Lash-Up

17 Good News and Bad

Biff Barnes resisted the urge to shout or to give orders or any other kind of direction. These people were supposed to do their jobs on their own. He’d be too busy to give orders when the time came.

Jim Scarelli, the designated pilot, was off working on the real-flight control systems with the techs. Scarelli had been the Lockheed Martin test pilot for VentureStar, and there was no question of his ability to fly Defender. That part was easy.

The rest of them struggled to train on half-built systems in a jerry-rigged simulator. Six metal chairs mimicked the seats, and plywood and plastic boxes with laptops on them pretended to be control consoles. A plywood arch covered them, because many of the controls were positioned on the overhead. Network and power cables were tightly bundled but still required attention to avoid a misstep.

Steve Skeldon, the navigator and copilot, sat in the right front seat. A Marine captain, his time flying fighters was less useful than his master’s degree in physics. This morning, he had taken over Scarelli’s flight duties as well, which made him a very busy man.

Behind the pilot, Sue Tillman, the sensor officer, stared intently at the mock display screen, scanning the earth and space. The display was a montage of inputs from the impressive array of infrared, visible light, and radar equipment being installed in Defender. Hopefully the real systems would act as effectively as the simulated control panels. She also took care of the voice and data links that would tie Defender to the ground-based sensors she needed.

The weapons officer on the right was Andre Baker, a captain in the U.S. Air Force. Although he had no space-flight experience, he did know lasers, and he was a ballistics expert as well.

Biff sat in the rearmost row. As mission commander, he didn’t need to look out a window. The displays on his console gave him the big picture. From the back, he could also watch his crew.

Ray McConnell’s chair, for the flight engineer, was on Biff’s right, also in the rear. It was empty as well. Ray was able to train only occasionally, but that was the least of Biff’s worries.

Barnes worked the master console at his station. In addition to simulating his own controls, he could inject targets and create artificial casualties for the team to deal with. Right now, he was just trying to get the simulator’s newest feature to behave.

“Sue, tell me what your board sees.”

“Bingo! I’ve got an IR target below us bearing two seven zero elevation minus four five. Shifting radar to classification mode. I’ll use the laser ranger to back up the radar data.” She sounded triumphant, and somewhere behind Biff, a few technicians clapped.

“Velocity data is firming up. It should be showing up on the master contact display.”

Biff checked his own console and said, “Yes, it is.” He’d dialed in a Tien Lung target for Sue to find, and she had. Considering they’d just installed the software for the infrared detection feature at four in the morning, it was a significant achievement.

Despite the frustration and lost time, Biff smiled, pleased with the results. More than procedural skills, simulators taught the crew to work together through shared experience. These experiences weren’t what he’d planned on, but the result was the same.

“It’s good to see you smiling, Biff.” Ray’s voice would have startled him a few moments earlier, but Barnes felt himself relaxing a little.

Ray sat down in his designated chair, then clapped his hands. “Attention, please! We’re short of time, so we can’t arrange a ceremony, but I believe these are yours.”

Everyone’s eyes followed Ray as he handed a small box over to Barnes. As Biff’s hand touched it, a photoflash went off, and he turned in his seat to see a photographer behind him, smiling, his camera at the ready.

He opened the small dark box to see a pair of golden oak leaves.

“We thought Defender’s mission commander should be at least a major.” Admiral Schultz stepped into Barnes’s view, reaching out to shake his hand.

Barnes, surprised and pleased, automatically tried to stand, but was blocked by the overhead console.

“At ease, Major.” Schultz smiled. “I’m glad to be the first one to say that.” As Biff took the admiral’s hand, both automatically turned their faces to the cameraman, and the flash popped again.

“Thank you, sir.”

“Don’t thank me — thank Ray. He’s the one who insisted you should wear oak leaves. I just had to twist some arms. A full year ahead of zone, isn’t it? And by the way,” Schultz said, raising his voice so the flight crew could all hear him clearly, “you’re all going to get astronaut flight pay, backdated to the day you reported here for duty.”

