A novel by Phil Rowe

In the years following the launch of the Sputnik satellite, the United States embarked on an aggressive program to utilize space as a military resource. A variety of reconnaissance craft were placed into earth orbit. Many carried photographic cameras, electronic listening devices and other sensors, all intended to spy on Communist Block nations. The Soviet Union and China were the primary interest areas, but others were also monitored as satellites passed over most of the earth’s surface every 90 minutes collecting vital intelligence data.

Gathering that data was one thing, but getting it down to earth for analysis by experts capable of transforming raw data into meaningful intelligence information was another matter. In the early days, that meant physically retrieving the payloads from orbit. A system of tracking stations around the world controlled those spy satellites. Commands were radioed up to fire retro-rockets to slow the craft in orbit, making gravity do its job of bring them down to earth. Upon entering the atmosphere, parachutes deployed and the vital payloads descended to the surface. But, most of the earth’s surface is water, and payloads could be lost at sea, unless recovered very quickly.

A faster, surer way of retrieving the payloads was needed, To meet that need, Air Force planes were modified and equipped to locate and grab the descending payload capsules in mid-air. It was a dangerous mission, flown by crack flight crews. The special equipment had to be built, tested and approved for operational use. A unique flying organization at Edwards AFB, California was created to test and evaluate those systems.

Our adversaries did not sit idly by. They knew what we were doing, though they could do little about it. This fictional account describes what they could have done to mitigate our special intelligence advantage. The California high desert locale is real, but none of the characters are. This is merely a story.

Chapter 1

"What do you mean you're not going?" Bill shouted. "We have to. Being transferred is part of my job, Helen."

"No way, Bill. I'm not going out to that god-forsaken desert. Not for you and certainly not for your precious Air Force. Do you realize what you're asking?"

"C'mon, hon. You know that this is the assignment I really want. Edwards Air Force Base is nice, really. You'll see."

Helen sat pouting on the sofa, her expensive fox stole, draped where she dropped it late last evening, after yet another of those Washington receptions she loved so. Her wardrobe suited a socially active creature determined to impress her friends and contacts. They had no children, those demanding creatures that might stifle a busy social life, though Bill’s hopes and dreams differed markedly.

"No, I won't. It's a horrible, windy, dry and dusty place miles from nowhere. Sure, you men like it, because of your airplanes and boy toys, but it's no place for me. No way."

The telephone rang. Bill let it ring several times. Finally he grabbed the receiver, and answered with a snap in his voice, "Hello, Major Wilcox."

The caller identified himself as a collection agent for a credit card company. "Major, you’ve got ten days to pay off your account or we take legal action. You’re 60 days in arrears. With penalties and interest, you balance is now $15,660. Ten days, or else." And the caller hung up, leaving Bill to hear just the dial tone.

"He hung up, the bastard."

"Maybe he just got disconnected," Helen offered.

"I know what should be disconnected," Bill growled. "You from those credit cards. That’s what."

"You’re not harping on that again, are you? And don’t change the subject.

"Look, Helen. Why don't you at least come out there with me? We'll get base housing. You'll see. It'll be okay. At least that way we can cut down on expenses. These debts are killing us."

"No way, I said. I like it right here in Washington, thank you. And you know that my folks are here too. My god, we'll never get to see them way out west in that hell hole. And you know that Daddy’s not well," Helen protested.

"Well, consider this then. Here the cost of living is eating us alive. We're max'd out on our credit cards and don't have a dime in the bank. At least at Edwards our living costs will drop and for once we might get our heads above water."

"Look, Bill. I'm not going and that's that. If you want to, you just go by yourself. I’m staying right here. Period."

Bill could see that more arguing wouldn’t solve anything. He had to go. In fact, he had to report in two weeks. The flight test program demanded a replacement test engineer. He was expected, and this was his lucky break.

Next day, at his Pentagon office, Bill's boss asked how Helen took the news of the Edwards transfer. All Bill said was, "Not well. She's determined to stay here."

The machinery to get Bill out of the Pentagon and to the Flight Test Center was in high gear. In just two days, he completed the out-processing steps. But saying goodbye to dozens of friends and colleagues was not easy. Many were envious of Bill's good fortune, hoping that they too could escape desk duty themselves one day.

While clearing out his desk, Bill got a call, from yet another creditor. "Major? When are you going to settle your overdue account at Mason’s Department Store? We’re turning over your balance to a collection agency today, and they won’t be as patient as we have been. You’ve got until noon today to pay off the full balance or we’re sending notice to your commanding officer."

Back at the house, Bill packed his gear, clothing, technical books and things he'd need to set up house keeping for one. Helen alternately cried or yelled at him. Biting his lower lip, Bill managed to control himself. He wanted to pack here stuff too, but knew it was pointless.

Helen firmly stood her ground, insisting that this separation was only because of Bill's selfishness in wanting to do flight test work. He could have stayed right where he was in the Pentagon, indefinitely. Things didn't have to change. Her life was fine the way it was. She would not leave her friends, the social circles she cherished or the excitement of the capital city.

Bill loaded up the car, a four year old Ford sedan. He left Helen her big Cadillac. She didn't even come to the door or wave good-bye. She cried upstairs on her bed, finding it incredible that her husband would actually leave her.

Bill realized how difficult it would be simply driving from Washington to southern California. The problem wasn't the roads, or even the car. Television newscasts repeatedly showed the long gas lines and frustrated motorists all across the country. This was not the best time for a long road trip. This oil crisis of 1973 made gasoline a scarce commodity.

Bill's car bore Ohio license plates, reflecting his official permanent residency, and indeed his itinerary included a one night stopover with his parents near Columbus. What normally would have required just one refueling stop turned into three, because gas stations refused to sell him more than five gallons. And each stop cost him an hour or more because of the dozens of cars in line.

His travels under official government orders failed to impress station operators that he should get more fuel. All customers were restricted to the same limit. The only advantage they did allow was to let him escape the odd-even license plate rule, which in various locales dictated that only on odd calendar days could cars with odd numbered license plates receive gas.

He drove west on the Interstate to Denver, and then turned south and west to Canyon City. Nervously, Bill watched the gas gauge fall as the miles ticked off. His tank was practically empty when he pulled off the road onto a dirt drive in front of a combination roadhouse and gas station. A cloud of dust billowed around him as he pulled up beside the rusting old pumps. The place looked deserted from out front. An ancient Plymouth and two pickup trucks were parked next to the porch of the rustic wooden structure.

This was clearly not the area's finest dining establishment, Bill guessed from the neon sign flashing through the filthy windows. It proclaimed simply, "EATS and BREW". But, the place did have gas pumps and he desperately needed fuel. He slammed the car door and headed inside to find someone, anyone, who might sell him gasoline.

One tall lanky fellow stood behind the bar, and another, wearing a dirty straw cowboy hat with a wide sweat-stained band, sat on a stool at the far end. The place reeked with the stench of stale beer-soaked sawdust on the floor. "Help you stranger?" the bartender asked in a slow drawl.

"Yeah. I need gas. I’m parked out front."

"Be right with you," the bartender replied, "but all I can give you is five gallons. Fuel shortage, you know."

Bill returned to his car and waited. Eventually, the screen door slammed and out strolled, ever so slowly, the bartender, a key attached to a block of wood in hand. "Five gallons is all, mister," the man said, squinting in the bright sunshine. He unlocked the pump and slipped the nozzle into Bill’s car.

While the pump noisily clattered away, the two men chatted, first about the weather, then the gasoline shortage and finally about the Ohio license plates on Bill's car.

"Ohio, eh?" the bartender commented. "My brother lives there, outside Akron. His name is Jeb Axton. Ya know him?"

Bill had no idea who Jeb Axton was, and in fact knew no one at all from Akron, but decided it might be a good idea to carry the subject further. "What part of Akron does he live in?"

"Not sure. He works for one of them tire companies. Comin' up on your five gallons."

"Firestone?" Bill inquired.

"Yep, that's it."

Bill saw the gas pump meter read five gallons and knew he'd never get far on that little. "Jeb's a tall fellow, like yourself isn't he? Dark hair?"

"Yup. That's him."

"Small world isn't it," Bill continued, hoping to hold the man's interest and perhaps keep him pumping fuel. "Don't know your brother personally. Might have seen him though." The bartender kept on pumping.

"Where ya headed to?"

"Edwards Air Force Base. It's in the Mojave desert, not far from Bakersfield, California. I have to be there in three days. It's kinda important," Bill explained.

"Well, I guess I can spare some gas for a friend of my brother, especially one working for the government and all. I see your blue windshield sticker. Air Force, eh?" And the gas pump kept running until Bill's car was full. Soon the bartender returned the nozzle to the pump, screwed Bill’s gas cap on and looked at the gallons counter.

"I really appreciate your help," Bill gratefully added. "Towns out here are pretty far apart. Sure wouldn’t want to run out of gas and get stranded."

"That'll be $13.00, mister. Gas jumped to 65 cents a gallon just last week. Only a month ago it was 35 cents. Sorry about that, but my distributor keeps upping the price and I have to pass it along."

Bill counted out a ten and three ones to the bartender. "Thanks again. This ought to get me to Grand Junction."

"You say you're goin’ through Grand Junction? Well, this is your lucky day, Ohio. My wife's brother runs a gas station in the Junction. Here, I'll give you a note. He'll see that you get the gas you need. Got a pencil and paper?"

Soon Bill had both a full tank of gasoline and a note which might yield another down the highway. He waved a thankful good-bye to the bartender, once again padlocking his gas pump.

"Take care, Ohio. I'll tell my brother we met. He'll be surprised," the waving bartender proclaimed, as Bill drove away.

Two days later, Bill saw the sun playing tricks with mirages on Muroc Dry lake, blurring the view of the Edwards AFB flight line. Once within the north gate, he drove to the Visiting Officers' Quarters (VOQ), a two-story barracks high on a hill overlooking the runways. Below, Bill saw the hangars which would soon be his work area.

"Yes, Major," we've got a room reserved for you. Sign here, please." Bill registered and proceeded to shuttle his baggage from the car up to his second floor room. He was delighted he got a room overlooking the flight line. All kinds of interesting airplanes would pass by his window, giving him a continuous air show.

He found a well-worn base telephone book in the night stand and looked up the number for Colonel Ted Browning, his new boss. Though it was late on a Saturday afternoon, he decided to make a courtesy call just to let Browning know he'd made it and would report for work on Monday.

The Officers' Club, just a short stroll away, seemed like the best place to have supper. He changed into a coat and tie and headed for the Club. The place was busy, even crowded. Some sort of party was going on, with laughter, the din of dozens of different groups talking, and loud music from a juke box. He felt uncomfortable, as the outsider unaware of the reason for the festivities and not knowing a soul there.

As he asked the receptionist for directions to the dining room, a couple of men about his age approached and said, "You don't want the dining room yet, sport. C'mon over to the bar. Wet your whistle first and then worry about food. Oh, I'm Ed, and this here’s Jim. C'mon in."

Not wanting to offend his new-found friends, he followed them into the main bar and lounge. The place was jumping. The juke box played and the long bar was lined with young men and women. Few people were dressed in uniform. Every table in the place was occupied.

"What's the occasion?" Bill asked.

"Nothing special ... er .. ah, didn't get your name there fella."

"Bill, Bill Wilcox. You mean the place is like this every Saturday night?"

"Yup ... only more so tonight. Colonel Graham is being transferred to the Pentagon and this is a kind of farewell bash."

"My condolences to the colonel," Bill replied. "I just came here from a Pentagon assignment and was mighty glad to get out of the puzzle palace. I don't envy him."

It took more than an hour for Bill to gracefully get away from the party crowd and slip over to the dining room. It was only half full, so the hostess quickly got him a table. He ate alone, enjoying a surprisingly good meal. The special was surf and turf. He was hungrier than he thought.

By 9:30 he headed back to the VOQ. After a full day of driving, he was anxious to turn in. But, just as he approached the front door, Ed and Jim again collared him and escorted him back into the lounge.

Over the next hour with Jim and Ed, he learned that they were test pilots with the F-15 program. Both were bachelors and treated the Officers' Club as a second home. If they weren't working hard, they were playing hard at the Club, especially if they weren't due to fly the next day.

A slim, attractive blonde soon joined them at the small table. Ed introduced her to Bill, saying, "Gracie, here, is one of the best damn secretaries Edwards ever had. She works at the C-130 outfit, but we're tryin' to get her to come over to our F-15 office." Bill couldn’t take his eyes off that fascinating creature, her tanned face accented by flowing blonde tresses.

"Hello, Grace. I'm Bill Wilcox. Nice to meet you." His eyes were transfixed on her lovely face. He held her delicate yet firm hand that gripped his in genuine friendliness. It was not one of those limp, meaningless handshakes he’d too often encountered back east. The feeling of that moment was electric, surprising Bill. Somewhat embarrassed, he reluctantly released her hand, slowly.

"Wilcox ... William W. Wilcox fresh from the Pentagon?" She responded, catching Bill off guard.

"Yes, that's me. But how did you know?"

"Oh we know everything out here. This may be the boondocks or 'Camp Swampy', but we're really connected to the rest of the world, you know. And besides, Major, I'm Colonel Browning's secretary. I know all about you and your transfer here to Edwards. We've been expecting you." Grace then asked, "So, where is your wife, Major? Didn't she come out here with you?"

"No, she decided to stay in Washington, at least for now. Helen was not at all pleased that I got sent out here. She hates the desert and places remote like this."

"Well, we'll take good care of you, sir. Welcome to our little part of the world."

Bill spent another half hour at the Club, but finally had to excuse himself and head back to his room. His eyelids just wouldn't stay open. While strolling back to the VOQ, he looked up at the magnificent starlit sky. He marveled at how nice it was, and how sad that easterners couldn't see such a sight.

Chapter 2

Right at 0730 hours, Bill parked his car in the lot outside the tall chain-link fence, opposite the big wooden hangar. Off to his right sat two structures with a sign declaring the ‘USAF Test Pilot School’. A small guard shack, by the pedestrian gate, was manned by a civilian in a dark gray police-type uniform. Bill was surprised not to see military guards.

"I’m Major Wilcox," Bill announced. "The satellite recovery test people are expecting me." Bill handed the guard his identification card and assignment orders.

"Just a minute, Major. I’ll call the office to get you an escort. Until you get your flight line badge, you’ll need an escort, sir." The guard turned and picked up the telephone. He chatted briefly and returned to Bill, saying, "Escort’s on the way. It’ll be just a minute."

Bill looked over the ramp area on either side of the hangar. Four C-130’s and a T-39 were parked on the east side. Three T-38 jet trainers sat on the west side, closer to the Test Pilot School. The most interesting airplane was a Korean War vintage B-26, though it didn’t look that old. The craft was shiny, black and bristling with antennas.

Soon a tall, lanky fellow in a flying suit jogged across the concrete ramp toward the gate. He spoke with the guard briefly and then signed papers on a clipboard. He turned to Bill, greeting "Good morning, Major Wilcox. I’m Lieutenant Heflin. Welcome to SORTG (pronounced sor-tig). Follow me and I’ll take you to Colonel Browning’s office, sir."

As they walked toward the big WW2 vintage hangar, Bill asked his escort, "What is a SORTG, Lieutenant? That’s a new one to me."

"Oh, that’s what they unofficially call us here, sir. The Air Force Satellite Operational Recovery Test Group is too much of a mouthful. They simply call us by our mailing address symbol, SORTG, ....among other things. Simply SORTG is a whole lot easier."

The two entered the cavernous Quonset-type hangar. Two modified C-130 Hercules transports were being worked on by several mechanics. Bill had seen and actually flown in C-130’s before, but these two birds were clearly different. Atop the fuselage, just forward of the wing, sat a huge white teardrop-shaped bubble, a kind of radome appendage. And protruding aft of the lowered rear cargo ramp he saw a yellow tubing structure, looking somewhat like a giraffe’s neck. It appeared to have an open mouth, from which dangled a length of steel cable.

Lieutenant Heflin paused to explain, "That yellow frame, on the cargo ramp, is what we call the ‘dolly’, Major. It guides the cable connected to a motorized winch at the forward end of the cargo bay. You’ll get to know the dolly soon."

Up two flights of rattling metal stairs they climbed, to a mezzanine office complex on the outer wall of the huge hangar. A colorful logo on the door, featuring an eagle with talons holding a parachute, declared that this was SORTG. Heflin held the door open and motioned Bill to enter.

Outside Colonel Ted Browning’s office sat Grace, at a big L-shaped desk covered with file folders, papers and three telephones. She faced an IBM electric, typing away as Bill approached. "Good morning, Major. You made it I see." Bill briefly exchanged pleasantries with Grace and was soon guided by Heflin into Colonel Browning’s office.

"Good morning, Major," welcomed Colonel Browning. "Please come in."

Bill saluted and took a seat in front of the colonel's desk. His eyes scanned the office, its walls covered with awards, photographs and even some pieces of heavy rope and cable. What looked like foot-long bronze hooks rested atop a bookshelf to one side of the room.

"Yes, Major ... what you see here are examples of the equipment used in our special kind of flying. SORTG is a test engineering outfit supporting the two field units that do the aerial recovery of satellites dropped out of orbit.

When the payloads get down into the atmosphere, chutes are automatically deployed and that's when our boys go into action. They home in on the signals transmitted by the descending payloads and grab 'em before they hit the water."

"Looks like I've got a lot of homework ahead of me, Colonel. I've never seen this kind of flying. Just exactly what is it you want me to do?" Bill responded, an amazed look clearly evident on his face.

"Well, you haven't heard much about this operation, Major, because it's highly classified and sensitive. It's known as a 'Black' program in the intelligence community. Those satellites that we catch are loaded with military intelligence data. Some payloads include photography taken over the Soviet Union and China. Others contain recordings of electromagnetic data, such as radio and radar transmissions, telemetry and even nuclear testing data samples. These satellites contain information essential to our nation's security, so recovering the payload packages it vitally important."

"I understand that, sir. But where do I fit in?"

"Your engineering training and flight experience is needed to help us test and evaluate the many pieces of hardware, which make it possible for us to retrieve those satellites. That includes the aircraft equipment, instrumentation, communications gear, and the unique recovery hardware making our C-130's special.

Ours are JC-130's, not your everyday Hercules transports. We need someone like you to be our engineering expert, our liaison with various contractors, and the operations and maintenance people out in the field," the colonel explained. "We need a versatile engineer and you’re it."

"That's a tall order, Colonel. Nothing in my flying background even comes close to what you people do. And as for my engineering experience, well this kind of equipment is all new to me." Bill felt a bit overwhelmed by what he'd stepped into.

Bill referred to his flight experience as a navigator, radar bombardier and electronic warfare officer in Strategic Air Command bombers. He'd crewed aboard a variety of airplanes, including fighters and several transports, but never in anything that attempted to catch satellites. His training was primarily aeronautical engineering, with instrumentation as a minor. Past dealings with contractors in the Pentagon was mainly administrative and not technical. This was going to be a real challenge and he had a lot of learning to do. Yet, he was eager to do some real, practical engineering work.

"Lieutenant Heflin, here, is your assistant, plus you have two enlisted technicians. Max is a whiz in electronics and your two technicians are experts in instruments and parachute systems. They'll bring you up to speed in a hurry. And our recovery crewmen, the loadmasters headed up by Master Sergeant Marvin, will help you learn the recovery hardware systems," the colonel continued.

"Max will show you your office and introduce you to your troops. We'll chat more later. I want you to meet the pilots and other crewmen who make all of this happen. But, now I have to run for a meeting over at the Flight Test Center headquarters."

Colonel Browning rose, reached across his desk and shook Bill's hand. Bill saluted, turned and followed Heflin out of the office. Grace smiled when Bill left the colonel's office. "Are you settled in at the VOQ, Major?"

"Yes, thank you. I guess that'll be home for a while, at least until I can get Helen to come out here and we get base housing."

"Stop by my desk later," Grace suggested, "and we'll get the paperwork started for your flight line badge and in-processing onto the base. That'll take about half of the day. Why don't you come by here at noon, or thereabouts? Okay?"

"Sure, noon is fine. See you then."

On the way down the narrow hall to the engineering section, Heflin explained that SORTG's headquarters was down in Los Angeles. This was a tenant organization, not one of the usual test units. All Edwards really provided was a place to work and limited shop support. SORTG funding came from Los Angeles and they had to reimburse Edwards for everything. "But, not to worry, sir ... our Sergeant Davis is a scrounger without peer. He's been here at Edwards for years and knows how to find anything. I mean anything."

Heflin opened the door to the engineering section, a cluster of four small offices, two laboratory rooms, a stock room and an empty room intended to become a secure screen room for testing telemetry gear. In one office sat Technical Sergeant Carl Davis, a fellow in his early 30’s with thinning sandy hair, coke-bottle thick glasses and a ready smile.

Heflin made the introductions and explained that Davis would brief the major later on the specifics of their test programs. Sergeant Campbell was down in the hangar and would be up later. Then Heflin took Bill to would be his own small office. This was a far cry from the one back in the Pentagon, though at least it had a window. In the basement of the Pentagon all Bill could see was concrete walls.

"Sit down a minute, Lieutenant, please," Bill requested. "Look, this is a very small outfit and I suspect it's pretty informal. How formal and military is it, really?"

"Not very, sir. Most of the officers call each other by their first names, except with the colonel, of course. With the enlisted troops, we tend to keep the relationship more formal, though that's not always true. You'll probably wind up calling Campbell, Kirk, and Davis is just Carl, unless you feel the need to pressure him. Sometimes Carl gets a little out of hand and needs reminding that he isn't running this outfit. Even the colonel has his hands full with Carl at times. I suspect he'll discuss that with you. And everybody calls me Max, if that's okay with you, sir?"

"Okay, Max. Most folks call me Bill, and within our section that's fine with me, though outside engineering let's keep it more like what others do, as circumstances dictate."

"Gotcha, Bill ... will do. So, is there anything special you need or want to get settled in your office now? Coffee’s down the hall in the loadmasters’ section. It’s a nickle a cup, on the honor system."

"No, not that I think of, but I guess I still need an escort until I get that badge, so don't stray too far away in case I need hand-carrying for security reasons."

"No problem, sir ... my office is next door. And, oh yes ... if you need to make any calls, use line four. It's your private line with an outside connection. Just dial eight for the tone. There's a note beside the phone telling you how to call other folks. On-base it’s just four digits."

Max disappeared, leaving Bill alone in his new office. The GI metal furniture was sturdy, but hardly attractive. Off to one side sat a bookshelf loaded with manuals, technical papers and aircraft data, overflowing the place. A variety of charts, drawings and photographs adorned the walls, plus Bill found more of those bronze hooks in a corner. He reached over and lifted one up. It was a sturdy device, about a foot long and heavier than he expected. "So these are the hooks that grab onto those parachutes," he mused. "Boy, that must be something to see."

For most of the morning Bill scanned through the manuals and technical documents on and around his desk, not reading in detail but just for the flavor of it all. His predecessor, a Major Gregory, was thorough. He kept meticulous records and notes of projects, and for that Bill was appreciative. He determined to be at least as professional about it.

Just before noon, Grace appeared at Bill's office door. "I've got some papers for you to sign, Major," she said, spreading out a neat stack of forms before him. Bill looked at the papers, but his eyes were irresistably drawn toward that attractive woman.

"Please, Grace ... call me Bill, unless that makes you uncomfortable."

"Let's keep it more formal in the office, sir. But outside, Bill it is. Okay?" she said smiling. "Why don't we go to lunch together and afterwards I can take you by the base security office to get you that badge?" And then she smiled at him and added, "Bill."

Bill and Grace walked out to the parking lot together. "I’ll drive," she said. In the bright desert sun, he marveled how truly attractive she was, a slender blonde, casually elegant in a way. Her wind blown hair, smartly cut, suited her business-like manner. He felt that surely such an attractive woman must be married or at least spoken for.

They headed for the Officers’ Club and the cafeteria lunch bar. Dozens of people greeted Grace warmly, mostly men of course, but also other women. Carrying their trays to a corner table, they sat alone.

"So, Bill? What do you think of SORTG and your new job," she began?

"It’s totally foreign to me, Grace. I think I’ll get to like it just fine, but I’ve got a lot of reading to do." Later, as they finished lunch, Bill asked, "Tell me, how did such a bright and attractive woman like you wind up out here in the middle of the Mojave desert?"

"Well it’s kinda by accident. I was married to a rancher, who left me and just walked away from the place. Now I’m stuck with a house, two barns and eight horses who have to eat. Getting a job here at Edwards was my salvation. It pays well and it’s close to the ranch. My place is just ten miles south of here."

"Well, that’s a surprise. A lady rancher. You ride, I suppose?"

"You bet. My horses are a real joy to me. Riding out in the desert just at sunrise is a pleasure beyond belief. Some day you’ll have to come over and ride with me."

"Ha .. that’d be a sight. I’ve never even been on a horse. I never did get your last name, Grace."

"Elsworth, Bill ... Grace Elsworth. I went back to my maiden name after Jack left me."

"It must be a real hardship on you, taking care of the ranch all by yourself. How do you do it, as well as work here at Edwards?"

"Oh, I have help. My hired hand, Jose, is a wonder. He’s the one who really keeps it going, as long as I can pay the bills. He and his family live in a house on the property."

"Well, what’s it like out here in the summer? Now in February it’s nice, windy but nice."

"Summers are hot ... just plain hot. But, it’s so dry here that in the evening, after the sun goes down, it cools off quickly. It’s nice, but I need a sweater on the patio after dark, and sleep under a blanket even in the middle of July," Grace explained. "For me this is an ideal climate, except for two things."

"What’s that?" Bill inquired.

"Firstly, the dryness is hard on a girl’s complexion," she said stroking her smooth, unblemished cheek. "And secondly, the Spring winds blow like crazy. We get some sandstorms here that you wouldn’t believe, for about four weeks in March and April."

"Well, I don’t know about the sandstorms, Grace, but it sure hasn’t hurt your complexion yet. No, not one bit."

"Thank you, sir. All it takes is buckets of lotion. Are you ready to go get your picture badge?"

They walked out to the car and paused to watch two F-15’s fly low past the control tower. Then the two aircraft banked hard left and zoomed to gain altitude before commencing a closed pattern landing approach. "That’s gotta be Ed and Jim," she laughed. "What a pair."

The next three hours were taken up with Bill’s in-processing activities. He had to get that security badge, base stickers for his car, and finally take his personnel and payroll papers to military personnel. It was after 4:00 P.M. before they got back to the office.

"Thanks for your help, Grace. And I really enjoyed our lunch together," Bill said as they parted in the corridor, heading to their offices.

Chapter 3

The next three weeks were hectic for Bill. He hadn’t done so much reading since college, but getting up to speed on the satellite recovery systems, the peculiarities of JC-130 airplanes and the many facets of flight testing, kept him hopping.

His life became a simple cycle of arising at 6:00 A.M., getting to work by 7:30, working until 5:30 each afternoon and falling into bed at 9:30 each night, dead tired. Only on weekends did he catch his breath. Occasional telephone calls to Helen kept him up to date on her life, but she gradually seemed ever more distant, and not at all interested in how his work and life in California was going. Helen’s mention of clothes she kept buying, for various social occasions, worried Bill. How could she do that?

Except for work, he didn’t see Grace. Lunches not skipped were simply take-out from the bowling alley snack bar. If it wasn’t for the great fascination with his work, Bill might have felt this style of living was the absolute pits, but he loved being out here. It was great being able to use his engineering skills especially in such a unique environment.

* * *

One Saturday morning, around 7:00 o’clock, Grace called him at the VOQ. "Bill, can you come over right away?" She sounded really upset and anxious. "I’m trapped here in the house and need your help."

"What’s the problem, Grace?"

"Tumbleweed ... tumbleweed everywhere. That’s the problem. My house is buried under the stuff. I can’t even get the doors open. Jose is away for a few days and I’m alone here, stuck in the house and can’t get out. Can you help me, please?"

For the past week the winds howled, steadily day and night at 30 knots or more from the west. Roads to and from Palmdale and Lancaster, the only real communities some 30 miles away, were obscured by blowing sands, clouds of tumbleweed, and all sorts of debris.

"Sure. I’ll be there in 20 minutes."

"Well, bring your heavy gloves, because you’ll have to clear away a lot of the stuff just to get to the door. Try the north side first, I don’t think it’s as thick there. I’ll make breakfast. Okay?"

Bill got dressed, put on a denim jacket and grabbed his leather gloves. He couldn’t believe that Grace’s whole house was really buried under tumbleweed, but then he remembered hearing Sergeant Campbell say that the road to Palmdale was down to one lane in places, with tumbleweed piled up against the fences. Campbell reported a wall of the dried tumbleweed 15 feet high and half a mile long, in between Avenues E and F along 90th Street. Even the remotest desert roads were numbered and lettered in that part of Los Angeles County, paved or not.

Bill drove out the south gate of the base and turned west on Avenue F toward Grace’s ranch. Huge piles of tumbleweed, blackened and dried in the desert sun, lined the roadway. Every fence and ridge row was covered with the stuff. And then he pulled off the road onto the driveway to Grace’s house. The scene was unreal. Her house was indeed blocked on all sides by the high wall of dried weeds, piled up by the winds. The corral, the barns and every place was swamped by the stuff.

Stopping his car some 50 yards from the house, Bill tooted the horn to let Grace know he’d arrived. He heard the squeaking slide of a window opening, and then a muffled shout from the buried house.

"Bill? Is that you?"

"Yes, Grace. It’s me. Are you all right?"

"Yes," she replied. "I’m okay, but I can’t get out and I’m worried about the horses."

"Okay. Hold on. I’ll go around to the north side and see if I can clear a path to the door. It’ll take me a while."

"Thanks, Bill. I really appreciate you coming down here. The coffee’s making. Do you like ham and cheese omelets?"

Bill smiled and headed around to the north side. Along that wall, all the way up to the eaves of the one-story ranch house, he saw in amazement a solid wall of tumbleweed some 20 feet wide. He slipped on his leather gloves and started pulling away the thorny dry weed. He had to guess where the door might be. Soon he heard another window open, this one on the north side. Grace shouted at him. "Is the north side better?"

"I guess so, but where is the door?"

"It’s about in the center, Bill. There’s a screen door and then the wooden one. Can you see it?"

"Not yet. I’m still 20 feet from the wall. Boy, when you people have a windstorm out here, you do it in a big way. I’ve never seen anything like this."

"Bill? Can you tell if my horses are in the corral? Or maybe under the loafing shed?"

"No. The corral is full of this mess and I can’t see the shed. You want me to go take a look?"

"Yes, please. I have to know if they’re all right. Can you do that now? Please."

"Sure. Hang on and I’ll go check. Have you got a pitchfork or anything like that?"

"Yes, there’s one in the shed. Jose uses it to break up hay bales for the horses."

Bill left the house and walked around to the corral on the south yard. He climbed up onto the rail fence for a better look. There on the opposite side, he saw the tin-roofed loafing shed and several horses trapped in a small opening. They appeared to be all right. The only path he could see was on the north side of the shed. He tromped over and tunneled his way to the opening. The horses got a little excited, once they got the smell of this stranger. But, they didn’t panic or try to bolt, as Bill emerged out of the piled weeds and into the shed.

He counted eight horses, all apparently safe within the shed, but they couldn’t reach the water trough over toward the corral fence. Bill found the pitch fork and began clearing a path to the water. As soon as the horses saw what he had done, they ambled in that direction, clearly grateful for access to water. Bill returned to the house, carrying the pitchfork.

"Hey, Grace," he called. "There are eight horses over by the loafing shed. They seem all right, but were mighty glad to have me clear a path to the water trough. Hang on. I’m headed for your door."

"Thank you, Bill. I feel much better now. I was worried sick about my babies. Thank you," she shouted from the opened, but still obscured window.

It took Bill 20 minutes to clear a pathway to the door. At least Grace could come out now. And soon she appeared, a smiling and obviously happy girl. In fact, she came out to him, put her arms around his neck and planted a big kiss smack onto his cheek. "Thank, you, Bill. Thank you so much. She then ran around to the corral, climbed up to see for herself that the horses were okay, called to them, and then headed back to the house.

"Are you hungry? Breakfast is almost ready."

Bill ravenously ate the freshly made omelet, spiced with green chili peppers and served with hot muffins and coffee. He was surprised how spicy those chili slices were. "You got any water?" he finally implored, his eyes beginning to water from the effects of the chili. Grace laughed at her friend’s first encounter with Mexican chili.

"C’mon, Bill. Let’s go check on the horses? I’ll just leave the dishes."

Out through the narrow pathway from the north side door they emerged. Grace stood back away from the house, dismayed at the sight of her place buried that way. As they headed for the corral fence, Bill asked, "Does this kind of thing happen often?"

"No. Not often. Maybe every five years or so, depending on the winds. Not like back east, is it?"

