army had decided to base an artillery range here.

Camp Cooke, as it was called, had served its country well until 1956, when the Defense Department had decided that it would be an ideal spot to initiate the Air Force’s fledgling missile program. It wasn’t until 1958 that the base had been renamed Vandenberg, in honor of Hoyt S. Vandenberg, the second Air Force Chief of Staff. Occupying over 98,000 acres, it had become America’s third largest Air Force installation.

By 1985, over 1,550 missile launches had taken place here. About a third of these had been to send unmanned satellites into orbit. The majority of the other launches had been to test elements of the nation’s intercontinental ballistic missile force.

Although the area’s significant modern history goes back less than four decades, the peninsula’s ancient heritage is a rich one. For hundreds of centuries, the in rugged peninsula had been home to the Chumash, a highly advanced Indian people who had flourished there.

Vandenberg’s 154 square miles held a wealth of Chumash relics. Many of these sites had been initially discovered by Robert R. Baray, a Blackfoot Sioux who had been the great-grandson of the illustrious warrior Sitting Bull. As the first American Indian to attend West Point, Baray had served as the general staff engineer for planning and development at the base. It was under his auspices that the first Chumash remains had been catalogued.

Fortunately, the Government had continued making every effort to preserve those ancient sites that recorded the everyday lives of a people first documented by Juan Rodriguez Cabrillo in 1542. This effort had included opening the highly classified area to trained archaeologists. It was in such a manner that Miriam Rodgers had received permission to dig there.

For the past month, Miriam and her team of university students had been perched on top of Tranquillon Ridge, located in Vandenberg’s southern sector.

There, they were in the process of excavating a particularly rich Chumash site. So far, the artifacts unearthed included several excellently preserved tule-willow baskets, dozens of slender, stone spear-points, arrowheads and bone-scrappers, and a magnificent Olivilla shell necklace. Because these objects had been all found within the confines of a single twenty by-thirty-foot rectangular square of rocky soil, it was supposed that the ridge had once held either a small village or a burial plot. To determine its exact purpose, a full-scale excavation was now in progress.

From a position on the hillside’s summit, Miriam watched her crew at work. Though the majority of the half-dozen men and women working below her were barely in their twenties, they worked more like dedicated professionals. Proud of their effort, she knew that she was very fortunate to have their services.

In an era of ever-decreasing research budgets, actual field work was becoming one of the most difficult areas to finance. Enormous liability insurance premiums and the high logistical costs of the digs themselves had put many a researcher’s dreams on permanent hold.

For three years now, Miriam had fought to put together this particular expedition. Even though there could be no question that the sites chosen were full of exciting promise, each of her quarterly budget requests had been curtly turned down. Ninety days before, when the clean had called her into his office and given her the go-ahead, she had hardly believed what she was hearing. Genuinely astounded by the news, Miriam had actually hugged the elderly, silver haired administrator and then kissed him firmly on the cheek. Blushing at this unexpected show of exuberance, the clean had regathered his decorum and, after explaining that her monetary request had been significantly paired down, had wished the thirty-six year-old senior researcher the best of luck.

Well aware that she could live within the confines of the resulting budget constraints, Miriam had done all that she could to immediately get the ball rolling. The area on the central California coastline that she wished to concentrate on was well known for its fickle environment. A summer dig would guarantee not only a semblance of decent weather, but also the availability of an experienced, relatively inexpensive crew comprised of her own students.

In what was later to be called a bureaucratic miracle, Miriam had not only assembled the myriad of equipment and supplies needed for a three-month field effort, but had also gained permission from the Department of the Defense to work on Vandenberg.

All this had been accomplished with plenty of time to choose a qualified work force from a long list of anxious students. As the school year had ended, the young professor had closed up her office and readied herself to tackle the type of work that had prompted her to enter the field of archaeology in the first place.

Watching the crew at work, Miriam remembered well her first official dig. It was almost two decades before when she had joined a team of freshmen classmates on a Malibu hillside. There, utilizing the same tedious procedures that they used today, Miriam had gotten her first taste of actual field excavation.

Never would she forget the fateful moment when her rake had made solid contact with an object buried in the dry soil below. How her heart had pounded in her chest as she carefully extracted an exquisite object buried in the earth for almost five hundred years.

