The Second Ship Read online

  They had just successfully sent a combined video and audio signal from the small plane to the ground station, and had recorded the output on Jennifer’s laptop. Admittedly, it was only a picture of the pegboard mounted to the garage wall, along with the sound of their own whooping and clapping as they watched the signal come in, but it was a successful test.

  Heather had hoped to have the aircraft ready for its first flight before Sunday, and they had achieved this with a day to spare. Heather had to admit that Jennifer was now a computer sorceress.

  “It’s getting late. I guess we’re at a point where we can wrap things up until Sunday afternoon,” said Heather.

  Jennifer looked down at the display on her laptop. “You go on. I want to put in a couple of changes to the payload controls before I go to bed.”

  “Mark is going to be around to help us with our first flight test on Sunday, right?”

  “He says he is. They’re due back from their tournament in Santa Fe late Saturday night. He’ll have to figure out how to unglue the cheerleaders who have been stuck to him. Oh—have you seen the way Colleen Johnson has been draped all over him?”

  Heather laughed. “It’s a little hard not to notice. I swear, she has the best pair of boobs money can buy. Mark doesn’t seem to mind.”

  “Mind it? I’d say he’s left cloud nine and moved on to cloud ten. Anyway, he promised he’d ditch her for our test on Sunday. As soon as you get back from church, we’re out of here.”

  Heather grabbed her jacket and headed for the door. “I’m going with my mom and dad to Albuquerque tomorrow. So I’ll see you on Sunday.”

  The weather continued to improve throughout the weekend, resulting in a lovely day of shopping, dinner, and a movie on Saturday and an even better Sunday morning. By the time church was out, Heather was hearing birds that she thought had long since departed for Acapulco or Cancun. Since she, Mark, and Jennifer would be riding their bikes into Los Alamos for the flight test, a nice day would make the ten-mile ride a pleasure.

  By the time Heather had pulled her bike from the garage, she found Jennifer and Mark already waiting for her, the airplane packed on Mark’s bike rack. Mark seemed as genuinely excited by the opportunity to try out their project as the girls were.

  Pedaling hard, they reached the Western Area Park in record time. Heather had always liked this little park situated near Sullivan Field, but that was not why they had picked it for today's flight. Although it was a bit risky, they had decided to see if the new fuel tank would give them range to get the plane close to the part of the lab where the Rho Project was located.

  If it did, they might be able to zoom in a little on some of the buildings in the distance to get a feel for the layout. There were a bunch of signs around the restricted areas of the laboratory warning civilians to stay off and that deadly force was authorized, but it shouldn't hurt to peek over the fence from a model airplane, as long as they didn’t cross that boundary.

  In the past this would have been out of the question. The radio control unit would not have had enough range to keep communication with the aircraft as it traveled toward the lab. That was no longer going to be a problem since their communication range was now infinite. Gas was their only limiting factor.

  “We ready for launch?” Mark asked. Seeing the thumbs-up from Jennifer, he spun the propeller, bringing the small engine roaring to life.

  As he released it, the airplane climbed quickly into the sky. Jennifer made some entries in her PDA handheld computer, uplinking a flight plan that sent the aircraft turning to the southeast. In just a few moments it passed out of sight over the tall pine trees and buildings.

  “How’s our data?” Heather asked.

  Jennifer fiddled with her computer for several seconds before responding. “Everything looks normal, and I’m showing no loss in signal strength. Of course, you wouldn’t expect any with the QTs, but it’s nice to see it working.”

  Mark moved over to look at the video display. “The camera image is great. Damn, we’re good.”

  Heather found Mark’s comment slightly irritating since he had done precious little work on the thing.

  As the plane got farther away, they could determine its position by looking at the TV picture. It would have been nice to have added a GPS device to the airplane too, but it just couldn’t handle more weight.

  “That’s it, turn it south, about a hundred and seventy on the bearing,” Mark said. “There, that’s perfect. Keep it going that way just a couple more minutes.”

  Heather leaned forward to look over Mark’s shoulder. “Watch out. We’re coming up on the outer fence. Don’t cross that.”

  Mark shook his head. “Hold it steady just a little longer. I want to get a little clearer view of that L-shaped building in the distance.”

  Jennifer looked up at Heather. “Heather, tell me when to turn. Mark would have me flying right over it.”

  Heather stared at the screen. They should have already turned back, but now she could see what Mark wanted to look at. They were almost in position to look down over the top of the northern wing of the long building.

  All at once the camera image spun wildly on the screen.

  “What’s happening?” Mark asked.

  Jennifer’s fingers played across the PDA. “I can’t control it. It’s going down.”

  The image on the screen went dark.

  Mark jumped to his feet. “Crap. We crashed it onto the restricted site. Get this stuff packed up. Let’s get out of here before someone comes looking for who was flying it!”

  In seconds they had everything back on the bikes and were spinning their wheels back toward White Rock. No one spoke, but a sick feeling had taken hold in Heather’s stomach. Not only had they flown over an area that they weren't supposed to, but they had somehow managed to crash the airplane there. If it was traced back to them, there was no telling what kind of trouble they might be in.

