Rachel the Warrior

Rachel the Warrior

Part Two

by G. Lawrence

An unexpected event changes everything

Having had a bad experience meeting Tom's parents, Rachel, Tom, and Rory are visiting the space center the next day. The novel is being presented in eight parts, two chapters per episode.

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Chapter Three

SPACE CENTERS

McLane drove the heavy town car down Nasa Parkway to the main gate shortly before noon, Rachel and Rory in the back, Tom had shotgun. Rachel had chosen a conservative blue wool dress and boots. A large floppy felt hat acted as a disguise. General Frank Taylor met them in the parking lot, a tall, thin soldier in his early sixties with square shoulders and a bushy white mustache.

"I'm pleased to see you again, Miss Montgomery," the general said, shaking hands. "You, too, Miss Benson. Commander Harper. Welcome to the Johnson Space Center."

"This is much better than an underground bunker," Rachel replied, looking up at the cloudy sky.

"Where you helped the FBI solve those kidnappings. That was very brave," Taylor complimented.

"I don't want any more government machines melting my sister's brain," Rory complained with a frown.

"That was unfortunate," General Taylor agreed, giving Rachel a second look. "How have you been? Since that episode with Level 13?"

"I'm getting better," Rachel replied.

"Have you been to the Space Center before?" Taylor asked.

"No. This is my first visit," Rachel explained.

"You'll enjoy the tour," Taylor said.

When they passed through security and entered the busy lobby, Rachel took Taylor aside.

"I've never had a chance to thank you," she whispered.

"For what?"

"The satellites. I've been borrowing your network for the last three years. And you were a little upset when I accessed those top-secret protocols."

Taylor looked around, making sure no one was listening.

"Miss Marbury, select members of the Joint Chiefs know what you can do. We know you've never abused your access, and at times, you've opened valuable channels for us. You have my complete confidence."

"Thank you, sir. I'll never disappoint you," Rachel promised.

They rejoined the group, escorted through exhibits, laboratories, and a museum. The artifacts went back to America's earliest days of space flight.

"Those were some brave guys," Tom said, standing before a tiny Mercury space capsule.

"You wouldn't catch me in one of those," Rory agreed. "What about you, Rach?"

Rachel got very close to look inside.

"It's not so bad," she decided.

"Easy for you to say. Ten of you could fit in there," Tom said. Rachel looked again.

"Not that many," she disagreed.

"Did any of these rockets launch from here?" Rory asked.

"No manned flights. But we've been testing missiles here the last few years," Taylor answered. "In fact, we're testing one today. Would you like to see it?"

"Wow, that would be amazing," Rory said.

"Let me confirm your security clearances and find a shuttle," Taylor offered.

"Security clearance?" Tom asked.

"The official story is that we launch weather satellites to test changing climate conditions," Taylor said.

"You don't?" Rory asked.

"You might want to ask your sister. Confidentially," Taylor replied.

Taylor went to check with the security desk. Rory and Tom looked at Rachel.

"I shouldn't say anything," she said.

"Yes, you should," Rory insisted.

"It's secret," Rachel protested.

"Apparently not that secret," Tom said. Rachel sighed, searching for a quiet corner.

"The military is developing a new medium-range missile. Last year, when their testing facility in Florida was compromised, they expanded their launch sites. One of them is here, in Houston."

"Compromised? How?" Tom asked.

"I'm not allowed to say."

"How do you know this?" Rory pressed.

"When the government insisted that I access their Level 13 matrix, I drew on their national security protocols to give the FBI the solutions they needed. General Taylor was very unhappy about it, at first, but I needed the information."

"Did they give you a national security clearance?" Tom said.

"I can't discuss that, either."

"You are so mysterious," Rory said with a grin, taking Rachel's arm.

A few minutes later, they boarded a tram that went down a long underground tunnel. When they came back up, the tram entered a four-story complex in a large open field away from the main buildings. Military police helped them disembark. There were numerous control consoles, monitor screens, and workstations.

"I need to check in," Taylor said. "There's a guest area over there. Good coffee. And tea for you, Miss Montgomery."

The waiting area was near a long steel balcony where outside staircases led up and down the sides of the tall rectangular structure. In the distance, they saw Clear Lake and boats in the harbor.

"It's pretty," Rachel said, taking a deep breath of fresh air.

"You seem to know a lot about missiles," Tom said. "More than I would have suspected."

"Not really. I just know the numbers," Rachel replied.

"How are the numbers today? Is your medication working?" Rory asked.

