19 April 1995
Johnson Space Center Building 16
Houston, TX
29° 33’ 47” N 95° 05’ 28” W
“Good morning, Angela. How are we today?”
“Very good, Mr. Wheaton. Good morning,” Angela replied.
“Angela, I have asked you, repeatedly, to call me Tom.”
“Whatever you say, Mr. Wheaton,” Angela said.
Tom sighed, “Have we got radar contact on Margaret?”
“Dentist appointment. If all goes well, she should be in around ten,” Angela said.
“’If all goes well,’ that’s good. You’re starting to sound like a real NASA press secretary. Not bad for two months in,” Tom said, putting his briefcase down.
“I learn from the best,” Angela said.
“Angela?”
“Yes, sir?”
“This is JSC, not Kennedy. Don’t blow smoke up my ass,” Tom said.
“Okay, you’re a doddering old man and it’s a miracle I’ve progressed this far while babysitting your schedule,” Angela said, deadpan.
“That’s the ticket. I like the sass,” Wheaton said.
“You’ve got a nice little sass yourself, sir,” she said.
“Hey-o! But this is Houston, not Harlem. Here, it’s showtime
with the Apollo, not Showtime At The Apollo,” Tom said.
“Ooh, that was reaching,” Angela said.
“Yeah, I’m not proud of it,” Tom said.
“Perfectly normal for a man of your age to suffer from performance issues,” Angela said.
“Okay, okay. I’m calling a flag on that play. That’s a late hit. You saw I was down, and you came in anyway,” Tom said.
“You really want to make a football reference? Here? In this office?” Angela said.
“Do
not make a Tyler Palmer joke right now. I’ve heard literally every Tyler Palmer joke there is at this point. I hear one more and I’m gonna start rooting for the Mustangs, I swear to all that’s holy,” Tom said.
“Okay, okay. Take it easy. And relax. The guy from the Times sent a c-mail late last night. His flight got delayed so you’re actually clear ‘til around ten,” Angela said.
Wheaton looked up from the papers that he was sorting. A smile came across his face that got wider and wider. His tone shifted to amused and conspiratorial, “Angela, what’s the commissary in 30 serving this morning?”
Angela’s finger trailed over the pink calendar pinned to the bulletin board by her desk. She stopped when she reached the 19th. “Bacon and eggs, OJ, blueberry muffins,” she said.
“Oh yes! Okay. If anyone asks, you just saw me, but you don’t know where I went,” Tom said.
“That’s literally true if you don’t tell me where you’re going,” Angela said.
“If it’s an emergency, Ryan knows where to find me,” Tom said. He picked up his headphones and hung his jacket on his desk chair. Then he made for the door.
“You’re doing great here, Angela,” he said, departing the press office without a second glance.
19 April 1995
200 Block N.W. 5th St.
Oklahoma City, OK
35° 28′ 22″ N 97° 31′ 01″ W
“Good morning,” Delilah Higgins said, greeting the Fed-Ex driver.
“Good morning,” the deliveryman said, looking out over his shoulder through the glass doors he’d just come in.
She’d watched him pull up to the curb across the street. It had seemed strange that he’d park by the Murrah Building and then cross over on foot, rather than just park here, but she was glad that he’d gotten here so early. She hadn’t been expecting her new business cards to come in until the afternoon.
“Is that for me?” she asked, nodding to the brown box in his hand.
“Uh, yeah, sure,” he said, idly tossing the box onto her desk. It was a bit sloppy of him, she had to admit.
“Do you need me to sign for it?” she asked.
“Uh, nope. Can you tell me how to get to your rear parking lot?” he asked.
“Sure, just go around that corner, then take a right at the end of the hall,” she said, baffled at the question.
“Thanks,” he said, quickly rounding the corner.
She shook her head, watching him leave.
Didn’t he need to go back to his truck?
She reached for the package. She turned it over. There was no label. No markings. It was just a plain cardboard box, and it felt empty. She frowned and reached for
19 April 1995
I-66 East
Arlington, VA
38° 53' 11" N 77° 07' 03" W
“Good morning. Do you know why I pulled you over?” Trooper Pullman asked as he spoke to the Fed-Ex driver.
“Uh, no. Can’t say that I do,” the driver said.
“You’re kinda listing here. You know what that means? You’re tilted. Looks like you’ve got an unbalanced load in the back. Your whole back end here is kind of sagging to the left. It’s dangerous. Truck like this, you hit a bump wrong, you’re liable to tip over. Especially at highway speeds. Didn’t they sort you out wherever you came from?” Trooper Pullman asked.
The driver just looked confused, “Uh…” he said.
“It’s all right. Come on out here, let me show you what I mean,” Pullman said.
The driver didn’t move. The door didn’t open. “I really need to get moving here. Is it a violation? If you need to write me a ticket, that’s fine.”
“It’s not a violation, but it’s a matter of safety. We can sort this out in just a little bit, here. If you open up the back, I’m betting you’ve just got some heavy stuff on one side. I’d be happy to help you move some of it…”
“Can’t let you back there, officer. Company policy,” the driver said.
“Well, I’m afraid Virginia DOT laws outrank your company policy. So if you’ll just…”
Trooper Pullman never got a chance to finish. The driver simply put the truck in gear and pulled back into traffic, heading east.
“Son of a…” Pullman said, running hard back to his vehicle. He fired up the wailer and sped off in pursuit.
“Dispatch! This is Pullman, unit 873. In pursuit of a Fed-Ex truck on I-66 East in Alexandria, possibly stolen, possibly drug-related. High speed, requesting backup!”
The dispatch operator was, as always, calmer than whoever she was speaking to. “Copy, unit 873. Can you give us a plate number?”
“Roger dispatch. Oklahoma plates: Foxtrot-Kilo-Juliet-Five Four-Seven-Niner. It’s a big truck, Dispatch. And it’s heading for D.C. I may need authorization to cross the Potomac, over. He’s crossing over onto 7. Can you get Arlington PD to assist?”
“Copy, you 873. We are working on that.”
“Based on this guy’s rate of speed, you’ve got about four minutes. Alert D.C. Metro please.”
Pullman didn’t hear the response. He had to swerve around a sideswiped Honda and the car’s horn blared loud as he passed. The truck, about fifty yards ahead now, plowed between a pair of slower cars. Pullman tucked his cruiser in tight behind the truck to avoid them as he went by.
“Dispatch! This guy is wrecking cars along the way. Please send units, figure out if anyone needs an ambulance. He’s coming around the cemetery, still heading for DC. See if they can put some people on the bridges,” Pullman said.
“Working on it, 873. Arlington PD is mobilizing.”
“Oh God! Dispatch, he’s turning on to Arlington Memorial… the bridge. There’s cars. A lane blocked off. Oh God. Get out of the way! Get out! Get…”
At this point, the dispatch operator could hear the sounds of metal scraping, car horns and screams. The noises were distinctive, and obvious, even through the radio handset. Trooper Pullman had kept his finger on the button, so she could not ask him for more information.
A beat passed and she heard the line clear, “873, can you report, please?”
“Uh, yeah, Dispatch. Subject TC’d at the end of the bridge. Rolled the truck over. It’s on its side. He plowed through a bunch of cars on the way down. Need paramedics, possibly fire. Ask for anything DC can send. I’m going in for a felony stop, over,” Pullman said.
“Roger unit 873, proceed with caution. DC Metro is one minute out.”
“Virginia Dispatch, this is DC Metro unit 517, how copy over?”
“Copy you, 517. Are you responding to the TC at Memorial Bridge?”
“Affirmative, VA Dispatch,” the D.C. police officer said.
“Do you have a twenty on my trooper? Unit 873?”
“Negative, VA Dispatch. We are just getting on scene. Proceeding to the
19 April 1995
Johnson Space Center Building 16
Houston, TX
29° 33’ 47” N 95° 05’ 28” W
Ryan came into the bullpen. He leaned through the threshold to Tom’s office and frowned.
Ryan seemed pretty excited about the call he’d been taking. Angela couldn’t hear what he was saying, but the smile on his face spoke volumes. When he hung up, he came by her desk, then leaned over the threshold of Tom’s office, frowning at the empty chair.
Angela jutted her chin to the unoccupied space, “He said you knew where he’d be,” she said.
Ryan nodded, “When he gets a bit of time, he goes over to the MOCR. He likes to listen in to the mission chatter.”
“He could just fire up a squawk box here,” Angela said.
“He uses the headset. I think he just likes to feel like he’s a flight controller,” Ryan said.
“What’s up?” Angela asked.
“That was a rep from some place in California called Pixar,” Ryan said.
“Never heard of it,” Angela said.
“Me either, but apparently, they’re doing some kind of movie with Disney coming out this year,” Ryan said.
“What are they calling you for?” Angela asked.
