The Soul of a SEAL Page 8

  “That’s my girl.” Bennett said.

  The footage from inside the shuttle loaded. The video narrative began.

  “The internal structure pulled away from the wall, slicing off the heads of the test dummies. On the second test, a foam material held it in place. It worked well and protected the pilots. The third test was smooth sailing.”

  Bennett blinked. Using his forefinger on the touch screen, he pushed the video backward. There…on the left hand side, near the pilot’s seat, he’d nearly missed it. An additional box was set into the wall on the third test. He hadn’t seen that box on any specs. What was in it, and when did it get on board?

  It was time for him to inspect the shuttle. How and when could he make that happen? There was a saying that you have to earn the right to step into a car, a plane, or a shuttle, and no one was going to let him near that baby until he finished all of the required testing.

  * * *

  Warm water pounded Kimberly’s body, washing away the dirt and grime of the outdoors. Nothing could clear away the memory of Bennett’s arms wrapped around her, the way his body fit hers as they made love. The experience left an indelible mark on her psyche, her body, and her soul.

  She slid the soap down her arms, the smell of lavender filling her nostrils, and the action eased her concern about the lovemaking. Was she rushing things, getting involved with a SEAL, a pilot, and possibly the man going into space?

  Rinsing her arms under the pelting spray, she knew she didn’t want to answer the question. The answer was a resounding yes, but she didn’t care anymore. Years ago, she’d had a chance at love and had never taken it. Regret was a draining emotion. Even a fleeting chance at love was worth the risk, and her chemistry with Bennett was off the charts. Wasn’t it worth the pain?

  She finished her shower in record time and thought it funny how quickly one can act when left alone with annoying thoughts. She turned off the water and stepped out of the glass-encased stall and onto the cotton rug. Her toes wiggled in the supple softness.

  Wrapping a towel around her head and another around her body, she entered her bedroom. “Lights, Sally. Play messages.”

  “There are forty-seven messages,” said the computer. “Should I sort them?”

  “I don’t even like answering email,” she grumbled. “Yes, Sally, please start with anything urgent.”

  “There are ten messages from Kess labeled ‘Urgent,’ having to do with his access to the shuttle. Shall I play them or ring him back?” asked Sally.

  “Delete,” said Kimberly flatly. She pulled out a pair of pants, a blouse, socks, a bra, and underwear. After laying them out on the bed, she donned her undergarments and moved on to the clothing. “Okay, I’m ready for any medical reports.”

  “There is one message. ‘Dr. Warren, this is Dr. Franks. The Chinese and Russian pilots have been cleared for flight readiness. Of the two American pilots, only one is eligible to fly, and that’s Bennett Sheraton. The other one, Jonah Melo, has several issues that eliminate him. Please check his scans and confirm that you agree.’”

  Something gnawed at her mind. Oh, crap! Wasn’t Melo doing his antigravity test right now? “Sally, locate Jonah Melo.”

  “Antigravity chamber. The test is in progress,” Sally said. Panic lanced Kimberly’s body. She grabbed her shoes and ran from the room, carrying them in her hand. The “crap factor” had definitely hit the proverbial fan!

  * * *

  Melo had parked his truck and waved to Dr. Warren and Sheraton with a big smile on his face as he left them to their own devices. He was then escorted to one of the farthest parts of the building: the Tower, a.k.a. the antigravity chamber. Similar to the KC-135 “Vomit Comet,” it simulated a weightless environment.

  Melo couldn’t have been more thrilled. Here was a step toward traveling into space. Answering questions as he went, he couldn’t focus on anything the examiner was asking. All he wanted was to get to the test.

  “Are you sure you understand?” asked the technician for the third time. “After this will be the neutral buoyancy simulator.”

  “Yes, yes, let’s do this,” replied Melo, in a hurry to best Sheraton at this task. If he had a better rating, the higher-ups would have to consider him, even over a man nicknamed Boss. It was tough to compete with a guy who had so many unique missions under his belt—not that SEALs discussed that type of thing off base, but everyone knew what was going on. They were all very good at keeping their mouths shut at the appropriate times.