Bill shook his head as he looked around. "I guess this is what Helen was talking about when she refused to come out here with me. I don’t think I’ll tell her about this at all."

The two spent an hour or more clearing tumbleweed from the area around the corral and loafing shed. Then Grace gave the horses more feed and checked to be sure they had water. Several of the horses nuzzled her lovingly, following her every step.

"Where’s my car?" Grace implored. I parked it on the south side of the house by the back door. Help me find it, Bill?"

Grace, with the pitchfork, and Bill with his gloved hands worked for another hour to dig out the car and clear a path to the back door. Eventually, they headed for the kitchen and something to drink, and to catch their breath. Both were pooped.

"Haven’t seen much of you these past weeks," Grace remarked.

"Yeah, I know. I’ve been swamped trying to come up to speed and learn how all the equipment works. Max and Sergeant Marvin have been a big help, though. This whole business is so new to me."

Grace cleared off the breakfast dishes and took them to the sink. Then she grabbed an apron and tied it around Bill’s waist, caressingly rubbing him as she did so. "Here," she said. "You wash and I’ll dry."

They did the dishes together, engaging in small talk. "You want any more of this coffee?" she asked, handing him the pot. Bill shook his head and poured out the remaining brew, before washing the pot and handing it to her to dry. Her laughing eyes and coy manner clearly entranced him.

"I really appreciate you coming to my rescue, Bill. This kind of tumbleweed pile-up hasn’t happened to me but once before that I remember, and then it wasn’t this bad. So, you don’t think your Helen would like this?" she asked smilingly. Bill just shook his head.

"I really enjoyed that home cooked breakfast. Club meals are wearing kinda thin after these weeks of the same thing."

It was now early afternoon. They alternated clearing more of the tumbleweed away from the house and resting at the kitchen table. Both were pretty tired from all that physical labor.

"How about we go out to supper?" Grace suggested. "There’s a neat restaurant not far from here in Apple Valley. Great steaks. How does that sound?"

"That sounds nice, but I really have to clean up and change my clothes before going out to eat."

"You don’t have to dress up around here. Folks dressed the way you are now are considered formal in these parts. Here, you take those things off and I’ll toss ‘em in the washer. They’ll be cleaned and dry before we have to leave. And you can shower too, if you like."

Bill felt very comfortable here. Grace was friendly, without being pushy and treated him like he was a family member. Though he felt a little uneasy, thinking what Helen might say, he decided that it sure beat hanging around his VOQ room. "Yeah, sure. Why not?" he a said, removing his shirt.

Grace came back into the kitchen and tossed him a bathrobe. "Jack left in such a hurry, he forgot this. Looks about your size. Try it on."

That evening they drove down to the Apple Valley Hacienda for a delicious dinner. Then they ambled around the grounds, enjoying the magnificent starlit sky. The chill of the evening made Grace snuggle up to him for warmth and protection from the breeze. To Bill it felt good and so natural. There with Grace close to him, he couldn’t help but wonder why Helen didn’t appreciate this kind of night sky and the peaceful quiet of a desert under the stars.

Back at the ranch house, returning a little after 9:00 o’clock, Grace suggested that Bill spend the night. She didn’t make any moves toward him, enticingly or suggestively. It sounded more like a friendly invitation than a romantic overture.

Bill thought long and hard about the idea, but decided that discretion might be the better part of valor, and responded, "Thanks anyway, Grace. I’d better head back to the VOQ. I would like you to come with me for a drive tomorrow, though. Can you show me around the area? You know, I’ve been here three weeks and haven’t even left the base yet, except to come here to remove tumbleweed."

"Good idea. Pick me up around noon and we’ll drive up to Tehachapi. There’s something you really have to see up there. It’s the one place where you can see a train curve around and cross over itself, the Tehachapi Loop. We can grab something to eat there or in Mojave, if you like."

"Noon it is. It’s been a most interesting day. Rescuing a beautiful damsel from tumbleweed is clearly a first for me."

As Bill headed for the door, Grace followed. Then just as he turned to leave, she grabbed him once more around the neck and kissed him, sweetly at first and then with obvious passion. Oh, how he was tempted to stay.

Returning to the VOQ, Bill was greeted by the desk clerk who passed him two notes. One said that his wife called. The other, from a collection agency simply said, "Apy off your account in three days or we contact your commanding officer."

"Did you take these calls, airman?" Bill asked the desk clerk.

"Yes sir. The one from your wife came at about four his afternoon. The other was just an hour ago."

"Did the second caller identify himself?"

"No, sir, other than to say he was from some Washington D.C. credit bureau. He said he’d call again."

Bill walked up the stairs, clearly puzzled by both calls. He wondered why Helen wanted him, but realized that it was now two A.M. back east. He’d return her call in the morning. And the credit bureau call worried him. His finances were in a sad state and he didn’t know how to fix things, especially with Helen not willing to cooperate.

His call to Helen on Sunday morning went horribly. All she wanted was for him to do something about her credit cards. Merchants wouldn’t take them anymore because they were already at the limit and bills were in arrears. She gave Bill holy hell about the situation and demanded that he put money into her personal checking account. It was now at zero balance. No matter how hard Bill tried to explain to Helen that there simply wasn’t any more money, she refused to accept it. "Well, I’ll just have to ask Daddy then, if you won’t help."

"Look, Helen. We’re living way beyond our means. It’s got to stop. Pretty soon they’ll take court action against us. We could lose the house, your car and every thing else. Don’t you understand that you have to cut back? Come on out here, please. We’ll manage. Base housing is nice and a helluva lot cheaper than our house payments back there. You’ll get to like it here."

"Are you kidding?" she responded. "I saw the television news about the wind, blowing dust and the mess you’ve got out there. No way."

Chapter 4

"Well, Bill? Are you ready to see how this is done in the air?" inquired Colonel Browning.

"You bet, sir. And besides, I need my flying hours for this month ... and last. I was getting worried about my flight pay."

"We wouldn’t want that. Flight pay is an important part of the budget, eh?"

Bill nodded headed toward the airplane parked just outside the hangar. He mused to himself that the colonel didn’t know the half of it. He was in hock to that flight pay and every other dime he could find.

The JC-130, call sign Grabber 22, was ready to go, and a sister ship was already airborne. Today’s mission included Major Nichol’s airplane, ahead, serving as drop ship and Colonel Browning’s making the first recovery. Nichols would climb to 30,000 feet over the desert south of Edwards AFB and drop a parachute with its simulated 200-pound payload. They would start making passes by the descending parachute at 18,000 feet and attempt to snare and recover it before getting below 2500 feet. Then the two airplanes would reverse roles, with Nichols attempting to catch a package dropped by Browning’s crew.

"You sit in the navigator’s seat until we get ready for the snatch," Browning said. Then you can go aft to the cargo deck and watch the action from there. Okay?"

Bill replied that would be fine and eased into the navigator’s seat on the right side of the flight deck, right behind the copilot, Captain Gerald. There were four people on the flight deck, Browning in the left seat, Gerald, Bill and Max Heflin on the jump seat between the pilots. Back in the cargo area sat Sergeant Marvin and three loadmasters. Marvin was giving a check ride to two of them. This was SORTG’s senior crew.

The turboprop Hercules eased out onto the runway. When the control tower cleared Grabber 22 for takeoff, Browning pushed the four throttles forward and they accelerated down that long 15000 foot concrete strip, heading east into the morning sun. They were airborne before traveling half that distance and turned south in a climbing spiral to 18000 feet.

Browning called Grabber 25 to confirm that they were now airborne. Grabber 25 acknowledged and reported approaching 30000 feet and preparing for the drop.

"Okay, Bill. Time to turn on the radio direction finder. Tune it to the payload’s frequency and be ready to give the pilot a heading to steer for the recovery," Max instructed. The techniques they had gone over together back in the office, but this was for real. It was Bill’s chance to actually do it in flight.

Soon Nichols announced over the radio that Grabber 25 had range clearance to make the drop and would be releasing the package in two minutes. Browning acknowledged and passed the word on to his crew.

In the aft cargo area, Sergeant Marvin and his boys were getting ready. The upper and lower cargo doors were opened. They then positioned the two long booms holding and spreading the array of grappling hooks. A length of nylon rope held eight hooks in a loop connected between the two booms lowered aft and angled slightly outboard of the lower cargo door. The loop was attached to another rope threaded through the dolly and eventually to the motorized winch at the forward end of the cargo bay.

It was noisy, windy and dangerous back there. Each man standing near the opened doors wore a safety line limiting his movement aft, else he might be swept out. All wore helmets with headphones, connected to overhead interphone boxes. Sergeant Marvin called out instructions from his station next to the winch. He reported to Colonel Browning that the crew was ready to start the recovery process.

Up on the flight deck, Bill heard the distinctive sound of the radio beacon from the descending payload. A strobe on the direction finder screen pointed to the source of the signals. Bill gave the pilot a heading to fly to intercept the parachute, though his instruments gave no indication of range. On an actual recovery out over the Pacific, two or more airplanes would compare bearings and determine parachute position by triangulation, but today it was strictly a single bearing solution. And, of course, they all knew that the drop zone was within the Edwards control area.

All eyes in the cockpit stared out in the direction which Bill announced held the bearing to the payload. In a few seconds, Gerald blurted, "I got it. Off at two o’clock, high. The chute looks good and the payload isn’t snarled in the risers. Looks like a good one."

"Good job, Bill," the colonel declared. It’s right where you said. You’re getting the hang of it."

Browning held Grabber 22 well away from the descending parachute, at least until it got down to their altitude. They stayed about a mile away, circling the orange and white half-orb coming down at just under 2000 feet per minute.

As the parachute approached their altitude, Browning set the flaps to about 10 percent and started his first pass at and over the target. He alerted the boys in the back that they would make two or three passes before attempting a grab. Sergeant Marvin acknowledged.

"Okay, here’s the plan. We’ll fly a descending cloverleaf pattern, passing over the parachute a few times just to see how the thing behaves. Some chutes descend straight down. Others twist, turn and dance around. No two are exactly alike. Once we know how the target behaves, we’ll make an attempt to grab it. I want to place the hooks trailing behind us into the canopy itself. It has reinforced gore seams and risers that our hooks can grab without tearing through. Here goes."

Skillfully, the practiced hands of Colonel Browning guided the aircraft toward the parachute, now descending at about the same rate as the falling target. Altitude now was 12000 feet. Bill noticed that the parachute seemed to twist a bit, the payload swaying back and forth in a pendulum fashion.

As they got to within 300 yards, that parachute suddenly appeared very large. It seemed to Bill that they would hit it, but actually it passed under them about 100 feet below. The colonel continued on the same heading for about ten seconds and turned left at a constant rate of bank, flying a teardrop pattern as he once again headed for the payload. Now the rate of descent of the airplane and the parachute were nearly the same, so that when they approached for a second pass their relative positions were just as before. That’s damn good flying, Bill thought to himself. Now they were at 8500 feet.

"Okay crew. One more fly-by and we’ll go in for the grab. Ready in the cargo area?"

Sergeant Marvin reported, "Ready, sir. That last pass looked fine from back here."

"Bill, after this next pass, you can go aft to see how it’s done back on the cargo deck. Stay out of the way, though. Position yourself to Marvin’s right. Got it?"

"Yes, sir. Got it."

Bill headed aft, down the ladder and onto the cargo deck. He was startled by the wind buffeting the whole area, the noise and the contrast in light. The bright sky aft made the cargo deck seem very dark, like walking into a movie theater while the show played. He took special care to position himself to Marvin’s right and out of the way. He plugged in his interphone cord to hear what the crew members were saying.

"Okay crew," came Browning’s warning. We’re grabbing on this pass. Stand by."

The next thing Bill heard was the shrill noise of rope whizzing through the dolly, and the screech of the winch spool rapidly turning. In just three or four seconds the rope stopped paying out and Marvin reported, "We got it, sir. It’s in steady trail behind us."

"Good show, guys. Leveling off at 4000. Room to spare."

Bill saw two loadmasters standing right on the cargo door ramp. Between them the rope stretched aft and below the airplane, staying remarkably stable in the trail position, as the hooks tightly gripped the collapsed parachute some 1500 feet behind them. The parachute and its payload changed from descending at 2000 feet per minute to horizontal motion at the speed of Grabber 22, about 180 knots.

Marvin called out a few short instructions to his crew, and the winch slowly began to wind up the rope just seconds earlier yanked away. The parachute fabric, now bunched together, soon came up and into the throat of the dolly. Marvin reminded his boys, "Careful now, that payload will thrash about as it approaches the lower ramp."

Soon the winch stopped. The payload was dragged onto the ramp and quickly the crew secured it. "Payload secure, pilot," reported Sergeant Marvin. "Moving the dolly forward."

When the dolly was about halfway between the winch and the cargo door, things seemed to stop. Marvin’s crew returned to their seats. The winch was shut off and it was done. In just a few minutes the crew completed the task, a dangerous, noisy and exciting one.

"Okay crew. Well done. Now everybody get back on oxygen. It’s our turn to climb to altitude and drop a package for Grabber 25. Better put your jackets on, it’ll be cold up there with the back door open."

Sergeant Marvin moved about the cargo area, checking to make sure that everybody was okay and connected to the oxygen system. He reported to the pilot that oxygen check was completed.

"You want to ride back here, Major? Or are you going back up on the flight deck," Marvin inquired.

"I’ll stay here, if you don’t mind. That catch was pretty impressive."

Marvin suggested to Bill that they switch to the private interphone channel reserved for conversation in the cargo bay. That way they wouldn’t bother the flight deck folks. Marvin explained that today the package was small and light, so nylon rope was all they needed for the catch. Many times, he said, payloads were much larger and heavier, as big as Volkswagon Beetles and weighing over 500 pounds. For those catches they used steel cable. That was much more dangerous, and you really feel it in the airplane when you grab a load that size.

"But the most dangerous thing my guys face is a hook tear-through. Sometimes, when the hooks grab onto a parachute, they stretch the rope like a rubber band. Nylon rope has a lot of elasticity. Well, if the hooks suddenly let go, at the wrong time, they can snap back and hit the airplane. It happens, and you don’t want to be in the wrong place or a hook could tear your leg off."

Bill acquired a new respect for those fellows in the cargo area. Theirs was indeed a dangerous job, requiring careful attention to detail and procedures, as well as teamwork and discipline.

It got really cold in the cargo area as Grabber 22 approached 30000 feet. Everybody was breathing oxygen from the aircraft’s central system, for with those doors open, they could not pressurize or heat the plane.

"You guys get the package ready for the drop," Colonel Browning instructed. "We have range clearance and will let her go in three minutes."

"Roger, sir. Package is on the cargo ramp and ready to go on your mark."

The package was a trashcan sized metal hemisphere, painted red and white. Attached to it was a canvas covered parachute. A cord tied to the chute pack, its static line, was connected to a ring on the cargo deck floor. Two loadmasters, both secured with safety lines, stood ready to shove the package aft and away.

"Ready, ready ... Go. Release the package," came the instructions from Browning. And in a flash the loadmasters pushed the payload and parachute package out.

"Package gone and clear, sir," Marvin reported. "Okay to close the doors now?"

Browning acknowledged the release and approved door closure. It got dark and much quieter with the doors closed. The wind buffet stopped and that alone made it feel warmer. Soon the cabin pressurized and the heated air filled the space.

"Come on up to the flight deck, Bill," the colonel invited. Now you can watch as Grabber 25 tries their luck. Bill returned to the navigator’s seat, only to find Max already seated there.

"Take the seat between the pilot’s sir," Max suggested. "You’ll get a better view." Bill nodded and smiled, climbing onto the swing-away seat between the two pilots. He plugged into the interphone system, just in time to hear Gerald declare that Grabber 25 was off to the left and below. It was getting ready to make it’s first pass.

Colonel Browning banked Grabber 22 in a turn, a pylon turn with radius of about one-half mile, above and around the descending parachute that Grabber 25 was to catch. He kept high, out of the way and not to distract the intent maneuvers of the other JC-130.

"Can you see that, Bill?" Browning asked, pointing to the parachute. "See how this one is bobbing and weaving as it descends?"

"Got it, sir. Why is it that these two parachutes, numbers 345 and 346 from the same production lot, behave so differently?"

"Those differences are due to almost undetectable manufacturing variations. The tightness of the threads during sewing, the trim of the gores from the fabric stock and a lot of little factors make a huge difference in the way parachutes behave. They are mostly hand-made. You can’t tell the two apart on visual inspection, say when you’re repacking the chutes. But, the tightness of the threads and stretch of the fabric explain part of the differences. Here at SORTG and out in Hawaii with the operational crews, those differences have been the subject of lots of discussion and investigation. Not much that can be done, except to learn to recognize and live with these characteristics. Sure make it interesting though," Browning concluded.

Bill watched as Grabber 25 flew just over the parachute on three passes. Then he observed the retrieval pass, when 25 grabbed the parachute with the loop of hooks. In just three seconds the rope paid out, about 1500 feet of it, before the collapsed canopy hung in trail aft and below the airplane. Seeing the operation from above, and on all sides as the pylon turn continued, Bill gained an appreciation for the precision flying necessary. These JC-130 pilots were a unique breed, unlike any others in the Air Force. Satellite recovery flying was special.

Chapter 5

A big Lincoln sedan awaited Grace, when she returned home from work one Thursday. Two men sat within, one behind the wheel and another in the back seat.

Grace pulled into her driveway and drove past the waiting sedan to toward her usual place near the back door of the ranch house. The chauffeur emerged immediately and walked over to her.

"Miss Grace, good evening. Mr. Li Han wishes to speak with you. Please join him in the car."

Grace trembled and her face turned white, for she knew the man known as Li Han. She had no choice but to comply. She knew Li Han only too well, as benefactor and master.

"Please, be seated Miss Grace," the polite oriental man in the back seat invited, as the driver held the door open. "You are looking beautiful, as ever, my dear. It has been too long since our last meeting. I felt it was time to renew our acquaintance."

Tentatively, Grace leaned into the car and Li Han motioned for her to get in and be seated. He casually inquired how the ranch was doing and what was the health of her horses. "Quarter horses are indeed beautiful animals, aren’t they. They require great care and are expensive to maintain to keep them in peak condition. Yours are receiving the best of care, I can see," he declared, looking over toward the corral.

The door of the sedan closed, but the driver remained outside, leaning against the left headlight, lighting a cigarette. Darkness approached, but in the twilight was still bright enough to see.

Li Han was a slight, frail looking man in his 60’s. His thinning white hair was brushed straight back. Rimless eyeglasses made him look scholarly. He was dressed impeccably in an expensive gray business suit, black wingtip shoes polished like patent leather. A white silk scarf draped around his neck added a touch of elegance. He displayed no jewelry or signs of being ostentatious. Though he spoke softly, his words were always indelibly etched in Grace’s mind.

She knew only too well where the money came from allowing her to keep those horses. In fact, it was Li Han who supplied the cash to enable her to survive after Jack left. Her life was a mess, her finances in ruin and she was desperate back then. Li Han and his organization, whatever it was, took special interest in her, liquidated her debts and even paid for the divorce lawyer. She wound up owning the ranch, her horses and freedom from the onerous debts, which Jack left her so egregiously holding. But the price of Li Han’s largesse was high.

In exchange, Grace agreed to provide information on people and activities at Edwards AFB. None of it was classified. From time to time Li Han gave her specific instructions, as in Bill Wilcox’s case, to befriend the major and attract his interest and learn his weaknesses and desires. She supplied Li Han the details of Bill’s transfer, his Pentagon telephone number and that of his home and VOQ room.

Grace sat, as far away from Li Han as she could in the back seat. He turned, looked directly at her and cautioned, "I hope you are not becoming too fond of Major Wilcox, Miss Grace. Don’t forget that it is your duty to gain his confidence, nothing more. He will be very useful to us in the near future, much as you have been of late."

"We appreciate that you have kept us aware of the major’s movements and progress. One day I will meet him directly, but the time is not yet propitious. He will be coming to you for help soon, and we know we can count on you to offer the suggestion that I might be of assistance. His life is quite complicated now, but I am sure we can be of help. We have watched his career and know of his current difficulties. I am sure that if we help him, he will be responsive and duly appreciative. You understand that, don’t you?"

Grace paused, her eyes captured by the penetrating stare of Li Han. "Yes, I do, but you must understand that I like Major Wilcox, as a friend. We have not become romantically involved, though I can’t say we won’t. He is a genuinely decent man."

"I am sure that he is, but you must not forget that he is but one of many fine men that my organization has identified as potentially useful and valuable. We have known about Major Wilcox since his duty in Vietnam. Our agents in Saigon recognized his potential value and identified him for special attention. He is nearly ready to be of great service to us, and you must be prepared to assist."

Li Han tapped on the window and the driver quickly came around to open the door for Grace. As she emerged, Li Han remarked, "Yes, indeed. You have beautiful horses. I would hate to see anything happen to them. Wouldn’t you?"

Grace recognized the not-so-veiled threat in the soft spoken words. Li Han was not a man to be crossed, and she knew it.

Grace knew nothing of Li Han’s vast organization or the power he wielded over many men in America’s armed services. She was unaware that Bill Wilcox was a member of what Li Han called his ‘200 Club’. So too was Bill unaware, though that would change.

In the late 1960’s, when Bill was stationed at 7th Air Force headquarters in Saigon, he was befriended by a strikingly beautiful Eurasian girl. He met her casually, innocently at a downtown bar, not far from where Bill and his colleagues shared a rental villa. Housing was very limited at Tan Son Nhut air base, so many officers and NCO’s lived in town.

Bill was not only taken by her beauty, but her obvious mastery of English and considerable knowledge of Vietnamese history. She became both a close friend and a tutor, for Bill was interested in the people and their country. It bothered him greatly that such a beautiful part of the world was torn asunder by the recent 25 years of war.

Bill knew her only as Sandy, a nickname to be sure, but it suited her friendly nature. In time, Bill came to see her almost daily and though tempted, he resisted her offer to move in with her.

Sandy got to know Bill very well, his background, education, interests and career hopes. This information she passed on to her own contacts in Li Han’s organization, an arm of Chinese national intelligence.

In the highly compartmentalized world of intelligence and espionage, very few knew the extent of the 200 Club’s reach. A decision by Li Han’s superiors in 1965 led to the identification of 200 US military and government people who might one day prove to be useful. Their candidacy for the ‘club’, unbeknownst to the individuals targeted, was related to their education, military assignments, or likely access to sensitive information. Each became the subject of close scrutiny. Their professional and personal lives were monitored by agents throughout the world, mostly on or near US military bases.

Bill Wilcox became an unwitting member of the ‘club’ by virtue of his engineering training, first-hand familiarity with various type of flight operations and accidental disclosure to Sandy that he was bound for the Pentagon on returning to the States. Li Han’s operatives and analysts decided that Bill would one day be in an important job, with access to special and secret information. That Bill’s wife was financially irresponsible only added to his potential vulnerability to compromise.

When Bill’s assignment to the satellite recovery test group at Edwards became known, the Chinese knew this was an opportunity to get information they badly wanted. They knew of the many spy satellites passing over the Soviet Union and China. They suspected what kinds of information those peering and listening devices might be gathering, but they didn’t know how well or poorly those systems performed. China desperately wanted to obtain design information on those orbiting threats to their military secrets. But more than that, they wanted to get their hands on a satellite itself. With vulnerable Bill now assigned to the engineering test unit, Li Han decided the time was nearing to initiate the newest member of the 200 Club.

Chapter 6

The Saturday following Li Han’s visit to Grace’s ranch, Bill checked his post office box to discover his own disconcerting news. There, in official looking envelopes, with return addresses from two different law firms, Bill discovered formal warning notices that his creditors were taking legal action against him. Each gave him but ten days to respond, stating how he planned to settle accounts.

Bill was furious, furious with the law firms and with his wife whose unbridled spending created the problem. There was no way he could settle the accounts, amounting together close to $35,000. Bill’s bank account barely held $500. He was living hand to mouth as it was. This was overwhelming.

Back in his VOQ room, Bill decided he had to see and talk with Grace, someone he knew would lend a sympathetic ear. It was only 9:30 in the morning, so he decided to ask her to join him for a short drive into Palmdale for breakfast.

"Good morning, Bill," a yawning Grace greeted, answering the call. "Yes, I’m awake. Breakfast? No, I’ve not even had my first cup of coffee. Sure. Come on over and I’ll be ready by the time you get here."

Turning into the driveway, Bill noticed right away how Jose had cleared away most traces of the tumbleweed. The place looked quite neat. Even the front patch of grass, not really a lawn, was beginning to turn green in the early Spring.

Before Bill pulled up behind Grace’s car in the drive close to the house, she appeared, waving and smiling. "My god, she looks great," he thought. "Even in the morning." He thought of how Helen took until noon before she even got dressed.

Grace pulled the back door closed, rattled the now-locked handle for reassurance, and headed for Bill’s car. "Ready," she declared. "Let’s go eat. I’m as hungry as a horse."

"You’ll have to tell me the best place in Palmdale for breakfast," Bill implored. "I don’t have any idea what’s good or not." The Ford backed out of the drive and onto the road leading south. Sun-blackened tumbleweed still clung to most fences along the way.

"Did you sleep well?" Bill inquired.

"No, not really. I’ve got a lot on my mind," Grace responded. "How about you?"

"Oh, I slept okay, but this morning’s mail was a shocker."

"How so? You mean that the magazine sweepstakes people didn’t tell you that you’d won ten million dollars?" Grace laughed.

"Don’t I wish. My mail was quite the opposite, I’m afraid. It included two dunning notices from lawyers back east. They gave me just ten days to explain how I would settle up overdue accounts. Helen is determined to spend me into abject poverty."

"Sorry to hear about that, Bill. How bad is it?"

"Would you believe 35 grand. My wife has max’d us out on all our credit cards, drained our savings and wants me to take a second mortgage on the house. I’m sinking .. fast."

"Well then, I guess I’d better buy breakfast," Grace suggested.

They chatted about many things over breakfast and several lingering cups of coffee. Bill was so happy to have someone to talk to who was not judgmental, critical or insistent that he do this or that. Grace was interested, attentive and appeared to be genuinely concerned. He just plain enjoyed being with her.

"Here give me that ticket. I was serious about buying your breakfast," Grace said, pulling the meal check out of his hand.

"Well, okay. But you’re making me feel like kept man. Hmmmmm, you know I might even go for that," he laughed.

"What did you mean, back there when we left the house, that you had a lot on your mind?" Bill inquired.

"Oh, nothing special. Just the usual."

"I don’t think so, my friend. Just the usual doesn’t keep people awake at night. Are you having problems? Anything I can help with?" Bill pressed.

"Someday I’ll explain, maybe. Don’t concern yourself. It’s private, okay?"

They took the long way back to Grace’s ranch, driving north through Lancaster and then to Mojave. It was a beautiful day and driving around seemed like a nice way to be together.

"Can I ask you a big favor, Grace?" Bill said, turning to her. That question startled her in a way, for she remembered Li Han’s words suggesting that Bill would come to her soon.

"Sure. What is it?"

"Can I stop by the VOQ and get my laundry? I was hoping you would let me use your washer and dryer," Bill said as they headed toward the north gate of the base.

Grace’s face relaxed, in obvious relief. She laughed and said, "Sure. Any time. We’ll do laundry together this afternoon. Boy, you sure know how to give a girl an exciting time. And after I bought breakfast too."

Grace waited in the car while Bill went into the VOQ to get his laundry bag. He carried a note in his hand, as he walked down the steps and headed toward her. His face was stern and he looked worried, maybe even a bit frightened.

He opened the car door, tossed the bag onto the back seat and slipped behind the wheel. He sat there, looking at the note for several seconds, before folding it and stuffing it into his shirt pocket.

"Problems, Bill? You look like someone just ran over your dog," Grace asked with concern.

"It’s a threatening note saying that they’ll get in touch with the Center Commander about my delinquent accounts. That could mean the end of my career, depending on how strict the general is."

"Let me see it, Bill," she said, holding out her hand. He reached into his pocket and passed it to her, finally closing the car door. They just sat there, while she unfolded and read the message.

For nearly 30 minutes they sat there in Bill’s car in the parking lot outside the VOQ. Several people came and went, a few looking at the couple embracing. It made Bill uneasy and a little embarrassed, sitting there in broad daylight like a couple teenage star-struck lovers who couldn’t bear to be apart. He was also concerned that people knowing he was married would wonder what was going on.

Soon, Grace said, "Let’s go. Bill. Time to do your laundry." They headed south and soon returned to Grace’s house. All the way she said very little, not silent in a distant way, but worried and anxious.

In just a few minutes the washing machine swished away, loaded with Bill’s laundry. ‘I don’t do ironing, you know," she joshed. Bill laughed and walked across the kitchen to where she stood near the sink.

"Come here, girl. I need a hug," he said, wrapping his arms around her.

"You must be really worried by those calls and notes. Sure, I’ll hug you any time." They stood there, secure in each other’s arms next to the kitchen sink. Neither spoke for several minutes. Then she raised her arms up around his neck and pulled him down where she could reach to kiss him, gently and reassuringly. It was not a sensuous kiss, intended to arouse him, but rather a loving kiss expressing her closeness and affection. Bill responded in kind, happier than he wanted to be, but helpless to do otherwise.

They spent the afternoon together, doing the laundry, feeding the horses and generally enjoying spending time together. Neither spoke again about the note or what it meant. Bill stayed for supper, one of Grace’s fast and easy meals.

"You want to spend the night?" she asked, gently patting his hand.

"That’s mighty tempting, Grace. But I’d better head back to the VOQ. I’ve got to try and figure out what to do and how I’m going to solve this problem.. Thanks for breakfast, the laundry service and just being there. You don’t know how good it is for me to be able to talk to you about my troubles."

She walked him to the door, kissed him gently on the cheek and watched him drive away. She felt awful about what was happening and how she knew that Li Han was out there, waiting and watching. She knew that Bill’s troubles were exactly what Li Han wanted.

That evening, despite the late hour back east, Bill called Helen. He told her of the letters from the two legal firms and implored her, yet again, to cut back on the spending. She reported that all of her credit cards had been cut off, two even confiscated by merchants.

"What are we going to do?" she pleaded, obviously crying.

"Some how and some way we can work our way out of this, Helen. But you have to stop buying things you don’t absolutely need. We don’t have any choice. I beg you, my dear. Reconsider and come out here. With the money we’d save by living in government quarters and just not going to the malls and expensive stores, we’ll be able to work our way back. It won’t be easy. I won’t kid you. But, if we keep spending like this we’ll lose everything. Do you know what happens if these creditors go cry to the Air Force."

Chapter 7

"Good Morning, Bill," greeted Lt. Heflin. "The Old Man wants to see us right away. Grace was just here and passed along the message."

"What's up?"

"I haven't any idea, but it might have something to do with that little project Sergeant Davis has been working on, the night capsule. The colonel was back in the lab talking with him this early morning."

Bill and Max headed for the colonel's office. "Morning, Major," Grace smiled as they passed by. "Go right on in. He's expecting you."

"You wanted to see me, sir?" Bill said saluting Colonel Browning.

"Yes, Bill. Have a seat you two."

"I stopped by to see how Sergeant Davis was coming on the experimental night capsule. Looks like he's made good progress. We might be ready for a test drop tonight. This thing has become a hot topic with our headquarters folks."

"Oh? How so, sir."

"Well, the National Intelligence Office in Washington and some other folks who send up those reconnaissance satellites are unhappy that they can't make parachute recoveries around the clock. They know how hard it is to try to locate and catch payloads in darkness, so they're pushing Los Angeles, and us in turn, to come up with a night capability. Your team's prototype might just be a solution."

"Yes, sir. But you have to understand that so far it's just a home made "Rube Goldberg" approach. Using two automobile headlights and a couple gel-type marine batteries is not refined engineering. Our crude system is much too heavy and takes up a lot of precious capsule space. All is was ever intended to do was test whether or not pilots could see and catch an illuminated parachute canopy. Nothing more."

"I agree, Bill, but this project has taken on a life of its own now. In fact, tonight we're going to drop the capsule and see how it looks. The folks from down below (Los Angeles, as desert residents refer to it) are sending up a representative to witness the test. Takeoff is scheduled for 8:30 tonight."

"I hope you're not going to make a recovery attempt, sir." Bill responded in a concerned voice. "This thing hasn't been tried yet to see if the aneroid switch turns on the lights. We've tried to set it to come on at 20000 feet, but who knows when it'll actually light up."

"No. No attempt to catch the chute will be made tonight. We'll simply climb up to 30000 feet, as usual, and toss it out. Then we'll stay clear of the area and see what happens. If the chute is visible enough, we'll make some fly-overs to see what it looks like. In the morning you'll have to go out in the desert and recover it."

"Do you want me to go along tonight?"

"Yes, I do. I want you there to explain to the Los Angeles representative how it's supposed to work and run the direction finder beacon to help us get bearing on it. You do have a beacon transmitter in it, don't you?"

