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  “So you’re comfortable with offerin’ up your own men for sacrifice?” asked Wolcott, twisting the silver tip of his bolo string tie.

  “I’m comfortable with offering up my men to execute a dangerous mission,” countered Tarbox gruffly.

  “Okay, but no matter how you try to sell this horse, Mark will never buy it.”

  “And that’s just one of the reasons that Mark Tew needs to go,” said Tarbox candidly. “Face it, Virgil, he may be your friend, but he’s standing in the way of progress.”

  Wolcott removed his Stetson and shook his head. “Mark has to go? I thought this was about jumpin’ your crew to the front of the line, but this is a whole ‘nuther issue,” he said. “I ain’t too comfortable about goin’ behind Mark’s back. I like you, Leon, and I’m downright anxious to work for you, but Mark and I have a long history, and I ain’t too keen to betray him.”

  “I’m not asking you to betray him. Right now, when the time comes, all I’m asking is that you help me convince him to fly the mission with a Navy crew. Maybe later, you can eventually persuade him to step aside, for the sake of everyone involved. After all, the transition plan to fuse our programs has already been approved, Virgil. The only obstacle is Mark Tew. Instead of putting the transition on the back burner as we focus on this threat, I think it makes more sense to accelerate it.”

  “Okay, just for the sake of the argument, let’s assume you can entice Mark into flyin’ your crew. What’s in it for Carson and Ourecky? What can you do for them?”

  “Plenty,” answered Tarbox. “Carson still wants to fly in Vietnam, doesn’t he?”

  Reflecting on the number of times he had denied the tenacious pilot’s request, Wolcott chuckled. “Yep, that goes without sayin’, but we’ve discussed this already. Carson’s records are flagged so that ornery varmint can’t fly anywhere even remotely near a combat zone, so it ain’t going to happen. That’s straight from the Chief of Staff of the Air Force. I know you had a scheme, Leon, but…”

  “It’s already done,” averred Tarbox. “I’ve already laid the groundwork. I can make it happen regardless of whether his records are flagged or not. One phone call, and he’ll be on his way.”

  “Okay, let’s assume that you sway Carson. How about Ourecky?”

  Smiling, speaking softly in his squeaky voice, Tarbox enthusiastically outlined the second part of his ambitious plan for the pair’s future. He concluded by saying, “And it should be obvious that it would not only benefit them, but we also stand to gain as well.”

  “Whew. Very interesting,” noted Wolcott, kneading his weathered hands as he contemplated the idea. “If nothing else, I have no doubt that you can hook those two. Carson and Ourecky would jump on that opportunity like buzzards on a day-old dead calf.”

  “Perhaps, but I certainly can’t tell them about the second phase until after the election. I don’t want to get their hopes up until we’re sure that it’s actually going to happen.”

  “I concur, but you can’t broach any of this with Mark Tew. He would never agree.”

  Tarbox nodded. “So, when the time comes, will you help me convince him to put my Navy boys in the game, Virgil?”

  Displaying his crooked teeth, grinning like a hungry possum in a henhouse, Wolcott replied, “Yep. I’m your huckleberry, Leon.”

  Aerospace Support Project Headquarters

  12:05 p.m., Wednesday, August 30, 1972

  Strolling across the parking lot toward his new Corvette convertible, Carson was on his way to grab lunch at the BX snack bar when he spotted Wolcott waiting in ambush. Wolcott was attired in his customary outfit of pressed jeans, a white cowboy shirt with pearl buttons, topped by his trademark white Stetson.

  “New ‘Vette?” asked Wolcott, running his pale hand along the fabric convertible top.

  “Brand new. I just bought it last week.”

  “Quite a mount. How do you like it?”

  “It’s okay. Handles well, but the engine is only a 350 cubic inch small block, and my old one had the big block 427. It’s taking me a while to get used to.”

  Admiring the sports car, Wolcott nodded. Their conversation was drowned out by a C-5 Galaxy cargo plane making a low fly-over.