The ceremonial knife had been over twelve inches long. It had a handle of dark gray whalebone, and its whitish, sharpened stone tip was bound to the shaft with the sinew of a deer and completely coated with a tar asphaltum. Standing there in the hills of Malibu with this Chumash relic firm in her trembling hand, the impressionable teenager had had no doubt as to the course of her future studies.

Years of intense research had followed. Both an undergraduate and a master’s degree had been soon attained. And now Miriam was well qualified to instruct her own groups of impressionable students in the intricacies of her chosen profession.

Though the knowledge gained during her hours of study was great, her appetite for field work was as insatiable as ever before. Semesters of rote class instruction had done little to satisfy this undying urge.

As befitting her initial discovery, Miriam had devoted the bulk of her research to a study of the Chumash Indians. Completely fascinated by this highly advanced people who for thousands of years had flourished in what was now Venture, Santa Barbara, and San Luis Obispo counties, she had neglected the distracting calls of her friends and family.

By no means unattractive, Miriam had yet to marry or, for that matter, even to have been seriously engaged.

Such a relationship would only divert her from her life’s work.

She certainly hadn’t lacked for interested suitors.

These individuals had been drawn to her natural good looks, which were enhanced by a shining mane of long red hair, glee ming green eyes, high, etched cheekbones, perfect teeth, and a five-foot, nine-inch body kept lean and fit with daily five-mile hikes. The University atmosphere had provided a succession of interested men, yet Miriam had never been ready to share herself with them. Whereas the bulk of her ex girlfriends now had a houseful of children to keep them occupied, Miriam had nothing but her work, and for her it was enough. For the moment, marriage would just have to wait.

A cool breeze blew in from the west, and the thirty six-year-old researcher looked out toward the Pacific from the rock outcropping that she had been standing on. It was turning out to be another ideal day.

Already the customary morning fog was dissipating.

Beyond the scrub-tilled hills, another two miles distant, was the shoreline. From where she stood she could just make out the white, frothing surge of surf as it broke over the jagged rocks of Point Arguello.

Appearing as violent and unpredictable as ever, the ocean provided little haven for boaters or divers.

Possessed as it was by strong undertows and deadly riptides, not even the most expert swimmers dared its currents.

Further out to sea, just visible in the dissolving fog bank, was the outline of a single drilling platform.

This structure was perched like a lonely sentinel, with the sole purpose of tapping the reservoirs of oil locked deep within the continental shelf.

A familiar hollow-metallic tone howled in the distance, and Miriam diverted her glance to her right, where she could just make out a rapidly advancing locomotive. Seconds later, the rest of the freight train was visible as it snaked its way down the coastline southward. Soothed by the sound of the clatter of its wheels on the tracks, Miriam surveyed the valley that lay between the rails and the ridge on top of which she currently stood. Known as Space Launch Complex 6, or Slik 6 for short, it had a series of huge, manmade structures that dwarfed the landscape. It would be from this site — that the first West Coast launch of America’s space shuttle would take place.

Miriam had been given a hasty tour of this complex by an Air Force public-affairs officer upon her initial arrival. Though she had been working beside the series of buildings for a month now, she still couldn’t help but be impressed with their sheer size. Dominating-the complex was the immense white shell of the shuttle-assembly building. Painted on its side was a colossal American flag. Beside this were a number of brightly painted red, white, and gray buildings belonging to various control centers, preparations rooms, access towers, and storage tanks. All this was situated on a gleaming white concrete pad, which the public affairs officer had told her was comprised of the equivalent of a twenty-five-mile-long stretch of four-lane interstate highway.

Of course, all this was quite a contrast to the relatively crude operation that she was currently in charge of. Angling her line of sight back to her left, Miriam studied her crew at work. They were presently concentrating their efforts on a single plot of land, located on top of Tranquillon Ridge, approximately nine hundred feet above and a half mile to the southeast of Slik 6.

The site they had picked was one of those originally discovered by Robert Baray. Though his primary excavation had indicated that a possible wealth of buried relics lay there, little professional excavation had been attempted until their arrival. As in the case of any potential dig site, their first priority had been to carefully survey that portion of land into which they planned to dig. After staking out their initial twenty-by-thirty-foot rectangular plot, they had begun the tedious task of removing the first few inches of covering topsoil.

The dry ground was hard and rock-filled. To complicate matters, a thick ground cover of spiky cactus had had to first be eliminated. Not accustomed to such strenuous work, her students had done their best to ignore their newly calloused hands, strained muscles, and sunburnt skin.