"No, not right now, sir. But we can have it installed before take off, for sure. It's simply a matter of attaching the antenna and snapping the transmitter unit in. The batteries can power that too."

"Well, get with Sergeant Marvin to make sure we have a chute packed and have things ready to go at 8:00 tonight. Okay?"

"Yes, sir. Eight o'clock. We'll be ready."

"I sure would like to test the aneroid switch," Bill said to Max, as the two left the colonel's office. "I wonder if we could take the capsule over to the altitude chamber this afternoon, to see if it works when pressures equal 20000 feet on the way down from 30000?"

Max agreed that it might prevent embarrassment tonight, or at least give them a better idea of what altitude the switch really turned the lights on. "I'll call over the and see if they will help us out."

The lieutenant in charge of the altitude chamber was a friend of Max Heflin. He agreed to set the system up for a test at 3:00 P.M.. It would take an hour or so. So at that hour Bill, Max and Sergeant Davis appeared at the chamber, bearing the 150 pound capsule.

The capsule was placed in the huge eight man vacuum chamber. Air pumps lowered the pressure and soon the equivalent altimeter indicated 35000 feet.

"Okay, Max. We'll let some air in and gradually come down to 20000 feet," the lieutenant explained.

"All right," Sergeant Davis shouted with glee, when the headlights came on at 20100 feet. That's close enough. It works. Now let's turn off the master switch to save the batteries."

Quickly they returned to SORTG. "You guys get this to Sergeant Marvin so he can finish rigging the parachute to the capsule. Remember, we have to be ready at 8:00 P.M.," Bill reminded.

Colonel Browning briefed the crew on how the test flight would go. He invited Lieutenant Colonel Bradshaw, the visiting headquarters observer, to ride in the jump seat between the pilots. Bill would ride in the navigator's seat and operate the direction finding gear. A two-man crew in the aft cargo compartment was to be led by Sergeant Marvin, the normal four men wouldn't be needed for a simple drop and no recovery.

At 8:30 sharp, Colonel Browning pushed the throttles forward and the JC-130 roared down the runway. "We'll take her up to 30000," Browning reminded his guest.

"You ready back there in the cargo bay?"

"Roger sir. Capsule checked and ready. Awaiting your call. Doors are open."

"Don't forget to turn that master switch on," Bill reminded Marvin. "You can do it now, because we're above the aneroid setting."

At Browning's command, Marvin and his assistant shoved the capsule, with its parachute, off the cargo ramp door. "Capsule away," Marvin reported. "Closing the doors."

Browning guided the airplane straight ahead for 30 seconds and then began a level shallow-bank turn.

"Where is it, Bill? Have you got the radio beacon strobe?"

"Roger, sir. The capsule is off at your ten o'clock position now. Got a good beacon."

"Hey, there it is. I see the light." Bradshaw exclaimed. It's off to port, a little below us. It's beautiful." The alternating orange and white gores of the 35 foot diameter chute were clearly seen by all on the flight deck. "Kinda like a crescent moon," he suggested.

"We'll fly off about five miles and turn around," Browning decided. "I'll turn around then and we'll see if it looks bright enough for a recovery. I'll just make a high pass, some 200 feet above it."

They turned back at a little over five miles distance from the descending parachute. The target was readily visible, but Browning had a little difficulty judging its relative altitude. Was it above or below them?

Bill did some quick figuring. It had been eight minutes since the drop, so allowing for freefall before chute opening, he estimated the capsule was at about 10000 feet by now. "Colonel, the capsule ought to be about 2500 feet below our current altitude, based on a normal rate of descent."

The JC-130 approached the illuminated parachute, passing over it with easily 500 feet of clearance. "Looks good," Browning declared, But, it's hard to judge the chute's behavior against the night sky. It'd take a normal crew at least four passes to decide to make an actual grab. It's a helluva lot harder at night than in daylight."

"Yes, Colonel," Bradshaw admitted. But, I think I can tell the folks in L.A. that we ought to continue testing. What I've seen tonight is just great."

Browning agreed that it was encouraging and added, "Bill. You and your team deserve a big ‘Attaboy’ tonight. Good job."

"Marvin. It looks like the capsule and chute will be just south of the Haystack Hill. Your guys can retrieve it in the morning."

"Roger sir, south of the Haystack."

Two weeks passed, and during that time four more drops were made. Colonel Browning made only one of the flights, preferring to let other pilots give it a try.

"Colonel, sir," Sergeant Marvin asked. "Why don't we fly at least one of the night drops with two airplanes. I'd like my aft crew to practice setting up the recovery rigging under night time conditions, so that they know what to expect when we actually grab the night chute."

"Good idea. You assemble and brief your crew and tonight we'll use two birds. I'll fly the drop ship and Major Nichols can try his hand, but there will be no actual grab tonight."

But a week later, after the fourth drop test flight, Browning decided it was time for a grab attempt. He would take that flight and another crew could do the drop.

"Bill, I want you to fly with me tonight for the night grab attempt. Have everything ready for an 8:00 PM takeoff."

"Yes, sir. All we're waiting for now is the batteries to be recharged. We'll be ready."

Grabber 24 took off ahead of Browning in 22. The first aircraft would once again climb to 30000 feet for the drop. Browning and his crew would stand off at about 25 miles, prepared to be vectored in by the radio beacon and then acquire the parachute visually.

"Marvin, we'll make probably four passes before attempting our catch tonight. I want to get a good look at the chute's behavior before the grab. I'll let your aft crew know when we make the attempt."

Sergeant Marvin passed the word along to his crew. The winch, dolly and array of hooks were set and ready, before the first fly by at 20000 feet.

"Okay, Bill. Give me a bearing to the target. Is the beacon coming in?"

"Yes, sir. Loud and clear. Bearing is now 20 degrees to starboard. Good steady strobe."

Browning brought the aircraft around to position the chute directly out in front. The lights were on and he saw it clearly at ten miles. "Got it," Browning reported over the interphone system. "It's dead ahead, about at our altitude. I'll wait to try matching descent rates until after this pass."

Grabber 22 passed over the clearly illuminated chute at about 300 feet over it. The payload appeared to be swinging a bit, and the chute seemed to dance left and right somewhat. Browning judged the descent rate to be a normal 2000 feet per minute.

After three passes, Browning was confident that he understood the chute's behavior and confirmed the descent rate.

"Okay, guys. We're going to attempt a grab on this next pass. You ready back there, Marvin?"

"Yes, sir. Ready back here." Marvin checked on his crew and equipment one last time. Soon they would be busy as hell reeling the payload in and onto the lower door deck.

"Don't forget to switch off the payload power, once she's aboard. Don't want your guys blinded by the lights." he reminded.

Grabber 22 came around for the recovery attempt. Browning was lined up perfectly at 30 seconds to go, but the chute's wanderings forced him to make several last second rudder corrections.

"Oh shit," Browning suddenly exclaimed. "The damn lights went out." The airplane violently yawed hard to the right. The guys in the aft compartment held on for dear life.

"We flew into the canopy. It's fouled in the Number Three prop blades," shouted the co-pilot. Browning quickly pulled back the Number Three engine throttle and feathered that prop. The capsule was caught close to the blades and the chute, still partially inflated caused tremendous drag.

"Airspeed's falling," the copilot warned. "Add power on Number four."

Browning was already ahead of him, but the airplane was barely under control. They were down to 6500 feet and on a downward spiral path.

"Mayday Mayday," Browning called over the radio. "Grabber 22 has flown into the chute. We're coming in for an emergency landing on the dry lake bed. Cannot make the runway."

"Marvin. Get your boys strapped in. Forget the poles and the ropes. We're landing on the lake bed. Brace yourselves. It'll be a rough touchdown. Gear down, now."

Perspiration beaded on Browning's forehead. He fought to control the descending airplane, struggling hard against the drag of that chute partly inflated under the right wing. The capsule flailed wildly, banging against the now feathered and stopped blades and engine cowling of the number three engine, the right inboard.

"Brace yourselves, fellows. We'll be touching down northbound on the lake bed. Thank god there's a moon."

With a bone-jarring jolt, Grabber 22 hit the sand of the dry lake bed. The wheels sank almost to the axles because of the high sink rate on touchdown, and the flailing capsule bounced off the dirt, slamming with a horrible crunch against the lower engine cowling, tearing away portions of the sheet metal.

"You got her," the co-pilot declared, as Grabber 22 slowed. "Great job, Colonel."

Finally, Grabber 22 came to a stop. Browning shut down the engines. "Okay, crew. We're stopped. You can relax now."

Bill was white as a sheet. His hands trembled and he wasn't sure that his pants weren't full. All he could think to say was, "Does this happen often, Colonel?"

Colonel Browning laughed ... both as a relief from the tension of the last few moments, and at Bill's question. "No, Bill. Not often."

"Let's get out of here and see what the damage is. God, I hate to think of the paperwork we face."

"Oh, great. Here come the meat wagons," the co-pilot announced, seeing the flashing strobes and headlights of half a dozen vehicles approaching. They raised a huge dust cloud, once they left the runway pavement and hit the dry lake bed.

By flashlight, Colonel Browning and his crew walked around the airplane and checked on the damage. The parachute was in shreds, its shroud lines tightly wound around the propeller hub. The engine cowling was battered and dented, a lower hinged panel completely torn away. But, damage to the engine itself wasn't apparent.

The main landing gear was still mired in the sand of the lake bed, but no damage to the wheel doors could be seen.

Browning judged that it could have been a lot worse. And then he turned to Bill, saying, "I want a complete post mortem on that capsule. Are the batteries dead? Is there a loose wire, or what?"

"Yes, sir. But after the beating that capsule took slamming into the engine cowling, I'm not sure what it looks like inside."

"I understand, Bill. Get me what details you can as soon as possible."

Davis cut the shroud lines away from the engine and retrieved only the payload. It was after midnight by the time they got the capsule back to the SORTG shops.

Davis was busy unscrewing the capsule lid fasteners, as Bill came into the shop. "Let that go until morning, Sergeant. We can examine it then. Go home and get some rest."

"Just want to check the batteries, sir. I couldn't sleep if I knew they were dead."

When the last screw came off, Davis gingerly lifted back the lid and peered into the capsule. Bill was right beside him, anxious to see the condition of the parts within.

"Looks pretty good, sir," Davis proclaimed. At just that moment, in walked Colonel Browning.

"How so, Davis?" Browning asked.

"Well, sir. There are no loose pieces on the inside. The batteries are secure. No wires appear to be disconnected. Let me get my voltmeter and see how the batteries are."

Davis check each battery and found them well charged. "It ain't the batteries, sir."

"Well, you two go get some sleep. You can check it over piece by piece in the morning," the colonel instructed.

"Bill, meet me here before 9:00 A.M.. We'll both likely have to see the Flight Test Center commander in the morning. Once he finds out that we were conducting night tests, he'll want all the details. And I want you with me as my technical expert."

"Yes, sir. I'll be here."

The next morning, even before 7:00 a.m., Bill, Max and Davis were in the shop. Bill watched as Davis disassembled the capsule, part by part. There were no bad wiring connections, no damaged parts, despite the beating the capsule took.

"Oh, oh. I think I found the problem," Davis soon declared.

"What ya got, Sarge?" Max inquired.

"It's this aneroid switch, sir. It's jammed open. That would break the circuit to the lights. It should be closed any time below 20,000 feet ... or 20100 feet, as we learned in the altitude chamber. This is the culprit."

"Wow, Bill exclaimed. "A ten dollar switch caused all that grief and nearly cost an airplane and our lives. Browning will have a hard time explaining that to the general."

Max looked at Bill. "Browning?? Sorry, sir, but that may be your nickel."

At nine o'clock, Bill knocked on Colonel Browning's office door. "C'mon in Bill. Have you found anything?"

"Yes, sir. We found that the aneroid switch was in the open position. It should stay closed at altitudes below the 20000 foot setting. Actually, below 20100, based on our chamber tests."

"Well, that switch cost the Air Force about a half million, Bill. And it could have cost us an airplane and a crew," Browning retorted.

"Yes, sir. I know, but this was, after all, just a crude prototype capsule. I'll gladly take the blame for any engineering failures. Sergeant Davis shouldn't take the fall for this. I'm responsible for engineering."

"No, Bill. I wasn't blaming you ... or Davis, for that matter. You shouldn't take my comment so personally. But I know what the general is going to say."

"What's that, sir?"

"He's going to correctly question my judgment in risking a plane and crew on a home made, jury-rigged prototype. And I guess, were I in his shoes, I'd do the same."

"Have you heard from the general's office about what time we're expected?"

"Yes. His secretary just called. We due in his office at two o'clock this afternoon. We'll leave here at 1:45. You can ride with me."

Bill turned to leave, his face drawn and reflecting dismay and disappointment. "I'll be ready at 1:40, sir."

"Bill," Grace asked quietly, as he passed her desk, "How about lunch today? Meet me at the 'Office Cafe" out the south gate at noon, please."

Bill heard of the famous 'Office', an off base eatery and watering hole frequented by test pilots, contractor personnel and others, but had never been inside. It's not an imposing structure, mostly a sheet metal and frame building out in the middle of the desert, but popular with many characters.

Back in the engineering section, Bill asked, "Max, how do you get to the Office? ... the cafe and bar?"

"Oh, so you've finally heard of that place, eh? Well, it's just out the south gate. Turn right at the first paved road. You can't miss it, 'cause it's the only thing out there. Are you sure you're ready for it?"

"What do mean by that?"

"Oh, nothing. It does have good hamburgers and beer, I suppose. But those wild and crazy test pilots often make it a pretty rowdy spot. It's okay for lunch, but watch out after hours."

Bill drove to the 'Office", arriving at noon, noting that Grace's car was there already. On entering, Bill looked around. He was not particularly impressed with the interior, or the exterior for that matter. "What is the attraction?" he wondered.

In a high backed wooden booth along the far wall, he spotted Grace. She waved on seeing him, and he headed over to her. Sitting down opposite her, he was surprised when she grabbed his hands and said, "I heard about your flight last night. I'm so glad you're all right. I don't want to lose you. Sergeant Marvin caught me just before I left and explained what happened."

"Yes, I'm fine. Colonel Browning did a magnificent job landing the bird safely on the lake bed. But, I'll bet Marvin didn't tell you of his heroism. He saved Airman Connor's life."

"No. He didn't mention that. What happened?"

"When we hit the chute, just after it went dark on us, the airplane surged hard to the right. Connor was standing on the lower cargo ramp, near the end, and was knocked out of the plane. Only his safety line kept him from falling. But, Connor couldn't get back up onto the deck. That's when Marvin crawled out on the door and pulled him up and back into the plane. He got Connor in just before we touched down. If he hadn't, Connor would have been killed for sure. Marvin is a real hero in my book."

Grace was amazed. She gripped Bill's hand tighter, saying, "It must have been scary."

"Yeah, that's one word for it. But, it all happened so fast. Browning had us on the ground in just three or four minutes, managing to keep the plane under control for that lake bed landing. All I did was sit there, hanging on, while all hell broke loose. I didn't hear about Marvin's efforts until we'd landed."

"Tomorrow's Friday, Bill. Why don't you come over to my place for dinner? I barbecue a mean steak."

"Yes, I'd like that. Thanks. So, what do you recommend here for lunch?"

After their chili-topped hamburgers and coffee, Bill saying he'd better not have a brew because he had to see the general that afternoon, they headed for the door. He walked her to the car. And before she got in, she hugged him tightly, saying once more that she didn't want to lose him.

At 1:40 Bill met Browning and they drove over to Center headquarters. The general's secretary told them to go right in.

Browning and Bill saluted and stood at attention in front of the general's desk.

"Oh, have a seat. Please. This is an informal discussion. Major, please close the office door." Bill did so and returned to the seat next to Browning.

"I hear you fellows had a wild ride last night. You want to tell me about it?"

Browning explained the whole thing in great detail, especially Sergeant Marvin's heroics, suggesting that he be nominated for a medal. The general agreed, but then went on to say, "I know this is a test organization, and flight test can involve risks, but I find it hard to believe that you'd take such a chance on a 'Rube Goldberg' contraption made out of car lights and batteries."

"General, we had four successful test drops before last night's failure," Browning explained. "That lighted capsule worked fine every time. We've learned today that the aneroid switch, purchased from WestAero Supply, malfunctioned at just the wrong moment."

"Things always fail at the wrong moment, damnit. You have to be ready for those kinds of failures. So what are you guys going to do next?" the general snapped.

"That's pretty much up to the Los Angeles folks, General. I'm headed down there Monday to brief General Atkins and the staff. They are pushing the night recovery project pretty hard, but after this, well, I don't know."

Turning to Bill, the general asked, "What contractor built that light system for you, Major?"

"No contractor, General. We built it in house, modifying one of our standard training capsules. I approved the design and supervised the project."

"Aside from the earlier drop tests, how else did you check it out?"

"We checked the aneroid switch in the altitude chamber, sir, mostly to see if it would turn the lights on at 20000 feet. It did just fine in the chamber."

"Harrumph," muttered the general. "Well, I guess that covers any concerns I might have about negligence. Sounds like you folks were the victims of a bad part, but I want you to build in a backup of some sort so that this can't happen again. And I want a written report describing the fixes you come up with. Got that?"

That following Monday, Colonel Browning drove down to Los Angeles to face General Atkins and explain the accident. Bill and his team got busy with the re-design of the night capsule’s electrical system.

At 2:00 P.M. Grace came to Bill’s office with word that the Center commander wanted to see him right away. "Damn," Bill exclaimed. "We are no where close to a design yet. What am I going to tell him?"

"Just tell him that this takes time, sir," Sergeant Davis suggested. "My guess is that we’re at least two weeks away from having a system to test. Getting new aneroid switches takes time."

"Yes, you’re right. I’ll just tell him we’re working on it and perhaps explain our primary approach. He ought to be happy that we’re not resuming tests, at least."

Bill reported to the general’s office at 2:00. This time the secretary said he’d have to wait, so Bill took a seat in the lobby. At 4:30 Bill was finally told to go on in. "Damn," he muttered to himself, "I’ve got better things to do than cool my heels out here."

"Come in, Major," the general greeted. Bill stood at attention and saluted.

"You wanted to see, me sir?"

Chapter 8

"Yes, Major. I wanted to see you. Stand at ease," the general sternly responded, and Bill clasped his hands behind his back, assuming the military ‘Parade Rest’ position.

"General, if it’s about the night capsule re-design, I’m afraid we’re not there yet. It might be a couple weeks before ....," but the general cut him off.

"No, damnit. It’s not about the capsule. It’s about these," he angrily said, while spreading out several letters across his desk. "It’s about these letters from your creditors. You’re in a peck of trouble, Major."

Bill’s heart sank. A knot in his stomach formed and he began to sweat. "Yes, General. I can explain."

"You’d damn well better have a good explanation. I don’t much appreciate having my officers displaying such irresponsible behavior. This is disgraceful ... and it brings discredit to the service. What in the hell were you thinking?"

Bill finally got to explain his side of the story. He told about Helen being unwilling to come out to Edwards, about maintaining two households, with her back in Washington and him in the VOQ. He said that he’d repeatedly tried to get Helen to stop spending, but to no avail.

"Are you telling me that you can’t even manage your own wife, Major?"

Bill stammered and finally said, "I don’t know what to do. My life is on a downward spiral and I can’t seem to stop the descent. I’m sorry, General."

"Well, you’d better stop it. Your career is on the line, not to mention this," the general replied, handing Bill a set of orders, promotion orders to lieutenant colonel. "Your name is on this list, Major. I was hoping this would be a chance to congratulate you, not chew your butt out."

Bill’s head was spinning. He’d just been shown that he’s made the list for promotion and now his very career is in jeopardy.

"I have no choice, Major, but to red-line your name on this list. Anyone who can’t manage his finances, much less his own wife, isn’t lieutenant colonel material in my book. I tell you what I’m going to do. I’ll give you just 30 days to straighten this mess out," he said, handing those creditor letters to Bill. "If I get one more letter and you haven’t fixed this in 30 days, you can forget swapping those gold leaves for silver ones. In fact, you just might be wearing civvies a month from now. Understand? This is serious."

"Yes, General. I understand," Bill replied. He snapped to Attention, saluted, turned an about-face, almost mechanically, and left. His face was white, his mouth dry. His departure from the office, the building and out to his car was done all a daze.

"Oh, god. What am I going to do?" he muttered to himself. Bill didn’t notice that the sunset grew red and beautiful in the western sky, though he did realize it was getting darker and the day’s work was over. No point in going back to SORTG, so he headed, still somewhat dazed, for his VOQ room.

As he passed the desk clerk in the lobby of the VOQ, the airman said, "Message for you, Major. And this came too." It was a thick legal size envelope, another with a lawyer’s name on the return address.

Bill didn’t read the note. Nor did he open the envelope until he got up to his room. And when he did, he was shocked.

The note said, simply, "Lawyers can be a problem, but we can help. Ask Grace." There was no signature or telephone number, just those cryptic words. Bill wondered what Grace could possibly have to do this weird message.

Then he tore open the lawyer’s letter. He read the first paragraph and sat down on the bed, numbed by what it said. This was a letter from a divorce lawyer in Washington. Helen filed for divorce, claiming abandonment and his lack of responsibility. The last paragraph gave Bill ten days to reply and the opportunity to rebut.

For a full hour, Bill lay there on his bed, overwhelmed by the day’s events and news. "What am I going to do? What can I do?" he asked aloud.

Then he remembered the note, with its inexplicable reference to Grace. He reached for the telephone and dialed her number.

"Grace. It’s Bill."

"What happened to you, Bill?" she answered, "I knew that you went up to the general’s office, but you never came back to SORTG. Colonel Browning has been trying all afternoon to reach you. What happened?"

"I need to see you, Grace. I’ll explain, but I’d rather do it face to face."

"Okay. Come on over and we’ll have supper together. It won’t be fancy. I haven’t started anything yet. Microwaved casserole okay?"

"Yeah, sure. That’ll be fine. See you in a half hour." Bill hung up the phone and began to ponder what he’d say, and how to say it."

Grace knew that something was wrong, but she couldn’t guess what it might be.

As Bill drove up to Grace’s place, parking behind her car at the back door, she appeared on the steps to greet him. "What’s the matter? What’s so urgent?"

"Grace. This is the worst day of my life. I don’t know where to begin." But, he did begin by telling her of the visit with the general. They sat at the kitchen table. The microwave oven timer chimed to say that supper was ready, but neither paid attention.

"I knew you were having financial trouble, but I never dreamed it was that bad."

"You want to hear bad? There’s more. My promotion to lieutenant colonel won’t happen. The general has given me 30 days to settle up with the creditors. Where am I going to get $35,000? That’s more than I make in a year."

"Wow. That’s a deep hole. I wish I could help," she responded sympathetically.

"Now you want to hear the topper?"

"It gets worse?"

"You bet it does. Look at this letter I got tonight," he said handing the lawyer’s envelope to her.

Grace opened the letter and began to read. "Oh, you poor dear. Talk about getting kicked when you’re down. This is outrageous."

Bill looked at her, his drawn and down-trodden face empty of emotion. Grace sensed his total dejection and anxiety about his future. She decided it was time to offer a kind of help he could never have dreamed. Buy before she could speak, Bill handed her the note containing her name.

Grace’s face turned red in anger, for she knew well where it came from. "That damn Li Han," she thought. "That bastard has gone too far this time."

"Let me get you a drink, Bill. When you hear what I have to tell you, including the explanation of my name on this note, you’ll need one." She got up and got two glasses, went to the cupboard and pulled out a bottle of scotch.

"Here, Bill. We’ll both need one," she said placing the glasses on the table. "It’s a long story, and parts of it I am not at all proud to divulge to you. But it’s the truth, I swear. Every word."

Bill’s curiosity grew rapidly. He began to worry about what she would be telling him, and took a big sip of that scotch. Before Grace began, she walked around to his chair and kissed him, lovingly, saying, "I hope that’s not that last kiss you’ll ever want from me, but here goes," she began, walking back and sitting opposite him at the table.

"Back when Jack left me, my life was a wreck. I too was deep in debt, about to lose the ranch and my wonderful horses. The banks were about to foreclose on this place. I had no job, and Jack’s creditors were banging on the door and calling at all hours. I was frantic. So, I can appreciate your situation, completely."

"What’s that got to do with your name on this note? I don’t mean to interrupt, but there’s gotta be some connection."

"Oh yes, there is indeed. I’m going to tell you a story you’ll find hard to believe. I got a telephone call one day, from a man with a heavy Chinese accent. I had no idea who he was. But I was soon to find out."

It was a man called Li Han. He’s a mysterious and sinister person. But, he made me an offer that I couldn’t refuse." And then Grace went on to explain what Li Han did for her, with her debts, getting her title to the ranch and paying her legal fees."

"So what did you have to do in return? Kill somebody?" Bill demanded.

"No. I had to become an informant. I told to keep Li Han posted on what was happening at Edwards, at least that part of the base operations that I knew about. I didn’t pass secrets or anything like that, but I did have to tell him of projects going on, people being transferred in and out, and giving him names, telephone numbers and the like."

"You told this Li Han about me too?"

"Yes, Bill I did. I don't know why he took an interest in you, but he had me get your Pentagon office numbers, your home number and even your VOQ room information. I was the one who made your reservations the day you were due to arrive. And I told all that to Li Han. I’m afraid of the man. He’s dangerous."

"So what did the note mean when it said

‘Ask Grace’? Does that guy know about my problems? And did he get that from you?"

"I swear, Bill. I never told him about your financial or family problems. Not one word." Now Grace took a deep sip of scotch.

"How in the hell does this guy know so much?"

"I’m not sure. But I think he’s part of some enemy intelligence operation. It must be big, because the guy throws money around like it was nothing. I think your note could mean that he wants me to have you get in touch with him. For a price on your part, he may be willing to help you out, kinda like he did me. But the price may be awfully steep. You should know that Li Han is not what he seems. I know, because he got his hooks into me and I can’t get away."

"Boy. This is a lot to swallow. I can’t believe that you could be involved in something like this."

"Bill, I didn’t have any options. My life was in the toilet. I was desperate. Somehow, Li Han got me the job at SORTG, a break I never could have gotten by myself.

The only job I ever had, long before I married Jack, was secretary to an aerospace contractor working on the base. And that lasted just a year."

"Did you mean any of the things you said to me? Any of them? .. or were they too part of this Li Han’s script?"

"I meant every word, Bill. Every word. Li Han was here last week and told me not to become too fond of you. He doesn’t know anything about us for sure, but he probably suspects that I’ve fallen for you."

"Oh come on, Grace. You thought of me as just an assignment from Li Han. How stupid do you think I am?"

Grace started crying uncontrollably. The tears were definitely real. Even a deeply hurt and now somewhat cynical Bill could see that. It startled him.

Through her tears and whimpering, unable to regain her composure, Grace pleaded, "No, Bill ... my feelings for you are real. I know you won’t believe me when I say this, but I love you. I can’t help it, but I really do."

Bill didn’t know what to believe. on top of all he’d gone through this day, he couldn’t put Grace’s words into perspective. But, he got up, walked to her and held her close. She cried and shook steadily, uncontrollably, and he couldn’t bear to see her in such anguish. His feelings were real for her too, and he knew it.

After a half hour or more, Grace calmed down a bit. She couldn’t count how many times she told Bill, "I’m sorry."

Bill empathized with what Grace must have gone through. "My god, he thought, I’m in the same damn fix."

"You don’t have to lose your career, Bill. Maybe you can take help from Li Han and pay it back without becoming a traitor or spy, or whatever."

Bill thought long and hard about using Li Han’s money to solve his problems, but he wondered if that wouldn’t create more and worse ones.

"How do you contact this guy? Do you have a telephone number for him?"

"Yes. I can reach his answering service, but I never call from home or at work. He insists that I use a payphone, so there will be no record of my calls to him." Grace reached into her purse and pulled out a card bearing just a telephone number. "It’s an L.A. area code," she added.

"Stay the night with me, Bill .. please. I don’t want to be alone. I think I’d go crazy. I didn’t mean to hurt you in any way, I swear. But tonight I really need to be close to you. Can you do that? Please."

Bill knew that he didn’t want to be alone either. Going back to that lonely VOQ room wasn’t appealing at all. "Yeah. I guess so. How about riding back to the base with me so I can get some stuff. It’s only 8:30. Okay?".

"Our supper’s gotten cold again. Aren’t you hungry?"

"No. Not really. Somehow all this has taken away my appetite. C’mon. Grab your sweater."

They returned to Grace’s place by 9:30. "Are you sure aren’t hungry? I could zap the casserole again," Grace suggested.

Bill thought again about what he was doing, about spending the night with Grace. On the one hand, it was exactly what he want to do. His feelings for her were, and had been, growing stronger day by day. But on the other hand, he knew it wasn’t right.

"Grace, please forgive me, but I can’t do this. Not yet anyway. I am still married, though maybe not for long. But right now I am and it just isn’t right. Can you understand?"

"Yes ... yes, I understand. I’m okay now. I’ll be all right. Will you?" Grace responded. She realized that Bill’s leaving was not because of what she’d done. "I’ll see you in the morning. Okay?"

Bill reached over, put his arms around her and drew her close to him. He kissed her sweetly and tenderly. "Goodnight, Grace. Try to get some sleep."

Driving back to the base, now well after midnight, Bill considered over and over what his options might be. And he thought long and hard about what he would really be doing if he accepted Li Han’s help. It would be a deal with the devil, he knew.

But then, from nowhere, came an inspiration. It was a wild idea, but it got him really excited. The first notion quickly turned into a detailed plan and scenario in his mind. By the time he got back to his room, he knew just what he wanted to do. He would take action the first thing next morning.

Bill’s mind was racing so much that dawn came and he’d not gotten a wink of sleep. Yet, he wasn’t overly tired. Not rested, clearly, but the adrenaline kept him from feeling weary.

He showered, shaved and put on a clean uniform, and even felt like having a big breakfast in the Club. He just knew that this would be a day to remember, the day he actually took steps to turn things around. Somehow, he felt confident that he could beat his problems, beat those creditors and accept the fact that it was over with Helen.

Bill Had a plan.

Chapter 9

"Good morning, Bill," greeted Max. "Heard that General Kilgore gave us a chewing out over the night capsule flight, or landing, that is. What’s on the agenda today, sir?"

Bill explained the need to get new wiring and a redundant aneroid switch design going. He said he wanted a unit to test drop by next week. Then in walked Grace. She looked especially lovely to Bill this morning. Her reddened eyes and runny nose from last night’s crying was gone. He was truly happy to see her.

"Colonel Browning wants to see you, sir. He’s in his office. I don’t think he’s in a good mood though."

"Thanks, Grace. I’m on my way." The two started down the corridor toward Browning’s office. Bill looked around, and seeing no one there, leaned over and kissed her quickly on the cheek, saying, "Boy, you look great this morning." She smiled and furtively checked to see that there was no one there to observe Bill’s kiss.

As Bill approached Colonel Browning’s opened office door, he saw the colonel standing at his desk. Browning turned and said, "Get your ass in here, Wilcox. Where in the hell have you been? I tried to get ahold of you yesterday afternoon. Shut that door behind you."

"Sorry, sir. I didn’t get away from the general until after five. I sat outside his office from 2:30 waiting to see him."

"Well, he called me in General Atkins’ office, while I was getting my butt chewed out over the night capsule fiasco. It didn’t make my day when General Kilgore gave me the details of your mess too."

Bill remained standing at attention in front of Browning’s desk. "Oh sit down, damnit, Bill. I want you to explain what in the hell’s going on here."

Bill told his boss the whole story, all of it except the Li Han connection. Browning just sat there shaking his head.

"One helluva mess you’ve gotten yourself into, Major. So what are you going to do about it? And I know I’ll kick myself, but how can I help? You’ve only been here a short while but I figure you’re basically a good guy. Am I wrong?"

"I do have a plan, sir. It’s kinda complicated, but it could solve my problems and another big one here at the Center too."

"Oh, come on now, Bill. What other problems are you talking about? Certainly not the JC-130 we dinged up the other night, or the re-design of the night capsule. What are you talking about?"

"It’s much more serious than that, sir. May I invite Grace in here? She should hear what I’ve got to say too." Browning nodded in approval.

Bill stepped to the door and asked Grace to come in. Browning invited her to sit at the second chair in front of his desk. Grace looked bewildered. She had no idea what was going on that could concern her.

"Colonel. Grace. I have a potential solution to my problem and the larger one, which involves us all. In fact, it may require the direct involvement of the Center Commander, as well."

"For god’s sake, Bill. Quit dancing around and get to it," Browning demanded.

"Forgive me, Grace, but I have to tell your story too," Bill implored. "The colonel needs to understand the context of our troubles and how the solution effects us all. Do you understand?"

"Yes ... I knew that it would come out someday. Go ahead. I understand." Grace looked nervous and anxious, as Bill certainly expected, but he was pleased that she allowed him to go on.