"They gradually disappeared the last time I was pregnant. I hope that happens again. Having a baby is hard enough without all that buzzing in my head."

"We're here to help you through it this time," Rory promised. A few minutes later, McLane arrived wearing a security badge. He didn't say where he'd been, and Rachel didn't ask.

After an hour, activity on the floor increased. Technicians took seats at their stations. A short, bald man in a long white coat came up. Rachel guessed him in his early fifties. Chewed fingernails indicated a nervous type.

"Hello, I'm Dr. Cyril Adams," he introduced. "General Taylor would like you near the big board."

They followed the scientist into the complex, reaching a centralized screen with maps and weather gauges. The staff rushed around. McLane remained in the guest area, sipping coffee while observing.

"Dad?" Tom said, seeing his father overseeing preparations.

"Son? What are you doing here?" Walsh replied. And then he noticed Rachel and Rory. "What the hell are they doing here?"

"We're watching the rocket launch," Tom replied.

"They need to leave. They need to leave now," Walsh demanded.

"They're General Taylor's guests," Tom defended.

"They certainly are. Why? Is there a problem, Walsh?" Taylor asked, taking a moment from his duties. Walsh took a step back, looking frustrated.

"No, Frank. No problem," Walsh said.

"Mr. Harper, can we speak for a moment?" Rachel requested.

"I don't have time right now, Miss Montgomery," Walsh said, returning to his station.

"We are a little busy at the moment," Taylor said, noticing Rachel's disappointment. "Dr. Adams, can you give our guests a rundown?"

"Of course, sir. Ladies, and Commander Harper, this is a Defender-7 rapid response test," Adams explained. "We're going to fire a missile into the Gulf of Mexico where several naval vessels are standing by. Because so many countries launch missiles of unknown capability, our interception systems are designed to evaluate the danger and relay the data back to NORAD."

"NORAD?" Rory asked.

"North American Aerospace Defense Command," Adams clarified. "This missile is carrying a nuclear warhead that should be detectable even at long range."

"A nuclear warhead!" Rory said.

"We won't be arming it, Miss Benson," Adams assured her.

"But--" Rory continued.

"Friends," Taylor intervened, "if an adversary launches a conventional missile at an American target, we have a set response. But if a nuclear missile is coming our way, that's a whole different ballgame. And we only have seconds to make the adjustments. If this program proves successful, our ships will know what to expect and take appropriate action."

"I guess that makes sense," Rory conceded.

"Miss Montgomery?" Taylor questioned.

"Psalms 34:7," Rachel replied.

"Which is?" Taylor asked with a smile.

"The angel of the Lord encampeth round them that fear him, and delivereth them," Rachel answered.

"Maybe we should rename the program?" Taylor said, going back to his command post.

"I need to find my team," Adams apologized. "This board here shows the launch status. Here we have telemetry, velocity, and targeting. USS Hawkeye and USS Barstow are on station. We'll be able to see what they see as the missile approaches."

"Thank you, Doctor," Tom said. He stepped back with Rory, but Rachel remained close to the monitors for a few extra minutes.

"Do you understand any of that?" Rory asked.

"It's not hard," Rachel said.

"Looks hard to me," Tom said.

"It's just numbers, Thomas," Rachel said. "Sequences. Progressions. Resolutions."

Half an hour went by. Monitors showed the missile in an underground silo. Different stations began calling out their readiness.

"This is exciting, isn't it, Rach?" Rory said.

But Rachel wasn't listening. Not to her. Her head was cocked to one side, as if hearing something unusual. She went to the coordination station, looking at the feed. She began to reach out.

"I'm sorry, miss, you can't touch that," the skinny tech said.

Rachel didn't touch the controls, but she did put her hand on the console, her fingertips lightly set on the smooth aluminum surface.

"Rach? Rach, is something wrong?" Rory asked.

"Something," Rachel said, her brow bent.

"What is it?" Taylor inquired, coming up next to her.

Rachel studied the inputs for another moment, her breath growing short.

"You need to stop the launch," Rachel whispered.

"Do what?" Taylor said.

"Stop the launch, sir. There may be a terrible accident."

"How do you know?"

"The math is wrong," she responded.

Taylor summoned his team leaders to the main control station. One of them was Tom's father.

"Miss Montgomery, we need you," Taylor beckoned.

Rachel walked over, her head down. Sentries kept Tom and Rory from following.

"Yes, sir," Rachel said.

"What makes you believe the launch will fail?" Taylor asked.