Of irreplaceable assistance had been the strong arms and shoulders of her senior teaching assistant, Joseph Solares. A full-blooded Porno Indian by birth, the twenty-five-year-old graduate student had instinctively taken charge of the primary excavation. With his long, dark hair tied down by a red bandana, and his muscular, bare chest perpetually sweat-stained, Joseph had taken on as much of the heavy work as possible. His tenacious effort alone had allowed them to proceed as scheduled.

As was the case on most mornings, Joseph was occupying the focal point of their present efforts.

Miriam couldn’t help but notice how the other members of the dig flocked around him as he squatted before a roped-off, twelve-inch sector of dirt. With his tanned back glistening in the early morning sun, he gently probed the earth with a hand-sized shovel.

Whatever he had chanced upon must have been of some significance, for a ripple of excited chatter coursed through the crowd of onlookers gathered at his sides. Curious as to what he had found, Miriam left her perch on the ridge’s summit and climbed down into the excavation area.

By the time she reached her fellow crew members, Joseph had exhumed a large, circular object from its earthen grave. Completely covered by a thick hemp net, it was recognized by Miriam as being one of the lap-sized sandstone bowls which the Chumash were famous for. As Joseph began carefully shaking the dirt from its inner cavity, it became obvious that this artifact was far from normal. Two novel designs made this most apparent.

Miriam was first attracted to the bowl’s lip. There the outer edge was completely encircled with a series of intricately formed five-pointed stars. These tiny penta grams were apparently made from shell and abalone bits, which were stuck into the rock lip with asphaltum. Such a tedious process had to have taken hundreds of hours to complete, and could have only been reserved for the most sacred of purposes.

Though the outer surface of the bowl was bare of design, its inner skin was not. Though it was still covered by caked layers of dirt, a unique series of concentric circles was visible, painted into the relic’s bottom. Miriam recognized the bright yellow central disc as being representative of the sun. She failed to understand the significance of the thick black and red rings that encircled this disc several times.

As the bowl was placed on the ground for all to see, it was most apparent that Joseph was genuinely thrilled by his discovery. Cognizant of this fact, Miriam broke her silence.

“That’s a beauty, Joseph. I don’t believe I’ve ever seen a Chumash bowl decorated in such a manner before.”

Breathlessly, Joseph responded, “Neither have I, Boss, although I must admit that I’ve heard of such a motif’s supposed existence before.”

“How’s that?” asked Miriam, who now had the attention of the rest of her crew.

Aware of his audience, Joseph picked his words carefully.

“It was my grandfather who first told me the tales of the spirit bowl in whose bottom was captured the sun and in whose lip was encased the stars of the heavens. Designed by the greatest of shamans, it was supposedly stolen by the crafty coyote, who snagged it in a net and took it from our land for all time.”

At that point one of the students hastily asked a question.

“Joseph, since your tribe lived in northern California, couldn’t this Chumash design be totally unrelated to your grandfather’s tale?”

Catching the alert eyes of the young man who waited for an answer, Joseph replied, “As I’ve told you before, even though the Porno lived in the north, our mythology and that of the Chumash were amazingly similar. Many say the Porno were but an offshoot of the Chumash, who subsequently migrated northwards. Whatever the case, both peoples tell of a spirit bowl designed in a fashion much like the one here. Both tribes tell of this bowl’s similar purpose, which is to indicate the site where the souls of the newly dead pass into the afterlife.”

“Then we’ve found the portal to Similaqsa!” exclaimed Miriam triumphantly.

Before Joseph could respond, an unexpected noise diverted the crew’s attention. Each member looked to the south, where a single blue jeep was visible, making its way to the summit of Tranquillon Ridge.

Less than a minute later, the four-wheel-drive vehicle pulled up beside the excavation site, leaving a thick cloud of brown dust in its wake. The jeep’s three occupants were quick to exit. Miriam could only identify one of these individuals, for she had had run ins with Master Sergeant Crowley on several occasions before.

The thick-necked, stocky sergeant led the way, followed by his two smartly uniformed escorts. It was most obvious that both of these no-nonsense-looking young men wore side arms. As they approached the crew, Miriam stepped out to greet them.

“Good morning, Sergeant Crowley. Can I help you?”