"Damnit, you two. What am I supposed to understand? Get to it, Will you, Bill?"

"Sir, my financial problems, or more specifically the solution to them may involve a security matter."

"A what?"

"Yes, sir. A security matter directly involving me and Grace and the whole Flight Test Center."

Colonel Browning turned in his swivel chair, aghast at what Bill was alluding to. "Go on. I want a full explanation. What in the hell does your financial mess have to do with security? ... or Grace here?"

He explained about Helen’s filing for divorce. And he mentioned the dunning letters that came before his being called on the carpet in General Kilgore’s office. And he mentioned the note saying ’Ask Grace’.

But the bombshell dropped when he told of Li Han and his grip on Grace. Browning’s face turned gray. His bald head began to sweat and he grew nervous.

"Is this correct, Grace? Are you working for this Li Han character?"

Bill interrupted, saying, "Sir, she’s more of a prisoner of Li Han than a willing accomplice."

"Let her explain, Bill. What about it, Grace? Is this true?"

On the verge of tears, her face twitching nervously and apprehensively, she began. "Sir. Colonel Browning, sir. I was in big trouble and Li Han rescued me from losing everything." And then Grace went on with the whole sordid story, right up to the recent visit Li Han made to her place.

"My god," Browning exclaimed. "I can’t believe what’s happening around here. Grace. I never suspected ... or expected anything like this involving you. Is all this for real?"

"Yes, Colonel. It is, but I am relieved that it’s finally all come out. I want to assure you, sir, that I never divulged anything classified, not one bit. I was able to convince Li Han that I didn’t have a security clearance. He accepted that and merely used me to pass along routine unclassified stuff, which I have done for the past year and a half."

"So what has all of this got to do with your financial problems and this solution you hinted at, Bill."

"Colonel. I’d like to use Li Han’s money to solve my problems and even get Grace off the hook. I think there is a way to expose Li Han and maybe even his organization. Let’s use his own money to trap him."

"Go on. This whole story from you two has me baffled. I’ve never heard anything like it. Just how is solving your money problem going to fix anything else. And as for you, Grace, I just don’t know what to say."

Bill suggested that the Air Force be brought into this matter officially, including the Center Commander, The Office of Special Investigation (OSI) and even the Federal Bureau of Investigation (FBI), if necessary.

"Sir, I’d like to meet with Li Han and let him recruit me as one of his obligated sources. I know he won’t accept merely unclassified stuff from me as he has with Grace, but we could feed him mis-information, and I could use his money to fix my financial mess."

"Whoa there, mister. What makes you think you can best a trained Chinese intelligence expert?" Colonel Browning interrupted. "You can’t even play in his league."

"You’re right, Colonel. I’m not at all trained or experienced in this stuff. But that may be a card in our favor. Let’s take on Li Han by using his needs for information against him. And it won’t break my heart to put his money to good use."

"I must be nuts to even consider such a thing. But you’re right on one part. We’ve got to go to General Kilgore with this. He’s responsible for security here and has to be brought up to speed. But,I’ve no idea how much of this wild plot of yours he’ll go along with. You’re not his favorite trooper, you know."

Turning to Grace, Browning suggested, Why don’t you take the rest of the day off, Grace? Go home and I’ll get back to you later this afternoon. I’ve got to sort out your status around here. We do have Secret materials in our safes and I have to play this by the book. You understand. Don’t you?"

"Yes, sir. I understand. I guess this is the end of my job here."

"Well, that may or may not be the case. We might be able to convince the general and the OSI that you’re no longer a security risk. But, be prepared for some interviews and lots of paperwork. It won’t be easy. But don’t give up hope. I kinda like having you around here, and god knows you’ve kept this office purring smoothly. I don’t want to lose you. We might be able to straighten things out. Don’t give up. Okay?"

"Thank you sir. I’ll just clear out my desk and go stand by the telephone at home."

"No. I didn’t say for you to clear out your desk. Did I? Just let’s see how things go before we act hastily. Just take the day off. But,give me your badge. It’s just procedure. I’ll ask Bill to escort you out to your car."

Grace got up, shook the colonel’s hand, and turned away, crying. She knew that he was doing the right thing, but this was tragic and it hurt.

"You stay here a moment longer, Bill. And close the door again."

"Look. I don’t know what’s going on between you two, but I can see that there is something. Are you two seeing each other?"

"Only casually, sir. We’re not lovers, if that’s what you mean."

"Well, I guess that’s what I was asking. Okay. But watch out for yourself. You’ve got enough on your plate already. Now take her to her car. I’ve got to set up an appointment with the general. Does it never end?"

Bill got up, saluted and turned to leave. Browning picked up his telephone and dialed the general’s office. Stopping by Grace’s desk, as she gathered up a few things, Bill said, "Browning meant it, Grace. He doesn’t want you go leave, and I’ll bet he puts up one helluva fight for you."

They walked out to the parking lot. "May I come over to see you this evening?" he asked. "I’d like to explain how this plan of mine might benefit us both."

"I don’t know, Bill. Trust is important, you know. And now nobody can trust me. That is a hurtful thing. In your case that trust still exists. In fact, you’re turning me in might have even improved your position. It sure as hell didn’t help mine."

"You don’t want to go on forever as Li Han’s pawn, do you? This will all work out. You wait and see." But Grace wasn’t sure. This was a tragic day for her and she feared losing the job she’d become so dependent upon.

Colonel Browning reached the general. In fact, he was told to be in the general’s office at one o’clock, right after lunch. When Bill got back into the office, Browning walked down the hall to tell him about the meeting at one o’clock and told Bill to be there too.

When Bill got to the general’s office at 12:55, he discovered that Browning was already there and inside with General Kilgore. The general’s secretary told Bill to have a seat. He’d be call in when they were ready for him. "They?" Bill asked. She responded by saying, "the General, Col. Browning and two OSI investigators are meeting now."

"I know the guy’s got problems, but I have to hand it to him. He did the right thing, when he could have just as easily, or perhaps more easily, simply gone for Li Han’s money and kept his mouth shut. I think he deserves our help," the general told his audience.

"Yes, General," Added Browning. "And Major Wilcox hasn’t actually done anything wrong yet, except screw up his finances. And he had some help from his wife with that."

The senior OSI representative, Agent Sims, an Air Force officer dressed in civilian clothes, said that they’d have to conduct a complete investigation into Grace’s behavior and possible involvement in espionage. "All we have is her word that she never disclosed secrets, General."

"What do you think, Ted?"

Browning responded forcefully, "Grace is a good girl. I believe her and think she should not be crucified here. She’s a damn good worker, runs the office professionally and I really depend on her. The only thing I’d do for now is pull her security clearance until this is cleared up. But I want her back as soon as possible."

"I hardly think you’re objective, Colonel," Agent Sims replied. "You’re too close to the situation. But in fairness, we won’t know until we’ve investigated."

"Okay. I guess the fair and prudent thing to do is what Colonel Browning suggests. We’ll temporarily move her to another job where security is not an factor. I’ll send her over to the administration office at the base hospital. But when, and if, she gets a clean bill of health, she’ll go back to SORTG. She keeps her job and same pay. Fair enough, Ted?" the general decided.

"Yes, General. That’s very fair and considerate of you. But I don’t want these OSI types being heavy handed with her."

"Don’t tell us how to do our job, Colonel. We’ll do what we have to do protect national security. That’s what we’re here for and trained to do," Sims responded.

"Well, if you guys had been doing your job, we wouldn’t have this problem," Browning snapped back.

"All right .. let’s not get emotional here," the general interrupted. "Now let’s bring in Major Wilcox and hear more about his idea for dealing with this Li Han fellow. Bring him in, Ted."

Colonel Browning got up and went to the door. Seeing Bill seated opposite the general’s secretary, he motioned for him to come on in. "Okay, Bill. It’s time to hear your plan. And," he whispered as Bill got closer, "He’s agreed to keep Grace on the payroll until all of this is sorted out."

Bill smiled and nodded, on entering the general’s office. He stood at Attention and saluted the general, who returned the salute and invited Bill to have a seat. All five sat around a small conference table off to one side of the general’s main office.

"Colonel Browning tells me that you’ve got an idea about this Li Han character and want to have him bail you out of your financial pickle, Major. Just how do you propose to do that?"

"Thank you for giving me this opportunity to explain, General. My idea is just a rough one now, but with some suggestions from you and these other gentlemen, it might become workable. I suggest that I play along with Li Han and make him think I’m desperate, which is true enough. That sure won’t be hard to convey.

He wants something important from us, and it’s likely to do with SORTG or the satellite programs. I’d like to string him along, feed him mis-information and make him think that investing in me is a good idea."

"How are you going to get in touch with him?" Sims asked.

"I’ve gotten from Grace a Los Angeles answering service telephone number. He insists that calls to that service be made from a public pay phone, so the calls can’t be traced to a particular individual. I expect that will lead to some sort of contact with me. How, I don’t know."

"This could be dangerous, Major," the general offered. "Are you willing to risk it?"

"Right now, General. I don’t have too many options. I sure as hell don’t want to become a traitor or spy, sir. But, I don’t see that I have much choice here. And he could be a financial windfall."

Colonel Browning suggested that Bill be assigned a full-time OSI liaison or contact officer, someone Bill could call any time of the day or night for help. Browning admitted he didn’t know how to play this game.

"What do you OSI fellows have to say? Can we flesh out a workable plan from the Major’s idea. Can this work?" the general asked pointedly.

"It’s above my pay grade, General," replied Agent Sims. I’ll have to take this up with my headquarters. We may even have to fly the Major to Washington to have our counter-espionage experts get with him."

"Not such a good, idea," Browning responded. "If Li Han and his agents hear of Bill’s sudden trip to Washington, they may become suspicious. I think it would be better handled out here. You have your guys come to Edwards, under whatever cover you decide, and we’ll try to keep Bill’s work routine as normal as possible."

"Well, that brings up another question, sir. What will Li Han think when he finds out that Grace is being moved? How will that affect all of this?"

"Good thinking, Major," the general agreed. "How about that, you OSI experts?"

"We’ll get back to you, General. I’m not able to say at this point."

"All right, gentlemen. Let’s get back together tomorrow afternoon to decide how we’ll proceed with this. Major, you hold up on any contacts with Li Han until the plan is firmed up. Agreed?"

"Yes, General. I’ll hold off, but I can’t promise that my creditors will. I remember what you said you’d do if you got another letter."

"Gentlemen, let’s get back to work. We’ll meet here at 1500 hours tomorrow. And Major, you remain here a few minutes after this breaks up."

As the room cleared, the general told Bill to close the door and have a seat. Bill complied, uncertain about what the general was going to say now.

"Major. What you did took guts and for that I applaud you. But, what’s ahead may take even more. Chinese espionage forces are not known for tolerance if they feel they’re being taken. If you hope to use Li Han’s money to get out of your financial problems, you have to understand the risks. Assassination of people who cross them is not unknown. Do you understand the potential risks here?"

"Yes, General. I suspected that, but my options are pretty limited. I’m over a year’s salary in the hole and it’s due now. It’s either this or declaring bankruptcy and losing my career, and given the choice I’d rather risk Li Han’s wrath with the chance to take him down too."

"Well then, let’s just say that I’m satisfied that you made the right move, both in coming forward and electing to help the Air Force eliminate this thorn in our side. Tell you what I’m prepared to do for you. I have a friend in Washington, a Reserve officer who’s a lawyer, and a damn good one.

I’ll call him and see what he can do on your behalf on this divorce mess. He’ll get in touch with you and you two can discuss the details. I think I can even get him to take your case on a pro bono basis."

"Thank you, General. I really appreciate your understanding and helpfulness here."

"Oh, one more thing," the general ended, as he walked Bill to the door, his arm over Bill’s shoulder. "I’ve decided not to red-line your promotion. Just thought you’d like to know. I’m impressed by you doing the right thing. See you tomorrow afternoon."

Back at SORTG’s office, Bill encountered Colonel Browning on the steps up from the hangar floor.

"How did it go with the general, Bill?"

"Fine, sir. Just fine. He said he wasn’t going to red-line my promotion after all. And he’s getting in touch with a lawyer friend on my behalf."

"Terrific ... and congratulations, Colonel."

"Well, sir. Not quite. I’m not at the head of the list. It’ll be 90 days or so before it becomes effective. Can I ask you what’s going to happen to Grace?"

"Bill, I really don’t know. That’s pretty much in the hands of the OSI. Your point about not moving her out of the office and raising Li Han’s suspicions was right on. I’m going to stick my neck out and bring her back to work here. But I’m going to have to keep her under close scrutiny until she’s cleared. Why don’t you get in touch with her and tell her to come to work in the morning. She’ll not get her pass back, and that means she’ll have to be escorted."

"Thank you, sir. She was devastated by what’s happened. This will help. I’m going to get in touch with her this afternoon."

At five o’clock Bill drove out the south gate, headed for Grace’s place. She was in the corral, feeding her horses when he pulled into the driveway.

"Hi, Grace. Got some good news, good for both of us."

Grace came over to the fence, carrying a bucket of oats. "Well, Bill. I could use some. Today had been just plain lousy so far."

"Colonel Browning says you’re to come to back to work at SORTG tomorrow. Not only is he sticking his neck out for you, he genuinely believes that you’re not a spy or security threat. He trusts you. We all do."

Grace sighed in relief. "I don’t know what I’ll do if I lose my job, Bill. But I do know that I won’t go to Li Han again." By now Grace was out of the corral and standing next to Bill. "You said you had good new for both of us. So?"

"Oh yes. The general told me he wasn’t going to red-line my promotion after all. In about three months, you can call me Lieutenant Colonel Bill. How about that?"

Spontaneously, Grace jumped at him, wrapped her arms around his shoulders and kissed him. "Congratulations, Bill. That’s wonderful .. absolutely wonderful. I’m so happy for you."

"There’s a little more good news," Bill continued, still holding Grace close and looking down at her now beaming face. "The general is getting in touch with a Washington lawyer friend on my behalf. The guy’s supposed to be expert in divorce cases."

Grace smiled, not sure what she should say at that additional news, so instead she suggested, "C’mon into the house. Let’s open a bottle of wine and I’ll toss a frozen pizza into the oven. You’re having supper here tonight."

"Can’t think of anything I’d rather do, sweetheart."

"Sweetheart? Why Bill Wilcox, how you gush," she jokingly responded. "That’s the first time you ever called me that."

"Do you mind?"

"No, silly. Not one bit," she said, pulling a wine bottle from the cupboard. "Here, you open it. We’ve got a toast to drink, to go with our gourmet dinner," she laughed. Bill was delighted to see her spirits so improved.

After eating, and finishing off the bottle of wine, they sat on the sofa together. "Grace. There’s something we have to discuss. It’s serious and affects both of us."

"Yes, Bill. I know. The OSI is going to give me the third degree and I expect the worst. I made a dumb mistake and now it’s time to pay the piper."

"No. That’s not what I’m worried about, though I have every confidence that you’ll be cleared and Colonel Browning will keep his favorite secretary. My worry is Li Han."

"Yes, that guy is someone you don’t want to mess with. He’s dangerous."

"Well, I want you to understand that it’s possible that both of us will be in danger, especially if he thinks he’s being crossed. You are in as much danger as I will be. This plan could backfire."

"What plan?"

"I’d like to tell you, Grace, but the details aren’t worked out yet. You heard me say that I want to use money from Li Han to bail me out of my financial mess, but what we haven’t decided is how."

"We? Who’s we?"

"Well, the ‘we’ includes me, Browning, the general and perhaps others. You’d be better off not knowing too much."

Grace’s expression changed to reflect a worried look. "Do you mean that I’m not to be trusted with knowing what you guys are going to do?"

"No. That’s not it. Well, maybe, a little. It’s just safer for you not to have all the details. The fewer who know the better the plan’s chance of working are. And besides, the plan isn’t defined yet. I don’t know myself what’s going to happen, or how."

"Yes, I suppose you’re right. But I’ve got another question."

"What’s that?"

"The colonel pulled my flight line badge. Am I going to get it back?"

"No, not right away, Grace. You’ll have to be escorted for a while, at least until the OSI finishes clearing you."

"Finishes clearing? ... or hanging me?"

"Clearing. Do you hear? Browning and I both know you’ll be cleared. Now quit fretting."

"Okay .. okay."

"Look, sweetheart, I’ve got to go. That lawyer from Washington might be trying to reach me at the VOQ. I’ll see you in the morning." Bill leaned over and kissed Grace, and not entirely innocently, either.

"Yeah, I like it when you say ‘sweetheart’," she said, while walking him to the door.

Chapter 10

Bill returned to the VOQ, and routinely checked with the desk clerk for messages. There was but one, this one saying simply, "Finances worsening? Call me. Grace has the number."

Bill knew right away it was Li Han’s work. "Soon enough, my friend. Soon enough," he muttered.

The next morning, as Bill drove to the SORTG hangar, he noted Grace’s car was already there. Someone else must have escorted her inside.

Crossing the hangar floor, Bill observed Max Heflin emerging from the damaged airplane being worked on by several mechanics.

"How’s she coming, Max? Will it fly again soon?"

"Yes, sir. The damage wasn’t as bad as first thought. The Number Three engine didn’t get hurt at all, though the propeller bearing needed cleaning up. It was full of shredded nylon from the shroud lines. A new lower cowling and some minor sheet metal work is all that’s lacking. She’ll be in the air within the week."

Then Bill asked, "You seen Grace this morning?"

"Yup. I escorted her up to the office myself. She’s in with Colonel Browning now."

"Thanks, Max. I saw her car out there in the lot."

As Bill reached the top of the stairs, Grace and Colonel Browning were just coming out of the office. "Good morning, sir. And good morning to you, Grace," he greeted. "You have a minute, colonel?" Browning motioned for him to step into his office.

"Got a Li Han message last night, sir. Just thought you ought to know." Bill handed over last night’s note from the VOQ desk clerk.

"Well, this guy sure knows how to pull your chain," the colonel commented.

"Yes, sir. And I get the feeling that he’s anxious for me to get in touch with him. It’ll be interesting to see what he wants from me ... and how much he’ll be willing to pay for it."

"Bring this along when we meet at 1500 hours. And I’m going to have to tell General Kilgore that it’s time to apprise General Atkins of what’s going on. We do work for him and not General Kilgore after all."

"Well, sir. I’d better get down the hall and see how Sergeant Davis is coming along with the capsule modification."

"Oh Bill. That brings up something else you should know. General Atkins has put an official hold on the night capsule system, at least the aerial testing effort. It wouldn’t surprise me to see the project canceled. But, I’ve got an idea. Come in and shut the door."

Bill’s curiosity was aroused by that remark. He closed the door behind him and sat down in front of Browning’s desk.

"Suppose, Bill, that you are asked to furnish Li Han with some information about what we’re doing, technical stuff. I haven’t a clue as to what he’ll really want. But just suppose that we made this night recovery capsule thing out to be more important than it is. He doesn’t have to know that Atkins wants to cancel it. We, you that is, might sell him the details of this project, for your fee of course."

"Interesting idea, sir. But, as you say, we have no clue about what he might really want from me. He probably has his own agenda."

"Sure. I appreciate that, but it’s a possible horse-trading chip we could use. And it sure as hell won’t hurt national security, especially the way Atkins feels about the project. So let’s keep Davis working, part time at least, on getting the capsule working. We could go as far, perhaps, as running another altitude chamber test, even if Atkins won’t let us flight test it."

"Okay, sir. But I’m not going to tell Davis anything. Let’s not even tell him that General Atkins is cool to the project. I want Davis’ best efforts, you know." Colonel Browning nodded in agreement. Bill left.

Passing Grace’s desk, he asked, "Everything okay with you, Grace?"

"Yes, sir ... Colonel, sir," she said smiling.

"Not yet, Grace .. not yet."

"Oh, Major ... since I need an escort now, I guess you’ll have to escort me to lunch and back today. The NCO Club has a special today." Bill smiled and gave her the thumbs up sign. Everyone knew that the best food on the base was at the NCO Club.

After lunch, Bill returned Grace to her desk. He busied himself with routine work until it was time to leave with Colonel Browning for the meeting General Kilgore’s office.

The general’s secretary ushered Bill and Browning into the office. They were the first ones to arrive. Colonel Browning took the opportunity, before the meeting started, to express his concerns about General Atkins being brought up to speed.

"Sounds reasonable, Ted, but I don’t know how the OSI guys will feel about more people getting involved. Why don’t you let me handle it, on a personal basis with my old friend?"

"Thanks, General. I’d feel better about it, because he is my immediate supervisor, after all."

Soon the others arrived and the general pointed them all back to the small conference table. As then got seated, the general asked, "Well, gentlemen? Where do we go from here? Any ideas from the OSI?"

"General. I’ve been in touch with my bosses in Washington. It seems that there have been rumors back there, all unconfirmed, about some Chinese intelligence group or groups suspected of recruiting military officers and high ranking civilians. My headquarters was very much intrigued by their contacting Major Wilcox. They hope that this might be an opportunity to better identify what the Chinese are up to and perhaps get a handle on specific individuals, theirs and ours, who are involved."

"Good. Good," General Kilgore commented. "So what did they think of the basic concept of the Major’s plan?"

"Frankly, General, they weren’t too keen on it. They worry that an inexperienced novice might hurt our efforts. No offense, Major, but you don’t have any background here."

"So what do your experts suggest?"

"They suggest using a decoy, somebody other than the Major. One of our guys would substitute for him, pretend to be Major Wilcox in whatever deals develop."

"General. May I say something here?" Bill interrupted.

"Sure. What’s on your mind, Bill?"

"I think that using a substitute for me is unwise. Li Han already knows that Grace and I are, well .. er ... friends. He’s probably seen me with her already. He knows about Helen and me too. And a new face would just cloud matters. I’m prepared to do my part and, well General, I think Li Han expects to see me, not a decoy."

Suddenly, came a tap on the door and in walked the general’s secretary. "Sorry to interrupt, General. But it’s Matthew Harkins for you. Do you want to take it now? or shall I say you’ll call back?"

"Excuse me, gentlemen. I have to take this call."

The meeting came to a brief halt, all participants biding their time until the general returned. Soon, he called, "Bill. Come here a minute, please. This concerns you."

Bill walked over to the general’s desk and was told that this was the Washington lawyer, returning General Kilgore’s call. "Why don’t you take this across the hall in my main conference room. I’ll put him on hold, and you can get it on line three. You’ll have some privacy there."

"Matt, hang on. I’m putting the major on the other phone. Yeah, good to hear from you too. Give Alice my love."

Bill left the room and headed to the now-empty formal conference room. A light on the telephone next to the general’s chair flashed to indicate which line the lawyer was on.

For the next half hour, Bill and lawyer Harkins discussed the details of the divorce case and Bill’s finances. Nothing was said at all, of course, about Li Han or the possibly improving the financial situation.

"She what?" Bill excitedly blurted.

"Yes, Major. She’s been frequently seen around town on the arm of Congressman Armanti. He’s the bachelor congressman from New Jersey. My sources say that they’ve become the talk of the town. This could work in your favor. I’ll get more information before formulating a best approach for you in the matter. But I thought you ought to know."

"Well, I’ll be damned. I never suspected," Bill exclaimed. "Are you sure?"

"Practically. My secretary saw Armanti with Helen yesterday at a reception in Lincoln Center. She says they were pretty chummy. But, let me get more information and check out her financial picture too. It may be quite different from yours. I’ll call you tomorrow. Can you give me another number? One where you feel comfortable talking?"

Bill gave Harkins his SORTG number and the one at the VOQ. Before hanging up he got Harkins number and office address.

By the time Bill returned to the general’s office, the meeting was just about to break up. Colonel Browning said he’d fill Bill in on what happened.

"Sir, what did the general decide anything regarding my role in dealing with Li Han?"

"Well, Bill. The OSI finally came around. They didn’t like it, but they had to admit they had no option but to use you, especially if Li Han knows what you look like. They don’t want you to do anything yet. Tomorrow they’re coming over to SORTG. We’ll meet in my office at 0900 hours to work out some of the details. I’ll drop you off at your car. You want to join me for a beer at the Club?"

"Sure. That’d be nice, sir. I’ll stop by my office briefly and join you at the Club in about a half hour, if that’s okay."

"Good. see you there then."

Grace had already gone home for the day when Bill topped the stairs. Sergeant Davis was getting ready to leave too. "How’s the capsule coming, Sarge?" Bill inquired.

"Sir, I’ll be ready just as soon as we get that ordered switch. Lieutenant Heflin and I have done about all we can for now. I’d like to take it back to the altitude chamber for another check, before we do any air work."

"Good idea. I’d like to witness that chamber test too. Let me know when you’re ready. Lieutenant Heflin can schedule it. Good night, Davis. See you in the morning. And, good job. It’ll work just fine next time."

Bill arrived to find Colonel Browning in the lounge at the Club. He was seated by himself in a corner booth. Bill joined him.

"So, Bill? How did it go with Matt Harkins? I’ve known Matt for 20 years or more. If anyone can help you, Matt surely can. He’s a damn good lawyer."

"He seems like a nice guy too, sir. But he sure gave me a surprise."

"Oh? How so?"

"He tells me that Helen, my wife, has been seen in the company of Congressman Travanti. And they were seen being very chummy at a Lincoln Center affair recently."

"You mean New Jersey Travanti? Well, I’ll be. He’s one of the most flamboyant and wealthiest men in Congress. Your Helen sure does travel in high society."

"Harkins suggests that this news might help my case, at least as far as a quick divorce goes, and even when it comes to alimony support."

"Hmmmmm .... no offense, Bill, but I wonder if Travanti knows what he’s getting into. But I guess he can afford her. Big money there. He’s the heir to the Prince Publishing fortune."

"Strange that I never heard of him during my Pentagon assignment, but then I seldom got out of my lower basement office.

I just don’t travel in those lofty circles."

"Well, Helen apparently does now. What’ll you have ... bottle or tap?"

Bill and his boss each had one brew and then they left, Browning headed home to his family and Bill back to the VOQ. He called Grace, just to say hello and tell her that he was turning in early. He wouldn’t be over that night. She understood and said she’d see him at work in the morning.

Just as Bill was getting out of the shower, on his way to bed, the telephone rang. That same heavily-accented voice that he last heard in the Pentagon was calling.

"Good evening, Major. I am informed that you’re financial picture isn’t very good. Perhaps we should meet to discuss how it might be markedly improved. Are you interested?"

"Who is this? And how do you know about my finances?" Bill responded, trying to sound annoyed.

"My name is Li Han. I suspect that Grace has told you about me .... and how I helped her out of financial difficulty. I am prepared to do the same for you, Major ... or should I say Colonel?"

That remark really shook Bill. "How do you know that I’m on the promotion list? Hell, I just found out myself."

"We know many things. It’s up to you, Major. But It doesn’t appear to us that you can wait too much longer before solving your financial woes. Would $5,000 in cash be of sufficient help?"

"I don’t wish to sound ungrateful, Mr. Han, er .. Li Han, but five grand doesn’t begin to solve my problem. I don’t suppose you know that the general here has red-lined my promotion. He says that I have brought discredit to the Air Force. He gave me 30 days to resolve my problem or else. Damnit, sir, I could be out on the street, my career over in a month. So your 25 grand won’t cut it. Thanks anyway."

"All things are negotiable, Major. Don’t dispair. I’ll get back with you soon and perhaps be in a position to offer greater assistance. Good night, Major. Get a good night’s rest. Tomorrow is a new day."

Chapter 11

Bill wondered how Li Han would react to his off-the-cuff declaration that $5,000 would not be enough. And he knew that the OSI people would be disturbed that any dialog had begun without their express approval. But events were beginning to surpass the pace at which an organized approach would work.

Bill arrived at the parking lot outside SORTG at 7:30 the next morning, noting that Colonel Browning just pulled into his reserved spot.

"Good morning, sir," he greeted, saluting the colonel. "Got another phone call last evening, from you know who."

"Oh? What does our friend want?"

Walking through the gate and then across the ramp, they continued talking. "He offered me five grand last night, just to help me out of my financial dilemma. And he knew about my name appearing on the ‘LC’ list."

"Looks like things are getting ahead of our plans, Bill. What did you say to him?"

"I told him that $5000 wouldn’t solve my problems, that my promotion was in jeopardy and that if I didn’t resolve all of this I’d be out the gate in 30 days."

"How did he react to that?"

"All he said was that he’d get back to me, hinting that more money might be possible," Bill concluded.

"Sounds like Li Han is getting anxious for you to do something. We’ll discuss this with the OSI guys this morning. See you at 9:00 o’clock, my office."

Bill left the colonel in the hallway and headed down to his office. Max Heflin saw him coming and declared, "Sir, that other switch arrived. Sergeant Davis is installing it now. We should be ready for a chamber test late this afternoon or tomorrow. Any preferences?"

"Yes, Max. Let’s plan on tomorrow ... in the morning, if they can accommodate us."

"I’ll see if I can set it up." Heflin responded, heading back to his own office.

At 0900 Bill approached Browning’s office. "Good morning, Grace. How are you?"

"Fine, sir. Did you catch up on your rest?"

"Yup. But our friend called last night. I’ll tell you about it later."

In Browning’s office sat the two OSI men and the colonel. It suddenly struck Bill as a little amusing that those two guys seemed to be inseparable, always showing up as a matched pair, in their dark gray business suits and carrying leather folios. He wondered if they were keeping an eye on one another.

"Come on in, Bill. And I guess we’d better close the door."

"Gentlemen, Bill tells me that Li Han called him at the VOQ last night. Why don’t you fill them in, Bill?"

Once again Bill recounted the nature and details of Li Han’s call. The two gray suited agents appeared upset. One reminded, "Major, we told you not to communicate with Li Han, until we’ve established a plan and a surveillance methodology."

"Yeah, right. Well you’d better tell Li Han that, because he was the one who called me," Bill snapped, clearly peeved at the implications of the agent’s criticism.

"Let’s keep this calm and orderly," Browning suggested. "The point is that events seem to be running ahead of us. Bill did the right thing, in my book. It seems to me that Li Han is getting anxious to have Bill working for him, though I haven’t any idea what he wants."

"You’re right, Colonel. Major Wilcox has behaved correctly here, I guess even professionally. His response to Li Han is about what we would have advised, but we have to get voice and photographic surveillance established. It’s time to bug the Major’s VOQ telephone. We’ve already done so to Grace’s, though we want to add her phone here at the office too."

"And speaking of Grace, gentlemen. I want to give her back her line badge. The only place she has access is here in our hangar, so she’s no threat anywhere else on the flight line."

"All right, Colonel, but we insist on placing one of our female agents here to keep an eye on her. We’ll use the cover that your office workload is too heavy for one girl, and you’ve decided to hire an assistant. You can even tell Grace that she’s the new girl’s supervisor, if you like."

Bill and Colonel Browning looked at each other. It was clear that neither like the idea, but felt forced to go along. "Okay," Browning responded. "We’ll go along with that, but we don’t want an officious type. Grace must not feel that she’s being watched."

"So, you OSI experts?" Bill continued. "What do we do now? and how should I deal with Li Han if he calls me again? Or should I call his answering service? What?"

"Set up a meet with Li Han, Major. See if you can get him to meet you at the ‘Office’, that cafe south of the base. All we need is a couple hours notice to get the place covered. One of our men will be behind the bar and another moving about as a bus boy. Why don’t you call him this afternoon for a noon time meeting tomorrow?"

Browning asked, "Is Bill going to wear a wire?"

"No. Not yet. Wires can be detected since they transmit and I expect that Li Han’s people would pick up on it. We’ve got to treat these guys as savvy professionals."

"Okay. But what do you want me to say or do if he’s prepared to actually give me money, kinda like getting me hooked?" Bill asked.

"Take it. Put it into your bank account and pay your most important bills. If he’s capable of tracing money transfers, you must use it to pay your creditors. Otherwise he might get suspicious," Agent Sims instructed.

"Do you think they’ll immediately ask Bill for something specific?" Browning asked.

"That’s hard to say, Colonel. He might, or he might wait a while. As anxious as he seems, in calling the Major last night, he’ll probably request something. That guy has his own bosses to report to ... and they’re likely yanking Li Han’s chain too."

"So how to I respond?" Bill pressed.

"Tell him that you’ll have to put together whatever it is he asks for. Stall. Tell him more about your financial plight and your need for more money."

"I want to make a suggestion here, especially if Li Han isn’t all that specific about what he wants ... or if he wants to test Bill’s willingness to cooperate," Browning added.

Then the colonel discussed the possible utility of offering the night capsule designs, suggesting that it could be a bone to offer as a mark of Bill’s good faith. "We’ll stamp all the document SECRET, though they really aren’t." Browning went on to explain that the night capsule was really a dead issue for the Air Force.

Agent Sims said that he’d discuss the idea with his superiors, and continued, asking, "May we use an office here, sir, to interview Grace?"