It was Ray’s turn to look surprised. Schultz just smiled. “You had a good idea. I had a good idea.”

“The newest Chinese tactic is called ‘sidestepping.’ Although both the U.S. and China have declared trade embargoes against each other, Chinese goods are still arriving at U.S. ports, via shell corporations and merchant ships flying ‘flags of convenience.’”

The image shifted from the newscaster to an anchored merchant ship. The camera was at water level, a short distance away, and as it passed down the length of the vessel, the gray hull towered over the observer. “This is the Chinese general cargo ship Bao Jiang, at least that was its name two weeks ago.”

The camera, being carried in a small boat, reached the end of the hull and circled, showing the stern of the vessel. Freshly painted lettering read MARITIME VENTURE 3, SRI LANKA.

“Sometime after November first, Bao Jiang was purchased by the Maritime Venture Shipping Corporation, headquartered in Sri Lanka, and renamed. She is shown here unloading in Long Beach, California. Her manifest shows that her cargo originated in Myanmar, but all of the goods unloaded so far are of Chinese manufacture.

“Newly formed ‘false front’ shipping companies are appearing throughout Southwest Asia and Africa, with newly purchased, formerly Chinese merchant ships. The most likely source for the money to establish these firms is China herself.

“Cargoes from China are transshipped in neutral ports like Dawei onto a newly renamed ship, or sometimes the ship, with the cargo aboard, is simply purchased by the front company. Their manifests will either falsify the country of origin or claim the goods were purchased from China before the start of hostilities.

“The incentive is great. Because of the embargo, Chinese products are commanding three or more times their normal price in the USA, if they are available at all. A legitimate market in Chinese-made goods available outside China has helped mask and confuse the vastly larger shadow trade.

“We tried to find out whether any U.S. firms are employing similar techniques, but there have been no recent transfers of U.S. flagged or owned ships to other nations. Both the U.S. authorities and the American companies we contacted refused comment.

“U.S. companies are also complaining that foreign suppliers are stepping in to replace American firms shut out of China by the embargo. In addition to the lost business during the conflict, they are concerned that continuing political tensions afterwards will prevent them from ever reestablishing their business.

“Unemployment figures held steady for the month of October, but it is certain the news for all the economic indicators in November will be bad. Gold prices have risen sharply since the Chinese invasion began.

“President Jackson’s job approval ratings, although low, have held steady, for the moment. Immediately after U.S. forces were committed to the defense of Vietnam, the country was almost evenly split, with forty-three percent approving of the president’s decision and forty-five percent disapproving. Two weeks later, the numbers are forty percent and forty-six percent, almost unchanged. Some pundits believe that only a quick victory over its superpower rival in Asia will prevent them from dropping sharply.”

“There.” Colonel Evans froze the video. The color image showed someone half-kneeling near one of the light standards on the driving range. “That’s Glenn Chung yesterday at seventeen forty hours. After we were sure he was back in his trailer and that no one visited the spot immediately after him, I went out with one of my people last evening, and we found this, right inside that light pole.”

The colonel handed Ray McConnell a clear plastic bag. Inside was a small metal case, just a few inches long. It had a rough texture and was colored a dirty brown.

“My God,” muttered Ray. He handed it to Geoffrey Lewes, who studied it silently.

The three of them were seated in Evans’s office. The door was locked, with a guard posted outside.

“You get the credit for this one, Geoff,” Evans remarked. “If you hadn’t come to me with that one incident, I wouldn’t have even known to start looking. Once we started watching him, it slowly became clear. It’s all in knowing where to start.” After a pause, Evans added, “I’m sure you felt bad reporting that incident at your desk with Chung.”

“I did,” Lewes admitted, “but his explanation just didn’t quite ring true.”

