Blue Hope: (Book 2) (Red Hope) Read online

  “How soon?” he yelled into the phone.

  Victor waited again.

  “Damn, okay. Send them ASAP! I don’t know how long we can hold them off!”

  Victor hung up and gave the phone back to Leroy.

  “We have to hold down here for at least twenty minutes. Help is on the way,” Victor said.

  “Twenty minutes!” Adam yelled incredulously.

  “I’ll try to hold them off,” Victor said.

  Every minute or so, one of the poachers would attempt to ride the zip line down. Victor would shoot at him and the poacher would scurry back to the cover of the cliff.

  Victor, Sergeant and Lieutenant established lookouts trying to cover the area all around them in case poachers tried to sneak behind them.

  For the next twenty minutes, shots came at them from the cliff and then the waterfall itself, the poachers having walked out into the river and dangerously close to the edge of the falls.

  A low rumbling noise came from the southeast. An old C-130 aircraft came zooming over the trees and climbed upward quickly several hundred feet. The airplane leveled off and began flying a slow lazy circle around the poachers. The poachers began shooting at the airplane with the occasional tracer leaving their rifles.

  Then a deafening Bzzzzzzzzrt sound emitted from the side of the C-130 as a rain of hell dropped down on the poachers. The airplane unloaded a shower of enormous bullets made from depleted uranium.

  The heavy cloud of bullets slammed into the cliff where the poachers were hiding. The ground around them exploded with debris, forcing a landslide down into the river. The truck exploded — the carcass flipped up into the air and then rolled down the cliff into the river along with the dirt, crushing some of the poachers who’d survived the attack.

  The C-130 flew in another circle and dropped a more explosive rain of tracers and bullets into the cliff and the surrounding area. After shooting into the river just below the cliff, the airplane flattened out, circled back and began firing at the top of the waterfall. A shower of red water came streaming over the waterfall.

  And just as soon as it started, the C-130 rotated the wings flat and flew away over the trees. The sound of the engines faded into the jungle noises.

  Victor slid down the rock he’d been leaning on and sat down, looking relieved.

  “That AC-130 just saved our lives,” Victor said.

  Two minutes after the plane left, another low rumble sound rose up, but this had a regular thump, thump, thump sound.

  A large Bell UH-1 helicopter, famously known as the Huey Hog, came into view over the trees. It dangled overhead with its lumbering flight movements and circled around a few times before settling down near the campsite. Several American soldiers jumped off the helicopter and ran toward the group.

  “Which one of you is Agent Victor Nuvongo?” the lead soldier asked, still wearing his helmet and sunglasses.

  Victor stepped forward.

  “Okay sir,” said the solder. “We’ve got two more helos inbound. We understand you found something of interest?”

  “Yes, sir,” Victor told the soldier. “You’ll need to secure this site.”

  Over the next hour, a dozen solders arrived and secured the cave and the Martian laboratory, setting up posts at the extreme ends of the area, including up on the cliff.

  Adam wandered over and sat down on a rock next to the NASA guys.

  “Hey Leroy, I need to borrow your satellite phone.”

  “Okay, but go easy on it. Each call costs five bucks a minute,” Leroy said, smiling.

  Adam dialed Chris Tankovitch’s phone number. It rang for what seemed like forever.

  “Leroy?” Chris answered.

  “No, this is Adam. I’m using Leroy’s phone.”

  “Do you have good news for me?” Chris asked.

  “Yes, I do have good news for a change. We found the Martian laboratory. And it’s a treasure trove. You’ll need to send lots of scientists.”

  “That is good news,” Chris admitted. “But did you find an anti-gravity cube or anything related to the anti-cancer medication?”

  “No, but we know where it is and I know where we have to go next.”

  “To Hell?” Chris asked.

  “No, even worse. We’re going back to the Moon.”