Ryan was reaching for his blazer, “Tie-ins. It’s some kind of story about toys, but they have these two toys that are Space Rangers or something, whatever the hell that is. Astronauts, I suppose. There’s one named Buzz Lightyear and another called Sally Saturn. They want to coordinate some promo events. Tom will be excited. This could be huge. I’m gonna run over there.”
“He seemed like he didn’t want…” Angela started but got cut off by Jim Hunley entering the bullpen.
“That was weird,” Hunley said, not bothering with an opening.
“What was?” Ryan asked.
“I was crossing the parking lot just now,” Hunley said, nodding towards the window, beyond which was the parking lot between themselves and Building 30. “This Fed-Ex truck parks, right on the curb over at 30. Like, jumps the sidewalk. And the driver, he gets out. Looked kind of worried, like someone was about to come ticket him for running up on the curb, and then he just runs away. Just booking it, across the parking lot.”
“That’s weird,” Ryan said.
“I know right?” Hunley was moving to open the blinds to show where the truck was parked, “You can see…”
Glass and sound came through the window like an unstoppable monster. Angela reached for her ears, instinctively trying to block out the fury of sound and wind that knocked over her desk. She felt a rush of heat on her face and saw a maelstrom of desks, chairs, papers, and glass flying in chaotic formations. The world shook like the Almighty had started some kind of angry paint mixer.
And just as suddenly, it was over.
She found herself in a world of blackness. Smoke and debris were all that she could register. Up seemed to be somewhere to her left. Her desk, so recently organized, had now cracked right down the middle. She felt something wet in her hair. Her wrist ached. She tried to reach for her head but found her arm pinned awkwardly under what was left of the wall of Tom’s office. She could see his diploma in a busted frame, still attached to a piece of drywall. Such an odd place to put something so important.
19 April 1995
CF-245 Intrepid
Orbital Inclination: 29°
Altitude: 270 mi
“Good morning,
Intrepid. How’s the view look from three hundred miles, over?” Jerry Swinson was the Capcom for today. Jason Riley liked it when Jerry Swinson had the headset. Jerry was an old pro and always made sure they got a slice of life on the ground.
“Good morning, Jerry,” Jason said. “The world looks quite nice from up here. Looks like it’s going to be a beautiful day. Jane and I are enjoying a couple of granola bars and a squeeze bottle of OJ. Do we have any revisions on the flight schedule today?”
“
Intrepid, Houston. Uh, that’s a negative. We have no residuals for you. You’re right on schedule,” Swinson said.
“That’s good to hear. Now, have you got a sports section down there? Are my Rockets still in the hunt? How did Hakeem do last night?” Riley asked.
“Uh, let’s see. He got eighteen points, twelve rebounds. Rockets over the Sonics 112-103,” Swinson said.
“Love to hear it, Houston,” Riley said.
“Jerry, not to bring down the festivities, but can you confirm our next item on the clock, please?” Jane Alvarez said from the right-hand seat.
Jerry was quiet for a moment before replying, “
Intrepid, Houston, you should be seeing Skydock at 1843 and you’ll begin your approaching maneuvers at…”
The voice suddenly cut out and Riley heard the low quiet static of dead air. “Houston,
Intrepid. We did not copy your last. Please repeat over.”
A moment passed in silence.
Riley looked at his co-pilot.
Still nothing came on the radio.
Riley tried again, “Houston, this is
Intrepid. We did not copy your last. Please repeat, over.”
Another moment passed in silence.
Riley said quietly, “Try them again, Jane. Maybe…” he left the thought unfinished.
Alvarez said, “Houston, this is
Intrepid. We are not copying you, please repeat.”
Riley nodded to the cockpit dashboard, “Go to the backup. Houston, this is
Intrepid. We are not reading you on comms. We are switching to backup. Request that you repeat your last. Over.”
Alvarez keyed a switch by her left knee. Both pilots heard a small pop in their radio, signaling that the
Intrepid was now using its backup receiver.
“Houston,
Intrepid, we have switched to backup, how do you read us now?”
Another moment passed in silence. Riley repeated the call.
“Jane, any ideas here?” Riley said.
Alvarez replied, “It’s got to be a problem on our end. I’m running diagnostics. Maybe try to raise Skydock. See if they can act as a relay.
“Skydock, this is
Intrepid. Do you read me? Skydock, this is the
Intrepid, do you read, over?”
The voice of David Abbott, currently in command of Skydock, filled their headphones. “
Intrepid. This is Skydock. We read you five-by-five. We are having difficulty establishing contact with Houston. We were hoping you could act as a relay for us, over.”
Jane Alvarez stopped scrolling through the diagnostic readouts.
“Skydock, this is
Intrepid. We’re having some trouble too. We were about to make the same request.”
“Well,
Intrepid… we may have a bit of a problem here,” Abbott said.
19 April 1995
Clipper LTV-01 Orca
Earth Return Transfer Orbit
Altitude: 154,372 mi
“
Orca, this is Skydock. How copy, over?”
Dan Harris caught himself in midair. It took him a moment to get his bearings again. His arms were out in front of him. His shoulder straps held him into the sleeping bag. The fact that he was on the ceiling was a bit startling, but by the time he thought of that, he remembered where he was.
“
Orca, this is Skydock. Do you read, over?”
Harris shook himself loose and lifted himself out of the sleeping bag. His headset had been left on last night for just this reason. Until his feet were back on the ground at Kennedy, he was responsible for the lives of everyone on Expedition 26. He pushed off from the bulkhead and settled in to the commander’s chair on the flight deck. Behind him, his crewmates continued to slumber.
Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he plugged his headset into the console and switched his mike to VOX.
“Skydock, this is the
Orca. Good morning.”
“Good morning,
Orca. Are you in contact with Houston, over?”
“Skydock…” he checked his gauges. Nothing appeared out of place, but this was an unusual question from an unusual place, “uh, we’re still in wake-up mode. We haven’t checked in. Is there some kind of problem?”
“We think so,
Orca. I’ve got
Intrepid on approach here and we can’t raise Houston. Been transmitting in the blind for the last five minutes. We were hoping it was something in the relay network. Can you give them a call? We’re going to ask the same for Moonbase, over,” Abbott said.
“I’ll give it a shot,” Dan said.
“
Orca, since we’re in the blind, what’s your crew status, over?” Abbott said.
“Uh, everyone’s fine. No medical issues,” Dan said.
“Not even hangovers?” Abbott said.
“Uh…” Dan said.
“It’s okay,
Orca. I know how it is on the way home. Get the spray bottle out and start spritzing those guys. Tell them to shake off the bourbon. It’s going to be a busy day,” Abbott said.
19 April 1995
Moonbase Outpost
Expedition 25
Day 257
“Skydock, this is Moonbase. Do you read me, over?”
It took a couple of seconds for the reply to cross the quarter-million-mile void. “Yeah, Scott, I read you. Let me guess. You can’t raise Houston, right?” David said.
“Affirmative, Skydock. What the hell is going on? The Russians just shut their hatches. I’ve got a skeleton crew up here while we’re waiting for the new arrivals. And now I’m getting dead air. I checked the window. Earth is still there. Was it something I said?”
“We’ve got the same issue, Moonbase. I’ve got
Orca and
Intrepid in the loop. No one is getting anything from the ground. We haven’t gotten any telemetry updates for about twenty minutes now. This is going from annoying to concerning real fast,” David Abbott said.
“Agreed. What would you like me to do here?”
“I thought we might try comms in one of the rovers, just as a last resort, but I don’t think that will do any good. If none of us can hear the ground then it’s something Earthside. Probably a failure in the tracking network,” David said.
Scott MacDonald frowned. He was alone in Base Command. His two crewmates were still asleep. His job had been to monitor the base’s systems for the next few hours. The next console over showed two blank screens.
“How could we have total blackout though? Even if a tracking station went down, you’d pick up a new one in a few minutes. I don’t see how we could lose all comms,” Scott said.
“We didn’t. Just the fact that we’re talking means the DSN is still working. This has to be a problem with the ground. Maybe something with Houston’s transmitters, or... I don’t really know. I read an article a while back about computer viruses. It’s some weird thing that people can infect a computer system. Maybe this is something like that,” David said.
“Computer viruses? That’s a thing?” Scott asked.
“I’m just thinking out loud here. There isn’t a checklist for Earth not talking to us,” David said.
“Yeah. Should I be doing anything about the Russians? They shut their hatches not long after we lost Houston. If this is some kind of Russian attack, I don’t have much manpower up here,” Scott said.
“I don’t think this is that. If the Russians wanted to mess with us, this is a weird way to do it,” David said.
“But effective, wouldn’t you say?” Scott said.
“Okay. Okay. Let’s stay cool here. I’m assuming command and control of all space assets until we reestablish contact with Houston,” David said.
“On whose authority?” Scott said.
“The five mission patches on my arm, Scott,” David said. “I’m not trying to take your command, but I need you to not do anything that’s going to provoke the Russians. If this is World War Three, let’s not start throwing stones in our big glass house.”