“Well, that was enough. Chung was very careful; it took us over a month before we had conclusive proof that he was passing messages. And while the guy has rarely left Edwards AFB, he’s been all over the place. At the food court, dry cleaners, power walking past base housing. Being a support contractor, he has more time off than the engineers, and it’s perfectly natural for someone to want to get away from this place for an hour or two after their shift. It wasn’t until you showed us the recreation records that we realized the best place for his dead drop would be the golf course.”

Lewes almost cringed. “Please, quit praising me! Chung always struck me as a great guy. Even knowing what he’s doing, I’m finding it hard to dislike him. Is there any way we could be wrong?” Lewes’s tone was earnest, almost pained.

Evans took the bag back and tapped the case inside. “We brought this back here at nineteen forty-five last night. My people have been working on it all night. As soon as we’re done here, this goes back into the lamppost, just like we found it.”

Lewes started to ask, “What if someone comes … oh, you’re watching it. Of course.”

Evans nodded. “Hidden cameras are watching the drop site, with people in striking distance, just in case. I’d rather keep these guys in the dark, though, and see who the contact is and where he takes it. But if someone shows up at the dead drop before this is back, we’ll grab him and Chung as well and shut their operation down.”

“You said you’d been working on it since last night, right? So what the hell is it?” Ray prompted.

Evans grinned. “Look at this.” Handling it through the plastic of the bag, he pressed a seam that ran along the side of the case. It popped open easily. In one half, nestled in a foam cutout, was a flash drive. The number 3 was hand-painted on it in white.

“We had to do some serious tests before we could even put it into a computer, but turns out it wasn’t booby-trapped. Once we could take a peek, we found numerous files, encrypted, of course. We sent them to the NSA late last night, and they sent us the decoded material about an hour ago. That’s when I called you two.”

Evans turned to his computer and pressed a key. “This is a list of the files we found on the flash drive.”

In all, there were over twenty files. Ray recognized most of them. He’d even written a few. Almost all were classified, but the ones that weren’t still worried him: a schedule of food service deliveries, a list of personnel who’d arrived at the base in the past week, along with their work assignments.

Ray fell back in his chair and exhaled heavily, as if he’d been struck. “They know everything.”

Evans replied, “They know a lot. Chung goes to the golf course at least once, sometimes twice a week. That was our clue on how he signaled his partner that a drop had been made. During those weeks he goes twice, there is always a two-day gap between the two reservations; that’s when the exchange of flash drives likely takes place. Based on that theory, this is Chung’s third drop since being assigned to Space Force.

“We already started poring through the golf-course reservation records to see if we can determine the name of his accomplice. I doubt they’d be that inept, but we still need to check. We’ve also been looking at Chung’s work log to see if there is any obvious place for a network tap. The guy has been as busy as a beaver on speed; he’s done an unbelievable number of install jobs all over Building 151. We haven’t found anything so far, but we’ve only scratched the surface. You have no idea how many fiber-optic cables and server farms have been run throughout this building, and the layout map isn’t exactly the greatest.”

Ray nodded. “But, Jack, even with just three drops, the amount of data compromised could be huge. At a minimum, we have to assume the Chinese have a good idea of Defender’s characteristics, her weapons and sensors, and, most importantly, her status. I’ll have to brief the admiral about this, right away — and Dawson. Chung came to us from Lock Mart. Who knows how much information he stole there before he came to us? They have a need to know.”

“I agree,” Evans replied, “but nobody else. Right now, the three of us are the only ones with the complete picture. Even the people I had working on this last night weren’t told where it was found, or who it belonged to. In addition to the NSA, I’ve also notified the DCIS and FBI, as required.”

The colonel then turned to Geoffrey. “And you’re going to get some more bodies for your support staff, as well as in the IT department. They’ll be security people, of course, but from outside the command. He may have taken the time to mark all of my people. I would.”

“To keep him under surveillance,” Lewes said. “Fine. I’ll make sure they’re placed in different sections: food service and recreation, primarily, but maybe a couple of others.”