  As they reached the Smythe driveway, Mark leaped off his bike cursing. “Damn it. This could get me thrown off the basketball team.”

  Jennifer’s eyes were wet with tears. “You idiot! I said keep away from the restricted area. What were you thinking?”

  “You were flying the damned thing.”

  “But I couldn’t see where it was,” Jennifer moaned. “I was counting on you guys to tell me when to turn it back.”

  Heather took a deep breath. It wouldn’t do for her to start crying too. “Maybe they won’t find the plane,” she said. “Even if they do, they probably won’t trace it back to us.”

  Mark shook his head, looking deflated. “I wouldn’t bet my ass on that.”

  “Anyway,” Heather continued. “We can’t let our folks see us upset.”

  Mark bowed his head. “Jen, I’m sorry I yelled at you. It was my fault.”

  Jennifer looked up at her brother and gave a weak attempt at a smile. “I’ll be all right. I think I’ll go in and wash up before dinner, though. I’ve had about all the excitement I can handle for today.”

  Heather shrugged. “We’ll just have to hope for the best.”

  Turning to push her bike back to her garage, Heather felt the weight of the world descend, and the probability equations that danced in her head did nothing to make her feel better.

  24

  The wind swept beneath the seals of doors and sills of windows, sounding a low moan that rose and fell along the eves of the houses.

  As Heather rode the school bus in silence, the moan leached into her soul, a portent of what awaited her. But she refused to yield to depression, stubbornly clinging to the tiny seed of hope that everything would yet be okay.

  By early afternoon that hope had grown, sprouting small leafy shoots that reached longingly upward, seeking the sun. Then Principal Zumwalt walked into their English class, requesting that Mark, Jennifer, and Heather accompany him back to his office, and she felt the seedling get ripped out by its roots.

  To Heather’s ears, their footsteps in the empty hallway
sounded like dancers’ tap shoes on a stage. Both Mark and Jennifer looked like fugitives from one of those old vampire movies. The blood had been drained from their faces as thoroughly as if they had just finished an embrace with an undead Transylvanian count.

  Heather felt sick. She wanted to curl up in her bed, pull the covers over her head, and never come out again.

  Principal Zumwalt led them into the waiting area outside his office and asked them to sit. Then he disappeared inside, closing the door behind him so that the voices drifting out to where they waited were unintelligible. Several times the principal’s voice rose in anger before subsiding.

  After several minutes, a man in a dark suit stepped out of the principal’s office and stopped in front of them. Heather had never seen him before, and as his cold, gray eyes lingered on each of them, she decided that she did not care to see him again.

  His thin smile added no warmth to his face.

  “My name is Special Agent Nixon. I need to ask each of you a few questions, so I will be calling you into the principal’s office one at a time. Your principal has insisted that he remain in the room to witness the questioning, and I have agreed.”

  Once again the cold smile warped his lips.

  “As I finish with each one of you, please return to your classroom. Do not pause to discuss anything with the others on your way out.”

  Agent Nixon pointed at Mark. “Son, you’re first.”

  Mark stood and followed the man back through the door. Thirty minutes later, Jennifer replaced Mark. By the time Jennifer emerged, puffy eyes indicating that she had not successfully kept her emotions in check, Heather was a basket case.

  As she entered, she spotted Principal Zumwalt standing against the left wall, arms crossed as he glanced up at her. Agent Nixon motioned toward the low chair that had been positioned directly in front of the principal’s desk.

  Heather sat down. Not only was the chair low, it was a soft leather that threatened to swallow her, leaving her with the unfortunate illusion that she had sunk so far into the seat that only her nose and eyes stuck out.

  As Agent Nixon moved behind the desk and took a seat in Principal Zumwalt’s chair, Heather thought she detected a slight scowl on the latter's face.

  The agent leaned forward, elbows on the desk. “Now, Heather, I want you to describe to me in your own words the sequence of events that led to you and your friends crashing a model airplane outfitted with video and listening devices onto a highly restricted and sensitive area of the Los Alamos National Laboratory.”

  Heather had once read that in an interview you should try matching the body posture of the person conducting the interview. However, there was just no way to lean forward in the soft leather armchair that had her butt closer to touching the ground than her feet were.

  For fifteen minutes she described how they had been excited to do a project where they modified a model airplane to add video and audio transmission capabilities, plus an onboard computer that enabled them to uplink simple flight plans. She made no mention of quantum switches, instead wrapping up with a description of how they had launched the plane, uplinked a flight plan, and then lost control of it as it flew out of the range of their radio control device.

  “So you knew it was flying toward the laboratory?”

  “Yes, sir. We launched it from the Western Area Park in Los Alamos and it was flying southeast. We must have lost line of sight while we tried to uplink a return plan, so our uplink didn’t make it, or something else went wrong. Once it was out of radio range, there was nothing we could do. We knew it was bound to go down, but had no idea it would make it all the way to the lab.”

  “And you didn’t try to find out where it crashed?” The agent clenched his hands below his chin.

  “We rode down the street a long way, but it had gone out toward the canyon. We didn’t know how far it traveled, so it seemed like searching for a needle in a haystack. We were upset, but it didn’t look like we had any choice but to give up and hope someone would find it and report it.”