The sergeant hastily surveyed the ragtag group gathered before him and answered, “Good morning to you, Miss Rodgers. Is your entire group assembled here?”

Not sure what he was getting at, Miriam retorted, “This is all of us, Sergeant. Why do you ask?”

Crowley cleared his throat.

“I’m here to relay orders from Lieutenant Colonel Lansford’s office, ma’am. According to these instructions, you and your crew are to leave Tranquillon Ridge at once. We have been assigned to escort you back to your campsite at Ocean Beach Park.”

Not believing what she was hearing, Miriam was not in the least bit intimidated.

“We’re in the midst of an important excavation here. Sergeant. We just can’t go leaving it at the drop of a hat. Besides, we have the lieutenant’s colonel’s personal permission to dig here uninterrupted through the summer.”

“I’m afraid that permission has been temporarily lifted, ma’am,” returned the master sergeant, who went on to check his wristwatch.

“Now, if you’ll just stow your equipment, we’d better get under way.”

Still not about to give in so easily, Miriam was set to continue to argue their case when Joseph stepped to her side. Whispering into her ear, he attempted to calm her down.

“Say, Boss, do you really think we’ve got a chance against these guys? Those are forty-five-caliber pistols on their hips. Let’s lick our wounds back at camp. At least there we can call the lead honcho and find out what all this is about.”

Well aware of the wisdom in these words, Miriam caught her assistant’s playful wink. Stifling a smile of her own, she reluctantly surrendered to their new order. Though it would mean the loss of a perfectly good day’s field work, there was plenty to keep them busy back at their trailers. Mentally calculating what this new course of action would entail, she knew that her own first priority would be a single phone call

Ocean Beach Park was located approximately five and a half miles due north of Tranquillon Ridge.

Situated at the spot where the Santa Ynez River flowed into the Pacific, the park was one of the few areas on Vandenberg open to the public. It was comprised of a large asphalt parking lot and over one hundred acres of direct beach access. To get from the lot to the sand, it was necessary to travel a narrow dirt trail that led beneath a Southern Pacific railroad trestle. From there it was but a short hike to the pounding surf itself.

It had taken the direct authority of the base commander for Miriam and her group to be allowed to park their trailers there. After a bit of bargaining, they had been given a compact sector of ground located immediately east of the trestle. Though they had no direct ocean view, this positioning allowed them to be sheltered from the persistent, often blustery offshore winds that swept in from the Pacific.

The crew’s four travel trailers had been parked in a semicircle. At the center of this semicircle, several picnic tables had been set up. It was there, when weather permitted, that meals were eaten and artifacts catalogued. This evening, the group had gathered around a large campfire, which had been built beside the table area. Sipping their teas, coffees, and hot chocolates, they watched the crackling flames and contemplated the day’s strange turn of events.

Seated at the head of the fire was Miriam Rodgers.

At her right was her assistant, Joseph Solares. Both sat cross-legged on the cool ground, their stares focused deep into the burning embers. Taking her last sip of deep, rich coffee, Miriam shook her head angrily.

“You know, I still can’t believe that the colonel didn’t have the courtesy to speak to me on the phone.

Why, his aide wouldn’t even bother contacting him.”

Joseph shrugged his shoulders.

“I still think that you’re silly to let this bother you, Boss. The colonel’s a busy man. He must have a damn good reason to want us off the ridge.”

“At least he could share it with me,” returned Miriam.

“If we’re going to be secluded here much longer, perhaps we should be looking for another dig site.”

The crackling flames emphasized Joseph’s sharp cheekbones as his eyes narrowed.

“You’re not thinking of abandoning the ridge now, Boss? Why, it’s just starting to get interesting.”

Miriam sighed.

“I’m afraid that decision has already been made for us.”

Not liking her tone, Joseph caught her glance directly.

“That doesn’t sound like the lady who practically moved a mountain to get us here in the first place. At least give the Air Force a couple of days before even thinking of pulling us off of Tranquillon.

That site is just too promising.”

As if to emphasize this observation, a young girl’s voice came from behind them.

“Excuse me, Professor Rodgers, but we’ve completed the initial cleaning of this morning’s find. Would you like to have a look?”

“Why, of course, Margaret,” replied Miriam.

“Bring it by the fire.”

With the help of a muscular coworker, the skinny brunette guided the precious artifact to the fire’s side.

There the bowl took on a drastically new character.