“Good. I’ll make sure the new IT guys are assigned to work with Chung, on a rotating basis, of course. His company has been grooming him for additional leadership responsibilities, so this won’t be unexpected. Hopefully, it’ll cramp his style for the near term — reduce his ability to compromise more information. And there will be a few more security guys that nobody knows about, except me,” Evans continued. “We’re getting new people in here all the time, so a few additions won’t attract any attention.”

Evans leaned forward, speaking softly but earnestly. “I know you both will keep your mouths shut, but, believe me, don’t spend too much time thinking about Chung. I’ll do all the worrying. If you see him, or God forbid he speaks to you, don’t try to ‘act natural.’ Just deal with whatever it is, then come see me as soon as you’re clear. Remember that from now on, he’ll be watched constantly. If Chung talks to you, one of my people will be nearby. Think of them as backup.”

“Ray, you’ll have to begin a formal investigation, as required,” Evans reminded him.

“More paperwork!” Ray groaned. “I certainly don’t need this right now.”

“You’ll survive,” Evans told him. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have an errand at the golf course.”

Hugh Dawson watched the video, looked at the photographs, and read the list of decoded files. Then he asked to see the video again. He used the tablet’s touch screen to expand Chung’s image until it filled the screen. It was grainy, but definitely Chung.

He handed the tablet back to Ray, searching for words, trying to readjust what he knew. The implications were mind-bending.

Schultz was watching Dawson carefully, and he could see Ray McConnell waiting for him to speak. Finally, the executive offered, “I’m sorry.”

The admiral said, “I didn’t think this was your fault, Hugh, even though he came from Palmdale.”

Dawson, feeling a little lightheaded, answered, “But I feel responsible. Certainly our security people failed to catch a spy. We cleared him, and he’s been working in one of our most highly classified facilities for over three years. Heaven knows what he’s stolen and passed on.” He shivered. “I’m having a little trouble absorbing this. The more I think about it, the worse it gets.”

“Your security people will have to account for themselves, of course. We’re assuming you’ll brief your chief of security as soon as you get back, but only him. Have him coordinate with Colonel Evans, who is in charge of the investigation. Our main concern is finding out who Chung’s contact is and tracking their network,” said Schultz.

“Nobody’s picked up the case yet?” Dawson asked.

Ray shook his head. “No. Evans said he’d text me the instant that happened.”

“And then the hunt will be on,” Schultz observed.

Dawson handed the admiral a stapled sheaf of paper. “Here’s a hard copy of his Lockheed Martin personnel record. I was curious about why you asked for it, but I couldn’t imagine it was for this. Chung’s only worked for us. We got him fresh out of college.”

Dawson paused, then continued. “Or, maybe he got us. He’s had three years to send who knows how much back to China. Just thinking about it makes my head hurt.”

“Well, he’s stopped spying on you to spy on us, so count your blessings.”

“What do we do? What can I do?”

Ray answered. “Evans says we watch and wait. From now on, we’ll be able to read his mail. Once the contact picks up the case, we’ll follow him back and see where he leads us, who else is involved.”

“And please let them not work at Palmdale,” Dawson added prayerfully.

“Which is why Colonel Evans doesn’t want your security people to do anything, at least until we know one way or the other.”

“I understand,” Dawson assured him. “I don’t want to tip these guys off, either.”

The depressed executive left, and Ray and Schultz sat silently for a moment. Ray finally said, “A spy. It doesn’t seem real.”

“This from a guy who’s building a spaceship?” Schultz smiled.

“I can’t tell Biff, or Jenny.”

“I agree. Biff will understand, and I’ll vouch for you with Jenny. We’ll keep any champagne bottles well out of her reach.”

“You heard about that?”

The screen showed a map of northern Vietnam and its border with China. Pulsing red arrows moved south through mountainous terrain, converging on the city of Lang Son.