“Copy. I wasn’t complaining, Dave,” Scott said.
“It’s okay. I’m a little rattled up here myself, I don’t mind telling you,” David said.
“What’s your plan?” Scott said.
“For the moment, I want to keep
Intrepid and
Orca on mission. Their flight profiles are already laid out. Once we get these pieces to stop moving, we’ll see where we are.
Intrepid is due here in a few hours.
Orca should rendezvous day after tomorrow. If this isn’t sorted by then…”
“It will be,” Scott said.
“I think so too. In the meantime, keep everyone calm and inside. Let’s not have anything come up where we’d need Houston’s guidance. Just sit tight,” David said.
“Agreed. Whoever hears something first, let everyone else know,” Scott said.
“Roger that,” David said.
“Anything else?” Scott said.
“It’s not my thing, but, I think this might not be a bad time to fire off a prayer or two. Can’t hurt at this point,” David said.
“I’ll do that while I’m running another diagnostics check,” Scott said.
“Good deal,” David said. “I’ll reach out again in one hour. Call if you need me.”
19 April 1995
200 Block N.W. 5th St.
Oklahoma City, OK
35° 28′ 22″ N 97° 31′ 01″ W
The streets for three blocks were utter chaos. Local police were overwhelmed with search and rescue and traffic control was being handled by anyone with initiative who felt strong enough to stand in the street directing traffic.
Marsha Marzetti had been a paramedic in her younger days. For the last twelve years, she’d run a flower shop in downtown. Oklahoma City had been good to her. Now it was bleeding.
Forty minutes ago, she’d heard the explosion as she was sweeping the front entrance. She found the first aid kit that they’d kept in the back office and ran four blocks in her sneakers. If she had it to do over again, she’d have grabbed a hair tie.
When she had reached the blast site, she nearly collapsed from shock. About half of the Murrah building, this glass and concrete monolith, had been blasted clean away. The shell of what was left, a macabre rectangular skeleton of death and destruction, now towered over a field of recovery forces, doing all they could to save lives.
The small army of police, fire, medical and anyone else with two hands and a flashlight, were starting to pull people from the ruins of the structure. More often than not, they pulled dead bodies instead of live ones.
Her ears were ringing from the steady cacophony of alarms. A tangy scent filled the air. She heard someone mention it was explosives residue, but she knew nothing of that kind of thing. Her shoes were soaked through, the water pipe all along the damaged side now pumped tap water onto 5th street. Somewhere a crew was trying to put a stop to that.
Marsha tended to a young woman, college age, if that, who had been on a recovery team. She had fallen onto some rebar and had a small puncture wound on her right side. The wound would heal, but she needed to get away from here as she could no longer be of any assistance.
Smoke and dust still blanketed the area. As she wiped her brow in the warm, morning sun, she heard another ambulance round the corner and join the symphony of sirens blaring into the ether.
There was motion to her right. She saw a team of firefighters making towards her. They carried a stretcher with a body on top. Marsha could see an arm move. They had a live one. She waved over the newly arrived ambulance, determined to be as helpful as she could.
As it approached, she saw the vehicle was marked as being from Pauls Valley. She was impressed. Pauls Valley was more than an hour from the city.
She waved the unit over, clearing a space as she watched for the incoming rescue workers. The team of four still carried their living cargo and were about fifty yards away. She went to the back of the ambulance and reached for the door handle.
It was locked.
She tapped it hard with her palm a couple of times. This was no time to be sluggish. The boys inside needed to get out here and get to work.
“Open up! We’ve got a live one coming in!” she said.
Nothing happened.
Marsha craned her neck around, looking towards the front of the unit.
She saw a paramedic walking away, back towards the corner.
“Hey, buddy! We’re still going to need a driver here! Job’s not done just because you’re on-site,” she said.
The man kept walking away. She yelled at the back of his head, “Hey! I need this unlocked. You’ve got to open her up!”
The man rounded a corner behind a pile of debris. She waved her hand and decided he wasn’t worth it. Some people see something like this and just can’t deal.
She went back to the driver’s side door, planning to look for the keys. She’d drive this thing herself if she had to.
As her hand reached up, the two-thousand pounds of explosives in the back of the ambulance brought Hell down on the streets of Oklahoma City for the second time in less than an hour.
19 April 1995
Skydock Space Station
Orbital Inclination: 29°
Altitude: 268 mi
“Skydock to Moonbase,” David said into his headset.
“This is Moonbase. Go,” Scott said.
“I told you I’d check in in an hour, Scott. It’s been an hour. This is me checking in,” David said.
“Roger that, Skydock. No movement from the Russians. Nothing but dead air on the comms. I’ve woken Kate and Sophie. We’re all here now,” Scott said.
“Copy you, Moonbase. I don’t have anything new on this end. Just going to keep listening. All is well on
Orca and
Intrepid. Are you having any other anomalies? Any problems?” David said.
“Negative, Skydock. All our lights are green. I wanted to ask if you were picking up any other radio traffic? Civilian, military, whatever?”
“Negative, Moonbase, but that checks. Everything we get from the ground is through DSN. I can’t manually tune our receivers to civilian channels. My kingdom for a HAM radio,” David said.
“If we sort this out, I’ll buy you one,” Scott said.
“Okay. For the moment, no one is in trouble. Let’s just try to keep it that way. I’ll try to contact you again in another hour, but after that, we gotta start prepping for the rendezvous,” David said.
“Let me know when you get busy. We’ll take over trying to raise Houston at that time,” Scott said.
“I appreciate that. In the meantime, maybe try knocking on the Russian hatches again. They’re supposed to be there for emergencies.”
“I hear you, but all things being equal, I’m kind of okay with them not being a factor this morning,” Scott said.
“Copy that. Stand by. Stay safe,” David said.
“Same to you, Skydock,” Scott said.
19 April 1995
KC-135 Stratotanker
Call Sign: Big Gulp
En route back to MacDill AFB
Morgan Amedeo watched the pair of F-16s break and head south. He couldn’t help but wave as they flew away. He’d have given anything to trade places with them. What kid didn’t want to be a fighter pilot? What kid wanted to be a boom operator on a flying gas station?
Still, you had to love the view, and the Air Force covered meals and housing. Not bad for a poor kid from St. Louis. He called up to the cockpit as the Falcons faded into the cloud cover.
“Captain, our customers are clear. Boom is retracted and we’re squared away, over,” Morgan said.
“Not so fast, Amedeo,” said the pilot. “We’ve been rerouted. Looks like we’ve got another thirsty girl in the area. Base is rerouting us. Stand by.”
“Copy that,” Morgan said. He pulled his coat tighter. At these altitudes, there was no use having an internal heater. Boom operators were the type to love the cold. Or the type who had to learn to love it as a job requirement. Morgan had been that second type. The Air Force didn’t mind either way.
He sat and waited for an hour while the tanker flew to its newly assigned rendezvous point. It wasn’t unheard of to get a last-minute change in assignment, but he was mildly curious what was keeping them in the air. Big Gulp had lifted off at 5 a.m. He was looking forward to getting some chow once his feet were back on terra firma.
“Radar contact. Sheesh, she’s big. Morg, get yourself ready back there. She’s coming up on our ass,” said his copilot.
“Roger. What’s the boom config I need for this customer?” Morgan asked.
“They’re saying go with A-3, and just let them drink until we’re dry,” said the pilot.
“Roger, confirming A-3. And we’ll give them all we got,” Morgan said.
That was a bit strange. Usually, they liked to leave something in the tank, not just for emergencies, but for the sake of trim. Up in the cockpit, they’d have to do a bit of a balancing act to make sure they didn’t have a yo-yo effect here. Draining that much weight out of an airframe did some funny things, especially going several hundred miles per hour over the Florida Keys.
He checked his scopes and saw the target emerging from a cloud bank.
“Oh God,” he said. His voice wasn’t loud, but it was an octave higher than normal.
“You okay back there, Morg?” the pilot asked.
“Roger, Captain. Good here. Did they tell you about this contact, over?” Morgan asked.
“Radar says she’s a big girl. What do we have back there?”
Morgan swallowed hard as he set the boom configuration. “Captain. It’s Air Force One.”
19 April 1995
CF-245 Intrepid
Orbital Inclination: 29°
Altitude: 270 mi
Jason Riley felt the weightlessness return as the OMS engines cut out. Once again he floated in his seat, held in place only by the comforting straps over his shoulders.
“Talk to me, Jane,” he said.
In the right-hand seat, Jane Alvarez consulted the computer system and then ran her eyes over the clipboard she had been holding for the last two hours.
“I think we’re good, Jace,” she said.
“How can you tell?”
“Computer is showing what I expected from our fuel data. Remaining is right on the line. Relative speed seems to be in good shape,” she said.
“That’s assuming our nav tracking isn’t faulty,” he said.
“If it is…” she stopped there.