  Agent Nixon smiled. “But you weren't worried enough to tell your parents that you had lost your airplane? When I polygraphed your father and Mr. Smythe this morning, neither one of them seemed to know a thing.”

  Heather gulped. This was a nightmare. Their fathers had been pulled out of work at the lab and administered a polygraph test because of this? She knew they were periodically required to undergo lifestyle polygraph tests because of the classified nature of their work. But being tested because of something their children had done was unbelievable.

  “I don’t know. We were upset and embarrassed that we had modified the plane and had it crash on the first outing. They gave us the money for the whole project and it was gone.” She shrugged. “I guess we just wanted to wait a couple of days to see if someone found it before we had to confess.”

  “Is that so?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Young lady, are you aware of the penalties for lying to a federal officer in the conduct of an official investigation?”

  “No, sir.”

  Principal Zumwalt stepped forward. “I have had enough of this fishing expedition, Agent Nixon. I have stood by as you questioned each of these students and have listened as all of them have told you essentially the same story. Now you have moved from legitimate questions to what I regard as intimidation and harassment. I will remind you that these children are juniors in high school, that I am their principal, and that at no time did I hear you read them their Miranda rights. So unless you are now going to do so and place my student under arrest, this interview is finished.”

  The smile returned to Agent Nixon’s lips, but not to his eyes.

  “Very well, Principal Zumwalt. I have the information I came for. Ms. McFarland, you are free to go.”

  Heather struggled to her feet and walked from the room. Her hands shook as she opened the door and, glancing back, Heather thought she detected a smug look of satisfaction on the agent’s face.

  A sudden heat flushed her face. Heather felt disoriented, at a loss to figure out where she should be going. The big round hall clock indicated that it was 2:15. That meant study hall, but before she went anywhere near anyone she knew, Heather felt the need to wash her face and spend a few moments trying to recover.

  The rest of the day was a haze that failed to dissolve even when she, Mark, and Jennifer stepped off the school bus and made the short walk home. The shock of what had happened was so deep that they barely spoke to each other. What was there to say?

  As she stepped off the sidewalk and into her driveway, Heather’s feet slipped on an icy spot, setting her down hard on her rear end, scattering her books across the asphalt. Mark and Jennifer rushed over as she gathered herself, blinking back hot tears.

  “It’s okay, I’m all right,” Heather said, her voice sounding hoarse to her ears.

  As Mark retrieved her scattered books and papers, Jennifer hugged her friend tightly, tears leaking from her own eyes.

  Mark gently handed her books back to her. “It’s going to be okay. We have each other, and we’ll get through this.”

  Heather sniffed and nodded, then turned and walked to her front door.

  Dinner that evening was uncomfortable; it had been a while since Heather had felt so awkward with her parents. Once again, she was forced to tell the same tale she had told Agent Nixon, along with a description of what had happened at school. Her father did not reprimand her for failing to tell him about what had happened in the park, or for allowing him to be blindsided by the resulting investigation, but she could feel his disapproval in the tone of his voice and the weight of his gaze.

  Heather considered herself to be a generally upbeat person, but by the time she went to bed she had been locked in depression for more than twenty-four hours. In fact, her black mood was sinking deeper. Not only had they violated the law, she had been forced to lie to a federal agent. Worse yet, she had lied to her own mother and father.

  Inst
ead of doing her homework and taking a bath, Heather just slid into her pajamas and crawled into bed. But sleep was a long time in coming.

  For the next two days the three friends heard nothing about the progress of the investigation. School came. School went. Stress sat so heavy on their shoulders that Heather and the Smythe twins acquired a visible slump.

  Shortly after Heather’s dad returned from work on Thursday afternoon, they received a call summoning the entire McFarland family next door to the Smythe house. As Heather stepped outside, she immediately saw the reason her dad had responded so quickly to the call.

  Standing in the Smythe driveway, along with all of the Smythes, was Dr. Helmut Krause, director of the Los Alamos National Laboratory. Beside him stood Dr. Donald Stephenson.

  As they moved up beside the Smythes, Dr Krause nodded a welcome.

  “As you know, I’m not a fan of seeing my laboratory in turmoil. I’m sure this investigation has been stressful for your families, but anything impacting the Rho Division is so important that the questioning and corresponding pressure is trebled. That’s why I came here personally to let you know the results.”

  Heather’s mouth felt so dry that she thought her tongue might permanently adhere to the roof of her mouth.

  “As should be obvious, the two of you, Fred and Gil, passed your polygraphs. As for your children, while they may have acted irresponsibly, we know that the range of the transmitter on their model airplane could not have reached the lab from the park. Nor could they have received any video or audio feed from that distance. Therefore we have concluded this was an accident.”

  The director looked directly at Heather, then Jennifer, and finally Mark, smiling warmly. “I was once a young person myself, as hard as that may be to believe. You three have been quite the topic of discussion at the lab. Our scientists who looked at the airplane you built really liked the innovative modifications you added. Of course, on future projects you need to program a reliable return home plan, in case your data link is lost.”