Bill interrupted, "You can use mine, if you like. I’ll be in the lab anyway."

"Thanks, Bill. I’ll be busy in here. Yours is probably a good place," Browning agreed.

The agents invited Grace to join them in Bill’s office. She dreaded what she knew would be an uncomfortable grilling, about her life, her relationship with Li Han and even with Bill. But she had no choice and followed them down the hall, as Bill led the three of them.

"I don’t believe we’ve ever heard your full name, Grace," Agent Simpson began.

"Grace Louise Elsworth. That’s my maiden name. My married name was Garrison." Simpson wrote that down.

"So, Grace. Will you please tell us how you came to know Mr. Li Han, and explain your relationship with him, from the beginning, please? Oh, and we will be recording this interview," Simpson added, placing a portable recorder on the desk in front of her.

Grace went over the whole story, every detail. When her voice weakened from all the talking, and Sims offered to get her something to drink. "Just water, please," she requested.

"Have you ever transmitted classified information, in any form, to Li Han or his representatives?"

"No. Never. I told him I had no clearance and he accepted that. At the time I was unemployed."

"And how did you get this job at SORTG?"

"Li Han suggested that I come here to the base and apply at the civilian personnel office. He said he knew a position would be opening soon. And the next thing I knew Colonel Browning interviewed me. It was that simple."

"Do you feel that Li Han had a direct hand in getting your job, or was it just fortunate timing?"

"I don’t know. For me it was fortunate timing, because I desperately needed the income."

"And just what information did you furnish Li Han in the months you’ve worked here?"

"Just names of people, telephone numbers and routine unclassified papers."

"We’ll need a complete listing of all the names and numbers you furnished, and when you gave them to Li Han."

"I can give you all of that, except I don’t remember exactly when I gave which names or numbers to him. I didn’t keep records."

"And what kind of papers, unclassified you say, did you supply him?"

"Oh, things like copies of the weekly flight schedule, rosters, manufacturer’s newsletters ... things like that."

"Who introduced you to Major Wilcox?"

Grace laughed ... a little because she was nervous, and a little from just thinking of those two characters from the F-15 program, pilots Ed and Jim. She was always amused by the antics of those two.

"Ed and Jim who?"

"Captain Ed White and Jim Black," she responded smiling.

"Why do you laugh at that?"

"Oh, those two good-hearted guys are always kidding about things being black and white where they are concerned. It’s just good fun. They are terrific, really nice guys."

"And they introduced you to Major Wilcox? How did that happen?"

"It was Major Wilcox’s first night here. He’d gone over to the Officers Club from the VOQ, just for dinner, I suppose. Anyway, they struck up a conversation with Bill, they’re really gregarious guys, and were sitting at a table when I walked by. The next thing I knew they sat me down and introduced us. I recognized Bill’s name from his transfer orders. That’s about it."

"Did you tell Li Han about Major Wilcox?"

"Yes. As a matter of course, I let him know that Bill was headed for SORTG from the Pentagon. Then he asked specifically about Bill’s Washington addresses, telephone numbers and what else I knew about him. All I had to go on was the information in Bill’s personnel folder."

"Why do you suppose Li Han has shown extraordinary interest in Major Wilcox, and none of the others you have told him about?"

"I haven’t a clue. I supposed it was because Bill came here from the Pentagon. Li Han doesn’t tell me anything. He just asks."

"And you always respond?"

"Yes. What choice do I have. He’s a scary kind of guy and I don’t dare cross him."

One last thing for now, Sims asked, "Have you ever asked either Ed or Jim for any information?"

"No. Never."

"How do you get information to Li Han?"

"Usually by mail. I’d simply put the material in a brown envelope, take it to the post office and send it."

"From the on-base post office?"

"Usually."

‘What address do you use?"

"It’s a post office box in West Covina, outside Los Angeles."

"How did Li Han get money to you for your services?"

"Different ways. For my ranch mortgage, he dealt directly with the bank. For most of the debts that Jack left me, he either paid the businesses or sent me cash at home in an envelope. Sometimes I’d find money left at the ranch."

"Where at the ranch?"

"Once he put an envelope in the oat bin, out beside the corral."

"Did he tell you where to look?"

"Yes. I’d usually get a telephone call."

"When was the last money sent or delivered to you?"

"Before I got this job. Since I started working, there hasn’t been any more money."

"Can you give us a physical description of Li Han? ... or a photograph, perhaps?"

"I don’t have any photographs, but I can describe him very well, especially those penetrating and sinister eyes. They go right through you. I also have the license plate number of the Lincoln sedan he used when he came by the ranch last time."

"Okay, Grace. That’s about it for now, unless you care to add anything else."

"No. I don’t know what else to say. May I go now?" Agent Sims nodded and Grace left the office.

And since Bill was not in the office, they both investigated everything there, including desk drawers, the filing cabinet and even Bill’s jacket pockets. They found nothing to interest them.

Both agents were heading down the hall, when Bill came along. "You fellows done with my office?"

"Yes, Major. We’ll be leaving now to verify some material. Here is my card. You call me immediately if you hear from Li Han. And remember, try to get him to meet at the ‘Office’."

"Okay. I’ll place a call from a payphone to his answering service this evening."

Bill headed towards Grace’s desk, after making sure that the OSI men were really gone. "Well? How did it go?"

"Like having a root canal. I don’t know if they believed anything I said or not. I told them all I knew, even the license plate of the big Lincoln Li Han came up in last time."

"Well, even though you don’t need an escort now. How about lunch?"

"Okay. Just let me powder my nose."

Over lunch, at the NCO Club again, Grace worried that the OSI would be interviewing all sorts of people about her, people like Ed and Jim, from the F-15 test Group. "What are people going to think?"

"Who cares what they think. They’ll just think it’s part of a routine background check for your security clearance. Don’t worry about it."

"I’ve got a worry though," Bill offered.

"I wonder what Helen is going to do when she finds out that I’ve paid off some of those overdue bills, assuming I actually get some of Li Han’s money."

"How will she find out?"

"Oh, lots of ways I suppose. The credit card companies will likely sent a notice to the house that the credit limit has been reinstated, or something like that."

"You mean you haven’t canceled those cards?"

"You ought to do that as part of paying them off. Close those accounts completely."

"Yeah, you’re right. But, I think I’ll discuss this with that lawyer, Harkins."

"And how are you going to tell him that you’ve suddenly got the money to pay off accounts? Where will you say you got the money? Las Vegas?"

"Hmmmmm. You’re right. It’s a problem, isn’t it? I’ve got to figure that one out. Who would have ever thought that getting a bunch of money would be so hard?"

"Honey. You haven’t begun to realize how hard accepting and having that money is going to be. I know."

"Let’s swing by the VOQ on the way back to the office. I want to see if Harkins has called." They left the NCO Club and headed for Bill’s car.

Grace waited in the car as Bill ran into the VOQ office. There were two messages waiting for him at the desk. One was from Harkins, requesting Bill to call, and the other obviously from Li Han. All that one said was call this number.

"That’s Li Han’s answering service number," Grace observed.

"Well. I was going to call him tonight anyway, so we’ll just see what he wants."

Back at the SORTG office, Bill asked Colonel Browning if the general was up to speed on the morning’s meeting. "Yes, I stopped by his office before lunch. He’s a little nervous about my giving Grace her flight line badge back, but he went along."

"I plan to call Li Han tonight, sir, but it seems he getting anxious to hear from me. There was a note from him at the VOQ just now. He wants me to call ASAP. And, oh yes, I also have a note to call Harkins too."

"Is that it?"

"Well, if you’ve got a minute, sir, I’d like to get your advice about the money. Maybe getting it will create another problem I hadn’t figured on."

The two men went into Browning’s office, again in a closed door session, and Bill described his dilemma about explaining to various folks, including Helen, if they discovered bills were being paid. He didn’t want Helen to know, but neither did he want the divorce court judge to know.

"Well, Bill. Let’s worry about that when, and if, you actually get any of Li Han’s money," Browning suggested.

"Yes sir, I guess you’re right. We’ll see what happens then."

Chapter 12

Bill dialed the number for Li Han’s answering service from a pay telephone in Rosamond, a small town west of Edwards AFB. Since he was talking only to an intermediary, there wasn’t much to say except, "This is Bill. I need your help. Suggest a meeting, perhaps at the ‘Office’ cafe. How about lunchtime Tuesday?"

It was only 7:00 P.M. on Thursday, so Bill felt that the OSI guys would have plenty of time for the surveillance setup four days hence. So, he made a second call, this one to the number on the card given him by Agent Sims.

"Is the 355-2121?" Bill asked.

"Yes. What is your message?"

"Just say this is Bill. I have made contact suggesting lunchtime at the ‘Office’ next Tuesday."

"Thank you." ..... click. And the person, supposedly with the OSI hung up. Bill muttered to himself, "Not very talkative, are they."

Instead of heading back to his VOQ room, Bill decided to swing by Grace’s place. The light in the kitchen was on, when he arrived. He tapped on the back door and she answered.

"Well. Hello there, stranger. You come around these parts often?"

"Hi, Grace. Put your sweater on. We need to talk and I’d prefer to do it outside. Okay?"

Wrapping a sweater around her shoulders, Grace came out and the two headed toward the corral fence.

"Why out here, Bill?"

"You telephone is bugged and I don’t know whether or not the house is too. I thought we could speak more freely where it’s safe."

"Bugged? Are you kidding?"

"Yes, I heard that the OSI has tapped your telephones, both here and at the office. They still don’t know what to make of you. Browning and I both know you’re okay, but those OSI guys are something else."

"Well, I’ll be damned ... pardon my French. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. And it wouldn’t surprise me if Li Han has the place bugged too."

"I called his answering service a little while ago, from Rosamond. I suggested a Tuesday meeting at the ‘Office’. You think he’ll go for it?"

"No, I don’t. There are too many Air Force people around. He might be suspicious that some are watching him."

"Well, you’re right there. It’s the place the OSI suggested and I know they’ll be set up for surveillance."

"Bill ... I think you’ll have to be prepared for Li Han to pick a place. And he’ll probably do it at the last minute so any surveillance set up will be impossible. Be ready for anything."

"Grace? Have you any idea why Li Han chose me? Or what in the world he thinks I can deliver?"

"No ... I don’t. I told the OSI agents what I felt about that. I thought he was interested in you because you came from the Pentagon. Do you suppose it’s anything SORTG is doing?"

"Who knows? Guess we’ll have to wait for the first meeting, Tuesday or whenever."

"Hey. I’ve got an idea. Max Heflin is an electronics whiz. Why don’t we ask him to come over here and check for bugs. He doesn’t know about the OSI tap on your lines, and he probably wouldn’t detect that from in the house anyway. But he just might find any that Li Han could have planted. You want me to ask him?"

"Yes, sure. I’d like to know if Li Han is listening every time I flush the toilet."

"Okay. I’ll talk with him tomorrow. Is Saturday morning okay with you, if I can set it up?"

"Sure ... I’ll be here all day, I suppose. Now, do you want to go in the house and give ‘em an earful?"

"An earful of what?"

"Silly boy," she said coyly, snuggling up close and hugging him."

"Oh, that. Yeah ... that sounds good."

It was just before midnight that Bill returned to the VOQ. And sure enough, Li Han had called. This message from the desk clerk said, "Let’s meet Tuesday at noon. Will tell you later where."

That was it, nothing more. But Bill was convinced it had to be Li Han. Grace was right. He was being very careful.

Friday morning, Bill got to SORTG a little later than usual. It was 8:15 when he reached his office to find Max and Sergeant Davis anxiously awaiting his appearance.

"Altitude chamber test is set for 8:30, sir. Are you ready?"

"Yes. Sure, fellow. I’m sorry to be late. Slipped my mind. Let’s go."

Heflin and Davis toted the heavy capsule through the freight door and then into the chamber. The lieutenant who set up the session commented, "Heard that your flight test didn’t go all that well. I hope another ride here will help assure the thing is fixed."

"You want to ride up with it in the chamber, Major?" Heflin asked.

"No. I’ll watch from out here."

Heflin and Davis donned oxygen masks and prepared to be locked within the chamber. They had to breath pure oxygen for several minutes before the pressure was lowered to equal 30000 feet. That would minimize the nitrogen problem and the bends on descent.

Soon, the lieutenant affirmed that the pressure was at 30000 feet. At that time Davis flipped on the master power switch of the capsule. He looked it over carefully and over the interphone confirmed readiness to start the simulated drop.

The operator slowly opened a valve, letting air enter the evacuated chamber. When the dial indicated 20000 feet, the dual headlights came on as planned. Then the rate of descent was set to about 2000 feet per minute, lowering the pressure altitude gradually down to ground level. The capsule lights stayed on all the way.

"Okay, guys. That’s great. You want to try it again?"

Max Heflin said, "No. That ought to do it. I’m satisfied."

Back at SORTG, the team carried the capsule to the lab. Colonel Browning heard them huffing and puffing under the 150 pound load. When he asked how it had gone, they reported, "It works just great."

"Well, guys. That’s what I wanted to hear. Now you’ve got one more chore."

"What’s that colonel?"

"All your drawings, documents, and test results have to be stamped SECRET. The night capsule project is now classified. Bill, I want you to give me an inventory of all related documents by subject, date, number of copies and the usual protocol for classified materials. And put that stuff in a safe right away."

"Yes, sir. I’ll get right on it."

Bill knew that the colonel’s directions were part of the ploy for Li Han’s benefit, but his own people had to think that this was for real. This must be treated like all classified projects, full accountability.

Later that morning, around 11:30, Bill got a call from lawyer Harkins. He said he’d met with Helen’s lawyer and come to an agreement about the divorce terms. But, she wanted the title to the house, mortgage and all, transferred to her name. And all outstanding credit card and bank debts stay Bill’s responsibility, as of the date of the divorce filing. Bill agreed. That brought Bill’s current debts to $32,000.

"I’ve got to get at least 50 grand from Li Han," Bill thought. "Wonder what the IRS says about this kind of income?"

Bill approach Max in the lab, asking, "How about joining me for lunch, Max? There’s something I need to talk to you about."

"Yes, sir. What time and where?"

At noon, Bill and Max drove out the south gate, headed for the ‘Office". The parking lot was full when they got there.

"Boy, the place is jumping," Max remarked. "Must be a graduation celebration for the Test Pilot School. We might not get a table."

Inside it was a madhouse. The noise of conversation, a juke box in the corner and the clatter of dishes was deafening. Bill thought that Li Han knew of this mayhem and was probably too old to take it. He felt that this was why he didn’t accept the suggestion of meeting here next Tuesday.

"Hey .. over there," Bill shouted in Max’s ear. "There’s a table." And they twisted and wiggled their way through the crowd to the one vacant table, getting to it just ahead of two other guys.

After they ordered lunch, Bill leaned over to talk to Max. The only way he could be heard was to cup his hands around his mouth and get real close to Max’s ear.

"Have you ever searched a house for electronic bugs? Listening devices?"

"Yeah. why?"

"I need you to help me Saturday morning. Can you make it?"

"Sure. Where?"

"Meet me at the VOQ around 8:30 and we’ll take my car. Bring your equipment."

"Okay, Saturday at the Q. But why?" Max inquired, an inquisitive look on his face.

Just then their lunch arrived, Bill shouted, "Tell you later. Too noisy. Thanks."

After they finished eating and finally got outside, where it was quiet, Max again asked what was going on.

In Bill’s car, he said. "Okay. Max. But this has to be a secret. Agreed?"

"Agreed. This sounds spooky."

"I want you to check Grace’s place for bugs. She’s convinced that somebody’s listening to everything."

"Grace? Come on. Why would anybody bug her place?"

"Can’t say. Don’t really know, but there is a good possibility. I can tell you this though. I know for a fact that her phone is tapped. You aren’t to mess with that. She knows about it. But she doesn’t want to have to watch everything she says or does in and around her own house."

"Yeah. I can understand that, but what’s going on?"

"I can’t tell you, Max. And I remind you that you agreed to keep this secret." Bill cautioned.

"Okay ... mum’s the word." Max looked puzzled, but he would keep his word.

That afternoon, Bill briefed the colonel on his phone call to Li Han, and showed him the note.

"Those OSI guys won’t like this. They like being in control," Browning suggested.

"Well, I kinda feel the same way about the ‘Office". Max and I had lunch there today and it was so noisy we couldn’t talk. Li Han sounds too old for a place like that anyway."

"Better give them a heads up on this, Bill. They’ll have to come up with Plan ‘B’."

"Have you told General Atkins anything about how we’re going to use the night capsule data?"

"No. Not yet. We don’t know if we really are, until Li Han goes for it."

"Yes sir. Tuesday’s the big day, I guess."

Saturday morning, Bill and Max headed for Grace’s house. Max’s special electronic equipment scanned each and every room of the house for ‘bugs’ or similar other eaves-dropping devices.

"It’s clean, Grace," Max finally declared. "Unless it’s a very advanced kind of gadget, I am convinced you do have anything. Making and scanning for these kinds of things has become a hobby and sideline for me, so I know what I am doing. I’ve even scanned the general’s home. Did find one there. But you haven’t got any."

"Really? You found one in General Kilgore’s house. Wow! I’ll bet that got the OSI excited," Bill remarked.

"Don’t know about them, but the base Provost Marshall was sure upset. It’s his job to protect things. Anyway, I don’t think you have anything to worry about, Grace."

"Thanks, Max. I really appreciate your help. C’mon into the kitchen. I’ve made fresh coffee cake and the pot’s on."

Bill, Max and Grace sat around the kitchen table, snacking and drinking coffee. Max wanted to ask more questions, but got Bill’s hints that he should drop the subject.

"Thanks a million, you two," Grace gratefully remarked as the two men headed toward the door.

As they drove back to the base in Bill’s car, Max once more assured him that if there were any bugs there, he’d have found them.

"Thanks, Max. Sorry to ruin your day off, but it was important." Bill said back at the VOQ parking lot.

"No sweat, sir. See you Monday."

Bill went up to his room and sat on the bed. Soon he took his shoes off and laid back to take a little nap. The ringing of his telephone, at 4:00 o’clock made him realize he’d snoozed more than three hours.

"Yes, this is Major Wilcox." The call was from Harkins.

"No. I won’t contest the divorce. I thought that was understood. If she wants out, it’s okay with me. Yes .. just send me the papers and I’ll sign. Yes. I understand it’ll take several months. But she did agree, didn’t she, that the filing date stopped my liability for additional debts. Oh, Good. I guess it’s all settled. Thank you, sir. Thanks a lot," Bill concluded, hanging up the phone. He was relieved and saddened. A book was closing and now he felt empty.

Sunday he spent quietly, not even getting up until 9:30. By the time he dressed and shaved the morning was well gone. He decided just to go for a drive and perhaps try some place new and different for breakfast, perhaps over the mountain to Bakersfield.

It was after five that afternoon before he returned to the base. He decided to go up to the O. Club for a drink and see what might be going on there.

Jim and Ed were in the lounge when he entered. They waved for him to join them. And after a couple of drinks, they asked Bill, "Do you know if there’s anything going on with Grace? The OSI men came over to the F-15 office asking all kinds of questions, some about people who might know Grace."

"No. Not that I know of. Mighta been a routine security check. Some of our stuff is classified, you know."

"Yeah ... like your night landings crosswise on the dry lake bed," Jim joked.

"Oh, you heard about that? Can’t talk. The project’s very hush hush," Bill said, trying to look serious about it all.

"Oh, really? We had no idea. What could possibly be classified about your funny looking 130’s?," Ed chided.

"You never know ... we could be up to most anything. Guess I’ll head back to the ‘Q’. Got a big day tomorrow. Classified stuff, you know." Bill responded, leaving his friends.

Chapter 13

When Bill left the VOQ, headed for his car in the parking lot first thing Monday morning, he noticed an envelope stuck on his windshield, under the wiper blade.

It was a plain white business-type envelope, with two hand written words on the front, saying "Major Wilcox". It wasn’t very thick, and he discovered it held but one piece of paper. A short note, in what appeared to be the same handwriting, said, "Fox Field, Lancaster at noon Tuesday. Go directly to rented Cessna 150 (N4955L) prepaid for three hours in your name. Keys in ash tray."

He sat there re-reading the note several times, bemused by the instructions. "This is straight out of a Hollywood script," he thought. "I wonder where the next instruction will come from."

On Arriving at SORTG, Bill headed for Colonel Browning’s office. "Look what I found on my windshield this morning, sir," he said handing the note over.

"Let the games begin, eh?" responded Browning. "He could have saved some money if he’d used the base aero club. But at least you’ll get some free flying time."

"I still don’t know where the meeting will take place. This guy’s spooky."

"No, Bill. He’s careful. Guess you’d better clue the OSI folks in."

"Yes, sir. I’ll give ‘em a call."

Later that morning, when Bill called the exchange went, "You found what, Major?" A long pause, and then, "Okay. Do what he says. This is just a first contact and he wants to see if you follow instructions. There’s nothing we can do on our end. Fill me in when you get back."

Bill hung up the phone, thinking to himself, "Yeah. Right. You guys never expected this. Hope your bus boy at the ‘Office’ has fun."

Max Heflin stuck his head in Bill’s office doorway, greeting "Good morning, sir. Want me to debug your office too?"

"Hi, Max. No. I think it’s safe. Thanks again for your help Saturday."

"Davis and I have inventories and marked all of the documents relating to the night capsule. I sure never expected Los Angeles to clamp security onto the project. When will we resume flight tests?"

"Can’t say. Maybe Colonel Browning will clue us in soon. Did you tell your friend at the altitude chamber that our test now has to be treated as SECRET?"

"No. That didn’t occur to me. I’ll take care of it now. Oh, have you seen the new secretary? A real doll."

"Replacing Grace?"

"No, no. Grace’s new assistant. She’ll keep the guys close to the front office."

"Oh," was all he said, knowing the assistant was an OSI agent. Bill decided not to tell Grace about the note and tomorrow’s noontime plans.

Monday night Bill didn’t sleep well at all. His imagination ran wild about what might happen when he actually met Li Han face to face. What does he want? Will he really pay me? How will He react to me? What will the OSI do next? These and dozens of other questions kept him awake until fatigue finally closed his eyelids at around 2:00 A.M..

At noon sharp, Bill walked across the tarmac at Fox Field, just north of Lancaster. He spotted N4955L, a blue and white Cessna tied down on the west end of the ramp. The cabin door was unlocked.

Bill reached first for the ash tray, to find the key and, hopefully a note telling him his destination. Wrapped in a sheet from a notepad, secured by a rubber band, he found it. Inside was the key. But more importantly, he quickly unfolded the paper to see what the note might say.

Bill read it aloud, the note saying, "Fly west to the end of the valley. Turn north and approach Tehachapi airport from the west. Be at coffee shop there at 1:00 P.M.."

Bill got out of the cockpit and started his preflight checks. Everything looked fine. The fuel tanks were full, so he knew he’d not need gas at Tehachapi for the return flight. He knew it was only a 35 minute flight, maybe 40 taking the long way around. Then he removed the tie-down ropes and the wheel chocks.

He climbed in, started the engine and checked everything out. Since the Fox Field tower wasn’t active, he carefully scanned the area for traffic and taxied toward the end of runway 24. For some reason he felt briefly that his airplane, a really nice low time craft, might be booby-trapped. "You’re just being paranoid," he told himself. "This guy wants to se me. Why would he do that?"

Soon he was airborne and headed west toward the hills at the end of the valley. He climbed to 6000 feet and turned north as the valley ended in a V-shaped notch of the desert floor. On the west side of the Tehachapi Mountains he noted how green it was up above the desert. The snows were all gone, but it was pretty.

A radio check with Tehachapi Unicom (airport radio) at the airport yielded a wind and active runway report. He circled around for landing on runway 288, right into the wind, a brisk 25 knots with gusts to 35. The air was bumpy with turbulence, winds curling over the hilltops. High above he saw lenticular clouds, those ideal indicators of fabulous soaring conditions. Tehachapi is famous for gliding and sailplane flights.

On touchdown he noted the airport office building and an adjacent cafe. "That must be the place," he thought. He parked right in front of the cafe and shut the engine down. It was so windy that he quickly placed wheel chocks to keep the plane from rolling, and he found some tie-down ropes to secure his craft.

A man, slightly built and obviously an oriental, came out of the cafe and walked toward him. He held his hat with one hand and waved at Bill with the other.

"Nice day for flying, isn’t it Major."

"Ah .. yes. It is, but a little bumpy around the hills. Are you Li Han ... or Mister Han? What do I call you, sir?"

Walking together back toward the cafe, He suggested that Bill simply call him Li Han. They went inside and finally Li Han lowered his arm, removing his hat.

Bill noted that Li Han was much shorter than he was. And the man was really frail, thin and older than expected. Li Han led him to a booth next to a window overlooking the air field.

A waitress came over and presented the two men with menus. "Just the onion soup," Li Han ordered. "I’ll have the soup and a BLT, and a cup of coffee," Bill added.

"You Americans," Li Han began. "You drink a great deal of coffee. It makes you so nervous. I haven’t gotten used to that."

"Yeah, I guess so."

"So, Major. You have deep financial difficulties. Correct?"

"Yes, sir. That’s my main problem."

"Oh. Do you have other problems? Beyond money and your wife, Helen?"

"They’re one in the same, I’m afraid. But she’s started divorce proceedings. Soon it’ll be mostly just a money problem, a never ending one. I owe more than a year’s salary."

"Perhaps I can help. But in return you must help me."

"I kinda suspected that. What is it you want from me. I’m just a lowly major."

"Don’t diminish your worth, Major. To me you are a potentially valuable friend."

"Ah hah ... what does that mean?" Bill asked, trying not to rush to specifics, on either money or Li Han’s wish list.

"Major. I want you to take this envelope, as a measure of my good faith and trust in you. We know a great deal about you and appreciate your unfortunate situation. We wish to help. Financially appears to be the most beneficial way. Do you agree?"

"Sir, I don’t know what to say. I’m not accustomed to receiving financial aid from strangers."

"Oh. Do you know your banker well? When you borrow to purchase a home or an automobile do you get to know the lender personally? I think not. So, why should it bother you to accept this money from a friend?"

"Well, no. I guess not, but does this make us friends?" Bill responded.

"Of course. And we will soon be much better friends. I believe it."

Bill hadn’t yet looked in the envelope that Li Han passed to him across the table. It was another, like the one found on the windshield, on it felt much thicker.

"What’s in here?"

"Ten thousand dollars, my friend. And I am prepared to add another fifteen thousand when you complete a little assignment we have for you."

"I told you over the telephone that 35 grand won’t get me out of my dilemma. It won’t get my creditors off my back and save my career. I told you that."

"Yes, Major. That you did. But we must do things in the proper order. You will have an opportunity to earn more. But first we need something very specific. And I need a tangible demonstration from you of your friendship to me. You must understand."

"I understand this. I take your money and you’ve got me on the hook, like a fish taking the bait. You know I need more and you can control me. It’s like signing a deal with the devil, I think."

"Ah yes. There are devils and then there are more devils. You must choose which one you need and are willing to deal with. I don not think you have very many options, Major."

"Well, you’re right there. And time is running out. The general is on my case and holding my promotion hostage to my clearing up these debts."

"That is why you need my friendship, Major. I can help you solve your problems and save that promotion. I can save your career."

"So what is it you want from me that’s worth all this money?" Bill finally demanded. "Just a little information, Major. Your assignment to the satellite recovery group is of great interest to us."

"Who is ‘us’?"

"I am, as you have no doubt observed, from China. I represent my government’s intelligence services and we need information about your reconnaissance satellites. You are now in a position to be of use to us. We have waited patiently since your days in Saigon to find a way for you to be helpful to us. You do remember a delightful Eurasian beauty from Saigon. Do you not?" Li Han placed a photograph of the beautiful Sandy on the table, apparently taken at the bar where Bill met her.

"She was one of yours. My god. I never suspected."

"Yes, Suzy is very good. It was she who identified your special abilities and told us of your Pentagon assignment. I hope and trust that she did not make a mistake, Major." And then he placed a second photo in front of Bill. This one showed Suzy with her arms around Bill’s neck, her head close to his.

"Boy. I’ve been reeled in like a fish," Bill lamented. "You probably waited until I was in such a fix that I’d have to depend on your help."

"We hoped that circumstances wouldn’t be so difficult for you, Major. But I admit that we make friends best of those who truly need us."

"So? Exactly what do you want?"

"My government is well aware that your spy satellites pass over our sovereign airspace every 90 minutes, Major. Just as they do over the Soviet Union. We suspect that those vehicles have cameras and electronic listening equipment. But we do not know what their capabilities are. For example, we do not know the resolution of the cameras, nor do we know if they are observing in the visual photography range or infrared. And we don’t know the frequency spectrum and sensitivity of the electronic monitoring sensors. This is what we need from you."

Bill thought long and hard, both about what Li Han was asking and the knowledge that he couldn’t deliver design specifics of those satellites.

Shoving the envelope back at Li Han, Bill began, "Look. You obviously don’t know as much about me as you thought. For if you did, you’d know that I don’t have any connection with the satellites other than catching them. My outfit tests the hardware and aircraft systems used to retrieve the satellites when the come down into the atmosphere. I’ve never even seen a real satellite package. Here. Here’s your money back. You’ve got the wrong guy."

"I don’t think so, Major. What I need from you is only the details of a small specific part of such satellites, a part common to all of them."

"Huh ... what do you mean?"

"I refer to the radio beacon which is used to steer the recovery aircraft into the right position for a retrieval by your C-130 transports."

"What’s so special about that beacon?" Bill asked, in real uncertainty. He knew there was a beacon used by the direction finder, but he didn’t know what was special about that.

"That, Major, is exactly what we want to know. Is it a coded signal? What are the code characteristics? Do the codes change? What are the power levels and type of antenna used? And when do the signals start?"

"Yeah. I guess I could find that out. Our C-130 receivers have to know that, but I’ve not looked into it. My knowledge has been pretty much limited to using the DF system to get bearings on the descending payloads," Bill responded, trying to sound both informed and stupid at the same time.

"Yes, Major. That DF equipment is another interest item for us. We need to know the sensitivity of your receivers, the nature of decoding processors and the antenna pattern characteristics, main lobe and side lobes."

Li Han pushed the envelope back to Bill. "Take this, Major. See what you can come up with."

"Okay. I’ll see what I can find out. How do you want me to deliver the data? ... and where? And will you give me the other 15 grand then?"

"Yes, of course. Payment on delivery. I’ll be in touch with you in ten days to check on your progress and give you further instructions. Now, let me walk you to your airplane. You have to get back."

Bill took off and headed south, directly toward Fox Field, rather than taking the circuitous route on the way up. He wondered if Li Han knew that Edwards AFB ground radar could track the Cessna. "Maybe that’s why he wanted me to put the Tehachapi Mountains in between me and the Edwards radars. The guy’s careful."

Chapter 14

On landing at Fox Field, Bill secured the plane and headed for the airport operators office. He stopped first at a pay telephone and called Colonel Browning at SORTG.

"Where are you, Bill?"

"I’m still at Fox Field. Just got back in, sir."

"Did you meet Li Han?"

"Yes. We met at Tehachapi airport. I flew up there and had lunch with him. He gave me the specifics about what he wants."

"Oh? What does he want?"

"Beacon design data on the payloads and specifics about the JC-130 DF system."

"Oh oh ... that’s serious."

"What? You mean all this other stuff isn’t?"

"No. Bill," Browning continued. "It’s time to talk to Atkins about this. Have you still got the airplane?"

"Yeah. It’s parked and tied down, but I have the keys. Why?"

"Wait for me. I’ll be right there. You and I are flying down to Los Angeles and a meeting with General Gerry Atkins. I don’t give a damn what the OSI says. Atkins has to know what up. Be there in 30 minutes. You gas her up and be ready to go."

"Okay, Colonel. I’ll be ready."

Bill went into the airport operator’s office and said he’d need fuel for a second flight. The fellow behind the counter leaned over to a dispatch radio and called for the fuel truck. "You know, Major, that the bird is prepaid only for three hours on the tachometer."

"Yeah. Don’t worry about it. I’ll pay for anything over that. There’s an hour and a half left."

Soon Colonel Browning drove up. He met Bill in the airport office and the two headed back out to the Cessna.

"Nice little bird, Bill. How does she fly?"

"Like a dream, boss. But what’s so urgent about this trip to General Atkins?"

"I’ll tell you after we’re airborne. The general will be meeting us at the Hawthorne Airport. It’s just southeast of LAX. Let’s go."

Browning explained that he deduced from Bill’s clues that what Li Han really wanted was information that would make it possible for the Chinese to grab a satellite payload. When Bill explained the other things discussed at Tehachapi, Browning’s feelings were even stronger. General Atkins has to know about this.

They took off and headed south, flying along the east side of the mountains to San Bernardino, following the Pearblossom highway and I-15. Then they turned west and into the smog for Hawthorne. The smoke and haze was horrible, especially into the sun getting low in the western sky. They depended strictly on radio navigation aids to find the place.