  “After you,” said the technician as he pointed the way for Melo, who dressed himself in a harness and additional gear.

  “Thanks.” Melo barely got the word out when he was unceremoniously shoved inside the chamber. A door slid shut, air hissed at him briefly, and then another door on the other side slid open. Melo knew he probably should have paid closer attention the minute he felt his stomach clench. No one and nothing had prepared him for what happened next. And here he’d thought he was battle ready for anything. Damn, was he wrong!

  The platform pulled slowly out from beneath him. His feet left the floor. Weightlessness made him momentarily as giddy as a child. It was hard not to let loose a few laughs.

  As he spread his arms and pulled in his feet, his body rolled. No matter how he moved from there, he rolled over and over until his stomach was lifting its contents into his mouth and threatening to spill.

  With a deep and nasty swallow, he shouted, “Get me out of here! I can’t stop spinning, and I’m going to lose it if you don’t get me on the ground or at least tell me how to reach the fucking platform.” The more he swore, the harder it was to get control as he plummeted downward.

  The loudspeaker sounded. The voice was garbled and then it smoothed out. “We cannot stop your descent with your current height. You’re three stories up. Please either grab a safety-stop handrail and work your way down or… Crap, did he just puke in there?” The technician’s frustration was evident as his tone continued to rise. “I explained this to you on the walk over here.”

  “Out. Get me the hell out of here.” In the end, he was shrieking, having a tantrum, and then the vomit erupted like Mount Vesuvius.

  “Suck it in, sailor!” yelled the technician. “Damn it!”

  It took ten more minutes before the safety crew had Melo out of the chamber. His gut roiled, and the bile kept on coming. He leaned over the side of the antigravity chamber, puking his guts out until there was nothing left. His brain berated him, telling him he should have paid better attention.

  Lesson learned. He sighed as his body eased.

  Leaning his weight on the cold railing reassured him, and from the look of the staff, they were pissed off. What could he say—life didn’t always hand out gentle rides? At certain times, even SEALs got the fuzzy end of the lollipop, or in this case, the bad ride in the antigravity chamber.

  A gentle hand tapped his back. Kimberly Warren’s voice seeped into his foggy brain. “Middle-ear issue?”

  “Might be.” He banged his hand on the side of his head, and a wave of nausea surged inside of him. “Seems likely.”

  “Pretty sure I’m right. Actually, I know I am. I’m surprised they didn’t go through their usual checklist before you stepped inside.” Kimberly’s eyes traveled up and down his body, settling on his face.

  Melo sighed as he turned toward her. Rubbing his sleeve over his face to mop an errant drop, he faced her. “They did. I wanted to go to space. So I sort of blew through it. I’m flunking, aren’t I?”

  She gave him a half smile, a pity smile if he ever saw one. “We don’t grade potential astronauts in that manner.”

  “Great. Give me five minutes and I’ll do it again.” Melo stretched his arms, glad his gut was finally empty. That was the best way to go for a test that had him doing flips and flops in every direction.

  “No!” Both her hands were out flat. “Pl
ease, uh, we have other assignments for you.”

  He gestured toward the chamber. “How much puke did I get in there?”

  She took his arm, leading him away from the ripe smell of his offering to the space deities. “Uh, sort of a lot. But don’t worry about it. We’ll get it cleaned up. Right now, I’d like you to focus on the engineering issues we’re facing.”

  Melo stopped in his tracks, tugging her to a halt beside him. “You’ve already chosen Sheraton. Damn it, I wanted a chance to pilot this mission.”

  Her eyes were kind. They said it all.

  He nodded his head. “I know. He has more experience as a test pilot, and he’s pretty much a rock star at everything.”

  “Rock star?” She looked puzzled by the term. Her arms crossed over her chest.

  “Yeah, that’s what we call trainees—tadpoles—when they’re going through BUD/S. The ones who ace all the physical stuff. Sheraton was and is one of those. Most candidates try to stay in the middle of the pack and don’t draw attention. The ones at the back of the line… Well, they join the Goon Squad, which means extra physical training, etc.” Melo scratched his chin.