She didn’t need to go on. If the navigation satellites weren’t functioning properly and Houston continued to stay quiet, then they’d be unable to safely reenter. The burn times would be based on guesswork and unverified computer checks. It wouldn’t be a matter of aiming for a landing site. It’d be a matter of aiming for land.
Their headsets crackled to life. Riley felt himself clench.
“To all NASA assets. Repeat, to all NASA assets. This is Brigadier General Joseph P. Thompson, U.S. Space Command, NORAD. Do you read me?”
Instantly Riley’s hand went to his headset. He held it close, almost as though if he didn’t this voice would go away.
“General Thompson, this is Captain Jason Riley, commanding NASA clipper
Intrepid. How copy, over?”
“Oh, it’s good to hear from you, Captain. Is your crew safe? Is your ship secure?” Thompson said.
“Affirmative, NORAD. We have a sealed can. Are you getting our telemetry?”
“We are, but I’m afraid we don’t have the computers or personnel to read it just yet,” Thompson said.
Riley looked over at Alvarez. She bit her lip. This wasn’t good.
“General, can you tell us what’s going on? We’ve been out of contact with Houston for nearly two hours now.”
“
Intrepid… I’m sorry to tell you this, but there was a bombing this morning at Johnson Space Center,” Thompson said.
“What?” Riley said.
“My God,” Alvarez said.
Riley asked first, “And that’s why we’re not hearing anything? Did they take out a transmitter?”
“It was a truck bomb. Targeted for Building 30. Early reports say that the building has been completely destroyed. We have reports of a collapse of the overall structure,” Thompson said.
“Oh my God,” Riley said.
“It’s part of a series of attacks that have taken place around the country this morning. This appears to be a coordinated terrorist attack. We’re still getting reports in from several locations.”
“Where else?” Alvarez said.
“We’re going to get you more information as we get it, but for the moment, our concern is the welfare of all of our ships in orbit. Are you still on course for Skydock?”
“Affirmative, NORAD.”
“I will ask you, if possible, to continue with your present course and flight plan while we sort things out. Can you continue on to Skylab and dock safely with the information at your disposal, over?”
Jason and Jane looked at each other, shared a shrug and a head nod, “We believe so, NORAD. It may be a little tricky on closest approach, but you can see us maneuvering up here, right?”
“Affirmative,
Intrepid. We can monitor you externally with high accuracy. At the moment, we’re getting everything your telemetry is telling us. I’ve dispatched local Air Force assets to bring me flight controllers who were off duty this morning. I’m also bringing in new computers, so those controllers will be able to work. The plan is to make a temporary new Mission Control here in Cheyenne Mountain. I told my team I want it up and running by dinner time, so if they don’t have everything together by 3 p.m. I’ll be very unhappy.”
“Roger that, General,” Jason said.
“I have been in contact with the president. He has authorized me to do whatever is necessary to secure our on-orbit assets until such time as NASA is ready to retake control. We’d like to do this without major disruptions to your missions. The president does not want to give whoever did this the satisfaction of knowing that they stopped something as important as a Clipper flight. We’re prepared to give you everything we can in terms of assistance. But I won’t lie to you, we will be depending on your skills and training. If you can complete your rendezvous with Skydock, by that time we’ll have people who can get you the rest of the way. In the meantime, I’ll be right here with you. I’ve got a very comfy chair and I’m not getting out of it until a NASA flight director is ready to sit in it.”
“We appreciate it, General. I assume you have other people talking to Skydock and Moonbase and the
Orca?”
“I do indeed,
Intrepid. You’re the busiest ship this morning, so I’m handling you personally,” Thompson said.
“Copy that. Can you brief us a bit more on what happened this morning?”
19 April 1995
GNN Special Report
“Good morning. As we reach the twelve o’clock hour here on the East Coast and the day has really just begun on the West Coast, I’d like to take a pause to recap what we know for certain about the events of this morning.
“At two minutes after nine a.m. this morning, local time, a bomb went off at the Murrah Building in Oklahoma City. Witnesses report seeing a delivery truck park near the building prior to the detonation.
“Approximately twelve minutes later, there was an explosion at the Arlington Memorial Bridge, which is in Washington D.C., not far from the Lincoln Memorial. Witnesses there reported seeing a large truck being pursued by police vehicles. The truck crashed and turned over on its side at the end of the bridge. Shortly after, a bomb went off. As you can see from these images, it looks like about a quarter of the bridge has collapsed into the Potomac River. The blast also ignited several car fires.
“Within minutes of that blast, an explosion took place at the Johnson Space Center in Houston, Texas. Witnesses there also reported a truck pulling up to Building 30, which is the building that contains Mission Control. The bomb blast there seems to be the largest reported. Witnesses on the scene describe utter devastation. As you can see from these helicopter shots, much of the building’s structure was blown out. Authorities on the scene are concerned that the rest of the structure may collapse.
“In what may be the most heinous component of this attack, approximately one hour after the bomb blast in Oklahoma, as first responders were in the process of rescuing victims from the building, another bomb went off, in the heart of the recovery area. With so many of the city’s police, fire, and EMS personnel already at the site, this second blast has crippled the recovery efforts.
“The governors of Texas and Oklahoma have declared a state of emergency. Surrounding towns have begun to dispatch first responders to Oklahoma City, but the situation on the ground is chaotic.
“The Secret Service has confirmed that President McCain, returning from a three-day visit to South America, is currently on Air Force One and is secure. The president is expected to make an address once he’s on the ground. We will, of course, bring you that live, though a time has not yet been announced.
“Let’s talk a bit about the targets of these attacks. We want to bring in Wallace Cope, GNN’s resident counter-terrorism expert, and a former FBI agent. Wallace, what can you tell us about these sites?”
“The Murrah Building is a hub for Oklahoma operations for several agencies, including many which have a law enforcement charter. It housed offices for the FBI, ATF, Secret Service, the DEA, and many other agencies such as the Department of Housing and Urban Development and Social Security. It also served as a recruiting office for the military. Records indicate that more than five hundred employees are based out of the building.
“In Houston, Johnson Space Center is the center of NASA’s spaceflight operations. Building 30, the site of Mission Control, has several hundred NASA employees, including many of its high-level personnel. That building is the communications and command hub for all of NASA’s astronauts in space.
“Memorial Bridge is the piece that doesn’t fit. While Washington is obviously the center of the American federal government, the attacks in Oklahoma and Texas would tend to indicate that these attacks are targeting U.S. government personnel. If that’s your goal, you don’t blow up a bridge. Based on the preliminary reports, I think it’s likely that the bomber was unable to reach their primary target and chose to attack the bridge as a target of opportunity.”
“Is it your opinion that the bomber may have been trying to attack the Capitol, or the White House?”
“Both are possible, but either would be a very difficult target to approach with something like a truck. However, there are a myriad of government buildings in D.C. which, like the other sites, house great amounts of employees.”
“What do you make of the second attack in Oklahoma?”
“That’s such a horrible tactic. By setting off a second detonation, most of those who would be able to assist are now in need of assistance. And unlike NASA Houston or D.C. there aren’t a large amount of other first responders nearby. Houston P.D. is a large group and local first responders from Maryland and Virginia can respond to crises in Washington. But Oklahoma City is a population center and most of the towns around it do not have anything like the resources to respond to something like this. Already we’re seeing movement from police and fire in Dallas and Kansas City, but those teams will take several hours to reach the sight of the blast. And even then, this will have first responders looking over their shoulder. Not just in Oklahoma, but anywhere that is attacked.
“Wallace, do you think it’s likely that we’ve seen the last of these bombs?”
“I really can’t say.”
19 April 1995
USAF VC-25 28000
Air Force One
Somewhere over Nebraska
“Ron, are we heading east?”
It was the fifth time he’d asked in the last hour.
“Sir,” Ron said.
“That’s all I want to hear right now is how long it will be until we land at Andrews,” McCain said.
“Sir, we still do not have a high confidence…”
“Ron, you’re the director of the Secret Service. Your job is to protect me. My job is to protect the country. I love you man, but you have to understand that if I can’t do my job, it doesn’t really matter if you can do yours,” the president said. “I’m not addressing the nation from thirty-thousand feet over them like I’m hiding in the attic.” The president turned to Mark, “I want Congress called into session tonight. I’ll make an address in front of both houses.”
Director Butterman responded, “Sir, these attacks were well-planned. We need to consider the possibility that putting both houses of Congress and the president under one roof together might be a part of that plan.”
“Put me in the White House then,” McCain said. “I’m going to address the nation. I’m not doing it on this plane, I’m not doing it at Mt. Weather. I’m going to speak to everyone and I’m going to do it before sunset. I’m no longer asking. Put this plane down at Andrews.”
“Sir…”
“That’s an order from your Commander-in-Chief.”
19 April 1995
GNN World Headquarters
Philadelphia, PA
39° 58' 33" N 75° 09' 56"W
Bill Cotter rubbed the bridge of his nose. He’d been on this elevator at least twice a day, five days a week for the past fifteen years. In all that time, he’d never pressed the button marked B2. He was a little surprised that it lit up.