Gone was both the net and the layer of dried mud that had covered its surface before. In their place was a shiny, dark gray stone surface, polished smooth by hundreds of hours of patient craftsmanship. Unable to take her eyes off the series of sparkling penta grams that lay embedded in the bowl’s upper lip, Miriam felt her spirits lighten.

“Why, you did an excellent job, Margaret. It’s positively breathtaking!”

“Oh, it wasn’t just me,” responded the blushing sophomore.

“Each one of us had a hand in the cleaning.”

“I’ll say,” said the muscular lad who had helped carry out the artifact.

“Why, I almost scraped the skin off of my hands cleaning off the dirt from the bottom. It was as hard as a rock.”

“What do you expect after five hundred years?” asked Joseph lightly.

“Does this bowl really have something to do with the dead?” queried the inquisitive male undergraduate.

Before answering, Joseph looked to Miriam. Only after receiving a positive nod did he continue.

“From what we know of the design etched into its surface, this piece certainly looks like an authentic spirit bowl. Yet if it is, it’s the first one to be uncovered.”

“Why is it called a spirit bowl?” questioned Margaret.

Again, Joseph looked toward Miriam before responding.

“Most of you know the Chumash legend of the soul’s journey to Similaqsa. It tells us of their belief that, three days after a person has died and been buried, the soul comes up out of the grave to wander the world, visiting the places it used to frequent in life. On the fifth day after death, the soul is drawn to an isolated coastal spot, rumored to be somewhere near Point Arguello. There it prepares for the final trip to Similaqsa, the Chumash version of heaven and hell.

“Though it was all thought to be mere storytelling, the elders told of a magical spirit bowl inbued with the power to draw the soul to this final earthly portal.

Buried on the coastline, this relic would divert the soul to a hand-cut royal road. Following this route westward, the deceased would come to a temple, formed from a circle of enchanted charm stones Only after positioning itself in the exact axis of this circle would the soul be free to soar westward. I believe our esteemed leader beside me is better qualified to tell us just what awaits the soul in this other land.”

Taking this cue, Miriam sat forward and, well aware of the total attention of her rapt audience, continued.

“Before reaching the gates to Similaqsa, the soul had to pass a variety of tests, to make certain that it was still not alive. This included crossing through a valley of pounding rocks, and surviving an attack by a number of grotesque monsters. Just beyond the land of these beasts was the body of water that separated this world from the next. Spanning this liquid void was a single narrow bridge. Pity the poor souls of those that had done evil in their mortal lives, for they would be diverted into the waters to be transformed for all eternity into mutant, snakelike creatures. Yet those who did good in their lives could fear no punishment, for they would be led safely over the bridge and past the gates of Similaqsa. There they would live for all eternity, to wander in a blissful paradise free from mortal want.”

With the conclusion of these words, a moment of pure silence followed. All of those present kept then-thoughts to themselves, as all eyes remained glued to the blazing fire. As the flames crackled and hissed, the howl of the night wind rose in the distance.

Beyond this sounded the crash of breaking surf. The spell was only broken when a far-off metallic tone permeated the night air.

“It’s the southbound freight train right on schedule,” offered Bobby Whitten, the group’s comedian.

“I wonder what that engineer would have to say if he knew that he was guiding his train smack through a doorway to the afterlife.”

Though the majority of those present laughed at this comment, two of them took it quite seriously.

Catching Miriam’s look of concern, Joseph expressed himself in a whisper, so that only she could hear him.

“You know, Bobby could be very well onto something.

If we have indeed stumbled upon the portal to Similaqsa here in Vandenberg, the elders would be far from pleased. To defile this most sacred of spots with weapons of war would be a sin of the greatest degree possible. I seriously doubt that the judgment of the gods would be very favorable in our behalf.”

Taking in these ominous words, Miriam shifted her gaze from the fire to the heavens above. A rare, crystal-clear evening sky was visible overhead. After easily picking out the Big Dipper, she looked on as a series of shooting stars streamed through the Dipper’s interior. Most aware of how little they knew of the mysterious workings of the vast universe that surrounded them, Miriam anxiously shivered. Feeling small and alone, she stifled a yawn, and knew without looking at her watch that it was well past time to douse the campfire and send her crew off to their sleeping bags. For the dawn would all too soon be upon them, and once again they would have an ample opportunity to work on a solution to this greatest of all mysteries.