  CHAPTER 65

  NASA Jennings Manned Spacecraft Center

  Fort Worth, Texas

  After ending the conversation with Adam, the phone on Chris’s desk began ringing. The Caller ID said, “White House”. Chris picked it up, fully expecting to get the calling service for the president. She never made the calls herself.

  “Chris, this is President Bexar. I have some bad news.”

  His stomach sank.

  “What is it, Madam President?”

  “We just received a communications cable from our consulate office in Fiji. There was an accident on the submarine research ship. Three individuals were killed. One of them was Alexis.”

  Adam fell into his seat, his free hand palming the table for moral and physical support.

  “Are they sure? I mean, maybe there is a miscommunication?” he suggested.

  Silence.

  “No, Chris. I’m afraid she’s gone. I don’t have any more information right now. I am very sorry about this. She was a great leader and a good person.”

  “I know,” Chris replied.

  He was numb. Within the span of just two minutes, he’d received some of the greatest news of his life and then the worst news of his life. Alexis may have no longer been his star, but he always missed being near her light, and now the glimmer was gone forever.

  “Chris, I need you to be strong,” the president said. “I’m making you the official administrative director of NASA again. I know you’ll know how to handle this. You did a great job before, no matter what anybody said.”

  “Thank you,” he said.

  The phone slid out of his hand and onto the floor.

  “I’ll do my best,” he whispered.

  Chris laid his head on top of the desk.

  PART THREE

  “There are nights when the wolves are silent and only the Moon howls.”

  — George Carlin

  CHAPTER 66

  Conference room

  NASA Jennings Manned Spacecraft Center

  Fort Worth, Texas

  “Ladies and gentlemen, it’s been two weeks since we found the hidden Martian laboratory,” Chris said, closing the door to the conference room. “And here is a list of rockets we have available that can get us to the Moon.”

  Chris turned on the projector and showed a blank screen.

  The engineers looked around the room, confused. A mumbling erupted from the group.

  “Nothing!” Chris shouted, slamming his fist on the table. “We don’t have anything that can take us to the Moon and the cure for cancer is just sitting up there, waiting for us to go get it. How can we fix this?”

  “What about Whittenberg Space Launch Systems?” a voice on the telecon asked. “I know they’re out of business, but don’t they have any legacy vehicle sections we can cobble together?”

  Chris shook his head. “No. I spoke with Mr. Whittenberg. He said he was sorry, but none of his ships could get to the Moon. He said that if he pooled all his resources together, then maybe he could have something for us in two years.”

  “Two years!?” the red-headed engineer said incredulously. “Half the population could be dead by then, sir.”

  “I know,” Chris agreed, pointing his pen at the engineer. “We have to get a better solution.”

  A fairly large engineer sat quietly in the back of the room, swiveling his chair left and right.

  “Mr. Tankovitch…” he said.

  “Doctor Tankovitch,” Chris corrected him.

  “Sorry, um, but you always told us to call you Mister?”

  “Well, things have changed.”

  “Okay,” the engineer shrugged. “Nobody has mentioned that we still hav
e access to some of the Apollo rockets. They cancelled the Apollo program before they were all used.”

  Chris laughed.

  “True, but those are half a century old. They’ve been rusting away in museums for decades…”

  “All except one,” the engineer interrupted.

  Chris turned his head, surprised.

  “Which one?”

  “We have a full Saturn V Apollo Moon rocket that was recently refurbished by the Smithsonian. No joke. Right down to every last nut and bolt.”

  “How recent?” Chris asked.

  “Back in 2007. I helped with it. I work in the airframe division.”

  Chris walked up to the dry-erase board.

  “Hypothetically speaking, of course, but let me write down some details. So we have an airframer here. Do we have any propulsion engineers here?”

  Chris looked around the room. One of the people on the telecon screen raised his hand and spoke a warbled, “Me.”

  “Great,” Chris said. “Let’s start with the airframe guy. Again, hypothetically speaking, how long would it take you to check out the airframe and make sure it’s good to go?”

