Target, page 25
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Gerda was already waiting in Dr. Muller’s suite when Bohler arrived. For the first time since they met, she was wearing her hair loose, falling to her shoulders. Bohler noticed the change and smiled across at her. She blushed, very slightly. Muller appeared unaware of the exchange.
“You slept well?” greeted the Director politely.
“Excellently,” said Bohler.
“So did Dr. Lintz,” reported Muller.
Bohler looked at the woman again. It seemed strange, hearing Gerda referred to so formally. He didn’t know why — it was a title for which she was qualified. Coffee was arranged on the table where the previous night there had been drinks. Bohler stared through the windows from which they had seen the sunset; even with the smoked glass, the countryside looked baked and arid. He felt favored, protected by the air-conditioning; outside Africans were working in the gardens, weeding and cultivating. They were naked except for waistcloths, apparently unconcerned.
Muller, solicitous as ever, poured the coffee. “Dr. Bloor will be joining us shortly,” he said. “I thought we could talk and then later visit the control area. Maybe even the silo itself.”
“Fine,” said Bohler.
“With the launch so near, you must be feeling some excitement?” said Gerda.
Muller nodded, an oddly reflective expression upon his face. “There’s always excitement, just before a launch,” he said, as if in memory.
Bohler was seeking the words that would encourage the older man to talk further when there was a sound behind him. He turned. A woman stood just inside the door.
“Dr. Bloor,” said Muller, the mood of nostalgia gone. “Come in and meet our guests.”
Bohler rose, intent upon the woman as she moved further into the room. Short-haired, tall, probably a little under six feet, slim, but heavy-busted, her figure just discernible through the loose covering of her laboratory coat. He memorized the description for later transmission to Peterson. Muller fussed between them, completing introductions. There was a dampness about her hand, Bohler noted. She smiled, a formal expression. Bohler decided she was treating them absolutely neutrally, neither with the friendship that Muller was displaying, nor with any hostility at the imagined intrusion from Bonn. A very self-contained person, judged the American; maybe even a little conceited. And very attractive.
“Our coming must be a nuisance,” said Gerda.
Hannah took her coffee and stirred it before replying. “Dr. Muller regards it as necessary,” she said, not bothering with politness.
“You must surely be able to appreciate the government’s concern?” said Bohler, curious at the immediate change in her demeanor.
“Why should America and Russia have the monopoly in space exploration?” she demanded. It appeared a practiced argument.
“Isn’t there some point in asking if this sort of enterprise might not create a proliferation of satellites, each country trying to outdo the other?” prodded Bohler, intrigued at her defensiveness.
“We hope so!” Muller came in quickly, trying to reduce the antagonism that appeared to be developing in the room.
“What danger can there be in the peaceful development of space?” said Hannah, refusing the Director’s attempt.
“None at all,” said Bohler easily. “It’s the possibility of it being turned to non-peaceful uses that is the concern in Bonn.”
“They’re rather late worrying about that, aren’t they?”
“I don’t think it had been properly realized until now,” said Bohler. “There’s been anxiety shown by both America and the Soviet Union.”
“Anxious to maintain their monopoly,” said Hannah, as if Bohler had confirmed something.
“You must be near final assembly stage,” came in Gerda, repeating the earlier peace attempt of the Director.
Hannah nodded, replacing her empty cup on the table. “The satellite will be put into position within seventy-two hours,” she said. “From then on, it’s countdown.”
“Geographically, this is an ideal launch spot,” said Gerda.
“Yes,” agreed Hannah. “Although I’m confident the rocket would be powerful enough without the benefit of the earth’s rotation thrust. But it’s certainly an added advantage.”
“So it will be a synchronous orbit?” said Gerda.
Hannah frowned at the question. “Of course,” she said. “Would you have expected anything else this near the Equator?”
That would cause concern in Washington and Moscow, thought Bohler. A synchronous orbit meant that the twenty-four hours it would take the satellite to get into position would be cancelled out by the twenty-four hours of the earth’s rotation — it would be positioned permanently on one spot. For as long as Libya wanted to pay the usage fees, the Arab countries would have an open window to anything that went on, not only along any of Israel’s borders but within the country as well.
“I’m not here to expect anything,” said Gerda, refusing to be intimidated by the other woman. “I’m here to make a full report to my government and, to prevent any mistakes in the report, I’m going to ask the most elementary questions. I want to know what you’re going to do, not what I think you’ll do.”
“I’m sorry,” said Hannah.
Bohler tried to catch Gerda’s eyes, so that she would appreciate his approval of her rebuke, but the Russian did not look towards him.
“Shall we go?” invited Muller.
Muller and Dr. Bloor were already wearing their identity plates, complete with photographs. As they rose, Muller handed one to Gerda, then another to Bohler.
“Our security,” he said, heavily.