It wasn’t easy finding the Hawthorne airport, but soon the wheels of the Cessna touched down. "Over there, below the tower, Bill. The general will meet us in the dispatch office."

General Atkins was waiting for them, wearing civilian clothes, and a round of handshakes ensued. "Major. It’s nice to meet you. Ted, here, has told me quite a bit about you, as has General Kilgore. You did the right thing blowing the whistle on this Li Han character."

The three men headed for a small conference room, loaned to them by the airport manager.

"Is it safe to talk here, General?"

"Yes, Ted. I’ve used this place before."

Bill explained, in great detail, everything that happened, from receiving the note on his windshield to meeting Colonel Browning at Fox Field. The general was greatly intrigued.

"What do you think all this means, Ted?"

"General. It’s got to mean the Chinese are after a payload capsule. Sounds like they want to be able to do some direction finding of their own and beat us to a splashdown. It wouldn’t surprise me if they tried to decoy the recovery aircraft away from the real descent area."

"Did you mention anything about the night capsule to Li Han?" asked Browning.

"No, sir. I didn’t. Why?"

"Ted. You aren’t still messing with that thing are you. I told you to put a hold on the whole project."

"We have, General. I’ve been creating a little smoke screen about the thing. I’ve taken pains to slap SECRET stamps on all the documents and let it be known around the base that it’s become very hush hush."

"Why would you do that? It’s just a home grown Rube Goldberg contraption, Ted."

"Sir. It’s not that bad. When it works, it’s pretty impressive. But, my reasoning is that Li Han might be interested in it so our counter-intelligence folks can suck him in. We can also milk him for it."

"If we can detect any message traffic from the US to China that includes any reference to the night capsule, it might lead us to specific people and places where they have agents. Sure, we know that the night capsule is no big deal. But they don’t."

"Hmmmmm. I’ll have to think about that, but you could be right. We might use it as a ruse, telling him that Bill, here, cannot locate the data Li Han wants. It might keep him interested in Bill and the money flowing."

"How much of this does General Kilgore and the OSI know?"

"Nothing of what’s happened today, General, aside from Bill’s got to Fox Field."

"Well. Let’s keep it that way, for a while. I’ve got to get onto a secure line to the National Reconnaissance Office and brief them, before the OSI mucks this all up."

"You guys better get back. And, Bill. Get your boss, here, to pay for the rental on your airplane. I’ll reimburse him later."

The flight back to Fox Field was smoother than Bill’s to Tehachapi, even over the mountains. Darkness had fallen and the winds subsided. After tying it down carefully, They checked the airplane in and settled accounts.

Each drove back to the base in his own separate car. Bill decided to head for Grace’s, hoping that they could talk and she might feed him. It was now 8:00 o’clock.

He parked behind her car, pleased to note that she was home and the kitchen light was on.

"Can you feed a hungry stranger, ma’am?" he said when she came to the door. She invited him in, laughing.

"You’ll have to take left-overs. I’ve finished doing the supper dishes."

Bill said that even a peanut butter sandwich would be fine, but she found a cooked ham and other things she could quickly fix for him.

"Well? Did you meet Li Han today?"

"Yup. Up at Tehachapi, of all places." Then Bill told about his trip up there, not including the conversation details. He showed Grace the envelope with the $10000, adding "It’ll help pay some debts, but it’s only a down-payment."

"He actually rented an airplane for you? The guy is sure weird. Why do you suppose he did that?

"Probably didn’t want me, or us, followed. If he suspected I was being watched, the airplane would be an ideal way to lose a tail."

"Here you are, sir. It’s supper, but not all that much. Want a beer with it?"

"No. Water’s fine, and thanks. I’m starved."

"Have you been up at Tehachapi all this time?"

"Mmmmm good. No. Not all this time. I met with Colonel Browning to brief him. Just now got away. I came by just so you’d know that Li Han didn’t kill me, or anything like that."

"So? What’s next. What does he want? And will be pay you any more?"

"Hey. Slow down. One question at a time."

"He wants me to get some technical stuff. Can’t tell you what, exactly, because Browning hasn’t decided what I’m to tell or give Li Han. And money? Well, I think there’s more coming, after I deliver."

"Are you actually going through with this? Giving secrets to a foreign agent is a crime. Isn’t it?"

"Yes. You know it is. I really don’t know what I’m going to do. Give him something, I guess. I’m still up to my neck in debts."

"Be careful, Bill. Please, be careful."

"Yes, sweetheart. I will. Oh .. I have some other news too. Helen has agreed to the settlement for the divorce. I think that chapter is about closed. General Kilgore’s lawyer friend, Harkins, has been great."

"Are you happy about that?"

"It’s hard to be happy about a big part of your life shot to hell. I used to be very happy with Helen, but in the last couple years she became obsessed with the Washington scene, the power, the image and living beyond our means. It was a nightmare. No. I’m not happy. Just relieved."

"Well, then. I guess what you’ve got to do now is pay off those debts and turn your life around. Maybe I can make you happy," she said kissing him sweetly on the forehead.

"Come here, you ... that’s not the kind of kiss I need now." And he swept her up in his arms and carried her down the hall. He knew where the bedroom was. This was the first night that Bill didn’t return to his VOQ room.

At 5:30 the next morning he got up, dressed and headed back to the VOQ to clean up, shave and put on a fresh uniform. He wondered if he should keep some of his stuff at Grace’s place. It would be a lot easier.

After breakfast at the Club, he drove down the hill to the SORTG parking lot. It was 7:45 when he reached his office. No sooner did he sit down than in walked Browning.

"Better come to my office, Bill. Those OSI guys are there and want to hear about yesterday. Mum’s the word on out L.A. trip."

Bill nodded in understanding, and followed his boss back down the hallway. He noticed that Grace was not in yet, but her assistant was. And those same two OSI guys were wearing the same two gray suits. The assistant didn’t join them.

"Well, Major. What happened yesterday, demanded Agent Sims."

Bill explained the note found in the airplane, the flight to Tehachapi and his meeting Li Han. He described Li Han in some detail. He did not mention the specific of what Li Han wanted, saying only that he’d received $10000 as good faith money intended to cement their relationship.

"Where is the money, Major?"

"I paid bills with it. Why?"

"My headquarters has decided that the money is government property. You have to turn it over."

"The hell I do. You tell your bosses that they can’t change the ground rules. You sat right there and told me to keep it. So I did. And what’s more, Mister ... I intend to use the next payment, whenever that is, to pay more of my debts. I wouldn’t be involved in this at all if I wasn’t so deep in debt. Tell your headquarters to jump in the lake. I don’t see them sticking their necks out."

"Easy, Bill ... don’t let ‘em get you riled." Then, turning to the Agent Sims, Browning said, "I heard you tell Bill he should keep the money. He did exactly what you told him, and that’s when you thought it would be $25000."

"Okay ... okay. Different subject," Sims declared, backing off sheepishly. "Are you going to give Li Han the data on your night capsule? Is that what he expects?"

"We’re working on that. First we have to convince him, and any others he might have watching us, that the night capsule project is important. We’ve arbitrarily classified all the documents SECRET. And we told the altitude chamber folks to treat any and all of our tests there as SECRET as well. We’re getting the word out, hoping to tweak Li Han’s interest it it."

"Does Grace know anything about this?" Sims asked.

"As much as anyone else around here. They all think its classified and sensitive." Browning replied.

"Hmmmmm. That may be good. Yes. If Grace is on Li Han’s side, letting her know the project is sensitive might be good," Agent Simpson suggested.

"One more crack like that and I’ll break your face," Bill angrily snapped. "Grace is not your problem, you idiots. Li Han is. You got that."

"Bill .... calm down. I’m sure Agent Simpson was just doing his duty. Easy, there." Bill glared at the two OSI agents, and if looks could kill, both would be history.

Browning continued, "Look. Bill and I are both convinced that Grace is trustworthy. Yes, she did some dumb things under duress, but she’s basically loyal and has our confidence. So, unless you come up with something damn incriminating and for certain, lay off the snide remarks."

"I’m supposed to meet with Li Han in ten days or so. I’ll let you know when he contacts me," Bill offered.

The agents got up and headed for the door, turning to Bill, saying, "We don’t think you realize the gravity of this situation, Major. And understand this. We call the shots. It’s our investigation and you will abide by our instructions. Is that clear?"

Bill didn’t say anything, but Browning sensed that flying fists weren’t far off. He got up, stood between Bill and the agents and escorted them out of the office. When they were gone, he turned to Bill and said, "Come on now, Bill. Don’t let temper cloud your judgment. A great deal depends on you and your keeping your head about you."

"Yes, sir. I understand. But those two are asking for it."

"I think they just like pulling your chain. Don’t let ‘em get to you. You get back to work. I’ve got to meet with Sergeant Marvin and the loadmasters about a new parachute test for this afternoon. Keep your cool."

Grace just arrived as Bill came out of Browning’s office. "Good morning, Grace. Sleep well?"

"Why yes, Major. Very well, thank you."

Chapter 15

Bill’s research into the design of the JC-130 direction finding (DF) antenna revealed that it was not only a simple device, it was also totally unclassified. He could furnish that information to Li Han without in the least compromising US secrets. So, he gathered up a packet of drawings, schematics and photographs.

Later, on passing his boss in the corridor. "Have you got a minute, sir? I’ve got some data for our friend that perhaps you should review."

"Sure, What have you got?" - joining Bill in the laboratory.

"This stuff is all unclassified, as far as I can tell. But, it’s precisely what he asked for. What do you think?"

"Hmmmmm. Looks harmless, but do you think it will impress him enough to give you more money? Why don’t we classify the hell out of it? Stamp all drawings SECRET and the other stuff too. That way he’s more likely to think it’s worth something."

Bill laughed, for the very idea of trying to fool Li Han seemed like the thing to do. "Don’t you think we ought to make the SECRET stampings look older though? Fresh ink might be a dead give away?"

"Yes, you’re probably right. Tell you what we can do though. Let’s take this stuff down to the base reproduction folks, the civil engineering office can copy big documents like this. By the time it’s been copied and rumpled a bit, it’ll look like duplicates of old material. Let me see if I can get some help on this, on the sly."

Browning called General Kilgore, requesting a short meeting. It was time to give the general an update on things anyway. But, his real purpose was to get the general to instruct the base civil engineers to cooperate without asking questions. Kilgore agreed to a one o’clock meeting.

Later that morning, Browning asked Bill to come to his office and bring the DF materials to be copied. "Why don’t you join me at General Kilgore’s office this afternoon? He probably wants a report on your meeting with Li Han first hand. Meet me at headquarters at 12:45."

Browning carefully reviewed all of the material that Bill left on his desk. He was satisfied that nothing there would be compromising of SORTG’s efforts, and he checked to be sure that the classification markings were consistent with standard procedures. Satisfied, he rolled the material up and placed a rubber band around it.

One o’clock came and the two SORTG men arrived at the general’s office. The secretary showed them right in, closing the door behind them. "Hello Ted, and you too Bill. I’m anxious to hear what happened. Those OSI fellows didn’t give me much in the way of details. But, they sure are unhappy about the airplane gambit by Li Han."

Bill gave General Kilgore a complete rundown on his day with Li Han, all but the part of flying down to Los Angeles to meet General Atkins. "Well, our friend is certainly specific. What do you suppose his real agenda is?"

Colonel Browning decided it was time to make a suggestions to Kilgore. "General, may I make a couple of requests here?" The general nodded, indicating Browning should explain. "I suggest, General, that it’s time for you and General Atkins to discuss this whole thing face to face. There’s a lot more to it than meets the eye. Could you send your T-39 down to Hawthorne to being him up here this afternoon, assuming he’s available?"

"Sure, I suppose so, but why?"

"I can’t go into that now, General. But, with you and General Atkins privately discussing the real concerns about what Li Han is up to, I’d feel a whole lot better, and less uncomfortable about being in the middle here."

General Kilgore buzzed his secretary, asking her to get General Atkins. Soon he picked up his telephone. "Gerry? Steve Kilgore. I’ve got Ted Browning and Bill Wilcox here in my office. Ted suggests that it’s time for you and I to discuss this Li Han problem together. Ted’s reluctant to fill me in until you’ve explained what’s really going on. Yeah, those OSI fellows are too circumspect. I don’t get much out of ‘em."

For several more minutes the two general chatted, and finally, "Okay, Gerry. I’ll send my T-39 down to get you. Three o’clock at Hawthorne airport. Thanks, my friend. See you later this afternoon. Bye."

"Okay, Ted. He’ll be up around 3:45. For his convenience, let’s meet at on the flight line at Base Operations, upstairs. That’ll save him some time. Now what was the second thing you wanted?"

Browning explained that he needed some documents reproduced, falsely classified, strictly for Li Han’s benefit. "Those fellows down at civil engineering won’t want to copy anything stamped SECRET, but I can’t tell ‘em they’re not really classified."

General Kilgore picked up his phone again, dialing the base civil engineering squadron commander. "Kevin? General Kilgore. Look I need your personal involvement in a little project. It has to be on the sly though. When? Right away. Yes. I’m sending over Colonel Browning from SORTG. He’ll explain what he needs. Just do it. No questions. Okay? Yes .. and thanks."

"Okay Ted. Is that it?"

"Yes, general. And thank you very much, sir. We’ll be available at 3:45, if you need us."

"Hell yes, I do. You both be at Base Ops when Atkins arrives. See you then."

Bill and his boss drove over to the base civil engineering office. Colonel Kevin Robbins greeted them, quite surprised by the call he’d received from General Kilgore.

"What’s up, gentlemen?"

"Can’t explain the details, Kevin. Can you operate the big document copier?"

"Yes, what do you need copied?"

"Chase all of your troops away from the area around the machines and we need you to personally make some special copies of this stuff here," Browning explained, holding up the roll of large drawings.

"Sounds like cloak and dagger stuff, Ted. Can you tell me about it?"

"Sorry, my friend. This is important though, and Kilgore wants to limit the number of people knowing what’s going on. You understand."

"No, I don’t, but that’s all right. C’mon back with me."

Robbins led them to a room just beyond the drafting section. His people were startled when he chased them away, but they quickly cleared out. Then he personally began making the requested copies. He didn’t know anything about what was illustrated, but he saw clearly the SECRET stamps.

"Are you sure this is kosher, Ted? We don’t allow copying of classified documents, you know."

"Just between the two of us, Kevin. This is not, I repeat not, going to compromise anything classified. It’s hush hush though. You’re not to mention this to anyone, except General Kilgore. He’ll affirm that you won’t get in trouble."

"Okay. I suppose so. I know nothing."

Bill and Browning inspected the freshly made copies. The SECRET markings looked much better, not like brand new. And then they purposely rumpled and folded the new copies. That really confused Robbins, but he said nothing. Finally, Browning did offer this, "Gotta make ‘em look older and used, Kevin. That’s all I can tell you."

Robbins held his hands up in front of him, saying, "I don’t want to know."

Browning thanked Robbins for his help, reminding him once more that "this never happened. Okay?" Robbins nodded and passed his hand across his mouth in a zipper fashion.

It was nearly 3:30 by the time they got back to the flight line. The two headed straight for the Base Operations building. In a few minutes a T-39 pulled up in front, on the ramp next to two other airplanes. Bill and Browning greeted their general and led him to a small conference room up above the dispatch office. A minute or two later General Kilgore joined them.

"You want us to leave you two alone, General?" said Browning.

"Yes, Give us a few minutes," Kilgore replied. "Why don't you two go downstairs to the snack bar and get us some coffee or soft drinks. What’ll you have, Gerry?"

Ten minutes later Bill and his boss returned to the upstairs conference room, carrying several beverages. They were invited to sit at the table with the two generals.

"Ted ... and you too, Bill," Atkins began, "I’ve filled General Kilgore in on the whole thing. In fact, I told him about my chat with the NRO people back in Washington. They are getting the CIA into the act, especially in monitoring message traffic that might indicate Li Han’s communications with China."

"Does that mean I’m not in the middle now, General?" Browning asked. The two generals looked at each other and laughed.

"No, Ted. We like you there in perpetual uncertainty."

"Should I give the DF equipment stuff to Li Han then?" Bill asked.

"Yes ... and that’s all for now. Tell him you can’t get the beacon and coding data because it’s down in Los Angeles. And tell him you don’t have access to those files. It’s the truth and he’ll have to accept it," General Atkins responded.

"Gerry?" Kilgore added, "Don’t you think it would be smart to resume your drop tests on the night capsule, just for show? You don’t have to try recoveries, of course, but some activity and strange lights in the night sky might increase credibility on that project."

"Probably a good idea, Steve. Okay, Ted. You and your crews can make a few drop tests. That ought to keep interest up, with Li Han and your own men. Keep me posted in how it goes."

"Yes, General. We’ll start next week. And I assure you, we’ll make no catch attempts, not until you give us the go-ahead."

"Well, I guess that about does it, Gerry. Thanks for coming up on such short notice. It’s good to clear the air here and make sure we’re on the same page in all of this. I’ll walk you out to the airplane."

Bill and Browning bid farewell and headed back to SORTG. Bill had to lock up the capsule drawing package. Then he remembered that he’d not yet deposited Li Han’s money in the bank. He decided that he’d better hurry to do so before the bank closed. Barely making it before closing time, he decided to put in just half of the money, so as to avoid having to fill out extra forms the IRS required on large deposits. "Boy," he thought. "It’s never easy, is it?"

Chapter 16

Bill held on to the $5000 not deposited in the bank. He had mixed feelings about how best to make the payments due to his many creditors. Should he pay off only the one or two that the amount would cover? Or should he make payments to each and every one? What he really wanted, of course, was to get more of Li Han's money and wipe out the debts completely, but that required much more.

His 30-day original deadline, the one imposed by General Kilgore in that very first difficult meeting, was fast approaching. That was enough for Bill to decide to send a message to Li Han, one indicating that he had some material ready for delivery and reiterating his urgent need for more cash.

Once again from a Rosamond phone booth, Bill placed a call to Li Han's answering service. He told the individual taking messages, "I've got a package ready. Not complete, but useful. Call me, please."

All he planned to hand over to Li Han was the package of drawings on the DF equipment. But, he knew that wouldn't satisfy the man. He had to offer up something more, but he didn't know what.

On the drive back to the base, he decided he'd tease Li Han with some general and vague information about the night capsule project. Maybe by the middle of next week some people in the region would have noticed the illuminated parachutes dropping east of Lancaster and Apple Valley.

Just to give the night drops a little more interest, he decided to call the local newspaper and inquire if they had any information about lights in the night sky. He thought he might interest a reporter enough to generate a story which Li Han or his people might see. "Better see what Browning thinks about this," he thought. "Don't want to screw things up."

After an 'all hands' meeting in SORTG the next day, Bill queried, "Sir, I want to ask you something about my next meeting with our friend. Are you free after this?" And Browning suggested another closed-door session would be advisable.

Bill tossed out his idea for getting some press publicity about strange lights descending at night over the desert. Browning thought several seconds and replied, "Yeah, that probably wouldn't hurt and it just might help. It sure won't cost us anything. Are you going to identify yourself to the paper? And which paper?"

"No. I thought I'd just call anonymously and suggest they have someone watching the eastern sky. How about suggesting Wednesday night. That ought to coincide with our second drop. Maybe others will see the Tuesday one and raise questions that the paper hears. I'll call the Lancaster paper."

"Okay. We'll be done by 9:00 P.M. both nights, so give 'em a hint of the time. The illuminated parachute might be seen over a large area, from Apple Valley to east Lancaster and even Victorville. But, don't be surprised if they treat you like a UFO freak or something."

"Do you think we ought to clue the OSI in on this?"

"Naw ... let 'em read about it in the papers. Anything else?"

"Well, yes, sir. I'm ready to meet with Li Han to give him the DF system data. I called him last night from Rosamond to set up a meet. I'm pushing because he knows about my deadline with General Kilgore. He knows that if I don't clear up these debts and stop the dunning letters that wind up on the General's desk, my career is over."

"Well, be prepared to explain why you don't have the beacon and code information. That's probably more important to him and he may not be pleased," Browning concluded.

"I anticipated that, sir. So at this meeting I plan on offering only a small hint about the night capsule project." Browning just shrugged his shoulders, not saying 'yes" or 'no' to Bill's proposal. Bill turned to leave, when Browning added, "Better tell the OSI when your next meet with Li Han is scheduled." Bill nodded in agreement.

Over the weekend Bill anxiously waited for a message from Li Han. None came, though he could only imagine why. In fact, what Bill could not know what that Li Han was in Hong Kong meeting with his superiors. They were displeased with the pace at which information came from their California agents. They questioned Li Han's miserly investment in useful sources, realizing that to get good intelligence data required buying it in a competitive market. They reminded Li Han that among their top priorities remained American spy satellites. And they reminded Li Han that buying or stealing design information is far cheaper and faster than doing it themselves.

* * *

Saturday afternoon, Bill met Grace at the ranch. She decided it was time for him to try horseback riding, something he'd avoided until now. Horses were nice to watch, from a distance, but riding one was something else, to his thinking. He didn’t want to tell her that he was a little afraid of those 1200 pound critters.

"Up you go, Bill. Ginger is a gentle horse, just right for a beginner. I'll take Pepper, my favorite."

Out the corral gate they guided their steeds, Bill apprehensively and very tentatively. Soon they headed out into the desert, slowly walking their horses between Joshua trees and around numerous prickly pear cactus. Grace encouraged him, gently and patiently. Bill was ill at ease, never sure whether or not his horse would bolt or suddenly rear up if a rabbit jumped out from behind a bush, a lizard scampered across the rail or a rattlesnake scared his now-gentle Ginger.

For several miles, under a magnificent blue sky, in the clean clear air of the high desert, the ambled at a slow pace. Then Grace turned to her riding companion, asking, "So? Are you ready for a trot?"

"A what? You mean go faster?"

"Yes, silly. That's what I mean. Go ahead. Gently poke Ginger with your heels. She'll know what to do."

Tentatively, barely perceptibly, Bill touched his heels to Ginger's sides, squeezing and not tapping. Nothing happened.

"A little harder, Bill .... a light poke, not a rub."

Bill just slightly moved his heels inward, tapping Ginger's sides again. Suddenly, the pace of her walk quickened just a bit. It startled Bill and he grabbed the pommel of the saddle to steady himself.

"More, Bill ... show her that you are in charge."

"Easy for you to say. I don't feel one bit in charge. Okay, one more time."

Then Bill more deliberately poked his heels. Ginger got the message and picked up the pace to a gentle trot. Bill bounced up and down, up and down with every stride. The gap between the saddle and Bill's buttocks grew wide enough to see daylight. It was a very rough ride.

"Attaboy," Grace shouted from atop Pepper, now 20 yards up ahead. Get in synch with Ginger's movements ... lift up from the stirrups and match her movements. Smooth out your ride and get with her."

Bill couldn't get the hang of it. He was getting a rough ride indeed and hated it. Soon he pulled back on the reins and brought Ginger to a halt. Grace looked back and saw her big brave man sitting there, dead stopped on the trail. She wheeled Pepper around and raced back at a gallop, bringing her horse up short just after passing Bill. Then they turned and came up along side.

"Not your thing, huh?"

"No, Grace ... not my thing. I'd feel much more comfortable in an airplane, thank you. Let's go back."

Grace laughed and the two headed back to the ranch at a slow walk. It was then that Bill told Grace he'd tried to contact Li Han for a second meeting.

"I've got an idea. Why don't you and Li Han meet on horseback along the trail. That would be a sight," she laughed.

"Okay, okay ... I'll grant you I'm no horseback rider ... and you're damn good. You do your thing and I'll do mine."

They returned the horses to the corral, Grace kiddingly remarking that the animals probably wouldn't need a cooling off period. They'd hardly been exercised at all, she laughingly commented.

"Tell you what, Bill. I'll go flying with you, if you agree to learn to ride with me. I've only been up in a plane once and then I got airsick pretty bad. I'm willing to try it again. Are you?"

"I'll let you know. How about we drive back down to the Apple Valley Hacienda for supper?"

So, once again they spent a delightful time at the Inn. The food was great. The wine just right and the early evening under a desert sunset ideal. It was after 9:30 by the time they returned to the ranch.

"Grace. I had a great day ... well, most of it. I'm still saddle sore. But I have to head back to the VOQ. I really want to know if Li Han has called or left a message."

"Sure. I understand. How about dinner here tomorrow. Around two?"

"Great. Can I bring anything? Wine? Rolls? Dessert?"

"Yes. That would be nice ... a carton of ice cream would be good. Butter pecan, if you can find it."

Bill drove back to the base and directly to the VOQ. At the desk he inquired about messages, but there were none. "Damn," he muttered. "Where is he?"

A re-broadcast baseball game on the television was the only thing he found to hold his interest. He watched the last five innings and now it was approaching midnight. Still no calls. He finally gave up and went to bed.

The sun rose over another perfect day in the desert. Bill was up at six and took a long walk around the base housing area. Thoughts of Helen and how sad it was that she wouldn't come out here were heightened as he passed by homes of dozens of other military families. "If only she'd given it a try," he thought. "This is a great place and to learn how beautiful the world can be." Yet, he knew that most easterners just never could appreciate this remote part of the world. All they see are the brown hills, blowing dust and vast distances between communities. They just don't give the place a chance.

Around 1:30, as Bill was preparing to leave for dinner with Grace, the telephone rang. It was that voice again, Li Han's. "Good afternoon, Major. When do you want to meet."

"How about Thursday noon? I've got a busy week and some flights on Tuesday and Wednesday that are important. Same routine? Fox Field?"

"No. Thursday will be fine, but I'll let you know the place later. Bring the merchandise." .... click. Bill didn't have a chance to tell him that he had to have more money. He had but a week left to beat the general's deadline.

The meal and conversation at Grace's ranch was delightful. They talked about all kinds of things, avoiding Li Han or anything to do with work. Bill discovered that Grace was interested in desert flowers and cacti, which is good because she was surrounded by them.

And she intrigued him with stories about the strange shrimp in the dry lakes. He never knew that creatures could survive under that scorched sun baked sand. Yet she told him that when the rains come and water stands atop the shallow lakes, shrimp eggs hatch and little creatures swim about. The interval between such events can be several years, but somehow the seagulls know and come in from the coast in flocks to feast on the little white shrimp.

Grace's knowledge of the desert fascinated Bill. She was raised just a few miles from here, where her father kept horses. She was quite a ‘tom boy" as a kid. He listened enthralled. She told tales of the early days, back in WW2, when Muroc Station began, later becoming the premier flight test center in the world.

"You got your message from Li Han, Bill, so you don't have to rush back to the VOQ tonight. Can you stay over?"

"Yes. But you know, I forgot my shaving kit and change of clothes again. I'll have to get up early on Monday."

"She grabbed a piece of note paper from next to the telephone and wrote him a reminder. "Get Stuff." She handed it to him and said, laughingly, "Here. Put this in your pocket."

Monday morning came early. Bill left for the VOQ at 5:30, as the sun was just coming up over the hills. He had to admit that being out on the trail at that hour would be nice.

* * *

Tuesday night the drop test went like clockwork. The capsule lights came on at 20000 feet and stayed on all the way to ground impact, as the drop ship made high passes around and over the clearly lit parachute.

A few people called local radio stations and even the police department in Lancaster to report a UFO. And Bill anonymously called the Antelope Valley News to describe what he'd seen. He told the news desk that they ought to have a reporter out watching these strange things, around 8:30 to 9:00 P.M..

Wednesday night Bill decided to ride in the jeep with Sergeant Campbell. They headed across the desert trails for the drop zone, prepared to retrieve the capsule and parachute, before the batteries went dead.

Much to their surprise, there were several local's out there too, well within the restricted area clearly marked to keep civilians away. Most disappeared when the government vehicle with two uniformed men appeared, but others simply moved back to watch.

"There it is, sir," Campbell declared. Over to the west and toward the hills. Sure enough, high above them they clearly saw the orange glow of the illuminated canopy. Winds from the west made the parachute drift eastward and toward their position, well within the range.

"You know," Bill said, "It's really kinda pretty, But I can see why locals think it might be a UFO or something."

Silently, steadily it drew closer and bigger. The drone of the JC-130 above clearly added to the excitement of the moment. In fact, to Bill it appeared that the airplane came down to barely 2000 feet above the desert before breaking off its repeated fly by’s.

"It's going to hit," Campbell pointed, "over that little knoll. We'd better get over there and beat the locals to it."

The jeep bumped and jostled over the rough trail in the direction of the parachute. The lights of the capsule made it easy to track, even after it hit the ground. The parachute was well tangled in a Joshua tree, with the capsule lights still shining up into the draped fabric, when they finally got there.

Bill got out of the vehicle and walked over to the capsule. He turned off the battery master switch and began uncoupling the risers. Campbell tried to free the canopy, but finally had to cut it because it was hopelessly snarled in the prickly branches.

Bill thought to himself, "I wonder if Li Han was watching this. Sure hope he was, or at least reads about it in the papers."

By the time he and Sergeant Campbell got the capsule and torn parachute back to the SORTG shop, it was after 10:00 P.M.. The two stashed the equipment quickly and locked up the building. At that late hour the gate handy to their buildings and parking lot was long since closed, so they had to walk a half mile to the Base Operations building and exit the flight line there. They agreed, looking south across the flight line, that the capsule lights probably generated lots of interest over a wide area. Campbell pointed out lights 45 miles away on the hillsides south of Pearblossom. It was a typically clear night.

At 11:00 P.M. Bill finally returned to his VOQ room. No sooner had he removed his jacket than the telephone rang. It was Li Han. "Be at the California City airport at noon. Another Cessna will await you. It's number is N3751S. I have prepaid another three hours for you. The key will again be in the ash tray."

Though it was late, Bill dutifully called the number for the OSI and relayed the message just received from Li Han. Once again the terse reply simply acknowledged his call. Bill shook his head.

At SORTG the next morning, Bill gathered up the packet of information about the DF system. This would be his first delivery to Li Han and it felt uncomfortable. Only the fact that he knew those documents stamped SECRET were not really classified made it easier.

He stopped by Colonel Browning's office before leaving for the California City airport, just 15 miles north of Edwards AFB. "Good Luck, Bill. And be careful. You're not dealing with amateurs, you know."

He parked his car next to the airport office and walked directly to the Cessna close by. This bird was not as new as the other, but it appeared to be in good shape. In the ashtray he found a note wrapped around the key, much as before. This note instructed him to fly over the hills to the Lake Isabella airport. On Bill's flight charts it looked like the runway was right at the water's edge.

After a careful preflight, Bill cranked up the Cessna and taxied to the end of the narrow runway. Winds were out of the west at ten knots. Soon the little craft was airborne and headed north. The rugged hills below were covered with Joshua trees. When he approached the road from China Lake, off to the east, he turned west and followed it to the lake. Up on the north end he saw the airport, noting that some of the runway was under water, but still it appeared long enough for a landing. A call to the Unicom radio affirmed that the field was open, despite 300 feet of runway below the high waters. The Spring snowmelt filled the lake.

Landing in a light crosswind, from over the water, Bill touched down smoothly and taxied over to the airport office. A small coffee shop at one end of the building appeared to be open.

"Don't need any fuel, but thanks anyway," Bill told the airport manager behind the office counter. "I'll just be here an hour or so."

He headed for the coffee shop and found the place empty of customers. A young woman behind the counter asked if he wanted a menu, but Bill said not yet. "Waiting for someone to join me."

It was 20 minutes before Bill noticed a white Lincoln sedan drive up and park next to the office. It was Li Han and a uniformed driver. Li Han got out, but his driver remained seated. "Hmmmm. That's odd," he mused. "I thought chauffeurs were supposed to open the doors for their employers."

Li Han walked in and smiled on seeing Bill seated at a table next to the window. The waitress once again asked if they wanted menus, though she brought them anyway.

"Just coffee for me, Bill requested, until he spotted a fresh chocolate cake under a plastic cover on the counter. "And a piece of that cake, please." Li Han ordered soup, and had to settle for the single choice of home made vegetable soup.

"Have you any merchandise for me, Major"

"Yes, I have, but it's not the entire order you requested. Do you have the payment I need?"

Li Han didn't hesitate. He slipped an envelope across the table to Bill, saying, "Here's ten more, Major. Now tell me what you've got for me."

"It's the direction ...." Bill stopped when the waitress brought his coffee and cake. "Thank you, Miss."

When she was far enough away, Bill continued, "It's the direction finder data, all that I could find. But be careful with it. The stuff us classified. I need it back after you've made copies, because it's on our records inventory. In fact, I need it back tomorrow or somebody's going miss it and start asking questions."

"Good work, Major. But where is the rest of the merchandise? ... the beacon material?"

"I couldn't get that stuff. It's down in the files at Los Angeles. We don't even have any maintenance manuals up here. And I don't have access to the Los Angeles material. Sorry, but I did the best I could."