  Another engineer on the side of the room laughed and asked, “You can’t be serious about all this, can you?”

  Chris stared at him. “That’s why I said hypothetically.”

  He turned back to the airframe engineer. “So, how long would it take you to check out the airframe?”

  The engineer looked up and bounced his fingers on his chin as he thought out loud.

  “Well, I know all of the fasteners were methodically checked and any corroded parts were replaced. We’d need to run pressure tests and some other basic system safety tests. If I had a big enough crew, maybe a couple of months?”

  Chris wrote “Airframe — 2 months” on the board.

  “Now what about the propulsion?”

  The engineer on the screen was busy writing and punching numbers into his calculator. He looked up.

  “Those F-1 engines produced one and a half million pounds of thrust… each. If we found some of the old-timers and brought them out of retirement, maybe, we could refurbish them and the J-2 engines, but wow, I’d be afraid to put my seal of approval on engines that were over a half century old.”

  Chris looked frustrated.

  “Look, if I absolved you of all responsibility, how long would it take?”

  “Like airframe says, if I can find enough old-timers, we could have the engines rebuilt and test fired in a couple of months.”

  Chris began writing on the board, “Propulsion — 2 months”

  The propulsion guy kept talking.

  “But keep in mind that technology has advanced since that rocket was built and we might be able to make it a lot better.”

  “How’s that?” Chris asked.

  “Well I’m sure the flight controls guys would concur, but the flight computers are really old in the Saturn V. Your cellphone has more processing power.”

  The engineers let out a nervous laugh.

  “That’s no joke — it’s true,” he said. “The F-1 engines are on complex gimble-mounts and refurbishing that part of the system could be very troublesome. I’d recommend adding a ring of smaller rocket engines around the outside and have those on tiltable actuators. Use those for steering.”

  Chris nodded his head to show his consideration.

  “And how long would that take?” Chris asked.

  “Well, if we worked 24/7 and you gave us immunity from all responsibility, then maybe four months?”

  “But that would greatly improve the flight control reliability?” Chris asked, looking for confirmation.

  “I think so,” the engineer on the video monitor answered.

  “What about the rest of the flight controls and instrumentation?”

  Another engineer at the table leaned forward in his chair.

  “We could convert it to a modern glass cockpit and replace the thrusters in about a month if we can work 24/7, but we’ll need you to bring in engineers from all the NASA locations.”

  “And old-timers?” Chris asked.

  “Old-timers would be preferred,” the engineer confirmed.

  “I call this hypothetical,” Chris admitted. “But I honestly don’t see any other realistic options. And it sounds like we might kinda maybe have a working Saturn V rocket ready in… four months if everything went perfectly?”

  “No!” yelled the familiar red-headed engineer in the back of the room. “That means you’ll have the rocket in four months. The old launchpad will need to be refitted for the Saturn V.”

  Chris pointed his pen at the guy.

  “Shouldn’t it already be ready for the Saturn V?”

  “Well, we’re talking about Launchpad 39A and it’s been modified for the space shuttle and it was also used for Whittenberg Space Launch Systems. It’s been a long time since Apollo.”

  “Might the parts still be around?” Chris asked.

  “I’m sure they’re in storage somewhere.”

  “Great, I want you to build a team and get Launchpad 39A ready to launch a Saturn V in two months.”

  The red-headed engineer’s eyes bulged.

  “Um, okay?” he said with little confidence.

  The airframe engineer stood up and said, “Doctor Tankovitch, there is one slight problem with this plan.”

  “What’s that?” Chris asked.

  “When the Smithsonian was done refurbishing it, they put the Saturn V into a climate controlled building.”

  “That doesn’t sound like a problem to me,” Chris said. “In fact, that sounds like an ideal situation!”

  “Yes, but that building is in Houston.”