"Sir, I shouldn't--"

"Rachel, this is important. You need to be honest with me. Like I've been honest with you," Taylor insisted.

"Your system has been interfered with, sir," Rachel quietly said.

"That's ridiculous. The numbers are perfect," Walsh protested.

"The numbers are perfect," Rachel agreed. "The rhythm of the numbers is wrong."

"The rhythm of the numbers? What kind of b.s. is that?" Walsh asked, satisfied to see Rachel take a step back.

"It's how the numbers speak," Rachel explained.

"Come on, Frank, this is total crap. All systems are go," Walsh pressed.

"General, we need to launch on schedule or postpone this for two weeks," Dr. Adams advised.

Taylor studied the technicians, glanced briefly at Rachel, and then nodded.

"Continue the countdown," Taylor ordered.

Rachel didn't say anything more as Taylor took her by the arm, leading her to a quiet area off to the side.

"What are you thinking?" Taylor asked.

"I'm afraid, sir. This might be bad."

"You're always afraid. It makes you strong. And don't think I didn't believe you. There have been problems for a while now. Serious problems. If intruders have penetrated our secure facility here, I need to know."

"Maybe I shouldn't have said anything."

"I'm glad you did. There may come a day-- Let's just say, if you're right about this, there are people who will know. The kind of people who need to know."

"I'm not a soldier, sir," Rachel reminded.

"No, not a soldier. But you are a warrior," Taylor replied.

"I hope I'm wrong about this."

"Are you?"

"No."

The control center remained active, a score of scientists and engineers scurrying about. Large monitors showed a long, slender rocket expelling hot gases. Rachel went to stand with Rory and Tom, taking their hands. Clutching them tightly.

"Here we go," the launch coordinator announced. "Five, four, three, two, one. Lift-off!"

There was a vibration as the missile jumped out of the silo on orange flames, quickly clearing the facility on course for the Gulf of Mexico.

"A perfect launch," Walsh said with satisfaction.

"Go-on-go," the skinny tech excitedly agreed.

Monitors showed the missile's course and speed. Data from the U.S. ships provided updates.

"Couldn't be better," Walsh boasted.

"Looking good," the tech agreed. But not for long.

"Hey! What's that?" the targeting coordinator shouted.

Faces turned toward the giant monitor screen. The missile was gradually veering southeast. There was a burst of activity at every station.

"Destroy the missile," Taylor ordered. "Quick! Destroy it!"

"No response from the self-destruct," a tech said, punching his keyboard.

"Dive it into the sea," Dr. Adams said.

"Control negative," the tech reported. "Missile now headed due east."

Every station was frantically engaged, trying to gather data. None of it proved useful.

"This is bad, sir," the target coordinator warned. And then it got worse.

"Oh, wait. Wait. Oh no. Oh my God!" Adams cried out.

They all saw it. The nuclear warhead activated on its own, the warning flashing red.

"Shut it down! Shut it down!" Taylor demanded.

"Negative response," Adams said. "Command and control have been commandeered."

"Where's the damn thing going?" Taylor asked.

"Fort Lauderdale," Adams informed. "There isn't enough time to evacuate."

"Jesus Christ," Taylor muttered.

"What are we going to do? We've got to do something!" a young tech pleaded. General Taylor looked back to the lounge.

"Rachel!"

Rachel came running, not asking any questions. She shoved the tech out of his seat, donned his headphones, and took control of his console.

"What do you think you're doing?" Walsh asked.

"Shut up," Rachel answered.

Taylor motioned for the sentries to clear the area, leaving Rachel alone at the control station.

"What the hell, Frank?" Walsh complained. "Two hundred thousand people live in Fort Lauderdale."

"Walsh? Shut up," Taylor replied.

Most of the professionals in the room did not know what Rachel was attempting, though a few suspected. Her fingers moved rapidly over the inputs as she whispered into the communications array.

"She's accessing a subroutine that seems incompatible with our systems," Adams said. "The conflict is opening new channels."

"Can she regain control of the missile?" Taylor asked.

"I don't recognize any of those progressions," the tech said. "How is she even accessing those systems?"

"It's above your paygrade, Benny," Taylor responded.

Rachel selected special combinations of keys, whispered to the machine, and then placed her hands on the touch screen, using her fingers and palms to accelerate directives. Rory and Tom pushed past the guards to get closer. Rory saw Rachel slipping into a haze, her focus absorbed on the task. She appeared tense. Uncertain. Struggling. Which caused the haze to grow deeper.