Li Han's soup arrived and conversation stopped again, briefly. Bill watched as Li Han sampled the home made bowl of hot soup. "Delicious," he said. "Much better than the soup at Tehachapi."

"I may have something else for you, sir. Have you ever heard about our night satellite recoveries?"

"No, Major. Night recoveries? Why would your recoveries be made at night? You could not see the parachute."

"Well, sir, that may change. We have been testing illuminated parachutes so that around the clock recoveries would be possible. You haven't heard about that?"

Li Han worked on his soup, obviously enjoying it. In fact, he soon ordered a second bowl and a large paper cupful to go. "My driver will like this," he commented.

Li Han then passed a small package across to Bill. In it, he said, was a small camera, a Minox miniature camera. "That will save you having to bring me large cumbersome drawings and documents, Major.

"Do you know about cameras? There are ten rolls of film here ... and a booklet to familiarize you with the operation of this useful tool. Take the time to learn how to use it well. All I need is the exposed film, unprocessed. I will return this other material to you tomorrow. Leave your car unlocked at your barracks tonight."

"Yeah, sure. I never lock it anyway."

"So tell me more about this night recovery system. My people will be interested. We never though you could recover satellites in darkness. How does it work?"

Bill looked intentionally nervous and apprehensive, glancing about the room before answering in a near whisper, "I can get you some information at our next meeting. But, I'll have to have more money. Did you know that the general's deadline for me expires next week? I'm really up against the wall and have to pay off those debts by then. Or you may have to find somebody else. I may be a civilian the next time we meet, an unemployed civilian with no access to SORTG or its files."

Li Han reached into his suit coat pocket and pulled out another envelope. "There is another 15 thousand here, Major. I expect a lot more on our next meeting. Do not disappoint me. I want information about the beacon and your new night recovery system. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, but is this 15 and the other ten all I get for that material? There are other buyers, I'm told."

Li Han became very agitated, rubbing his hands nervously, and looked at Bill intently. "Are you selling this same information to others, Major?"

"No ... nobody else. Hell, this is the first time I've ever given anyone information like this. No, not at all. All I was saying is that I have heard that others would pay for this kind of information and I may be forced to consider other sources of money."

"Very well. I believe you. But don't try to deceive me, Major. I can remain your friend and benefactor only as long as I feel I can trust you. You do not want me to lose trust, I assure you." That remark was as close to a threat as Bill had heard from Li Han, but the message was clear.

"If what you bring me next time is something I can use, you will be rewarded well. But do not fail me."

"It will be good stuff, sir. It will be something brand new and very sensitive material to my government. But, it will be worth much more than you have given me so far. It will, I judge, be worth three times what you have paid me so far."

"Did you say three times?"

Bill's demeanor emboldened. "Yes, three times and worth every penny. And it may be my last delivery. All of this makes me very nervous .... you know, what I am doing and all of this."

Li Han stood up, looked at Bill. He seemed unsure of Bill's manner and declaration of uncertainty about their relationship. "I am your friend, Major. You can count on my continued help, so long as there is trust between us. I'll see you again in two weeks. Bring me only high quality merchandise."

Chapter 17

Bill returned the airplane to the California City airport. Stuffed inside his shirt was the money from Li Han, one envelope with $15000 and another with $10000. "At last," he thought, "I can clear up most of those damn debts."

On the drive back to the base, Bill’s mind raced about how to handle this money. How could he deposit that much without raising questions or having to fill out forms for the IRS? He sure as hell didn’t want to carry that kind of cash around. What could he do?

Approaching the small commercial section on the base, where the few stores, a gas station and fast food places were, he pulled into the bank’s parking lot. It was now 3:30 in the afternoon. Fortunately, the bank was still open.

He sat there in the car for a few moments, when an idea suddenly hit him. "Yes, yes. That’s it. I’ll get a safety deposit box and put most of the money in there. No one knows what’s in those boxes, and I can simply move small portions at a time to my checking account without creating undue notice. Yeah. That’s the way to do it."

He deposited another $5000 into the checking account and put the remainder into a newly rented box. Now he could write checks to creditors and work down those debts. Then he drove to the SORTG office to tell Colonel Browning about his meeting with Li Han.

"Hey, Bill. I don’t know what you told those folks at the Antelope Valley News, but we’ve been getting calls all day about UFO’s and flaming parachutes. The phones have been ringing off the hook."

"All I told them, sir, was that there were weird lights over the desert east of Lancaster. What did they print?"

"Come on into my office, the paper is on my desk."

Bill went in, closing the door behind him. As the colonel handed him the newspaper, Bill began telling about his meeting with Li Han. He didn’t mention the money though. And then he reached into his coat pocket and pulled out the camera package. "Li Han wants pictures instead of full size drawings. Look what he gave me to use."

While Browning looked over the camera very intently, Bill scanned the newspaper article. It said that hundreds of calls to the press and police reported strange sightings over the desert in the direction of Edwards AFB. Some people reported seeing aliens wandering in the area south of the base, glowing strangely. "Hey, this is wild. But you know, Li Han never mentioned it at all. Maybe he didn’t associate the sightings with SORTG’s projects, or maybe he hasn’t heard about it yet. He does live in L.A.."

"So? How did he like the DF system material?"

"I think he was greatly interested in it, but he sure didn’t like me handing him a roll of documents, especially in a public place. He wasn’t happy that I couldn’t give him the capsule transmitter codes. Fortunately, there weren’t any other people up at Isabella, besides the waitress. That’s why he gave me that camera. Neat. Isn’t it?"

"Well, just don’t get caught with it. It’s against regulations and all kinds of security rules to carry an unauthorized camera on the flight line. It’s even illegal to take pictures of the flight line from outside the fence."

"Oh ... then how do you explain all those civilians with cameras out here on Armed Forces Day?"

"I never said our regulations made sense, Major. I am just warning you not to get caught with this thing," he said handing it back.

"I guess I’d better call Flick and Flack, the two OSI guys, about my meeting. You know, sir, I’ll bet that they really hate it when Li Han sends me off to meet him by airplane. They can’t follow me or see where we’re meeting."

"Well, Bill. Play along with them and don’t get ‘em too ticked off at you. They do have teeth you know and could cause you a heap of trouble. What’s next with you and Li Han. Did he say?"

"Yes, sir. He wants that beacon system information in the worst way. He even sounded a little threatening about it. I told him that the drawings and specifications were all down in L.A., and that I didn’t have access to it. He seemed to accept that, but wants me to do whatever I can to get it. Any suggestions?"

"I’ll talk to General Atkins and see what he thinks about it. You realize, I hope, that there’s nothing special about that beacon. You’ve got Li Han thinking it’s a coded device, when it isn’t. It’s just a simple tone-modulated signal that we home in on."

"Well, sir. Maybe we can fabricate some phony design documents and stamp ‘em SECRET, like we did the DF stuff."

"I’ll ask General Atkins. So what did your friend say about the night capsule? Did you give him anything there?"

"Not really, sir. But his ears sure perked up when I just mentioned it. I think he’s probably on the horn now to his superiors about it." When Bill got back to his office, he phoned the OSI people. Sims took his call and seemed quite agitated. He indicated that he was coming over to SORTG right now.

Soon the two never-smiling agents appeared at his office door. They came in and sat down, one of them closing the door. "Major, you are not cooperating with us on this. What are you trying to do?"

"What in the hell are you talking about? I called you before I met with Li Han and you’ve been read in on everything I’m doing."

"Then whose idea was it to use airplanes to go to places we couldn’t follow? Yours?"

"Get real, Sims. Li Han prepaid for both of those flights. I didn’t know where I was to meet him until I got in the airplane. Wrapped around the keys, both times, were notes telling me where to fly. It’s not my fault that he’s smarter than you are."

"Okay, Major. That does it. We don’t need some independent hot dog like you doing his own thing. Hand over the money you got. It’s government property. Whatever he paid you for the information belongs to Uncle Sam. Not you."

"Wait a minute. Must I remind you again that it was you two who told me that I should keep it?"

The two agents looked at each other, and then Sims replied, "We never said anything like that. Did we?" he said looking at his colleague now shaking his head. "So hand it over."

"Go to hell. I’m the one sticking my neck out. You know I never even had to bring you two into this in the first place. I doubt if you’d ever have found out about Li Han, if it wasn’t for me. Now get out of here and go catch a real spy or something."

The two agents stopped by Colonel Browning’s office on their way out. They didn’t stay long, but long enough for the colonel to blow his stack too. Soon the agents left the area, and Browning came down to Bill’s office.

"I thought I told you to be nice, Major. What did you do to those agents? They threatened me with espionage charges and a few other things before I threw ‘em out. You want to tell me about it?"

Bill explained that they asked for the money and were ticked off that Li Han foiled them by using the light planes for rendezvous. "I told ‘em to go to hell and get out of my office."

"Smooth, you aren’t, Bill. You can’t go out of your way to antagonize those guys. They hold all the cards and can give you real trouble. Cool it."

"Yes, sir. I’ll be good."

A few minutes later, Max Heflin stuck his head in Bill’s office, asking, "Sir? Have you any idea when they’re going to try a recovery on the night capsule? It did work just fine that last two drops, you know."

"No, Max. I haven’t any idea. But come in here a minute will you. I’d like to know more about the DF system and what signals it can track."

"Sure. It’ll point to any signal, strong enough, in the range of 200 to 350 megahertz. It doesn’t care what modulation. Could be anything from pure CW (continuous wave) to pulse codes. The DF antenna constantly turns at ten revs per minute. The receiver gets whatever is out there and shows you where it’s coming from."

"Do you have to fine tune it to get a particular signal?"

"Yes. It’s just like tuning a radio. Pick the frequency, turn to it and the antenna will tell you where it’s coming from. What’s the tuner’s bandwidth?"

"Oh, about two megahertz, give or take."

"What determines the frequencies chosen by the satellites we go after?"

"They’re all pretty much the same, about 225 megahertz. Signal strength varies from payload to payload. Battery strength, antenna orientation and the general condition of the transmitter makes a difference."

"And how far out can we usually pick up the signals?"

"Again, that varies, but it’s usually around 100 to 150 miles, again depending .. pretty much line of sight."

"What would happen if there were two, say two signal sources on the same frequency?"

"Well, first, you’re probably going to never have two satellites come down at the very same time, but if you did the DF system would point to both of them. You’d get two strobes on the screen."

"Have we ever experienced jamming or interference?"

"Interference? Sure. There’s lots of people out there with transmitters, many close to our frequencies. I’ve seen as many as five or six strobes on the scope at any one time. Makes it kinda hard to pick out the one you want. You after anything special here, Major?"

"Well, yes, in a way. I’ve heard talk of coding the payload signals, sorta like an identification friend or foe (IFF) system and wondered how that would affect our equipment."

"Hmmmm ... never heard of that with these satellites. Kinda hard to get up there and modify those in orbit. Wouldn’t you say?"

Bill laughed. "Yeah. Suppose so. Thanks, Max. Oh, and I’ll let you know if I get any word when we’re going to make catches."

Max saluted, sort of ... and disappeared down the hall.

Bill looked at his watch. It was already after 6:00 o’clock. He picked up the phone and called Grace. She should be home by now, he thought.

She answered and Bill inquired, "What’s for supper?"

"Bill? Is that you?"

"Yes it’s me. Were you expecting someone else?"

"No, silly. I just didn’t recognize your voice. Supper? Oh, I hadn’t given it much thought. You coming over?"

"Yes. I’d like to tell you about meeting our friend. You got makings for spaghetti?"

"Sure. C’mon over and I’ll make up a batch. And remember ... get stuff."

Bill laughed and said he’d do just that.

He drove over to the VOQ and gathered up some clothes and his shaving kit. He was just packing his small bag when the phone rang. It was Li Han.

"That was a short two weeks, sir. What’s up?" Bill inquired.

"Don’t forget to leave your car unlocked."

"Oh, that’s going to be a problem. I’m going out this evening. Don’t know when I’ll be back."

"Going to Grace’s?"

"Ah .. well, yes I am."

"No problem. Just leave your car unlocked ... there or at the VOQ. Will place merchandise in your back seat."

"Yeah .. sure. Fine."

"One more thing, Major. That other topic you mentioned, well, it’s of great interest to my associates. Don’t fail me. Have a good night."

Bill’s evening with Grace was, as always, pleasant. He filled her in on most of what had happened, leaving out the night capsule part and the amount of money received. She was very concerned that Li Han’s nervousness might result in Bill being hurt.

"Don’t be such a worrier, Grace. And besides, I’m going to soon have enough to pay off my debts and be able to tell him I’m through with this stuff."

"It doesn’t work that way, dear. You don’t get the choice. Li Han decides when and if he’s through with you, not the other way around."

"Well, I could always turn him in to the OSI or somebody. They’d take care of him."

"Him, perhaps. But there are others like him who would be all over you. Even if they didn’t think you turned on Li Han, they’d still press you for more and more information. So long as you’re in a position to be useful to them, you’re stuck."

"Well, let’s not worry about that tonight. Come here, you ...," Bill said, reaching for her and pulling her to him.

Around three in the morning, Grace awoke because her horses were acting skittish. "Bill, she said," shaking him. "Wake up. There’s somebody out there. Wake up."

Bill raised up on his elbows. "I don’t hear anything. What makes you think there’s somebody there?"

"The horses ... they’re nervous and act like there is someone or something too close. They don’t like strangers."

Bill got up, slipped on his trousers and shoes, and headed for the window. He saw a shadowy figure over near his car. Whoever, or whatever it was, soon left, walking down the driveway. In a couple minutes, Bill heard a car start and leave down the road, headed south.

"Well, whoever it was, they’re gone now. Let’s go back to sleep." Bill never told Grace that he suspected it was Li Han or one of his men returning the DF system drawings. Bill stayed awake for some time, but not hearing anything else out of the ordinary, finally went back to sleep.

At first light, Grace was up and dressed. She slipped out the back door and headed for the corral. Then she wandered around the drive and the back of the house. Satisfied that nothing was amiss, she returned to find Bill I the kitchen.

"Everything all right?"

"Yes, I just had to go check on the horses. They’re okay. I’m just a worrier. Want me to make coffee now? It’s barely 5:30, you know."

"Yes, please. I’m up. Might as well shave and get dressed."

Grace made coffee and started frying some bacon. Soon the smell of breakfast cooking brought Bill into the kitchen.

"Mmmmm that smells good."

Grace poured him a cup of coffee and he sat at the table sipping the fresh brew. He looked at her, saying, "You know, gal. You look great even in the morning."

"Why thank you, sir. But you know that morning is my favorite part of the day. I’d much rather greet the dawn than stay up til midnight. Morning is best."

"Me too. I never could get used to those late night parties and things that Helen dragged me to. But then, I never could get her up and going until ten."

"Well, this girl is definitely not a night owl. Early bird, yes, but not a late nighter."

"I could go for someone like that," Bill said at barely a whisper.

"I heard that. And you know what? I’m glad."

Chapter 18

Heading for his car, to drive to work after breakfast, he noticed a packet of documents on the back seat. That confirmed his suspicion that the early morning visitor had to be one of Li Han’s people. Bill hastily returned the drawings and documents to SORTG, though really only the markings were a worry. None of the information was actually sensitive.

Colonel Browning called Bill into his office around 8:30. "Bill, General Atkins wants to see you down in Los Angeles. You’ll have to drive down there this afternoon. Be in his office at 0730 tomorrow. The subject is the coded DF receiver papers for Li Han."

"Yes, sir, but I’ve never been down there. Where is his office? And should I bring anything?"

"Go south of downtown on I-405, past the LAX airport. The complex is west on El Segundo. You can’t miss it. Park in the lot across the street, on the north side, and walk over. The guard on the gate will have your security badge waiting for you. Go to Building 3, top floor and ask for the general’s office. It’s on the north side and overlooks the parking lot."

"Okay, sir. Got that."

"Oh yes, and bring that little camera, but keep it in your shirt pocket. They check briefcases. You’ll be taking some pictures of phony drawings, but they don’t like cameras in the secure area, so be careful. You shouldn’t have any trouble, but the general knows you’re bringing it, just in case."

"Any suggestions about where to stay down below, sir."

"Hey, you’re getting the lingo. ‘Down below’ is what we high desert rats call it down on the coast. Yeah, I’d recommend any of the hotels in and around the airport. They’re handy and you’ll have choices of restaurants within walking distance. But plan on driving to the Los Angeles Air Force Station. It’s too far to walk and they predict rain for tomorrow."

Bill’s drive down below was quite an experience. He’d never driven in Los Angeles freeway traffic at rush hour. It took him over two hours to get to LAX and he was a nervous wreck. "These people are wild behind the wheel," he thought. "I’ll never get used to four and six lanes of traffic, each way."

Next morning, he parked in the lot across from General Atkins’ building. The guard checked him in, gave him a NO ESCORT REQUIRED visitor’s pass, and pointed the way to the general’s office.

The secretary was already there at 7:30 when Bill appeared. He introduced himself, and as he was doing so, the general appeared. "Come on in, Major. We’ve been expecting you."

"We?" Bill wondered. "He didn’t expect a meeting with others, but then he really didn’t know what to expect.

The room was spacious and comfortable, but not as plush as the Center Commander’s office up at Edwards. At a conference table off to one side sat four other officers. Several large engineering drawings lay spread out across the table, and Bill noted that they included the JC-130’s DF system.

"Major," the general began, after a quick round of introductions, "these gentlemen know about your assignment to trap the Chinese agent, Li Han. And they know, from Colonel Browning that you need a pseudo document package to photograph."

Bill got the definite impression that none of these men really knew about his personal problems, his need for money or the situation he faced. From the general’s words, Bill thought they were there just to help in a security matter. "Okay," he thought. "That’s fine."

One of the group, a major, started to explain what a typical document package might contain. He pointed to the material on the table, pointing out the hierarchy of drawings, the parts lists and the operating manual for the DF system, including the radio receiver.

"I suggest, Major Wilcox, that we make up a simple block diagram for you, a high level schematic that simply shows the various functional subsystems. That allows us to add a couple phony boxes and some coded pulse representations that would lead your Chinese friend to believe that we actually have and use such a system. We’ll add a few designer’s notes, some simulated timing pulses and the like."

Bill understood, but was concerned that it wouldn’t include enough technical detail for Li Han. When Bill explained his misgivings, the colonel across from him suggested, "We’ll attach a couple lower level schematics of generic decoders, with reference notes. By the time you photograph them with that miniature camera, he’ll think he’s looking at the real thing. And we’ll let you take some pictures of hardware that might look authentic."

After several minutes, General Atkins excused himself, telling the group to continue working, but he had a staff meeting to attend at 0800. The group stood at attention when the general arose. The general’s last words to Bill were, "Come back by here at 1300, Major. I want to talk with you privately." Bill acknowledged the general’s words and the meeting resumed.

"Major Wilcox? How soon do you have to have this package of phony material?" asked the second colonel.

"We’ve probably got a week or more, sir, but I never know when Li Han is going to call."

"Fine. That’ll give us time to put together something pretty convincing and very official looking. Have you any inkling of what he wants this for?"

"Well, General Atkins mentioned to us, up at Edwards, that it looks like they might be trying to put together a decoy to lure our Hawaiian JC-130 crews away from the actual recovery, so they could get their hands on a satellite."

"Where in the world did they get the idea that we coded the beacon signals?" the major asked.

"From me. I was afraid that he wouldn’t swallow the simple plain truth that the receiver doesn’t depend on decoding or the like," Bill replied. "Otherwise, why would he need anything from me? And I had the wild idea that if they were to use a modulated or coded pulse signal, we could readily identify it and its source."

"Interesting," commented the first colonel, "but needlessly complex. All we had to do was give ‘em a false frequency and that would have been a dead giveaway for any decoy transmitter."

"No matter, Major Wilcox," responded the other colonel. We’ll have a convincing set of drawings for you to photograph. You want to do that down here or up at Edwards?"

Bill thought for a few seconds and suggested that down here would be better, for he might need some tutoring to be able to explain convincingly what the phony design was supposed to do. "I’d like to come back here when you’ve got it done, but then I’d like to take the drawing package up to Edwards with me. Okay?"

"Yeah, sure. We’ll have it ready by next Tuesday. Let’s meet then, at 1100 hours in room 317. It’s a conference room down the hall. Anything else we can do for you?"

"Yes. There is one thing. Is there anybody here that can check me out on this Minox camera. I want to be sure my pictures are usable."

"Follow me, Major. I’ll take you to see Karl Heinrich, in our photo section. He’ll make you an expert before lunch time," the major replied, leading Bill away. Bill paused long enough to shake hands and thank his fellow officers.

By noon, Bill had a very good idea of how to use the camera. Heinrich was really an expert and quite enamored of that little spy camera. He had Bill shoot one roll of film just for practice, important documents like pages from the L.A. phone book and a highway map. He told Bill to leave the film there and he’d develop it and send the prints up to Edwards.

After a quick lunch in a cafeteria that Bill discovered within the headquarters complex, he returned to the general’s office just before one o’clock.

"Come on in, Major. Have a seat. I wanted to talk with you about this Li Han character. I discussed this with the folks back at the National Reconnaissance Office and they insisted on bringing the CIA aboard. They aren’t at all sure that the OSI is up to the task of catching Li Han."

Bill was not at all surprised. From his dealings with the two gray-suited wonders up at Edwards, he was unimpressed.

"Major, I’ve asked a couple CIA agents to stop by here this afternoon. They should be here any minute. You’ll have to tell them your story all over again, from the beginning. I can tell you that their listening posts have intercepted traffic which mentions the night recovery system, so whatever you told Li Han got their attention."

The door opened and in came two gentlemen, the ones Bill assumed must be the CIA agents. They sure didn’t look like those OSI fellows. One of these men wore a loud plaid sport coat and blue jeans. The other had on slacks and a sweater, under his raincoat. They didn’t fit the image of counter espionage agents, or certainly not OSI men, but their identification cards did.

Introductions were all on a first name basis, Jack and Charlie. "I’m Bill." Then they asked Bill to recount his whole story once more. General Atkins listened, a little bored because he’d heard it before, but then the conversation turned to how the CIA wanted Bill to handle the next meeting.

"Look, Major. This fellow is careful, using the light planes to ditch anyone who might follow, so we have an idea to foil that."

"Oh," asked Bill, "What’s that?"

"You’re going to sprain your wrist and have it in a cast, so you can’t fly."

Bill’s facial expression suddenly turned to a very concerned look. "You’re not serious. You aren’t going to break my wrist, are you?"

"Relax, Major. No. We won’t do that, of course. But we will ask you to wear a cast for a week or ten days. And with that arm you cannot possibly fly an airplane, so Li Han will have to accept ground transportation that we can follow."

"Whew ... you had me worried, for a minute there."

"When you give Li Han the roll of film, perhaps of this phony coded receiver gadget, we’ll follow him to wherever he works or lives. We’re going to put a tracking transmitter on your car and attempt to put one on his vehicle, when he meets you."

"That’ll be hard to do, Charlie. He always uses a driver and that guy sticks close to the vehicle," Bill countered.

"Well, we’ll figure out a way. And the next time he makes a payment to you, which you ought to see is a big one, 100 g’s or more, we’ll be there. It may take two or three meetings before we’re ready to grab him."

"Suppose he insists that I fly, even with a sprained wrist? It’s not impossible, you know. Or, suppose he has his own pilot? What then."

"He could do that. Yes. That’s a real possibility. And in that case, you’re going to have to carry a tracking transmitter or somehow place one on his airplane. We’ll just have to adapt," Charlie responded.

"Sounds like this could get more and more dangerous," Bill commented.

Chapter 19

A couple days later, Bill got an envelope from Los Angeles. Inside he found several 8"x10" glossy black and white prints of the pictures taken with the little camera. He was impressed with the quality and amount of detail portrayed, even if it was just pages from a telephone book and a road map.

"Guess I’m good enough to shoot what Li Han wants after all," he mused. "That’s a neat little camera."

Just as he slipped the prints back into the mailing envelope, Colonel Browning chanced to pass by Bill’s office. "You want to see how good that little camera is, sir? I just got some samples from my L.A. practice session." Bill showed his boss the pictures and the colonel was impressed. "Guess this makes you a bona fide spy now, eh?"

"I’d like to fill you in on how it went with General Atkins, if you’ve got a few minutes."

"Yeah, sure," Browning said, sitting down next to Bill’s desk. "CIA, eh?" That’ll not sit well with our OSI troops. And then the two discussed the package of phony drawings that Bill would photograph next week. "Li Han wants undeveloped film, does he? That’s probably so he can send it to his people more easily. Those film cartridges are small."

"Sir, the fellows in the back were asking when you might be willing to try a night catch of the capsule again. Any plans along those lines yet?"

"No, Bill. General Atkins still has a hold on it. There’s been some talk of placing a cable from both wingtips to the nose of the airplane, just to guide any parachute we run into away from the props. Guys have flown into chutes in broad daylight too, you know."

"No, I didn’t know that. But what happens if a cable breaks? Won’t that be worse than a chute on one prop?"

"You may be right, but as I said, it’s just talk at this point. When’s your next meeting with Li Han?"

"He said a couple weeks, but it could be any time. I hope he waits until I can photograph that stuff the L.A. fellows are fixing up."

"Well, you take care of that wrist," the colonel said smiling, as he readied to leave Bill’s office.

"Uh ... er, Oh yes ... the wrist. Haven’t decided when it’ll be sprained, but I ought to go over to the flight surgeon and see about getting a cast made ... one I can slip on and off easily."

"Well, you’d better wear it any time you’re out in public, ‘cause you never know when you’re being watched," Browning cautioned.

Unbeknownst to Bill and Colonel Browning, General Atkins called General Kilgore to advise him that the CIA would be taking charge of the Li Han problem. Atkins asked Kilgore to inform the OSI agents that they were no longer involved.

When General Kilgore called the OSI to inform them, the reaction was about what he expected. Agent Sims said it was their case and they were on top of things. When Kilgore reiterated the decision, said it was out of his hands. Sim’s responded, "Well, General. What about the money that Wilcox has taken from Li Han? That’s government property, you know sir."

The general forcefully reminded Sims it was they who told Bill to keep the money. "Don’t worry about it, Agent Sims. It’s not your problem any more. You can expect the CIA to be getting in touch with you to see what you have. And, by the way, pull your agent from the SORTG office and remove your phone taps. The CIA will decide on its own surveillance. Understand?"

Sims didn’t like it, but he had no choice. "Yes, General. We’ll cooperate, of course. I’ll send you an information copy of the report to my headquarters in a couple days."

For the next several days things returned to routine business at SORTG. Two new parachutes were tested, one featuring a reinforced cylindrical extension sitting atop the canopy. The second system consisted of two parachutes connected in tandem. Bill enjoyed the challenges of testing various devices. It was fascinating.

The fellows in Los Angeles called to say that the material was ready for Bill to pick up, so early Tuesday morning he headed down below once more. Even though he hit the traffic mess well after the morning rush hour, it still bothered him. "How can people live down here?" he asked himself. "It’s not just the smog, it’s this damn traffic. Sure makes the high desert look wonderful."

The same major, who’d helped him on his previous trip, met him in the conference room. They spent an hour or more going over and photographing the dozen or so documents that were prepared just for Li Han. SECRET stamps and phony control numbers made it all look authentic. Before he finished, Bill felt adequately prepared to discuss the design with Li Han, and to answer likely questions that might arise.

After lunch he drove north and east, away from that smog and traffic, glad to be returning to the clean clear air of the desert. It was a little after 4:00 P.M. when he returned to Edwards AFB. He dropped the package off at SORTG, locking it up in his office safe. But he carried the camera, with its roll of undeveloped images for Li Han, back to his VOQ room.

He slipped the wrist cast onto his left arm and decided it was time to start wearing the darn thing. So, he kept it on when he headed for the O. Club for supper. A few friends noticed the cast and asked him how the injury happened.

Having to explain that never occurred to Bill, so he simply said he tripped on the steps coming out of the VOQ. He thought about saying he’d fallen from a horse, but opted instead for the simpler cause.

Later that evening, he drove down to Grace’s place, wearing his cast. Driving his car was no problem, and he felt he might even fly a plane, but the cast would serve as a legitimate excuse for not doing so.

Grace was startled to see him that way, asking, "When did you do that? I saw you at work this afternoon and you weren’t injured. What happened?"

Grace seemed genuinely concerned, but didn’t ooze sympathy. Bill responded, "Oh, it’s nothing, I’ll live. I stumbled coming down the VOQ steps. A dumb fall."

"But on a different subject, Grace, I’ve managed to pay down most of my debts, using Li Han’s money. The bank note is settled and the credit cards are paid off, except for the one I use around here."

"Great," she replied. "Did you close out those other accounts and cards?"

"Yes, but I expect that Helen wasn’t happy to have those accounts closed. She’ll have to open others on her own. I don’t know what she’s been using lately, probably her daddy’s, or boyfriend Travanti’s."

"So? Ho much more do you need to wipe out those debts completely and put all of that behind you?"

"About $2500, I guess. Some of the statements haven’t come in yet to reflect my current balances on the open accounts. But then, of course, I have to cover the child support payments. That’ll come to $1200 a month."

"Oh, do you remember that noise in the middle of the night?"

"Yes, I sure do. I was worried that something was after the horses. Why?"

"Well, it must have been one of Li Han’s people, because someone returned the drawings I loaded him up at Isabella to the back seat of my car."

"How did he know you were here?"

"I told Li Han that I wouldn’t be at the VOQ and I guess he simply figured out that I was probably here. Some folks know that this is my favorite hang out."

Just then Grace’s telephone rang. She stepped into the kitchen to answer it. "Bill. It’s for you. I think it’s Li Han."

Bill to the phone from Grace, "Hello, yes, this is Bill Wilcox. Li Han?"

Li Han told Bill that his people were very very interested in the other subject covered in their last meeting. Bill understood that to mean the minor mention of the night recovery system.

"Can I meet you tomorrow? No, I can’t. I’m flying tomorrow. You said it’d be another week or so. What’s so urgent?"

Li Han said he needed to talk about that other subject at length. He asked if Bill could meet him for dinner tomorrow evening, perhaps in Lancaster. That was a surprise. Bill felt that Li Han was either desperate or not as worried about Bill being followed.

"Yes. I suppose I can meet you. Seven o’clock. Sure. Where?"

Li Han said he’d get a message to Bill about where they’d meet.

"Okay. Tomorrow then .. wherever." And Bill hung up the phone, quite surprised by this turn of events.

Turning to Grace he said, "Looks like some folks expect me to be here if I’m not at work or in the VOQ. Do you suppose that means I should move in?"

"Fine with me," Grace said. "You’ll just have to bring all of your stuff."

"I was just kidding, Grace. Maybe one day soon, but until that divorce comes through, I’d better not. And besides, If I do that I want it to be something much more than our just shacking up."

"Are you proposing to me, Bill Wilcox?"

"Not yet, Grace. When I do that it’ll be much more direct ... and hopefully more romantically."

Grace got the message, or thought she did. She gave him a big hug and a long lingering kiss. She knew what he was hinting at.

The next day Bill didn’t fly after all, Colonel Browning suggesting that with his bad wrist, Bill shouldn’t fly.

After work, when Bill returned to his VOQ room, he got a message from the desk clerk which said, "Antelope Valley Lodge at 7:00 PM. Ask for me."

At the appointed hour Bill appeared in the dining room of the Lodge. The hostess responded to his inquiry about Li Han and was led to a private dining room in the back. There sat Li Han and a man unfamiliar to Bill, a younger man, also oriental.

"Welcome, Major. Please come and sit with us ..... Oh, I see you are injured. Are you all right?"

"Yes, Li Han, but it’s a good thing you didn’t suggest meeting by airplane. This is more of a sprain than a break."

"Let me introduce Mr. Won Lu, Major. He is my technical expert and new assistant."

Bill shook hands with the robust looking young man, a fellow Bill judged to be in his early 30’s. The man looked dapper in a dark suit, with white shirt and necktie with regimental stripes, very conservative.

Let us order dinner and then we talk. Li Han raised his hand and from the shadows suddenly appeared a uniformed waitress with menus. "You may order whatever you like, Major, but I recommend the seafood special. It is quite delicious."

"Okay. That sounds good," Bill replied and the waitress disappeared. Soon she returned with a teapot and three cups. She poured some green tea for each of the men and then silently slipped away.

"How did you injure your hand, Major?" Won Lu inquired, seeming to show genuine interest.

"I tripped coming out of the VOQ at the base and landed wrong. It’s not very serious. I should get rid of this cast in a week or two."

Then Li Han turned to Bill, asking, "Did you learn how to use the camera, Major?"

"Yes. It’s a fine instrument," Bill responded, "but if you mean do I have film for you, well not yet. You did say that we had a couple weeks before meeting again."