“When this is over, I’m gonna need a sandwich,” he said.
“You mentioned it,” Tabitha said.
“We had the whole office ordering out for lunch up there. I haven’t eaten a thing since this morning. And you pulled me out of there before I could tell them to get me a frickin BLT,” Bill said.
“Harry said it was important,” Tabitha said.
“I’m the news director for GNN and today is kind of a major news story. You’re pulling me down to see something in the mail room. This had better be about four notches above important,” Bill said.
“What do you want from me?” she said.
“Like, it’s not even enough if the building is on fire. If there’s a fire in the lobby right now, my people stay at their desks. So this had better be…”
The elevator doors opened.
A kid in a starched white shirt stood in the hallway. He did not possess the look of strained terror that a kid from the mailroom should have when face to face with the highest ranking person in GNN’s news division.
“We have a tape from the bomber,” he said.
Bill Cotter stopped rubbing his nose. He looked at Tabitha.
“Told you Harry said it was important,” she said.
Bill turned back to the kid, “Talk to me.”
“We got the latest round of deliveries about an hour ago. Started churning through it like always. You know how it is. A few crazies. A few angries. Couple of legitimate leads…”
“Donna’s fan mail,” Tabitha chimed in.
“Sure,” the kid said.
“Where’s Harry?” Bill said.
“I’m taking you there now,” the kid said.
“Bring it around now,” Bill said.
“We had an envelope with big red letters marked ‘Oklahoma City,’ all caps. Freaked us out with this morning so we put it on top. Inside is a VHS.”
“And it’s from the bomber?” Bill said as they rounded a corner.
Standing in front of a door in the middle of the hallway was Harry Pendleton.
“We think so,” Harry said,
“Tell Bill what you told me, Harry,” Tabitha said.
“They reference all three cities and whoever sent it must have sent it at least two days ago. The postmarks are all out of town. If this is a hoax, then whoever did this is clairvoyant or something,” Harry said.
“I need to see this tape,” Bill said.
Harry pushed open the door he stood in front of. Inside was a storage room with a TV on a large moving tray. Bill could see a VCR hooked up and Harry hit play as everyone gathered around. Bill stood at the center of the group.
On the screen was a Gadsden Flag. Anyone who had lived in Philadelphia this long knew the flags of the Revolutionary War. To either side, he saw flagpoles with flags he couldn’t identify. The location was an interior with bad lighting. It could have been in a trailer, or a warehouse, or a living room. There was no background beyond the flags, which would do well in obscuring the true location.
A man walked onto the screen from the left. He was dressed in camouflage fatigues like you’d expect from a soldier or a marine. Bill didn’t know enough military detail to distinguish. There were no patches or names on the clothing. He refused to call whatever this was a uniform. This looked like Army surplus all the way. A costume.
The man, such as he was, carried an assault rifle. He stepped to the center and faced the camera. He wore a black mask but was loud enough to be heard through it.
“To the reporters who will see this: If this tape is not shown on air, nationwide, before the end of the day on April 19th, your building will be on the next list of targets.
“We, the United Patriots of America have made the first strike in defense of freedom. The bullying nature of the intrusive and invasive government of the United States has to be rendered quickly and decisively a wake-up call. The events of this day are an opportunity for all true patriots to rise up and take arms against oppression. Like the Trinity, we rise against satanic corruption in three places at once. Houston, Oklahoma, and Washington now know the cost of advancing the Zionist agenda against the real citizens of America. All true patriots are now called upon to overthrow the tyrannical U.S. government and retake this land for real Americans. The New World Order and the global Zionist conspiracy ends today.”
For effect, the man then leveled his assault rifle at the camera.
BANG!
Everyone flinched. The tape went to black.
“My God,” Bill said.
“Why the hell do you shoot a camera? Your own camera? What the hell is that?” Tabitha asked.
“He probably fired a blank. It’s a scare tactic. Designed to get attention. The whole thing is designed to get attention,” Harry said.
“It worked,” Bill said.
“We have to run this,” Tabitha said.
“What are you talking about?” Bill said.
“They said if we don’t we’ll be put on a list. And it’s news. It’s got to be from the people that did this,” Tabitha said.
“I’m not giving airtime to people holding a gun to my head,” Bill said. “Call the FBI.”
Harry said, “I already did. After I made a copy.”
“You agree with Tabs?”
Harry nodded, “I don’t give a damn that they’re threatening us. We get thirty threats a day. But this is news and that’s what we do here.”
“This is exactly what they want,” Bill said.
“That’s not important,” Harry said.
“That’s
all that’s important. These people are killers. They want to kill more people. They want to use our air to get their message out to kill more people. I’m not giving them airtime to say that.”
“They’ll say it on someone else’s air,” Tabitha said.
“What did the FBI say?” Bill said.
“They said, ‘You got one too?’ Us, CBS, NBC, UBS, ABC…”
“They’re doing all the dishes,” Tabitha said.
“At least we know they aren’t just fans of GNN,” Bill said.
“We need to get moving on this. It’s just a matter of time until someone…”
“I’m not running it,” Bill said. “I sure as hell am not running it first.”
“Don’t get mad just because they threatened us,” Tabitha said.
“I’m not. Fuck these guys. And anyone who looks like them. They don’t get to dictate what goes on GNN. That’s my job,” Bill said. He turned to Harry, “The FBI is coming by for the original?”
Harry nodded.
“Make sure they get everything they need. They’re gonna need your fingerprints too, Harry,” Bill said.
Harry nodded again, “Whatever they want.”
Bill pointed at the TV, “Stick that in a drawer.” He turned to Tabitha, “If, and I do mean
if, the FBI clears it, you can pitch me again on running that tape, but you’re gonna need something more than ‘newsworthy.’ I’ve got dead children being pulled out from rubble and I’m not showing that either. I do not fancy myself the director of a whorehouse.”
Tabitha sighed, “Bill, you know I loved ‘Network’ too, but this isn’t Howard Beale.”
“You’re right, it’s about a million times worse,” Bill said, stepping back onto the elevator.
“And the people have a right to see it. It’s not like we’re going to air it and cut to commercial. We’ll have eighteen people on either side condemning it as the terrorism that it is, but that doesn’t make it obscene.”
“It
is obscene. They’re calling for people to rise up against the government. You really only do that by voting or shooting at people, and this ain’t Election Day,” Bill said.
“You know I’m right about this,” she said.
“I absolutely do not,” Bill said, stepping off the elevator onto the thirty-eight floor.
He proceeded through the newsroom, “Can someone get me a damn BLT please before my stomach acids start eating through…”
“You need to see this,” Karen said. She pointed at a monitor on the wall and Bill saw the live feed from UBS in New York go into a chyron for ‘Breaking News’.
“Oh, UBS, you utter cowards…”
On-screen he saw a man with a black mask and an assault rifle standing in front of a Gadsden Flag. The man was in mid-speech.
“The bullying nature of the intrusive and invasive government of the United States has to be rendered quickly and decisively a wake-up call. The events of this day are an opportunity for all true patriots to rise up and…”
He didn’t listen anymore. He just slammed a fist down onto the nearest desk.
“Tell Glen he can run it. Everyone else is going to now. It’s not a threat anymore. It’s news.”
19 April 1995
U.S. Space Command
Cheyenne Mountain
38° 44' 33" N 104° 50' 56"W
It still seemed weird that the Air Force had school buses.
That was such a strange thing to think about at the moment, but it kept her grounded. She looked around at the other stunned faces behind her seat. The brown leather seats, the vertical sliding windows, the driver’s area in front of a white line on the floor. This was a school bus. Just like the ones that went through her neighborhood that morning. Just because it was painted dark blue and had U.S. Air Force on the side didn’t make a difference. It was hard to imagine some Air Force colonel buying school buses after a long morning of filling out purchase orders for F-16’s. If anything could be funny right now, she’d have laughed at that.
But nothing could be funny right now.
They’d pulled her out from the blast site.
She hadn’t been a victim. She hadn’t been trapped under a wall or anything. She had been in Building 4, doing paperwork in her office. The blast had shook the monitor off her desk. Her chair had fallen over with her in it, but other than that, she hadn’t been hurt. She had run across the park and past Building 12, watching the smoke rising the whole time. When she finally got a view of the scene, she nearly fainted.
Her team wasn’t supposed to be on duty until the afternoon. They were taking the evening shift today and it was expected to be a snoozer. Mostly just waiting for
Orca to fall back down the gravity well.
Once she took a moment to collect herself, she started pushing through dust and blood and smoke to see if she could find anyone to help.
Most of what she found wasn’t fit for description.