“The Chinese capture of Lang Son does more than just gain them a vital road junction south of the mountains. It means that the U.S. has missed its best chance to slow or stop the invading armies and is apparent proof of the effectiveness of the Chinese ‘anti-GPS’ strategy.”

Arrows appeared, heading south and southeast. “From Lang Son, the Chinese columns can advance on Hanoi, the capital; Haiphong, a major port; or any number of other coastal cites. The country opens up considerably, and it will be difficult for the Vietnamese forces to establish a strong defensive line, especially if U.S. airpower has been weakened.”

The scene shifted to fuzzy color video of jets diving and firing missiles at something off the bottom of the screen. “This is Chinese video of a U.S. attack during the daylight hours.” The image was replaced by a pile of tangled metal. “The same video says this is the remains of a U.S. attack plane shot down during that raid. There was no mention of the pilot. U.S. losses in their air attacks have been light, so far. Observers believe that the American commanders have been cautious, feeling their way carefully as they find out what works and what doesn’t. We asked our CNN consultant, retired air force general Blake ‘Sandman’ Sandus, for his assessment.”

Sandus was standing in front of a wall-sized video screen. Photos of U.S. planes flashed across it, changing every few moments. He wore a conservative blue suit, and the camera zoomed in for a moment on his tie clasp, a miniature F-15.

“This is the first time in decades that the U.S. has not had complete air supremacy. In military terms, this is not a ‘permissive air environment,’ which in plain English means there is a real risk that our aircraft could get shot down.”

The screen split, and the news anchor asked, “And this is because we’ve lost so many GPS satellites?”

Sandus nodded vigorously. “It’s actually a double whammy. The precision of GPS weapons made it easier to neutralize any air defenses and then made sure a high percentage of the ordnance dropped actually hit what we wanted. My friends tell me that wing and squadron commanders are still looking for the right mix of weapons and tactics. Until then, they’re playing it safe.”

The anchor asked, “Isn’t that just being wise?”

Sandus shrugged. “In one sense, yes, but playing it safe won’t win a war. Air warfare used to be about attrition, with the losses we suffered justified by the damage we inflicted on the other side. Nowadays, we can’t afford even moderate losses. We lose airplanes and pilots that are very difficult to replace, the other side may get a hostage, and the administration gets a black mark.”

“Are you saying that there has been political pressure to keep casualties low?”

“All I’m saying is the higher the casualty count, the more heat the president’s going to get about coming in on the side of the Vietnamese. It’s a principled stand, but following one’s principles gets harder and harder as the losses rise. That’s why we haven’t committed any ground forces to help the Vietnamese.”

“General, since the air attacks aren’t as effective as we hoped, should we commit ground troops? Certainly they won’t be affected as badly by the lack of GPS.”

Sandus smiled and shook his head. “Don’t ask me. I was air force, and my opinion on that question isn’t worth much. But you know what they say about ground wars in Asia.”

Ray had resisted calling it “Laser Day,” but the admiral had overruled him. “It’s a milestone, Ray. Let everyone share the moment.”

Geoffrey had laid it on as a minor celebration. The cafeteria, still called “The Hangar” despite operating from a newly erected prefabricated building, would offer a special menu, and he’d organized a laser light show on the side of the hangar, accompanied by the “appropriate music.”

But it was an important step, a visible step. At thirteen-ten that afternoon, the actual hangar’s overhead crane had lowered the airborne laser assembly into Defender’s cargo bay. He lost track of the number of steps that had led up to this point: structural modifications to the vehicle’s spaceframe, laying power and fiber-optic cables in the bay — all the while refurbishing the laser’s optics and its combustion chamber. That had been a technical challenge. It would now be exposed to vacuum, and the temperature extremes of space. It had never been designed for that, and in the end they’d had to reinforce the shell and add insulation.

It had taken only a few minutes to lower the laser into position, then mate it to the spaceframe with some very large, but very ordinary-looking, bolts.

