Back to the Moon by Homer Hickam Page B

with you that allows them to fly a space shuttle in order to conduct tests.”
    The DOT woman still didn’t get it. “Fly a space shuttle? In a DOT contract? That doesn’t sound right.”
    â€œIt’s in the contract,” Cecil replied, trying hard to sound nonchalant. “MEC has paid the United States government in the form of two checks drawn on a bank in Grand Cayman, British West Indies, a sum of one million dollars each to DOT and NASA as specified. That seems to be about it. Are there any questions?”
    There was a short silence and then the contracting officer asked, in a voice so faint, Cecil had to strain to hear, “Would you say again about the shuttle thing, the
Columbia
?”
    â€œYes, of course. That, as authorized in the contract, MEC is conducting its tests in the orbiter
Columbia.”
    There was a strangled sound and then the woman, in a voice suddenly loud, demanded Cecil’s name. He calmly gave it again along with his telephone number and then asked her if she wanted him to fax a copy of the contract showing where the DOT officials had signed. “Yes, right away, please,” she said, her voice so tight Cecil thought it could have been plucked like a violin.
    Cecil hung up the phone, asked his secretary to do the faxing, and patiently waited. An hour later he heard a polite tap at his door. His secretary escorted in the town constable, Sergeant Buckminster Taylor, Trooper Buck, as he was called. Buck hefted his bulk into the chair nearest Cecil’s desk. “Damnedest thing, Cecil, got a call from the FBI just a few minutes ago. Asked if I’d mind baby-sitting you for an hour or so. There’s a couple of agents on their way from Tallahassee to see you. You in any kind of trouble?”
    â€œLet’s just say I think I know why they’re coming.”
    â€œWhy’s that?”
    â€œI believe I’ll hold fire on that for now, Buck.”
    Trooper Buck, who kept an eye on everyone on the Key, didn’t miss a beat. “Didn’t I see your missus leaving town last night with both the kids?”
    â€œA little vacation,” Cecil said.
    â€œI almost believe you,” Buck said, turning in his chair. “You expecting trouble?”
    â€œTrouble?”
    â€œWhere’s Jack Medaris these days, by the way? Went out to the plant, everything’s deserted.”
    Cecil nodded. “Believe I’ll hold fire on that one, too, Buck.”
    POSTINSERTION CHECKLIST (2)
    Columbia
    â€œHouston, this is Penny!” she yelled into her headset. “Houston, answer, dammit!” Then she remembered she hadn’t heard anything since the big technician had “fixed” her headset. “Shit!”
    Penny stopped and listened. She heard nothing except the sound of her own shallow breathing. It was unnerving. “Hello? Who’s here with me?” she called, but no one answered. She didn’t know whether to unstrap or not, what she should do. She squinted, a habit when she was worried or scared. Was there enough air in the cabin? Did something need to be done to turn the oxygen and nitrogen banks on, to get the filters scrubbing?
    â€œHouston, come in, Houston!” she yelled into her mike, but no one answered. She’d seen Cassidy dragged through the open hatch. What had happened to him? And where was the big technician? And the man who had somehow climbed past her to the flight deck during ascent? My God, he had to be strong to do that! Penny had been unable to even raise her arm at the time.
    The middeck was dark, gloomy, a pale blue fluorescent glow from a single square ceiling panel providing the only light. She sniffed the air, wrinkled her nose. The cabin’s stale, sour smell, like a mix of old athletic socks and detergent, made her wonder how many unwashed bodies had camped out inside the tiny compartment. She tried to focus on the frost-white lockers in front of her but couldn’t