  Removing his Stetson, Wolcott squinted as he gazed skyward in awe. A thin string of brown-tinged saliva dribbled from the corner of his mouth. As the massive transport receded in the distance and the noise diminished, he spat and then said, “Durn, that thing is huge. I s’pose I’ll never get used to these new big aircraft. After Germany and Korea, it’s just too hard for me to comprehend flyin’ in anything that has more leg room than a shoebox.”

  “I know just what you mean, Virg,” replied Carson, thinking of the Gemini-I’s tight fit.

  “I s’pose you do, son.”

  “So, Virgil, am I to assume this is not a social visit?” asked Carson, extricating his keys from the pocket of his tan chinos.

  Wolcott replaced his hat, thumped the wide brim, and answered, “You would be assumin’ correct, pard. I come on behalf of Admiral Tarbox. I’m here to ask you for a favor.”

  “A favor?” asked Carson. “Wouldn’t an order suffice?”

  “What he’s askin’ ain’t exactly somethin’ we can order you to do, particularly considering that you work for General Tew, at least until Mark finally surrenders the reins to Tarbox, and he doesn’t appear to be in any big hurry to do that.”

  “That’s the impression I get, also,” observed Carson. “Is that a problem, Virg?”

  Wolcott nodded. “Trust me, pard, it’s in everyone’s best interests that we move ahead with the merger of this project. The faster that Admiral Tarbox takes over this ranch, the better. The problem is that Mark is obsessed with these damned Soviet nukes in space, and he’s not willing to step aside until we fly this final mission.”

  “But why is that even an issue, Virgil?”

  “Because Mark ain’t thinkin’ past this mission. And pard, although we assume that we will fly this mission, the truth is that this whole durned thing could fizzle out before we even get the go, depending on who’s elected President in November. I think it’s a foregone conclusion that we’ll be shuttin’ the doors in January if George McGovern lands in the White House.”

  Arching his eyebrows, Carson asked, “But if that’s the case, why would it make any difference whether Tarbox takes over now or later?”

  “Because Admiral Tarbox has big plans for this project, and there’s a good chance that he can accumulate some momentum behind those plans if he’s given half a chance. There’s a possibility that we might even survive McGovern if Tarbox has enough of a head start to secure funding and support.”

  “So, Virg, that’s all well and good, but how does that affect me? I assume that you’re aware that I am moving on to other endeavors as soon as we’re done with this last flight.”

  “Carson, son, Tarbox’s plans include you. And Ourecky, too.”

  “Really?” asked Carson. “Then if you came here to ask me a favor, Virgil, you’re barking up the wrong tree. As far as this Project is concerned, once we make this last flight, Scott and I are done. Sorry. I don’t see how I can help you. Furthermore, even if I could do whatever you’re asking, I sure can’t envision what you could offer in return.”

  Wolcott grinned. “Well, son, you’re right. Personally, I don’t have anything to offer you. On the other hand, Admiral Tarbox has plenty to offer you. You and Ourecky both.”

  “Tarbox? Whatever he’s peddling, I’m not interested.”

  “Shucks, Carson, don’t be too hasty to look a gift horse in the mouth. You know, brother, Mark Tew’s plan was that you go to Germany to command an F-4 squadron, and when things cool off sufficiently, we’ll stick you on the roster to fly in Vietnam. Is that still what you want, Carson?”

  “To go to Germany, Virg?” asked Carson.

  “No, pard. Do you still want to fly in combat?”

  Carson sniffed. “Do I want I to fly in combat? Yes. But why are
we even discussing this? We’ve been down this road a thousand times, Virgil, and you’ve made it abundantly clear that you can’t help me.”

  Wolcott chuckled. “You never change, do you? Let me tell you, son, I have it on extremely good authority that we’ll be out of Vietnam before the end of this year, so that clock is tickin’ out fast. With that said, what if Admiral Tarbox could make it happen for you?”

  “For me to fly in combat?” asked Carson.

  “Yep,” replied Wolcott. “Trust me, son, all he has to do is pick up the phone and it’s all but done. But let me ask you, why is it so danged important for you to fly in Vietnam?”

  Carson frowned. “Hell, Virgil, you know why. If I don’t fly over there, then it’s highly unlikely that I’ll ever make it beyond full bird colonel, unless we get in another shooting war very soon, and I don’t see that happening.”