Claire Forrell wasn’t a military vet. She had never seen a combat situation and had never seen anything like the horrors of Building 30. Not even on a television screen. She had turned her eyes away from the appalling scenes that had been shown during the Gulf War. She wasn’t the type to watch bloody slasher movies or anything of the like. Even if she’d been a fan, nothing could have prepared her for the litany of body parts, death, and ruin that had invaded her workplace.
After an hour of sifting through rubble and choking back tears, she’d been startled by a uniformed man in a hardhat.
“Are you Claire Forrell?” he asked.
She nodded before forcing out a “Yes.”
“Claire Forrell, Flight Director of Azure Flight Team?” he asked.
“Yes, that’s me,” she said.
“I need you to come with me, please, ma’am,” he’d said.
“I can’t leave. We still have people inside. I can’t…”
“Ma’am, I can’t explain right now. But I have orders to gather your team and get you to a secure location. Please don’t make this difficult,” he said.
“Difficult?! Are you
fucking kidding me right now?” she asked.
“Ma’am,” he said.
“Who the hell gave that order?” she said.
“Brigadier General Joseph P. Thompson, U.S. Space Command, NORAD,” he said. Then added, “We need your team to take over flight operations.”
“What are you talking about?” she said.
He waved to the building’s ruins, “Ma’am, we don’t have anyone who can talk to the people in space right now. General Thompson needs a team of flight controllers. So does
Intrepid,” he said.
They had driven her to Ellington. By the time she got there, half her team was waiting in a hangar. Some were dressed for work. Some looked like they’d thrown on whatever was closest to the bed. Not like it mattered. Very little mattered right now.
An hour later they were in the air heading to Colorado. It seemed so strange to leave Houston at a time like this, but she wasn’t in a state to argue.
Now, she found herself on a school bus as the driver talked to a guard at the gatehouse. A few minutes later, they drove into a tunnel under a mountain. This whole day kept getting stranger. Not for the first time, she pinched her arm in the hopes that this was a bad nightmare.
She found herself being led down hallways that all looked the same. Cramped interiors with no windows and stark lighting. An antiseptic smell, like a hospital, but mixed with machine oil and body odor. This place was a maze.
At one corridor, there was another young man in a crisp uniform. He opened a door to a large dark room, list only with the light of monitors. Huge ones at the front and dozens of smaller consoles further back. It was a dimly lit prototype of the MOCR, designed by people who had heard of Mission Control but likely never seen it for themselves.
It took her a moment to remember that this room wasn’t designed to track space missions. It was designed to track missiles.
Her staff found chairs almost on automatic pilot. The consoles weren’t labeled, but they were used to entering rooms like this and sitting, so they did that. She went to the console at the center and rear and found the man who had brought her here.
“General Thompson?” she asked.
The man rose from his chair and offered his hand, “That’s me.”
“What… um…”
“We have all ships and bases on comms.
Intrepid is now docked at Skydock and we need your team to oversee operations from here,” he said.
“My family,” she said.
“We’re in the process of notifying everyone of your whereabouts. We’re also working on getting other teams here to relieve you. I’d like your people to take a look at our consoles and see what you can make of the data. We’ve been trying to adapt our systems to read yours, but without being able to talk to JSC’s computer people, we’ve been flying blind.”
“I know just how you feel,” she said. The haze began to clear. For the first time since the rubble, she understood what she was supposed to do.
“Have we heard anything from the Russians?” she asked.
“Not a thing. According to Moonbase, they sealed off their hatches and haven’t done a thing since the trouble started.”
“I need you to get a hold of someone,” she said.
“Who?”
“Nick Brand. He’s an astronaut on assignment in Star City. Part of a cross-training program. I want someone to get him on the phone,” she said.
“Why?” the general asked.
“Because right now, he’s the only astronaut on the planet that I’m absolutely certain is still alive,” she said.
19 April 1995
The Rebel Pig Chicken & BBQ
Mathis, TX
28°05'42.3"N 97°49'24.6"W
It was a late lunch, but it was worth the drive. He’d been about thirty minutes outside Mathis when he’d gotten hungry. Some days he didn’t stop to eat until almost three. This was one of those days. He’d been listening to the radio reports so intently that he hadn’t made any stops today. A state trooper was expected to meet a certain quota each month. He was a bit ahead of where he needed to be, so most of his morning was spent listening to the radio and aimlessly wandering the highways, trying to look busy.
He’d pulled into The Rebel Pig and sat at the counter. After a respectable chicken sandwich, fries, and an iced tea, he managed to tear his eyes away from the TV set mounted in the corner and went back to his unit.
He stood for a moment, looking down the somewhat barren streets of Mathis, wondering where he would be most useful this afternoon.
As he opened the car door, he watched an old Mercury Marquis drive by. The car was yellow. Beaten up and at least fifteen years old, he took note of the dented rear quarter panel and then saw something that raised more than just his attention.
There was no license plate on the rear of the vehicle.
Now this wasn’t just a matter of interest. This was actionable.
He pulled out of the parking lot and hit his lights and wailer. The Marquis was at the edge of town when he got in position behind it. The driver pulled to the side of the road. He followed in and set his hat before exiting his vehicle.
“Howdy there,” he said, addressing the driver. He placed a hand on the driver’s side tail light as per procedure. When he reached the driver’s door, the window was already down.
“Do you know why I pulled you over?” he said.
“Can’t say I do,” the driver said.
“Friend, you’re running without a license plate here. Can’t have that,” he said. He peered inside the vehicle. In the back seat was a small pile of clothes and what looked like a few books and tools. He noticed the man’s jacket. It was a bit heavy for April in southern Texas. He saw a bulge over the right breast.
“I’m sorry officer. Not sure what happened. I must have lost a screw or something and it fell off,” the driver said.
“Uh huh,” the trooper said. “Would you mind telling me where you’re headed?”
“Corpus Christi,” the driver said.
“Heading home?” he said.
“Something like that,” the driver said.
“Can you tell me what you’ve got tucked away there?” he said, indicating the bulge in the driver’s jacket.
“Uh…”
“If it’s something you’d rather not talk about, we can go back to the office and discuss it there,” the trooper said.
“I keep a pistol on me, officer,” the man said. “Never know how it’s going to be with these towns out here,” the driver said.
“Don’t I know it,” the trooper said. “Still, I’m gonna need you to get out of the car, real slowly, and we’ll sort this out.”
The driver sighed and slowly opened the door.
“What’s your name, friend?” the trooper asked.
“Tim McVeigh.”
19 April 1995
The White House
Washington D.C.
38° 53′ 52″ N 77° 02′ 11″ W
Bobbie Claisson had been sitting in with the speechwriters since Marine One had landed.
“I think we’ve got it,” she said.
The speech was tight, soothing, and resolute. All things sorely needed today. It addressed the losses while simultaneously looking for national unity, and it did so with enough guarded anger to suppress the threats being put out by the bomber’s group.
“Good work everyone,” the President said. He patted Ed on the back, Ed being nearest to him. “Take a moment, pray for the victims. Bobbie, I’m going to need you to get the networks set up to carry this in ten minutes,” he said.
She had been prepping that all afternoon, “We’ll be ready, sir.”
He left the Roosevelt Room and walked into the Oval. Bobbie followed behind.
He took his seat behind the Resolute Desk. She went to the camera to see how the lighting was hitting his face. She bit her lip, wondering if they had time to change his tie.
She turned to her assistant, “Can we get him…”
“Sir, we need your attention on something immediately,” said Vice President Powell, entering the room from the side office, rather suddenly.
“Sir, he’s about to go live on all the networks,” Bobbie said.
“Belay that. We’ve got something new,” Powell said.
McCain turned to his press secretary, “Bobbie, clear out everyone non-essential. Back up the networks thirty minutes, please.”
A few of the advisors stayed, Bobbie and her team left the Oval.
“What’s going on, Colin?” McCain said.
“The governor of Montana is on the phone, sir. There’s a situation developing there,” Powell said.
“Is it…?”
“We think it is,” Powell said.
“Get me Casper in here now, please,” McCain said.
The chief of staff stepped into the hall. A moment later, FBI agent Casper joined them in the Oval.
McCain put the call on the speakerphone.
“Governor, this is the President. What’s the situation?” he asked.
“Mr. President. I’ve just been contacted by a group of men who have taken over a courthouse in Musselshell County. They are holding the building and they have hostages.”
McCain took a breath and processed this information silently. He winced and spoke, “Okay. Tell me everything.”
“The group is calling itself the Militia of Montana,” the Governor said.
“Sir,” Agent Casper said, “The Militia of Montana is a large group. How many gunmen are we talking about?”
“Reports from the local sheriff are saying about a dozen, armed with AK’s and AR’s. They’re holding county personnel, a few bailiffs who they overpowered, and a federal judge.”
“What’s a federal judge doing at a county courthouse?” McCain asked.
“He was apparently brought with the group as a hostage. We’re looking into that.”
“Is anyone hurt?” McCain asked.
“Shots were reported. Apparently, a few sheriff’s deputies took and returned fire about twenty minutes ago. The building’s entrances make it a bit difficult to address,” the governor said.