Six and half hours later, the first member of the team awoke to the distant cry of a hungry gull. It was as the twenty-year-old sophomore went to put on his morning coffee that his sleep-laden eyes wandered to the tiny trailer’s only window. Outside, Coast Road was barely visible in the morning mist. Occupying its usually vacant length was a long line of vehicles, most of which had flashing red beacons on their roofs. All of this traffic seemed to be moving slowly to the south. Well aware that something unusual was occurring, he hurriedly pulled on his jeans and sprinted off to awaken Joseph Solares.

As he expected, the teaching assistant didn’t mind this early wake-up call in the least. Scurrying from his bed, the broad-shouldered Indian took in the line of traffic still visible on the road and whistled appreciatively.

Joseph didn’t have to awaken Miriam, for two minutes later she was knocking at his trailer’s door.

In the early light of dawn, the team assembled on the parking lot. Piping-hot coffee was served to temporarily alleviate the morning chill. While the crew members milled about the campgrounds, curious as to what the line of traffic visible a half-mile away meant, a single van cut off towards Ocean Beach Park. A cloud of dust trailed behind it as the vehicle snaked down the narrow access road and ground to a halt in the lot’s far corner.

Four men immediately emerged from the van’s interior. Two of these individuals proceeded to the rear of the vehicle, where they began unloading a large television camera and other video equipment.

Another of the men began setting up a tripod, on top of which he mounted a sophisticated 35-mm. camera.

The fourth individual merely stood beside the van, catching his reflection in its side windows. Tall, handsome, and immaculately dressed in a suit and tie, he studied his appearance as Miriam and Joseph approached.

“Good morning,” greeted Miriam rather sheepishly.

Not in the least bit surprised by this intrusion, the man made a final adjustment to his collar, then turned and flashed the two newcomers a broad, toothy smile.

“And a top of the morning to you two,” said the tanned gentleman, his dark eyes quickly sizing up his visitors.

“And I thought we had this story all to ourselves.”

“You’re Roger Winslow, the TV news reporter, aren’t you?” queried Joseph, his dark eyes beaming.

“This is me in the flesh,” answered the anchorman boldly.

“KXBC’s finest will scoop the networks yet once again.”

“What do you mean by that?” quizzed Miriam, who was an infrequent television viewer.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” replied the reporter.

“You mean to say you honestly don’t know what we’ve been called out of our warm beds to witness this morning?”

Catching the pair of puzzled expressions on the faces of his two ragtag visitors, Roger Winslow stifled a laugh.

“And here I thought that you guys were from Rolling Stone, or some other ecological journal, here to record your own story. I guess we’ll have an exclusive after all. May I ask what brings you guys to this godforsaken portion of the California coastline? It sure can’t be for the surfing.”

It was Miriam who answered.

“We’re here on an archaeological dig for the State University.”

“Ah, a bunch of genuine bone-pickers,” jested Winslow.

Rather impatiently, Miriam continued, “Would it be too presumptuous of us to ask exactly what you’re doing here this morning?”

Checking his watch, Winslow then angled his line of sight to catch the progress of his cameramen.

“I guess a single leak won’t hurt in this instance. You’re going to damn well know what this is all about soon enough anyway. Might as well be ready for it.”

Shifting his glance to the south, the direction the assembled cameras were now facing, the reporter pointed to the fog-shrouded hills that lay in the distance.

“In a couple of minutes, if all goes as scheduled, we’ll be witnessing the launch of a Titan rocket.”

With this revelation, a look of genuine surprise showed on Miriam’s face.

“So that’s why they made us leave Tranquillon Ridge! At least Colonel Lansford could have told us about it.”

“I’m afraid not, lady,” retorted the newsman.

“This whole launch is strictly a hush-hush affair, on a need-to-know basis only. We only heard about it late last night, through one of our ever-loving moles stationed inside Vandenberg. From what he gathered, it seems even the Air Force was caught off guard by the speed with which this whole thing came down.”

“Well, this should really be something!” exclaimed Joseph.

“I’ve always wanted to watch a real launch.

Why don’t I go over and tell the kids what this is all about. They’re going to be thrilled.”

As Joseph hurriedly crossed the lot to share the news with the rest of the dig team, Miriam found her gaze locked on the southern horizon. There, the surrounding hillsides were barely visible, covered in a cloak of thick, gray fog.

“Do you think this fog will delay the launch any?” she asked softly.