  “No one is perfect. I’m sure Bennett has his share of issues. We all do. You’re good at stuff too, or you wouldn’t be here. C’mon, let’s get moving and do something useful.” Dr. Warren practically pushed him out of the room and sealed it behind them, using her ID card.

  He stopped her. “There’s something you’re not saying. My ability to read people, it’s sort of a SEAL superpower.”

  She sighed. “Jonah, you’re not going to like this. In the decontamination room, when you first entered the building, do you remember being hit with a mist and a bright light for a second?” She waved a hand in front of her face. “Doesn’t matter if you do or you don’t. It’s just that Sally found that you have narrow Eustachian tubes in both ears—which isn’t a big deal, but combine one with a burst eardrum as well as degradation to the canal, and there’s no way you’d be able to keep your stability up there without blackouts. I choose the pilot, as you know, but the doctors overseeing the health-and-well-being tests will rule you out. I’m sorry. You’re out of the running.”

  “Wow, that’s like looking under a man’s kilt before he has time to warn you there are no Skivvies underneath.” He wiped the back of his hand over his mouth. “Good device. It would save some doctors exploratory surgeries on their patients.”

  “Yeah, I’m giving it to the Navy after a few more tests.”

  “Good call.” He straightened his shoulders, ignoring his rolling stomach. It was empty now, and he refused to dry heave on the lady.

  “If it makes you feel any better, we have worse tortures on the docket for Captain Sheraton.” Dr. Warren pulled out her iPad and found the screen she was looking for. “There are a couple of surgeons I could recommend. They could probably fix some of the damage.”

  A surge of frustration welled in Melo. “Damn. Hard to hear I’m growing older. The damage…it’s combat related. It’d surprise me if it was fixable, but I will look into it. It’s been a while since I did high-altitude jumps, but you never know.” His emotion released in a burst of enthusiasm. “Damn, I do like the idea of torture for Boss; serves the man right, freaking rock star. Let’s focus on that.”

  “I figured you’d like that,” she said with a full-out grin. Her eyes sparkled with mirth. “None of us likes being passed over for space, but we can do our part from the ground to keep it safe and make the mission a success.”

  He silently agreed. No one liked moving away from their dream, but it could be an opportunity to make new dreams happen. He did have the woman of his dreams in his corner now; Alisha was vital to his happiness. She would soften the blow when he retired from the Teams next year. “I asked you to give me a chance, and you did. I appreciate your fairness in sticking to your word.”

  “Of course.” She held his gaze. This was one classy lady, and a person who kept her promises. He could appreciate that fact.

  “As my beautiful wife, Alisha, would say, ‘Onward!’ So, let’s go over the engineering—I’m superb at that. I read the specs, and I see that you’re having problems keeping the laser array stable once it’s deployed in space. Hardware and software aren’t speaking. If we put the designers and engineers in one room, I might have a few ideas that could address that. As to the hacking and the sabotage, my mind is working on that too, but I don’t have a solution yet.” Melo leaned against the wall momentarily, regained his balance, and without missing a beat, continued his commentary on the technology as they walked down the hall.

  Fake it till you make it. He repeated those words until his body got into the groove. Gravity was more a friend than he’d ever realized.

  * * *

  Back in Kimberly’s quarters, Bennett checked the clock. He’d been knee deep in the computer data and equations for too long. He needed to move. He did one hundred push-ups and one hundred sit-ups and ran in place for twenty minutes. It was unfortunate that the air-conditioning pumped cold air constantly. He needed fresh air and the sound of wildlife to gather his thoughts, but he didn’t have time to get away from the security of the Lester Facility. With his blood pumping at least a little bit faster, he left the room and found a quiet space to rerun the calculations before he talked to Kimberly and Melo.

  There was a series of empty rooms several corridors over from their living quarters. Choosing the second one, Bennett made himself at home. Again, the sterile white on white struck him as redundant, as though the person who had designed the Lester Facility was so worried about cleanliness, they omitted personal style, human comfort, and visual calming cues.