“They gave you a list of demands?” McCain asked.
“Yes, sir,” the governor said.
“And I assume some of those demands are about the federal government, not the state of Montana?” McCain asked.
“Yes, sir. They are calling for Montana to expel all federal agencies within the next twenty-four hours. Including all military personnel. They want the IRS to give back the house of Rodney Skurdal. They also demand Montana hold a plebiscite on seceding from the United States.”
McCain put a hand over the receiver and spoke to Casper, “Who the hell is Rodney Skurdal?” then opened the hand he had over the phone.
“What’s their deadline?” McCain asked.
“They plan to hold a trial and execution of the federal judge, beginning tomorrow morning. They also want a TV news reporter present to witness that,” the governor said.
“Okay, let me ask this very clearly, Governor. What are you requesting?” McCain said.
Colin Powell held his breath. For a moment, he was wondering if the governor was requesting assistance or the withdrawal of all federal employees.
“Sir,” the governor said, “I am requesting your assistance and advice in dealing with these terrorists. Local police are outgunned and I fear that a response from the National Guard could lead to more complications.”
He’s worried that he’ll give the order and it won’t be obeyed. McCain thought.
“I understand, governor. I’m invoking the Insurrection Act. You won’t need assistance. Our people will handle this situation. I’ll have the appropriate people contact you in the next thirty minutes,” McCain said.
“Thank you, Mr. President.”
He hung up.
Casper saw his cue, “Skurdal is a right-wing militia leader. He’s held rallies at his home.”
“And refused to pay his taxes?” McCain asked.
“Yes, sir,” Casper said.
McCain turned, “Get Bobbie and the TV people back in here,” he said.
Five minutes later, the red light went on and President John McCain called upon the voice that he dreaded needing.
“Good afternoon, my fellow citizens. The attacks that we have seen today in Houston, in Oklahoma City, and in Washington have been perpetrated by a coordinated group of cowards. Evil, cowardly men who seek to destroy the binds that hold this nation together. These are men who attack innocent civilians, innocent children. And they have provoked the wrath of the most powerful nation in the history of the world.
“Already, crisis management teams are on the ground in all three cities, coordinated by the FBI and directing the efforts of first responders and law enforcement at every level of government. They will rescue the wounded, they will care for the injured, and they will preserve the evidence of these crimes.”
“Rest assured that those responsible for this crime will be given justice. That justice will be swift, mighty and certain.”
“We pray for the victims. We pray for the families. All who were attacked today will be shown every bit of our compassion and our humanity. None will be spared for those who committed these atrocities. The murderers will be dealt with. Of this, no American should be in doubt.
“The threats leveled by the bombers have given us a wealth of understanding about their motivations. Their attacks speak to their indecency. Their ideals are now exposed as unmitigated evil. Evil that will be swept from the face of the Earth.
“Allow me to take a moment to speak on that which was lost today and that which is to come.
“The memorial bridge was built to symbolize the reunion of North and South after the Civil War. It’s a sign of our national unity. That we are one nation, indivisible. The strength of America is in our unity, and that’s exactly what these terrorists are attempting to destroy.
“Johnson Space Center is a symbol of our commitment to the principles of science and rationality. Rationality, perhaps, is the watchword of this time. Those who have committed these atrocities have abandoned rationality and decency, replacing them with simply the lust for a world in which they command all of those they find inferior.
“The Murrah Building, in Oklahoma was a hub for employees of the federal government. To these murderers, the very idea of a federal government is abhorrent, but these workers had dedicated themselves to one purpose: the service of the American people. These were your employees. These were your workers. These were our neighbors and our friends; our sons and our daughters.
“One of the things we lost today were two incredible sculptures which guarded the entrance to the Memorial Bridge. Those sculptures were named Valor and Sacrifice. It occurs to me that they were destroyed by men who are unfamiliar with those concepts.
“There is no valor in attacking civilian targets. There is no valor in making war upon the innocent. There is no valor in using violence for intimidation and oppression.
“Valor comes from defending those who cannot defend themselves. Valor comes from standing for what’s right when the world stands against you. These men call themselves patriots and soldiers, but the only rights they defend are their own. The only concept they have of America is that it belongs to them.
“Since they have failed to grasp the concept of valor, we will now teach them the meaning of sacrifice.
“By the powers granted to me under the Constitution of the United States, and under the auspices of the Insurrection Act. I am ordering a deployment of real soldiers and real patriots who will end these threats.
“And I say to anyone who has chosen to take up arms against the United States of America that your only choice now is to surrender peacefully. I will order our forces to use whatever methods are necessary to preserve their own safety and the safety of civilians. Lay down your arms and cooperate with authorities, because if you choose to take on the might of the United States, it will be your end.”
“America will always safeguard the helpless and we will walk without fear.
“May God Bless the United States of America and may He condemn any who would stand against her ideals.”
20 April 1995
Musselshell County Courthouse
Roundup, MT
46° 26' 46" N 108° 32' 28" W
The raid had lasted less than ten minutes. The local sheriff had dispatched his deputies to side streets to ensure no civilians would be caught in the crossfire, but truthfully, he had just wanted to minimize any chance of complications.
He had to hold his wrist awkwardly to hit the button that lit his watch. The time was 5:08 in the morning. He waited at the base of the stairs out front. The captain came to the Plexiglas double doors at the front of the building and unlocked the door.
“What’s the word?” the sheriff asked.
“All hostiles down. Two hostages dead. They shot the judge. He was down before we could breach,” the captain said.
The sheriff winced, “Do I need to get an ambulance down here?” he asked.
“Not in a hurry,” the captain said.
“Your people?” the sheriff asked.
“No casualties. We’re clear,” the captain said.
“Then allow me to say ‘thank you’ and request that you clear the site for my people to come in and do their work,” the sheriff said.
“Absolutely. I don’t want to be here anymore than you don’t want me here.”
“Remind me again why Posse Comitatus…”
“The Insurrection Act of 1807. Trust me, sir. My colonel went through a very long discussion to make sure this was a legal order.”
“All the same, I’d love it if you were back on your base before the town wakes up.”
“You and me both,” the captain said.
20 April 1995
FBI Field Office
Dallas TX
32° 46' 43" N 96° 48' 09" W
“Yes, is this the tip line?”
The voice had that deep Texas twang that he’d once found charming but now grated on his ears.
Agent Craig Simmers sighed. He’d been fielding these calls all morning. Everyone was seeing terrorists and bombs in their soup. The last guy had sworn that he’d been accosted by some “patriot wenches” in a strip club in Tulsa last night. They’d taken his wallet and left him in an alley. That didn’t seem like a good lead.
“Yes ma’am. This is Agent Simmers. How can I help you?”
“On the news, they said that the bombers used delivery trucks, right?”
“That’s one possibility, ma’am. Can you tell me why you’re calling?”
“We had a fella staying at the Overnight Motel here in New Waverly night before last. He had a Fed-Ex truck parked at the gas station across the street. I know because my cousin Janet works at the gas station and three people complained about having to get around that Fed-Ex truck the night before last.”
“Did you say a Fed-Ex truck, Miss?” Simmers asked. She now had his attention. He wrote on the yellow legal pad in front of him “FED-EX.”
“Yes, I’m Miss Valorie Johnson, of New Waverly, Texas. I saw a Fed-Ex truck at the gas station across from the motel night before last.”
He wrote “NEW WAVERLY, TX.” Then asked, “Okay. Can you tell me anything about who was driving it?”
“Sure. I saw him come into the motel office and he asked my boss for a one-night room. We gave him room 22.”
“You work at the motel?” Simmers said.
“I surely do. And this fella, he got up real early the next morning. I know, ‘cause I had the night shift. He ran right out of there and got in his truck and made off. Never checked out. Never returned the key. Fred Jamison had to go looking for the room key for 22. Found it under a pillow on the floor. The nerve!”
“Miss, please, let me get something straight. You saw a man driving a Fed-Ex truck the night before the bombings and he stayed at your motel?”
“Well, the motel belongs to Mr. Willis, but the rest is right, yes.”
“And you never saw him again?”
“Surely not.”
“Did he leave a name on the registry?”
“Let me check the list,” she said.
“Please do,” he said.
He heard a shuffling of papers through the phone.
“McVeigh. There’s no first name. But the name he wrote is McVeigh.”
Simmers wrote that down.
20 April 1995
GNN Newsnight
Good evening. Welcome to Newsnight on GNN.
Our top story tonight: recovery efforts continue at the site of the so-called Trinity Bombings that took place yesterday morning. We go first to our field correspondent Mark Hamilton in Oklahoma City.
“We bring you tonight images of devastation and depredation. The ruins of the Murrah Building stand like a haunting nautilus, towering over the relief efforts brought in from over two dozen cities and towns. Rescue workers continue to recover bodies from the site of the blasts, but recovery of living victims has become few and far between.