Gerda brushed against him as she passed and he felt a different interest stir within him. It surprised him. Until that moment he hadn’t thought of her sexually. Bohler stood back to allow the two women out behind Muller. They walked squeakily along the glittering corridor, halting at a door about fifty yards short of the junction with the living quarters. Muller inserted a plastic control card into a computer mouth and seconds later there was a hiss as the pneumatically operated doors released and then opened for them. It was steel cored, Bohler saw as he passed through: at least five inches thick. It appeared to have no function other than protection or security, because immediately beyond was a small vestibule, with elevator doors set into the far wall. There was no indicator light, to show the depth from which the elevator was rising. Hannah Bllor stared straight ahead as the elevator descended, making no attempt at conversation.
“The favorite working place of everyone,” said Muller. “The coolest part of the installation.”
The corridor was narrower than that which they had just left, making it difficult to walk more than two abreast. Muller and Bloor led, with Gerda and Bohler following. Bohler felt out, lightly touching Gerda’s hand. He had intended nothing more than an encouraging squeeze but she tugged away. There was another sealed door, operated by the same card, and beyond that swing doors leading into the control area.
There were five Europeans there, all men. They looked up at the entry of the Director and Dr. Bloor and there were shifts and movements of greeting. There was no effort made at introductions.
The launch room was smaller than any either Gerda or Bohler had known before. There were three padded chairs at the central control console, every lever and button overriding the larger, clearly designated and graded, function areas against the far wall. Ignition was on the far left, fuel control adjacent to that, then a separation mechanism in case there was any in-flight malfunction of the rocket motors, finally gyro adjustment for the satellite. To the right and ignored for the moment, because it had no immediate purpose, was the receiver section which would take and adjust the information sent back once the vehicle was in orbit. There were three television monitors and a separate camera to receive still pictures, with a feeder tray beneath it from which the developed photographs would be discharged. Beneath the radio was another printout section, which would provide visual as well as audio record of any intercepted radio messages. Bohler curbed any outward show of his immediate concern; it was far more elaborate than any of the potential assessments he had seen prepared at Langley before he left.
Hannah Bloor immediately moved to her project group, leaving Muller to play the part of tour guide.
“There is what will make us all famous,” said the Director. He laughed, unable to contain his excitement and again Bohler was conscious of the man’s boastfulness: there was a strange sadness about it, as if the man were unsure he would succeed.
Directly in front of them was a television screen in operation and focused upon the silo housing the rocket that was six days away from launch. The rocket was obviously at an angle to the lens, making an accurate gauge difficult, but Bohler estimated it would weigh between 1000 and 2500 lb. On that assessment, the pay-load would be about 300 lb. Bohler knew the silo head would be sealed, but even so there was a vague mist around the rocket base where the coolant was vaporizing.
“Dr. Bloor,” called out the Director. “Would you like to take us through it?”
With apparent reluctance, the woman came back to them. She began quickly, a schoolmistress unwilling to bother with obtuse pupils.
“Three-stage rocket,” she said, gesturing towards the screen. “As I’ve already explained, the satellite will be in geostationary orbit. There’ll obviously be slight perturbations, but those will be corrected inboard by a gyro operator station-keeping system. If there’s a need for anything drastic, there’s a motor, running off hydrazine.”
“Rocket is obviously solid fuelled?” said Gerda.
The other woman nodded agreement. “Please,” she said, gesturing them through a linking door of which Bohler had until then been unaware. There was a short corridor and then another room similar to that which they had just left. There were only three technicians here and far fewer control systems. The satellite was supported on a central dish, rubber tipped support struts splayed out like the arms of a spider’s web to cushion it completely.
Once again Hannah adopted a lecturing voice. “For ground control we will be using a tone digital standard, operating on VHF at about 150 megahertz. That will provide up to seventy different commands per tone.…”
“That’s very impressive,” said Bohler, admiringly. And very close to the standard to which he had been accustomed at NASA.
Hannah looked at him sharply, as if suspecting sarcasm. She started again. “It’s radio transmission to us will also be on VHF, obviously.…” She pointed to the antennae visible to them. “Omnidirectional aerials,” she identified. “We decided upon crossdipole rather than turnstill.”
She shifted slightly, indicating a series of glass housings. “Solar-powered, of course.…” Her hand moved on, towards the first of the cameras. “We’re going to employ a laser beam image producer, using helium and neon-laser, focused on unexposed film. There’s an intensity modulator sending video signals through a ferro-electric crystal. The laser beam is scanned across the film and the film driven forward in synchronism, to produce an image and continuous picture.”
She turned to Bohler, smiling expectantly.
“Even more impressive,” he agreed. “What about heat sensors?”
He had already identified them, but wanted her confirmation.
“Here,” she said, pointing to them. “And here.”
To give Gerda the chance of having the technical discussion they had decided was her function, Bohler moved slightly away from the group towards the satellite. It was an almost standard construction, coned but hinged to open like a petal once in position. He got as close as the guard rail would permit, trying to identify the high modulus protective. Boron rather than carbon fiber, he decided.