  Seating himself at a desk in a room full of classroom-style desks, he put aside his phone, with its convenient math application, and decided to go old-school. He used a pencil and ran through his mathematical computations on a college-ruled yellow pad like the kind he’d used in college.

  The outcome baffled him. The second and third times showed him his math had been correct. The fourth and last time proved conclusively that his results were indeed accurate. There was a serious problem. The shuttle was going to run out of fuel.

  Tossing his pencil on the desk, Bennett could barely wrap his brain around this fact. He scratched his chin and wondered how a Lester Facility full of people couldn’t see that the math for the fuel usage didn’t add up. “This can’t be right,” he murmured to himself, looking over the numbers again.

  “It might be,” said a tall, thin gentleman wearing a white, short-sleeve button-down and a pencil tucked behind his ear. He stood in the door. “I’m Joseph Kess, the man in charge of this project. Dr. Warren told me you’d be in here working on a few basic flight plans. What did you come up with?”

  Well, well, here’s the devil himself. Bennett didn’t know this man from a hole in the wall, though he’d seen his picture, name, and title on the personnel files he’d reviewed last night. “But not the man who designed the shuttle or chooses the pilot, or even the person who runs the Lester Facility itself, right? That’s Warren and Hubbard,” Bennett said. It didn’t hurt to point out that, though Kess had big britches, he was still just visiting this place. Bennett cleared his throat. “You have a PhD in astrobiology and a master’s in physics, a master’s in statistics, and a bachelor’s in psychology.”

  “You read my bio. That was fast work.” Kess smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. The action was more of a platitude, a way to get what he wanted that had obviously worked for him in the past. Bennett’s mind processed the Intel. He also noticed the man was wearing pressed pants and leather loafers. He walked with a slight limp as he moved across the room. The action was slow, so it didn’t give away the limp; perhaps the damage was recent and something he was ashamed of. “Did Sally help you?”

  “Dr. Warren briefed me,” Bennett lied. Of course Sally had given him the information. He could see that Kess w
as fishing, and he needed to know if the man could read him in return. Also, why did Kess want to know if there was access to Sally? Was there a link there? He made a mental note to follow up on that train of thought.

  “Dr. Warren. Really, well, Kimmy can be very…useful.” Kess sat down beside him.

  Yikes! He couldn’t imagine Dr. Kimberly Warren being a Kimmy, and he imagined she balked at it too. Kess was definitely trying to imply that he and the good doctor were on intimate terms. He’d have bet his car that she’d screech over that one as well.

  Kess half smiled, and it resembled a snarl. “Show me. I want to see how you compare to the computer’s routes and computations.”

  “Why not?” Pushing the pad toward the man, Bennett studied the project director. For sure, this man had his head somewhere, but Bennett wasn’t sure that his focus was on this mission. From the look of him, he was in his late fifties, gray haired, pale, and underweight. His fragility might be a front, because there were distinctive muscles pushing the seams of his clothes. Yep, there were a lot of inconsistencies here. Body language was such a tattletale.

  “I’m impressed. I like the slingshot effect to save fuel and push you farther and faster into orbit.” Kess pushed the pad in front of Bennett and stared piercingly at him. “When did you realize that you would need to travel above the space station, past the GPS and communications satellites, to geosynchronous orbit? Did someone give you that information?”

  Shaking his head, Bennett spoke very softly. Who knew who was close enough to listen in? Though any good astrophysicist with an understanding of what was orbiting the Earth would have figured it all out pretty quickly, he supposed. “Process of elimination,” he said. “As you know, the space station orbits between two hundred and three hundred miles above the Earth, and the satellites for communications GPS orbit around twelve thousand miles. I remembered the latest U.S. Air Force Fact Sheet where Command boasted about the need for complete transparency in terms of mistakes that had been made in space with equipment and launches. They also have a number of maneuverable equipment pieces in geostationary orbit at little over eighteen thousand miles.”