  “So, ultimately, you want to be a general, right?”

  Carson nodded. “Of course.”

  “Well, listen to me, Carson: Admiral Tarbox can tug some mighty long strings on your behalf. Trust me, we’re talkin’ about opportunities that you could hardly imagine. Give him half a chance, and you’ll eventually see those stars on your shoulders.”

  “Be specific. What kind of opportunities are you talking about?”

  “I can’t tell you anything now. You’ll just have to trust me, but I assure you, flyin’ overseas is small potatoes compared to what Tarbox ultimately has in store for you.”

  “But, Virg, why would he go to all of this effort?

  “Simple. He’s beholden to you, son. He’s indebted to you and your buddy, Ourecky, because you pulled his ass out of a king-sized frying pan, and he wants to make good with you.”

  Carson shook his head and asked, “Really? So am I going to have any choice in what happens, or is everything just going to be foisted on me?”

  “If you do what I ask, brother, I promise you that we’re never going to obligate you to do anything that you don’t want to do. If you don’t want to participate, for whatever reason, you won’t. The same deal holds true for your compadre. When the time comes, and we make you two an offer, if Ourecky is still hankerin’ to go to MIT, then he’ll go. No questions asked. You can write that up on the wall, pard, in big letters, because I’m givin’ you my word, and I won’t let Tarbox or anyone else do anything that contradicts your wishes. Savvy? Are we square, son?”

  “We’re square, Virgil,” answered Carson. “But I have to assume that the Admiral will eventually want something in return.”

  “At this point, all he wants…all we want is for you to keep an open mind about workin’ with Admiral Tarbox. He sees a lot of opportunities comin’ up on the horizon, and it would help a lot if you rode with us,” said Wolcott. “Fair enough?”

  “Plenty fair.”

  “Good,” replied Wolcott. “You look like you’re in a hurry to get somewhere, son, so don’t let me hold you up.”

  “Thank you, sir,” replied Carson, opening the red Corvette’s door and sliding in behind the wheel. He started the car and pulled out of the parking lot. As he watched Wolcott slowly shrink in the rear view mirror, he wondered what the Ancient Mariner would want in return for his allegiance, and suspected that it was not a bargain that would come cheaply.

  Pre-Launch Processing Facility

  Burya Test Complex, Kapustin Yar Cosmodrome

  7:17 a.m., Thursday, August 31, 1972

  Major General Gregor Yohzin scratched Magnus between the ears before leaving the loyal Alsatian in the care of his driver. He then strolled into the massive horizontal assembly building where the hardware was being prepared for the upcoming inaugural mission of the Krepost nuclear weapons space station.

  Much had transpired since he had been assigned to the Krepost effort over two years ago. At the onset of the project, Yohzin’s boss—Lieutenant General Abdirov—had been granted the sprawling old Burya testing complex—located at the Kapustin Yar cosmodrome—as a research and testing facility.

  Even though the Krepost would be designed and built at the Burya complex, the Soviet High Command’s intent was that all spacecraft associated with the project—the Krepost stations themselves, as well as the Soyuz crew vehicles and resupply freighters—would be launched from the Baikonur cosmodrome located at Tyuratam in the Kazakh Republic. Each Krepost would be launched on an enormous UR-500 “Proton” booster, originally envisioned by the Chelomei bureau as a super-ICBM, fueled with hypergolic propellants. The Soyuz crew vehicles and freighters would be lofted by smaller R-7 “Semyorka” boosters. But Abdirov wanted everything together at one site. Exerting his considerable political influence, he insisted that new facilities be built at Kapustin Yar to accommodate launches of the Proton. But although he desired brand new facilities for his program, a compromise was struck to take advantage of the structures abandoned after the Burya project was cancelled in 1960. Construction workers gutted a massive brick building that was previously used to process the experimental ramjet cruise missile designed by the Lavochkin bureau. Its capacious interior was retrofitted with the heavy equipment necessary to assemble the Proton booster. Repurposing the defunct facility yielded an extra benefit: viewed from the outside, or perhaps from the vantage point of a reconnaissance satellite in orbit, the dilapidated structure looked like a derelict relic of a long-cancelled program. An existing rail network was also renovated to support transport of booster components from distant factories to the assembly building, and from the assembly building to the launch pad. Launch facilities for the reliable R-7 already existed at the Burya complex and had already been used for practice missions by prospective Krepost crews.