Peterson would be very worried when he received today’s transmission; he had every cause to be. Bohler knew they had all misjudged and therefore minimized the technical possibilities of the satellite: there was some U.S. equipment in orbit now, still regarded as having a useful operational function, but far less advanced than this. God knows how Israel would respond, once it learned the degree of sophistication.
There was a walkway allowing complete access around the payload. Slowly he circled it, studying the display of the attachments. It was impossible to reach out to touch them properly. To do that, he would have had to go beyond the perimeter surround into the inner work area. Halfway around he glanced up: Hannah Bloor was studying him, intently.
He got back as the two women were discussing the inertial guidance system.
“Gyroscopes again,” Hannah was saying. She had obtained a pointer from somewhere and was indicating the adjusters with the stick.
“What about thrust misalignment?” queried Gerda.
Once again the baton flickered over the satellite housing, pointing out attachments. “After final separation, it will be despun,” said Hannah.
“What ascent pattern?” queried Gerda.
“Hohmann transfer,” said the other woman.
“So there’s an apogee motor then?”
“Of course.”
“Very sophisticated,” said Gerda.
“All this was known to Bonn,” said Hannah immediately.
“Of course,” said Gerda, equally quickly. “I didn’t mean my admiration for the development began from this moment.”
There was a hesitation, then Hannah smiled. “It’s going to be a very accurate device,” she said.
“Your customers should be very satisfied,” said Bohler, entering the conversation to take the pressure from the Russian girl.
The blond woman turned to him. “We intend them to be,” she said.
With Muller still the attentive guide, they moved back along the subsidiary corridor to the main control room, studied the control mechanisms under Hannah’s guidance once again and then moved back towards the lift. For the first time since his arrival in the country, Bohler shivered and Muller smiled at him, aware of the movement.
“Like I said,” repeated the older man. “The favorite working area, because of the coolness.”
Had it been that? Bohler asked himself. Or the sudden awareness of how difficult it would be for them to affect the operation of the satellite seriously.
“I can understand,” he said, easily. He looked at Gerda. She was rigid faced.
They didn’t go to the elevator that had brought them to the control room level, stopping instead at another to the right of the main shaft, which only took them what appeared to be a few feet higher. Bohler was conscious of the heat as they approached the silo.
They emerged onto a gantry walkway about half-way up the silo wall. Bohler instantly realized that he had underestimated the size of the rocket — it had to be nearer 2000 lb, maybe even as much as 2500. He lagged behind the two women, watching Hannah gesture towards the stages that would separate in flight, panting up the single-file metal stairs to just beneath the silo ceiling and closing up to the others when the Project Director indicated the final assembly of the payload to the rocket head. There were two girdles holding the rocket upright and at two stages the fuel lines were already connected, like umbilical cords.
“Satisfied?” demanded Hannah.
There was a challenge in her voice and Bohler looked at her curiously. “Satisfied?” he echoed.
“That we’re not attaching anything other than the communications satellite for which we are contracted?”
“Who suggested otherwise?”
“I thought that might be the reason for your sudden arrival here.”
“I thought you knew from Dr. Muller the reason for our coming,” said Bohler. “There’s been some concern about the function of your company and the government wanted to provide itself with a satisfactory answer to any criticism.”
The woman stood examining him uncertainly. “So you don’t imagine we’re putting a nuclear warhead onto the rocket,” she said.
She meant it as sarcasm, Bohler knew, but he responded completely seriously. “The United Nations General Assembly ratified a treaty as long ago as 1966, prohitibiting the placing of any nuclear device whatsoever in space,” he said. “Were I to believe for one moment that there was a chance of such a rocket being assembled here, then I would immediately report to Bonn, recommending that action be taken against every company forming part of this consortium. And that the West German government make known what it was doing.”
“Dr. Bloor was not being serious!” said Muller, anxiously. “It was a joke.”
Bohler remained apparently unrelenting. “I don’t believe this is a matter to joke about. Neither does Bonn. That is why they sent us here.”
“I appear to be in error,” said Hannah, conscious of the Director’s bird-like apprehension. “Of course I didn’t mean to suggest for a moment that there was the possibility of us launching anything other than that which we are legally contracted to provide.”
“I’m glad of that assurance,” said Bohler.
The Project Director appeared embarrassed.
“Shall we go back into the complex?” said Muller. His annoyance with the woman showed in his face: there were blaze marks of red on either cheek, as if he had been slapped. Hannah Bloor was flushed too, fully aware of her mistake. Bohler led the way back down the single-file gantry steps and along to the exit onto the corridor leading to the lift. He purposely kept ahead, not wanting the discomfort between them to diminish.
In the elevator taking them to ground level, he said stiffly to Hannah, “Thank you very much for sparing the time. My colleague and I are aware of the inconvenience it must have caused you.”
“You’re welcome,” she said. “It was no inconvenience.”
“Perhaps I misunderstood then,” said Bohler, increasing the tension.
There was discernible hostility in the way that Hannah regarded him. “Perhaps you did,” she said.
At ground level, they grouped uncertainly around the lift exit.