“I doubt it,” answered Winslow.

“If the Air Force was worried about fog, they sure wouldn’t have chosen Vandenberg as their Pacific missile-launch site.

As I’m certain you’re well aware, if you’ve spent more than a couple of days here, clear mornings are an exception, and definitely not the rule. I seriously doubt if this fog is going to stop them.”

The reporter’s attention was diverted by a hand signal from one of the nearby technicians. Checking his watch again, he squared his shoulders and took a last look at his reflection in the van’s window.

“It looks like it’s show time. I’d better get over to my crew and check out those last-minute details. If you’re still around afterwards, maybe we could get together. I’d like to know more about what you folks are digging for up here.”

Not giving Miriam time to respond, the reporter took off to join his crew. Miriam watched as he stationed himself before the tripods. A tiny microphone was clipped to his tie and a dab of makeup applied to his cheeks and forehead. Standing there with his back to mist-shrouded Tranquillon Ridge and the hills beyond, the handsome anchorman looked out of place in his suit and tie. It was while Miriam was contemplating this fact that a familiar voice came from behind her.

“Hey, Boss!” cried Joseph.

“Why don’t you join us? We’re going to climb up the railroad trestle to see if we can get a better view of the launch site.”

Deciding that this didn’t sound like a bad idea, Miriam crossed the parking lot and rejoined her group. Seconds later, they were off to the path that led towards the beach.

Once the group had made it to the top of the hill that held the railroad tracks, they settled down on its sandy shoulder. The view indeed proved to be an excellent one. From this vantage point, the Pacific could be seen crashing to their right, while both the parking lot and the valley leading to the city of Lompoc were visible to their left. But all eyes remained focused straight ahead, to the hills lying to the immediate south.

One of the students had thought to bring a thermos of coffee and a supply of cups, and they were soon available to all those who desired them. Contentedly sipping her coffee, Miriam savored its warmth and taste. As she brought the mug to her lips, she noticed a bright blue patch of sky visible above them. Well aware that the morning fog was already beginning to burn off, she stirred when a strange deep-throated rumble sounded in the distance. Steadily rising in intensity, the resulting noise was almost ear-shattering.

Accompanying this deafening blast was a burst of brilliant white light. This was soon followed by a plume of billowing smoke as the first portion of the rocket became visible.

Larger than she had expected, the missile rose skyward from the valley directly adjoining Tranquil Ion Ridge. It was comprised of a long central fuselage, painted white and silver, and two shorter white boosters that straddled it. Ascending steadily into the air, the rocket roared with great power from its engines. It was unlike any sound that she had ever heard before, and Miriam found herself invigorated and thrilled. Only when the Titan momentarily disappeared into a low bank of clouds did she turn to share this unique experience with her team.

With eyes glued skywards, her crew seemed mesmerized.

Only Joseph Solares met her gaze. A wide, wondrous smile etched her assistant’s lips, and Miriam returned a simple nod of acknowledgment.

When her own glance returned to the heavens, she found herself searching the skies in vain for any sign of the huge rocket. It was veiled by a bank of dark clouds, and she could only wonder what it was carrying and where it was ultimately bound.

The deep-throated, bass rumble noticeably abated, to be replaced by a single, explosive crack. This foreign sound was followed by a brief flash of intense light, visible even through the fog bank. Several seconds passed, and all was unnaturally quiet, when the area filled with the banshee-like wail of a warning siren.

Confused as to what this meant, Miriam looked to Joseph, who pointed straight into the air. Following the direction of his finger, she caught sight of a strangely shaped cloud of bright orange smoke drifting high overhead. Still not sure what this indicated, she turned to her left as a loud claxon began sounding.

She soon realized that this racket was coming from a single jeep that was rapidly approaching the parking lot. Miriam’s senses prickled alive when a man’s voice was heard emanating from this vehicle’s powerful public-address system.

“Attention all civilians, there has been a failure of the Titan launch. You must evacuate the area at once because of the danger of toxic gases. I repeat, you must evacuate the park confines at once. Seal yourselves in your vehicles and head immediately for the Coast Road access to Lompoc.”

Immediately Miriam snapped into action. Efficiently, she herded the team down the railroad trestle.

With a minimum of panic, they made it to their van in less than a minute. Thirty seconds later, they were well on their way down the gravel road leading from the park, with the vehicle holding the journalists close on their tail.