  CHAPTER 67

  Alston family home

  Fort Worth, Texas

  Adam sat in his comfortable La-Z-Boy chair, staring at his phone. On the screen was Connie’s cellphone number. He pushed Talk. The phone rang and rang. It went straight to voicemail. Adam started to leave his fourth message of the week.

  “Hey Honey, this is Adam. I’m back from the business trip to Africa, but I’m sure Chris told you about that already. Look, I’d really like to see you and the kids. Can you give me a call?”

  Adam hung up the phone and sighed.

  A loud knock came from the front door. Adam walked over and looked through the peep hole. A college-aged kid stood there, wearing a dress shirt and tie. Adam opened the door.

  “Hi, I’m Ricky, the one who called about the Porsche on Craigslist?”

  “Oh yeah, yeah. Let me go open the garage door. Hang on.”

  “Wait a second,” Ricky said, his eyes swelling with surprise. “Aren’t you Adam Alston, the Mars astronaut?”

  Adam nodded.

  “True. You got me,” Adam laughed. “But the Porsche is in the garage.”

  Adam closed the front door and walked into the kitchen to grab the key fob. He removed the house key as he walked through the laundry room and into the garage. He pushed the button on the wall that opens the garage door. Sunlight burst in, shining on that beautiful red Porsche. Ricky was standing in the driveway.

  “Wow!” Ricky said, his eyes wide as saucers.

  “There it is,” Adam said, opening the car door. “Now like the ad says, it got some rain in it, so it smells a bit moldy.”

  The kid walked up and excitedly sat down in the seat. His smile turned to a frowny gag.

  “Wow, that’s a strong smell,” Ricky admitted. “Did you find it in a lake?”

  Adam laughed.

  “Nope, just rain. But that’s why you’re getting the bargain of the century.”

  “It’s a bargain that’s making me puke, though.”

  Adam laughed. “Yeah, but where else are you going to find a new Porsche for five grand?” he asked.

  “You’ve got a good point.”

  Adam nodded.

  “Besides the awful smell, why are you selling it?”

  Adam stared blankly out the front of the gara
ge. “My wife and I are sort of separated, so I guess it was time to move on.”

  “Okay, well I’ll take it.”

  “Don’t you want to test drive it?” Adam asked.

  “Does it run?”

  “It runs perfectly,” Adam admitted.

  “Then I’ll drive it away.”

  Adam reached into his pocket and pulled out the title and signed it.

  “Here’s the title. Let’s go to the DMV and take care of the details,” Adam said.

  Adam got in the passenger seat. Ricky started the engine and backed the Porsche into the street. The air conditioning came on and the most powerful mold smell hit Adam. He opened his mouth and gagged, half laughing at the putrid experience.

  “Windows!” they both said in unison and lowered the windows.

  At the Department of Motor Vehicles, it took two hours to process the paperwork and get a new title for Ricky. Even though the kid’s new car smelled like a swamp, he had a permanent grin on his face. On the way home, Adam asked Ricky to drop him off at a used car dealership. Adam stepped out of the Porsche and slammed the door. He leaned down to speak through the window.

  “Well, Ricky, I hope you have a lifetime of fun with this car. Add an air freshener and it’ll be fine.”

  “And a gallon of bleach.”

  Ricky squealed the tires, fishtailing as he pulled away. Adam watched the car disappear up the road and onto the freeway. He turned around and walked onto the used car lot. He’d barely made it past the parking lot entrance when the salesman came out.

  “How can I help you today?” the salesman asked.

  “I’d like an old pickup truck. An old Ford F-150 if you’ve got one.”

  “This is Texas, sir,” the salesman laughed. “The only question is which color you’d like that F-150.”

  CHAPTER 68

  Former NASA Johnson Manned Spacecraft Center

  Houston, Texas

  When towns are abandoned quickly, it’s only a matter of hours before looters swoop in, break windows, and steal everything that isn’t bolted down. In the case of a nuclear disaster, however, that timeline is greatly shifted — often taking years or decades for the looters to risk the poisonous air and ground.