Four days ago, he’d watched the one test the laser would get, hurriedly mounted on a steel framework and connected to a portable generator for power. Fuel tanks used for the original ground tests over thirty years ago had been located, tested, connected to the test rig, and filled. They held enough of the chemicals for two shots.

The earliest satellite window after they were ready had been at zero four-thirty. Ray had briefly considered skipping the test in favor of sleep, but it wasn’t in his nature. He had to be there, and had watched as the last of the test instrumentation had been attached.

There was a hundred-yard safety zone in case of a breach in the combustion chamber, and they’d all watched from a slit trench as Amy Sloan, head of the laser section, held a silver box with two buttons. She pressed the first, and it lit, meaning laser fuel was free to move from the tanks to the chamber. She pressed the second, and the laser fired.

There was enough moisture and dust in the air that one could see the beam, a pale red spear that flashed and disappeared in a fraction of a second. It was aimed straight up, toward the zenith. Hoots and applause celebrated the sight, but Sloan concentrated on her watch, counting the seconds. The engineers had calculated the optimum interval to test the chamber, and just a few moments after the first shot, she fired it again. A second faint red flash came and went, and Ray found himself exhaling with relief.

The beam would be invisible in space, of course, and even if it were visible, they would all be in the cabin. A remote camera would be trained on the laser in the bay, but mainly to make sure the mechanism that moved and aimed the mirror was operating properly.

He’d listened for a noise, too, maybe a “pop” as air rushed into the space where the beam has passed, but the angry whine of the pumps had masked anything else, real or imagined. He was glad they wouldn’t be able to hear that in the cabin.

At the “Laser Day” celebration, Ray mingled and watched everyone. Geoffrey’s cooks had prepared a Cajun menu, with many “laser-blackened” items, as well as a very good bouillabaisse. He limited himself to small portions, since he still had a few more pounds to lose before he’d be at what Barnes called “flight weight.”

People were definitely enjoying themselves. He heard laughter and animated conversation, although it often seemed to be technical. He knew many would go right back to work after the laser show, hopefully refreshed.

He spotted Glenn Chung, sitting and chatting with several others, and did his best to look away. He’d seen Chung several other times during the past few days, bound on some task for the IT division. Ray had done his best to ignore Chung, but it was hard, knowing what he was. Was he gathering information right now, some fragment about someone’s progress? It was a common topic, after all, and their common goal.

Ray’s clenched jaw relaxed a bit when he realized that one of the people at the table with Chung was one of Evans’s security team. The thought comforted him, but also made him doubly self-conscious. Then he spotted Geoffrey Lewes near the serving line. He seemed to be looking at the same table Ray had been. Ray tossed his plastic plate and utensils into a trash can and walked slowly over to the morale officer.

“It’s hard, isn’t it?”

Lewes, startled and a little embarrassed, turned to Ray and said, “Tell me the food is good. I need to think about something else.”

“The food really is good, Geoffrey. A party like this is almost as good as a day off.”

“I like it when they’re smiling, Ray. I can’t help build Defender. I can barely check the oil in my car.”

“But you know you’re making a difference.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Chung get up from his table with several others and head for the exit. He saw Lewes tracking Chung’s movement as well. Ray felt himself relax a little, since if Chung wasn’t around …

“You know, he’s going to notice if you’re trying this hard to not look at him.”

Coming from behind, Colonel Evans’s voice startled Ray so much he would have jumped, except the colonel’s hand was on his shoulder, steadying him. Evans’s other hand was doing the same for Lewes, who was just as surprised.

Ray took a deep breath. Lewes said, “Sorry.”

“No harm done this time,” Evans said softly, “but next time, just leave. Don’t wait for him to go.”

“Has anyone picked up the item?” Ray asked quietly.

“Not yet,” Evans replied. “It’s all good right now. The longer we can leave him in place, the better for us.”

Lewes nodded silently and headed for the back of the serving line. He had the right idea, Ray realized. Focus on what you could do.

He left the tent, headed for his office. Spy stuff was hard. He’d stick to building spaceships.