“Agents of the FBI and ATF are already heavily engaged in an investigation of the blasts. Privately, sources within the bureau state that this appears to be an act of domestic terrorism, and they do not currently suspect foreign involvement.
“Local response has been hampered by the second blast, which decimated personnel from Oklahoma City Police and Fire Departments. The Oklahoma National Guard has been called in for security and search and rescue efforts. All vehicles entering the site are subject to search.
“The current count of victims stands at approximately three-hundred-and-seventy-two, with more than two hundred wounded treated at local hospitals, many of which have already been released. Recovery efforts continue round the clock and are expected to go on for several more days.
Thank you, Mark. We now move to Houston and Donna Blake, who is coming to us live from Johnson Space Center.
“Here at NASA-Houston, there is profound shock amidst a chaotic search for both survivors and answers.
“The blast was directed at the base of Building 30, which is home to NASA’s Mission Control. Engineers investigating the incident say that the building’s strong outer shell actually acted as something of an echo chamber, containing much of the blast, but concentrating its force within the walls of the structure. As a result, what remained was a hollow shell, which collapsed in the hours following the blast.
“Investigators have confirmed that a pair of guards were shot at the front entrance of the headquarters complex. The bomber was seen fleeing on foot after parking the vehicle, which is believed to be stolen. A nationwide search is now underway.
“Motives for the blast are still suspect. The announcement of an insurrectionist movement yesterday was likely a coordinated effort between the bombing group and other paramilitary forces, but law enforcement officials have stressed that this is an assumption which will need to be verified over the course of the investigation.
“Officials at the space center have been largely unavailable for comment, but the agency headquarters in Washington has confirmed that the duties undertaken by Mission Control are now being handled from a secure military facility.
“The search for victims buried in the collapsed debris continues. Currently, there are over two hundred and fifty confirmed deaths, including several prominent NASA officials and astronauts.
Thank you, Donna. For more on the blast in Washington D.C., we bring you Hannah Carole, who comes to us from the Lincoln Memorial.
“Here at the Memorial Bridge, there is a feeling of bittersweet reprieve. While the bomb has destroyed much of Memorial Bridge and damaged other structures in the area, officials agree that the likely target lay further into the heart of the city. A common suspicion is that the bomber wanted to reach the FBI headquarters only a few blocks from here.
“As it currently stands, traffic has been rerouted and the Lincoln Memorial continues to remain closed, though it is expected to reopen to the public within a week’s time. Engineers on-site have condemned the bridge and already crews are working in the Potomac River to search for evidence that may have been swept into the river.
“Local officials confirm that all victims have been recovered from the area and the number treated at local hospitals numbers in the dozens. The count of the dead stands at fifty-three, but that number has not risen in the last twelve hours.
Thank you for that report, Hannah.
In addition to the attacks in Oklahoma, Texas, and Washington, last night saw the rise of several dispersed scenes of civil unrest and disturbance. In Montana, a right-wing paramilitary organization took hostages at a local courthouse. In Lynchburg, Virginia, a city council meeting was interrupted by an armed group which threatened proceedings unless their agenda was voted in immediately. In Arizona, bomb threats were called into the state legislature building and several federal buildings, leading to evacuations.
In response to these and other situations, President McCain authorized the use of lethal force against insurrectionists who were found to be actively threatening civilians or governmental personnel. We have unconfirmed reports that a Special Forces team was used against the so-called Militia of Montana. There are also reports of a developing stand-off at a right-wing compound in eastern Oklahoma. The use of U.S. military assets seems to have succeeded in stopping much of the insurrectionist movement before it could begin. Law enforcement personnel have restored order in several areas which came under threat.
GNN’s legal analyst, Professor Steven Atwater, is here with a legal analysis of these events.
“It is very possible that the United States experienced a brief period of civil war over the last forty-eight hours. The President is authorized by the Insurrection Act of 1807 to use military force to suppress civil disorder or insurrection. In the coming days, there will likely be a national debate as to whether the use of military personnel was justified in this circumstance.
21 April 1995
U. S. Capitol
Washington, D. C.
38° 53′ 23″ N 77° 00′ 32″W
“’Joy cometh in the morning’, scripture tells us. I hope so. Without that promise, I’m not sure if any of us could face the difficult work that is to come.”
“This attack on our nation has targeted specific areas of national interest. Clearly, the terrorists who have murdered our fellow citizens have used this senseless violence to voice certain grievances against the United States. I am here tonight to announce our response to these grievances.
“The United States will firmly oppose any attempt at insurrection which deploys violence on a massive scale. Civil disobedience is the right of every citizen. Protest is a foundational ideal of American life. We can expect the occasional broken window, but we will not tolerate the firebomb or the assault rifle as a political expedient. Armed rebellion and mass slaughter are not the tools of decent men. There will always be a place for unsatisfied men to speak their minds and affect change through non-violent methods, but so long as I hold this office, Americans will not be expected to live side-by-side with rabid dogs.
“It is clear that the cowards who committed these atrocities sought to attack our national unity. They targeted our civil servants and our national projects. In doing so, they no doubt hoped to derail the efforts that we in this government have sought to undertake. Instead, they have furthered our resolve.
“I call upon the Congress and both parties to immediately authorize a federal expenditure which will strengthen security at all governmental agencies. I further call for an increase to federal spending for the National Aeronautics and Space Administration, to finance the rebuilding efforts which will need to take place.
“Under my direction, federal agencies will track down all perpetrators of this violence and justice will be done.
“Those who oppose our national unity seek to divide us along ancient lines. Through religion, race, or other stereotypes, they seek to find wedges that can be used to split our Union at the seams. This effort is born of ignorance and bigotry. History has taught us that the only true solution for those ills is through education.
“I am directing a special advisory committee, with members of both parties, to study new ways to strengthen public education in this country. Armed with their recommendations, we will infuse our classrooms with more resources, more teachers, and more money. We will instill in our children an education which not only instills character in each of them but shows them how to find the content of the character of others.
“As Lincoln reminded us once, so I say tonight. ‘The dogmas of the quiet past are inadequate to the stormy present. This occasion is piled high with difficulty, and we must rise with the challenge. We must think anew and act anew. We must disenthrall ourselves, and then we shall save our country.
“Fellow citizens, we cannot escape our history. We of this Congress and this Administration will be remembered in spite of ourselves. No personal significance or insignificance can spare one or another of us. The fiery trial through which we pass will light us down in honor or dishonor to the coming generations. We say we are for the Union. The world will not forget that we say this.
“The actions I have taken to safeguard our nation have presented me with a moment of pause. But I have sworn an oath, in front of my fellow citizens and the Almighty Himself, that I would preserve, protect, and defend our Constitution. Let no man, regardless of his character, have any doubt that I will take whatever steps are necessary to preserve the bonds that hold us together as one people.
“Again I call upon the words that you can find carved into the Alabama marble two miles from this spot.
“With firmness in the right, as God gives us to see the right, let us strive on to finish the work we are in; to bind up the nation's wounds. To do all which may achieve a just and lasting peace.
“It is only together that we can continue. It is only together that we can succeed.
28 April 1995
CF-245 Intrepid
On Approach to Clipper Landing Facility
Altitude: 10 mi
Jane Alvarez kept an eye on the instruments. Jason had his hands full with the approach.
There was a bit of a storm at the Cape. It had come on fast. Meteorology should have caught it, but their data gets confirmed through Houston, and obviously, there were still kinks in this system.
“NORAD,
Intrepid. We are approximately ten miles out and coming in. Advise you to call off the chase planes now please,” Jason said.
“
Intrepid, NORAD. Acknowledged, calling off your chase birds now,” came the reply.
Jane didn’t recognize the voice acting as CAPCOM. Whoever it was wasn’t an astronaut. Likely some junior controller, or an airman who had been pressed into service. It didn’t really matter now. There would be plenty of time for personnel questions back on terra firma.
“You okay over there, Jane?” Jason asked, trying to act calm and collected despite the drizzly weather.
“Green across the board, Skipper,” Jane said.
“Starting the flare,” Jason said.
Intrepid’s nose rose back to the sky. The windows filled with an expanse of gray cloud cover.
“Gear down,” Jane said. She could hear the change in pitch as the air started to tear at the new source of drag.
“Fifty feet, rates are good,” she said. “Coming through thirty, twenty-five…”
Intrepid settled on her rear wheels. Alvarez called the descent of the nose wheel and Riley hit the brakes. The drag chute deployed from its receptacle between the ruddervators. Half a mile from touchdown, Intrepid rolled to a stop.
“Excellent work, Skipper,” Alvarez said as they safed the vehicle.
“Good to be back home,” Jane said, wistfully. She expected this to be the last calm moment she would have for a while.
“Let’s get the moonwalkers squared away. Sample bags, it’s a whole thing.”
Alvarez nodded, jutting a chin towards the front window, “Worst of the storm seems to be passed.”
“Let’s hope.”
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