Taylor looked at the clock, seeing the missile only ninety seconds from impact. It was all on Rachel to stop it. He held his breath.

"There! We've got it back!" Adams shouted, returning to his station. All the techs ran to their stations.

"What back?" Taylor asked.

"Guidance control," a tech answered.

"The self-destruct?" Taylor pressed.

"Too low to the city. If we can extend the distance, we can drop it in the Atlantic," Adams recommended.

"Do it," Taylor agreed.

The room watched anxiously as the big board showed the missile's direction and altitude. The staff was working hard to boost the engines so it would overshoot. Rachel stood up, having done what she could. Rory drew her back to the lounge.

"Let's get out of here," Rory whispered to Tom.

"What? Now?" Tom asked.

"If this fails, they're going to blame Rachel," Rory explained. "If it succeeds, they'll want to congratulate her. Hugs and handshakes. Rachel's already in a haze. She doesn't need the extra stress."

Tom saw it was true. Rachel was watching the map, but her eyes seemed glazed.

"Take Rach out on the balcony for some fresh air," Rory urged. "I'll have Big Bob call for the car."

Radar tracked the missile flying over downtown Fort Lauderdale, the deafening sound alerting thousands to its passage. Some took videos with their phones.

"It's cleared the city," the targeting coordinator reported.

"The warhead?" Taylor asked.

"Can't be sure. It may be deactivated," the tech answered.

"May be?"

"General, we only have marginal signals here," Adams said. "Montgomery had to wipe most of the programming to get control back."

"It's a miracle we have this much," the tech said.

"Yes. And I know who the miracle is," Taylor praised, looking at Rachel.

The missile hit the Atlantic Ocean and broke up. There was no explosion. U.S. Naval vessels converged on the site.

Walsh backed off, wiping his brow. The teams stood down. Taylor and Adams pulled the leaders together, trying to determine what had happened.

Tom brought Rachel to the outside walkway for the fresh air. Her eyes were still glazed. She seemed detached from her surroundings.

"That was amazing," Tom said.

"I almost failed," Rachel whimpered, her hands shaking.

"You didn't fail."

"The numbers were so confusing."

"Rach, calm down. Rach? Rach, look at me."

Tom realized the haze was getting worse.

"Let me find Rory. Stay here," Tom said.

In the control center, General Taylor had the techs tracking the malfunction. And Walsh on the carpet.

"You assured me this was under control. Even after Montgomery warned you, you said it was under control. Is there a problem here?" Taylor asked.

"No, Frank--"

"It's General Taylor, Mr. Harper. What was that dust up with Montgomery? Something personal?"

"A misunderstanding."

"I don't have time for misunderstandings. Your unit will stand down pending review."

"We can do the analysis," Walsh insisted.

"I need answers, not someone covering their own ass," Taylor denied.

"General--"

"That's all, Mr. Harper. We'll have a briefing at 0800. Whatever you have to say, I'll hear it then."

Taylor walked away, going to the electronic map. Smaller screens showed news reports relaying video from the crash site. Everyone was busy trying to assess the situation. NASA issued a statement saying a weather satellite had crashed.

Walsh grabbed his coat and stormed from the control center. No one said anything as he left. He looked ahead, seeing Rachel standing at the outside railing.

"Satisfied? Are you satisfied?" Walsh said, marching toward her.

Rachel turned. Startled. She couldn't hear what he was saying, it was just noise.

"Had to show me up, didn't you? To prove what?"

Walsh kept getting closer. Rachel stepped back, and then stepped back again. Her eyes grew big, filled with fear. An angry man was coming at her. She didn't know why.

Something was behind her. No, not something. An open space. A staircase. She wobbled and reached out, unable to find the railing.

"Wait! Watch out! Be careful!" Walsh shouted, raising his hands.

Rachel gasped, lost her balance, and suddenly tumbled backwards head over heels down the steep stairwell, crashing into a wall at the bottom. She wasn't moving.

"Oh my God! Dad, what did you do?" Tom shouted, shoving his father aside and jumping down the steps.

"Call an ambulance! Someone call an ambulance!" Rory yelled.

She followed Tom down, finding Rachel in a crumpled heap.

"Careful how you move her," Rory warned. "Watch her neck. Watch her back."

Tom slowly moved Rachel away from the wall, laying her on her side. She was unconscious. Blood filled her nose and mouth.

"This is bad, Ro. It's real bad," Tom moaned.

"Don't panic. Keep her airway open," Rory urged, adjusting Rachel's legs to take pressure off her diaphragm.