  Yohzin envied the men laboring to ready the Proton. He wanted to be just like them again, with his hands on the metal, scrambling up tall ladders, dangling from rickety gantries, solving problems on the fly. He disliked being stationary and hated to be cooped up indoors for any extended period of time, but his current assignment entailed just that. To make matters even worse, his time was committed to a project that wasn’t even his own, and if truth be told, he wasn’t there to actually do anything productive, but to snoop.

  Even as its Proton was being assembled, the Krepost station waited in a separate processing bay. Save for just a few components to be installed, perishable foods to be loaded, and final checks made on its nuclear warhead, it was ready for flight. In less than a week, it would be mated to the Proton, and then the completed rocket would be transported to its launch pad on a specially built railcar. In addition to the Krepost and the Proton, two Soyuz crew vehicles and one resupply freighter—a modified Soyuz—were being processed in their own separate bays in the assembly building.

  Yohzin made his way to an isolated work area that was set aside exclusively for personnel associated with Perimetr. Perimetr was the massive automated network that would eventually control virtually all nuclear weapons in the Soviet inventory. The hardened network would ensure a devastating wave of retaliation against the West, even if the Americans succeeded in decapitating the Soviet leadership and interdicting the more conventional channels of command and control.

  The Soviet High Command had ordered that the Krepost stations be eventually linked to Perimetr, until the manned stations were eventually supplanted by unmanned Skorpion weapons platforms. Now, with one Krepost ready to launch and two more in production, the Perimetr link was still in development. An interim system—based on a device called the “interlock”—would be installed on this Krepost. Since his other pre-launch tasks had long ago been accomplished, Abdirov directed Yohzin to act as a liaison to ensure that the Perimetr’s interlock system was ready for flight.

  Despite his rank, Yohzin waited in line behind the others seeking entrance to the Perimetr workspace. When he reached the front of the queue, he handed his credentials to a stern-faced guard and then was subjected to an intensive search. Another guard examined his notebook and rifled through his belongings. They went so far as to open the lunch pail lovin
gly packed by his wife, Luba, to ensure that no camera or other recording devices were concealed in with the olivie potato salad, black bread and pickled herring that would be his noon meal. He knew that at the end of the workday, the process would be reversed. It was extremely demoralizing; he felt like a prisoner in a gulag.

  Of course, if the fanatical Perimetr leadership learned of Yohzin’s true intentions, then he might soon become an actual prisoner in a GRU cell. After all, his current task wasn’t even real work, but an act of subterfuge. Abdirov was still very much intent on devising some means to circumvent the fail-safe weapons deployment system intended to prevent an unauthorized deployment of the massive nuclear warhead—now universally known as the “Egg”—that was the centerpiece of the Krepost’s mission and architecture. The weapons deployment system consisted of two major components: the targeting computer and the interlock system. The targeting computer had been designed and fabricated by a team led by Yohzin, but since the High Command’s ultimate intent was that the Krepost would be controlled under the Perimetr system, the design of the interlock fell under the purview of the Perimetr leadership.

  Once the Krepost crew entered key data concerning a potential target—latitude, longitude, ground elevation and other variables—the targeting computer automatically calculated the angles and timing associated with firing the Egg’s braking rockets to initiate reentry into the earth’s atmosphere. If all went as planned, and there was no reason that it wouldn’t, the Egg would eventually arrive at the appointed location and detonate at the appropriate altitude to ensure the maximum amount of destruction and casualties.

  Although the Perimetr leadership strived to exercise complete control over all aspects of the Krepost’s weapons deployment system, they reluctantly ceded development of the targeting computer to Yohzin’s team. The underlying reason was simply that Yohzin’s men had physical possession of the Gemini guidance computer—stolen from an American museum warehouse by the GRU—that was the basis for the Egg’s targeting computer.