"That’s all right. The beacon material is not the subject of tonight’s meeting. I would like to discuss the night recovery system. I read in the newspaper that many people reported seeing strange lights at night. One man reported seeing a glowing parachute descend east of here. Was that some of your testing, Major?"

"Yes. Yes it was, but I’m afraid the press got overly dramatic about it all. What people were seeing was simply a parachute with lights shining up into the canopy from below."

Repeating his comment from the last meeting, Li Han asked, "How could you attempt a night recovery, Major. It’s too dark, isn’t it?"

"Yes sir, there are problems there, but we are working to overcome them. A big problems is the lack of horizon references, especially since the pilot cannot take his eyes away from the lighted parachute. And then there is always the possibility of lights and equipment failing. In daylight there’s more opportunity to recover from a misjudgment, but at night it’s really difficult."

Won Lu spoke up, his interest obviously piqued. "As a former pilot myself, Major, I wondered how it is possible to judge distance and relative altitude during such maneuvers."

"Sir, that is the roughest part. It takes experienced pilots who can quickly judge the behavior of the descending parachute and from experience measure distance by the size of the canopy. Relative elevation can be a most difficult thing to judge."

Li Han, seeming a bit nervous, rubbed his hands together. And wrinkles around his eyes accented when he squinted in serious thought. "So, Major? What information can you provide about these illuminated capsules. Are there many in orbit now?"

"I don't have those numbers at all. Only our people up at the main control facility know that."

"And where might they be located?"

"They are in the San Francisco area, sir. But I have never been there myself. And I don’t know any of the people on staff there. As I told you earlier, I’m only involved in the recovery phase of operations."

"So you said, Major. So you said."

"Is there anything else, gentlemen?" Bill inquired. "If not, I really have to get back. I’ve had a very long day and this wrist is beginning to bother me," he said gently moving his hand in a rotary twisting motion.

"No. Not just now, Major. But on our next meeting I expect to see some information about the beacon system. And by then I will have a set of specific questions and requests from you on the night recovery equipment. It’s most interesting," Li Han concluded.

Won Lu echoed his colleague’s sentiments and expressed pleasure at meeting Bill. Take care of that arm. Perhaps you will be able to fly to our next meeting. Good evening, Major."

"Thank you for dinner, Li Han. You were right. That fish plate was very good."

All three rose and shook hands. When Bill left the two Chinese agents returned to their seats for conversation and more hot tea.

Over their after dinner tea, the two men talked excitedly about the night recovery system that they recently discovered.

"What is it about this system that so intrigues you, Li Han?" asked his companion.

"Cannot you see, my friend? This new system will greatly hamper our ability to hide the movements of our rockets. If the Americans can detect what we do and quickly retrieve satellite images within just minutes, much will be lost. Until this came along we had nominally 12 hours to move our transporters and equipment. The darkness hid our movements long enough. Now they will be able to watch us every minute and receive images in less than one orbit of their spy sensors."

"But, sir. We do not know that the Americans have deployed this night recovery system yet. Nor do we know how it works.?

"Precisely, Won Lu. That is why we need more information from Major Wilcox. And I am willing to pay generously for his efforts."

"So what are you going to do to pressure him to give us what we must have?"

"The carrot is more powerful than the stick, my friend. I shall induce him with a most generous offer, perhaps as much as $250,000, if he cooperates. I’ll show my superiors that I can compete with others who might be after this same information. I didn’t tell you, but on my recent Hong Kong visit they criticized me for being too niggardly with my funds. Major Wilcox may help me redeem myself and let me bring home exciting new information."

"All very well, Li Han, but to use an American saying, don’t give away the store. You must still account for what you spend."

Li Han wasn’t really listening to his friend’s advice. He was thinking how this information would make him a hero in the eyes of his superiors and how he would personally carry the vital film to Hong Kong. It would vindicate the criticisms he’d received over how little the 200 Club had produced. Only his personal efforts kept that concept alive and active. They would shut it down at the slightest provocation, and Li Han knew it.

Chapter 20

Over the course of several weeks, Bill managed to move cash in small amounts from his safety deposit box to his checking account. They he wrote checks to his various creditors. Eventually, using Li Han’s money, he cleared all of the nagging outstanding obligations.

Much to his surprise, most of the creditors sent him letters, congratulating him for correcting his problems and restoring his credit worthiness. Some credit card companies even sent him new cards, unsolicited, and offering even higher credit limits than he had before. He simply cut to shreds the unwanted cards, deciding that one was enough.

Bill wrote a letter to General Kilgore, explaining his new financial situation, though never mentioning specifically how much he got from Li Han to solve his difficulties. He enclosed copies of the congratulatory letters. And he hoped that the matter was now closed.

A few days later he answered his office phone. "Major? Major Wilcox?" the lady on the phone inquired. "This is General Kilgore’s secretary. The general would like to see you in his office at one o’clock. Can you be here?"

Bill responded that he certainly could, for when generals call, underlings respond. It was 11:30 when he hung up the phone, so he decided to stop by Colonel Browning’s office to see if his boss knew anything of the afternoon meeting. Browning wasn’t there. In fact, Grace was gone too. "Hmmmm," he thought. "Everybody’s taking an early lunch."

Max was just coming down the hall, hat in hand and headed for the door. "You headed for lunch?" Bill asked.

"Yes, sir. You wanna join me? I was just headed for the snack bar at the bowling alley though."

"That sounds fine. I’m kinda in a hurry anyway. Just got a call to got to the Center commander’s office at one."

Bill and Max parted company outside the bowling alley, Bill headed for headquarters and Max back to SORTG. At precisely one o’clock Bill appeared in front of the desk in the general’s front office. The secretary asked him to have a seat, the general would be with him in a minute. He was on the telephone just then.

Soon the general’s office door opened. Out stepped Colonel Browning, saying, "Come on in Bill. The wants to see you." Bill was surprised that his boss was there, but he headed toward the office door, a bit tentatively and with great curiosity.

On entering, Bill noticed that Colonel Browning and the general were smiling broadly and looking at him closely. Bill checked to be sure there wasn’t anything wrong with his uniform. He even glanced down to be sure his pants were zipped.

"Come on in Bill." After saluting the general, Bill was invited to stand off to the side of the desk. "What’s going on?" he asked himself, while doing as he was told.

The general reached into his top desk drawer and pulled out a small box. "Here you are, Colonel." And Bill thought the box was for Browning, so he turned to look at him.

"No, Bill. This is for you. Here are your silver leaves, Lieutenant Colonel Bill Wilcox. Congratulations. And this is effective immediately, so we can put them on now. And the general took on leaf, handing the other to Browning. The each pinned the shiny silver leaves on Bill’s shirt collars. Bill stood there in great surprise and most happily.

The general turned to Browning, remarking, "You know, Ted. This is one part of my job I really like. And then both men shook Bill’s hand firmly. Browning patted Bill on the shoulder, adding, "Couldn’t have happened without some help from Li Han, eh Bill?"

"Sir, I’m just grateful that it happened at all. And thank you, General, for your help and encouragement. A while ago I thought my career was down the tubes, not just this promotion. Thank you."

And turning to Colonel Browning, he added, "And you, sir ... I can’t tell you how much it means to me that you’ve stood by me through all of this. Thank you very much."

Browning went to close the office door and the general invited Bill to have a seat at the conference table.

"And speaking of Li Han, Bill. It’s time to consider the next step. I want the CIA to take the guy down. And you seem to be the key to all of this. Are you ready for the next phase?"

"Next phase, sir?"

"Yes. It’s time for you to give him the phony beacon photographs, isn’t it?" the general asked.

"Well, yes ... I suppose so. He should be calling me any day now to set up a meeting. But there’s something else you should know."

And then Bill explained about the dinner meeting at the Antelope Valley Lodge, about the new player, Won Lu, and the special interest Li Han showed in the night recovery system.

"Did you CIA know of your dinner meeting?"

"No, General. They didn’t, or at least I don't think they did. I’ve had no contact with them at all since my meeting in General Atkins’ office."

"Sounds like the CIA hasn’t set up a contact mechanism with you yet. Did you call the OSI about that meeting?"

"No, sir. I didn’t tell anyone, until just now. I think it was more of a meeting for Li Han to feel me out about what I might know of the night recovery system."

"Okay, Bill ... I’ll call those CIA guys and see if they can’t give you a way to contact them. It amazes me that they haven’t done so already."

Colonel Browning suggested, "If Bill’s expecting a call any day now, we’d better move fast. At the next meeting Bill is expected to turn over film of the beacon designs."

"Have you got the photo’s ready for Li Han?" Browning asked.

"Yes, sir. Sure do .. right here in my pocket," he replied, pulling out the small film cassette.

"Ted? What are you going to put together for Li Han, if his interest in the night capsule is as high as Bill seems to think? I want the CIA to nab him with the film."

"All we’ve got, General, are the home made drawings, parts lists and some pictures that Lt. Heflin and Sergeant Davis have created. They look good, but not what a contractor might furnish."

"Hmmmmm ... that’ll not impress somebody as sophisticated as this Li Han fellow."

"Oh .. and we also have some test data from the chamber sessions, but that’s about it," Bill added.

"What about flight reports from the two drop mission?" the general inquired.

"Yes, General. I’ve got some hand written assessments from the pilots who watched those drops. But they’re pretty informal and don’t in any way refer to a formal test plan."

"Okay, fellows. We’ve got some home work to do," the general decided. "We’ve got to create some paperwork that makes this look more like a special effort, and a lot more structured than a ‘Rube Goldberg’, back of the envelope creation."

"What have you got in mind, General?" Browning inquired.

"I’m going to ask General Atkins to let you guys, on paper at least, give this project a priority designation. We’ll show Li Han that we’re serious about this project, even if it’s only in the early prototype stages.

We need some aerospace contractor to put together a convincing data package. We have to have some authentic looking drawings, specifications, parts lists and official looking nomenclatures. Just a receipt from an auto parts store for two headlights won’t cut it."

"Let me get a hold of our technical experts in Los Angeles and see what we can come up with. They did a great job on the phony beacon system package," Browning responded.

Soon Bill and Colonel Browning left the general’s office, returning to SORTG. When they reached the top of the stairs, there stood Sergeant Marvin, who smartly saluted the two colonels. "Congratulations, sir," he greeted Bill. "When’s the promotion party?"

"I hadn’t even thought about that," Bill said, turning to Browning. "Guess I’d better plan something."

"Well, Bill you know the tradition. The first month’s pay raise is considered customary for you to spend ... as a minimum," Browning responded.

Walking back to his office, Bill ran into Max. "Hey, Bill .... ooops, I mean Colonel Bill. Congratulations, sir."

"Yeah ... things are going to get more military around here now. Got that?" Bill said with a broad smile. Max knew he was just kidding.

At quitting time, Bill stopped by Grace’s desk to invite her out to dinner as part of a private celebration. She took his hand and walked him back to his office, pulled the door closed and kissed him passionately. "Are you sure you want to go out to dinner, Colonel? Or would you prefer

I fix us something?"

"That’s an offer I cannot refuse, ma’am," he replied.

"Okay then. My place at 7:00 sharp. And, wipe off that lipstick. It doesn’t look military, Colonel," she smiled.

"See you at seven, if I can wait that long."

Bill went to his VOQ room to shower and change into civvies. No sooner had he stepped out of the shower, still wet and wrapped in a towel, than the phone rang. It was Li Han.

"Good evening, Major."

"Well, my friend. This is one time that you missed something. It’s not Major Wilcox any more."

"Oh, my friend. I am so sorry. You mean they discharged you because of those debts?"

"Well ... ," and Bill paused a long time before continuing, just to make Li Han wonder a while. "No. It’s not that bad. The general decided that I’d fulfilled my obligations and let my promotion stand. As of now, you are talking with Lieutenant Colonel Wilcox."

"That is good, Major ... sorry, I mean Colonel. Congratulations. You must let me offer my personal salutations. Perhaps lunch tomorrow. And please being the merchandise. Fox airfield again, and the same airplane awaits you, Colonel, sir." ...... click.

Bill was amused. "That guy never says good-bye. He just hangs up," Bill noticed.

It was ten minutes to seven when Bill drove into Grace’s driveway. She greeted him at the back door, saying, "Couldn’t wait until seven, I see."

They kissed in the doorway, as Bill tried to move her back so he could close the door and keep out the flies. The door slammed shut, but they were still embraced and kissing. Finally, he said, "What’s for supper?"

"Men ... ," she said in a tone of mock disgust. "You and your stomachs. We’re having steaks, so go get the charcoal started."

"Hmmmm, doesn’t smell like steaks. More like baking."

"Yes ... I baked you a cake. But first you get the steaks going. I’ll slice some mushrooms to sauté. And I didn’t have potatoes, so it’ll be wild rice. Okay."

"Okay. okay ... I’m headed out to light the grill. Where’s your starter fluid?"

In about 35 minutes they were ready to eat. Grace had even poured the wine and raised a glass to offer a toast.

The dinner and conversation were, as usual, something Bill relished and thoroughly enjoyed. He helped her clean off the dishes and started to put on the apron she often made him wear.

"No ... not tonight, Bill. I’ll was and you can dry. So he wrapped the apron around her ... in more of a hug than simply tying it around her. But then he kept nuzzling her and kissing her neck. "Bill ... stop that, or we’ll never get these done."

As the last dish was finally put away, Bill reached for her, untied the apron and swept her off her feet. carrying her down the hall to the bedroom.

Afterwards, as they lay side by side talking, Bill mentioned that Li Han called him in the VOQ just before he came over. He told her how he momentarily toyed with Li Han for not knowing everything going on.

"So, When do you meet him again?"

"Tomorrow, once more using the airplane from Fox Field. I haven’t any idea where he wants to meet, but I think he’s getting anxious for what I can offer."

That night they spent in each other’s arms, until dawn. At first light, Bill arose, cleaned up and dressed. "I have to stop by the VOW and change into my uniform. See you at the office, my dear. He kissed her forehead and left. She remained in bed.

"Oh, Major," the desk clerk called, as Bill entered the VOQ. "There’s a message for you." He handed Bill a slip of paper.

It read, "Call Charlie at base extension 4556." Bill could only assume that it was the CIA agent, Charlie, from the Los Angeles meeting with General Atkins.

"Thanks," Bill said to the clerk, with a broad friendly smile."

On reaching his office, Bill immediately called the number on the clerk’s note.

"Charlie, here. May I help you."

"Yeah, this is Wilcox. Your note said to call."

"Yes, Colonel," Charlie began, and Bill was surprised that he knew of the change. "I talked with General Kilgore. You can use this number any time, day or night to reach me. Do you have any news from our friend?"

"Yes. I’m meeting him again today. He’s chartered the Cessna at Fox Field, same airplane I use from there last time. I won’t know where the meet is until I get the note in the ashtray."

"That old goat is careful, all right," Charlie declared. "Okay. I’ll come by your office this morning. We have to talk."

"I’ll be here until 11:20 or so. Then I have to leave to drive to Fox."

"Right. I’ll be there around nine. Seeya."

Colonel Browning came by Bill’s office shortly after the call with Charlie. Bill told him that the CIA would be over shortly.

"Good. I guess General Kilgore pushed the right buttons there too. I just got off the horn with General Atkins. It seems that they are already starting to put together a night capsule data package, suitably marked SECRET, of course. We’re both going down there on Friday to see what they have and you’re to bring that camera."

"Well, the wheels do turn when a pair of generals get in gear, don’t they?" Bill commented. "You want to sit in on my meeting with the CIA man, Charlie?"

"I can’t. I’ve got an appointment I cannot break at 9:30. My kid’s giving a musical presentation at school and I’d better be there. Besides, you’re the spy expert around here. You handle it."

"Yes, sir. Will do," Bill responded, as Browning left.

Chapter 21

"Colonel Wilcox? This is the guard at the gate. You have a visitor, a fellow names Charlie."

"Yes, thank you. I’ll be right out to escort him in."

Soon Bill crossed the ramp between the hangar and the fence, finding the CIA man waiting patiently next to the guard’s shack.

After signing his guest in, Bill escorted his visitor in to the SORTG area.

"Wow. That’s the first time I’ve been up close to one of your special C-130’s," Charlie enthusiastically remarked on entering the hangar.

Bill gave him a quick guided tour of the airplane and explained how the recovery system worked. Charlie was impressed.

"And your guys have actually tried to do this at night?"

"Yes, but it’s not easy. Our best pilot, Colonel Browning, even had trouble with it."

After pausing briefly in the loadmaster’s area to grab some coffee, the two headed for Bill’s office.

"Oh, by the way. Congratulations on your promotion, sir," Charlie began.

"Thanks."

"Well. You said that Li Han called for a meeting this noon. And he’s got you waiting until you get into your airplane before you find your destination. That complicates things a little, but I’d like you to try placing this little tracker beacon on the plane so we can follow your flight."

Bill looked at the little unit, about the size of a can of shoe polish with a red domed cover. "Where do I put it?"

"Simply peel off the label on the bottom of the can to expose the glue," he said, pointing to the transmitter. "Then press it firmly against the lower aft portion of the fuselage. It’ll start sending out a beacon signal immediately and we can follow your progress. I’ll be in another plane about five minutes behind you. I can receive your signal up to 100 miles away."

"That’s nifty, but won’t Li Han or his people be able to detect it?"

"Yes, but it looks just like a common anti-collision light found on many planes. Sometimes the best place to hide things is in plain sight, or in this case plane sight. It’s a brand new device that operates using an intermittent radio transmission, a coded burst of pulses. That way it’s less likely to be detected and saves battery life."

"Okay," Bill continued. "But What do I say if they do find it?"

"Simply play dumb. Tell him you thought is was just a light that was there all the time. That’s your best defense. Do you have any guesses where he’ll send you?"

"Well, it probably won’t be too far away. So far it’s been Tehachapi and Lake Isabella. They’re both under a half hour from Fox Field. My guess is he’ll suggest Lake Isabella again."

"Oh? Why is that?"

"He liked the soup there. The guy prefers soup for lunch and they make a pretty decent one. He may like that waitress too, for he tipped her five dollars last time."

"Okay then ... you just do your thing and we’ll follow. We’ll stay out of sight, but remain close enough while you’re flying. When you land, I’ll radio one of my guys to drive within surveillance range. He’ll then follow Li Han’s car after your meeting ends. At least, that’s the plan."

"You know, I guess, that this meeting is mainly about my handing over the phony data on the tracking system, the beacon device we’ve designed just for him?" Bill showed Charlie the little film cassette from his Minox camera.

"Do you know why he insisted on getting a roll of undeveloped film?" Charlie asked, leading Bill.

"No. I just assumed he didn’t want me to bring the bulky and obvious set of drawings and such."

"Well, we think that he wants the raw film to develop himself. That way it’s less likely to be altered and creatively doctored. Those guys are paranoid at times, we’ve learned," Charlie explained.

"Do you need anything else here?" Bill inquired. And Charlie simply shook his head. Bill suggested that he’d better escort Charlie back to the guard gate. He had some things to take care of before leaving for the airport.

At 11:15 Bill headed for the parking lot. He checked to be sure he had both the roll of beacon system film and that CIA tracker device.

It was windy that morning, tumbleweed blowing across the highway between Rosamond and Lancaster. Bill carried his cap, rather than have it blow away while he performed his exterior check of the plane. Removing the tie down ropes worried him, for a gust could overturn that light aluminum craft.

He crawled beneath the aft fuselage area and attached the little tracker transmitter. And he had to admit that it really did look like it belonged there. Two other planes nearby had anti-collision lights attached in a similar location. Bill wondered if they were real or tracker devices like his.

There in the ashtray, he found the note wrapped around the airplane ignition key. It said, "Lake Isabella. 1300 hours. Bring merchandise." That’s all. But Bill got the message and proceeded with his pre-takeoff checks.

Guiding his light craft to the end of runway 24 was tricky, especially when he had to taxi cross-wind. Unicom revealed that there was no other traffic approaching, and a quick scan of the area indicated it was safe to take the active runway. Fortunately, the wind was right down the runway. He was airborne in just a few hundred feet, climbing to get above the turbulent air roiling over the desert hills.

When he turned north and reached 7500 feet, the roughness lessened markedly. Unseen behind him in a Piper Comanche, a sleeker and more powerful four-seat airplane, Charlie and a companion followed. Passing the crest of the Tehachapi Mountains, the air suddenly got very rough as winds from the west swirled over and around the peaks. Bill tightened his lap belt.

Once he got within sight of Lake Isabella and began a letdown into the Valley, the winds subsided and the air smoothed. In fact, Bill noted that there were hardly any waves on the lake. He approached from the south and over the water to the runway still partially submerged in the high waters. Only about 100 feet were covered now.

He touched down and rolled to the north end of the runway, before turning off toward the airport office building and the little cafe. There were three other planes tied down in front of the office, near the gas pumps.

Once again, Bill told the airport staff that he wouldn’t need gas. He tied down and chocked his plane securely at a parking spot out away from the cafe. He hoped that putting the plane there would make it less likely that Li Han or his people would notice the tracker device. And he hoped that leaving the plane out on the open, away from the buildings, would make it easier for Charlie to detect the signal.

As he walked toward the cafe, he noted that Li Han’s big Lincoln was just arriving. He waved in response to a figure in the back seat waving at him. And then he noticed that there was a second passenger beside Li Han. It was Won Lu.

"Good afternoon, Gentlemen," Bill said as his conferees joined him, headed toward the cafe door. Bill held the door open and the three entered. The same table, the one next to the picture window, was available.

The waitress was occupied with other customers as they sat down. Immediately, Won Lu asked if Bill brought the merchandise.

"Yes, I did indeed. Did you gentlemen bring the payment, my $50,000?"

The expression on Li Han’s face suddenly became stern and tight. "You never said it would cost me $50,000, Colonel."

"No, and I never expected to have to work so hard to get this for you. I took a lot of risk getting access to these materials. Do you know what would have happened to me if I was caught taking these pictures? I’d be in Leavenworth prison in a heartbeat. So, believe me, I think $50,000 is a fair price, perhaps even a low one."

"All right, Colonel. We’ll pay your price. Consider it my gift to you in honor of your promotion, though without my friendship you wouldn’t be wearing this silver leaves, you realize."

"Yes, sir I do. And believe me I appreciate your help. I just want you to know that I’ve got my neck out a long way here."

Won Lu and Li Han looked at each other, a slight smile crossing their faces as Bill spoke those words.

"So, tell us, Colonel. What is on the film?", Li has said while passing a thick envelope under the table to Bill.

Bill took the envelope, taking a look at it in his lap, before slipping it into his jacket pocket. Then he withdrew the film cassette and passed it to Li Han.

"The pictures include a dozen detailed drawings describing the beacon receiver, the electrical and mechanical components, and the pulse code characteristics. There are even pictures of some actual hardware. I think it’s exactly what you said you wanted. It’s all I could get."

"Very good, Colonel. Shall we order now? The vegetable soup is excellent here," Li Han responded, turning to Won Lu to suggest that he order the soup too.

As they ate, Bill opting for a bowl of chili and beans, the conversation continued in a general way about the winds, the lake level and other incidental topics. Li Han once again ordered a take-out cup of the soup and some rolls for his driver, waiting out there in the Lincoln.

"We are most interested in your night recovery system, Colonel. I have prepared a list of specific questions for you and my request for certain detailed drawings of aircraft and capsule modifications necessary to give your Air Force this night time capability. Some of the aircraft specific questions come from my associate, here."

Bill scanned down the list on the paper that Li Han passed to him across the table. He then exclaimed, "Wow. You don’t want much, do you?"

"On the contrary, Colonel. We want a great deal and are depending on you to be responsive. Further, we are prepared to be very generous, even moreso than we have been to date. If you are able to furnish all of what is listed there, I am prepared to compensate you at the $150,000 level."

Li Han purposely low-balled his offer, fully expecting Bill to make a counter offer and then negotiate on a real number. The top dollar of $250,000 was as high as he would go, but then Bill didn’t know that.

Bill, however, was most impressed by the initially suggested price just mentioned. "I guess you really do want this information. That’s a very interesting offer. May I ask why this is worth so much more to you than the capsule beacon?"

"My government is most concerned by the greatly shortened time for satellite recoveries that your night capability brings. No longer can we take advantage of 12 hours of darkness to deny your intelligence analysts immediate data. I can tell you very frankly that your night recovery system is a major concern to us. That is why I am prepared to be more generous."

Won Lu added, "And, Colonel. As a pilot myself, I am most interested in how you solve the problems of attitude reference, elevation differences between the recovery aircraft and the parachute, as well as the modifications you had to make in equipment. I am sure that technique alone will not solve the problems. Pilots need additional reference cues."

"Right, you are, sir. It’s a difficult engineering problem. But we have made great strides."

Li Han continued, reminding Bill that this was a number one priority topic. Time was also an important factor. And Bill nodded in understanding, taking that expression of urgency as an opportunity to suggest that perhaps if he actually did produce everything on the list it should be worth more than $150,000.

Li Han was not surprised, responding, "All things are negotiable. Are they not?" All three men smiled, though Bill wasn’t sure they were smiling at the same thing.

"I hate to eat and run, Li Han, but I have to get back to work. I’ll take this list, if I may, and see what I can do. I’ll be in touch by telephone, through your service, when I have some information, or at least a good estimate of what I may ultimately be able to get. Fair enough? Oh, and thank you for lunch."

All three stood, shook hands and Bill left. His two luncheon companions remained at the table as he walked toward the Cessna. Bill did not look back.

Within ten minutes Bill was once again airborne and headed south. He reached into his pocket and felt the thick envelope. Soon his curiosity drove him to tear open the end of the packet and see just how much money was actually there. He counted roughly 500 fresh new 100 dollar bills. "Close enough," he laughingly muttered to himself.

Before he left the airplane, again tied down securely at Fox Field, he divided the money in the envelope into roughly two equal stacks, stuffing part of it inside his shirt and leaving the remainder in the envelope. For Bill was wondering whether or not the CIA would meet him and demand the payoff proceeds.

The Piper Comanche, with Charlie aboard, circled the valley above Lake Isabella. Through binoculars, he and his associate watched as the big white Lincoln sedan eventually left the parking lot beside the cafe. The car turned south, along the lake shore, and then east toward China Lake. At the first highway intersection it turned south and headed for Los Angeles. Following the car’s progress was relatively easy in the open country and clean air. But that changed dramatically as they approached the smog and traffic near San Bernardino.

Charlie got on his radio and called, "Pigeon One to Hound Dog, Over." And soon a radio equipped car below responded. "Your target is just now approaching the overpass at mile marker 45, southbound. It’s a 1974 model White Lincoln Town Car."

In a few minutes, a response came up to Charlie, "Got him Pigeon One. We’ll take it from here."

For several miles, westward from San Bernardino toward Los Angeles, the two vehicles held the same speed, Li Han’s car in front and the CIA’s inconspicuous gray Chevrolet trailing behind. They stayed with the flow of mid-afternoon traffic. With each passing mile more and more cars poured onto the Interstate.

Just outside Covina, traffic began to slow. Slow and go, accordion-like it surged and slowed. And then everything stopped, as the road became saturated with vehicles. Suddenly, up ahead, Li Han’s Lincoln headed for a break in the right lane. It found and darted for an exit, while the CIA car, trapped in the bumper to bumper grid lock could not follow. "Damn," cursed the agent on the passenger side, his fist banging in frustration on the dashboard. "Lost him."

Over the radio, the CIA agents reported losing their quarry. Charlie, in the Piper was no longer airborne. His craft landed at Ontario airport several minutes earlier, its radios long since switch off.

Chapter 22

Bill learned from Charlie that Li Han gave them the slip, though perhaps not intentionally. Charlie doubted that he knew he was being followed. It was just a snafu in traffic down below.

"Guess we'll just have to try again at the next meeting, Charlie explained, somewhat philosophically. "What I'd really like to do is put a tracker unit onto his car, but getting close to it with the driver always there won't be easy."

"Well, I haven't any idea when he'll call me again for a meeting, but when I get some of the night recovery system data put together, I can arrange for a meeting," Bill explained.

"Okay ... so call me when you're set. In the meantime, we'll keep monitoring radio traffic to see how much they are talking about the night system. Next time it'll go better," Charlie ended.

Hanging up the telephone, Bill headed to the lab to see Sergeant Davis. It was time to have a skull session about alternative designs, especially on how to make the lights and batteries lighter and smaller.

"Hi, there. What's happening?" Bill asked as he saw his creative sergeant. "Any new ideas on re-working the capsule?"

"Yes, sir, a couple ideas we can try on the ground. I’m satisfied that we don't need any more chamber flights. That aneroid switch problem is solved. But I've got some ideas that will really reduce bulb size."

"Oh? How so?"

"We can try two, or maybe four, of these," he said holding up some high intensity bulbs under three inches across and not that deep. "They are the kind used in slide projectors, only 12 volt versions. But they have to have air blowing across them or they overheat."

Bill took one of the bulbs from Davis. They certainly were light. In fact, all four were lighter than one of the automotive sealed beam lights. "Hey, this looks promising. Have you done any light pattern and intensity checks?"

"Well sort of, sir. I shined four of them up onto the ceiling and measured the intensity with my photographic light meter. The intensity seems to be at least as good, maybe a hair better."

"Good work, Davis ... good work. But what is the down side?"

"Well, for one thing, we don't know if the filaments will tolerate the g's of re-entry or the parachute opening. I really don't care if they fail on surface impact."

"You mean g-forces with the filaments cold, right?"

"Yes, sir."

"Well, that's not difficult. We'll set up a vibration test ... even in a cold chamber, if necessary. We might have to do it with a complete package though. That means capsule and parachute. The only thing that’ll be tough is seeing how those bulbs take the vacuum of space."

Lieutenant Heflin came into the lab as Bill and Sergeant Davis were discussing the new design. Bill asked, "Max? Have you see this new configuration? Looks like a big improvement over the first version."

"Yes, sir. Davis has been hard at it. And soon he’ll be ready to make some night drops to see how much better, or worse, this is than using the car lights. He’ll be ready next week. Can you get the colonel to let us try it?"

"Well, when it’s all put together I’d like to see it. You need to fabricate a new capsule top to hold the bulbs. Let’s go for four lamps, and wire ’em so if one fails the others don’t."

It still concerned Bill that those two 12 volt batteries weighed over 40 pounds. That would never do for a real capsule. He asked Max to look into other battery options, lighter and smaller ones.

Just before lunchtime, Bill called his major-friend in Los Angeles. "Still raining down there?" Bill asked in jest. "It’s sunny and warm up here."

"Okay. Rub it in," was the response. "What can we do for you?"

"I was wondering if you guys have made any progress on the night system project. Any news we can discuss over this phone line?"

"Yes, Bill. We’re working on the concept at a total system level. That includes the whole set of things needed to make an operational design believable. There are several near-term aircraft modifications that fit in, plus the changes needed in capsules."

"How soon would it be useful for me to come down below to see what it looks like? I’d also like to show you what Sergeant Davis has come up with. He’s really worked hard on this and I think he may have something impressive to show you."

"Oh, maybe late next week or the week after. The general has us doing this on a non-interference basis with our other work. It’s got some priority, but not a whole lot. I’ll give you a call by the middle of next week."

"Thank," Bill responded. "Don’t you guys get too wet down there."

Friday afternoon, Bill stopped by Grace’s desk to see if she’d be interested in doing something different over the weekend.

"What have you got in mind?" she asked.

"Well, I was kinda thinking it would be fun to drive up to King’s Canyon, up the back road through Kernville or whatever. We could stay a motel and be back early Sunday afternoon. Then I’ve gotta move from the VOQ to the BOQ by Monday."

"Okay. Sounds good, but I’ve got to see if Jose is available to look after the horses while we’re gone. I’ll let you know this evening. You are coming over for supper, aren’t you?"

"Wouldn’t miss it," he responded, blowing her a kiss, after checking to see that no one was looking.

Bill picked up a bottle of wine, actually two bottles, one red and one white, because he didn’t know what Grace would be serving for supper. He arrived at 6:30, finding her out in the corral with her horses.

"Is Jose going to be around this weekend to care for the horses," Bill inquired first thing.

"Yes. He said he’d take care of my babies. He and his family will be here all weekend." They lived in the small house on the opposite end of Grace’s property. She let him live there rent-free, as part of his compensation for helping her around the ranch. Jose hired on right before Jack left and was a really a life-saver during Grace’s hardest times. His wife, Marie, and the two kids were delightful people, though Grace never got to know them well because their English was limited.

After supper, a chicken casserole served with the white wine, Bill and Grace talked of many things. But when the subject came around to where their relationship might be going, things got a bit too unsettling for Bill. Grace was clearly having second thoughts about getting permanently attached.

"What’s the problem, Grace? Are you getting bored or tired of me?"

"No .. not at all. I think you’re just the kind of guy I’ve been waiting for. But when you hinted, the other day, that marriage was a possibility, I really got to thinking. I am in love with you, as I hope you’ve come to realize. I really am."

"But?," Bill implored. "But?"

"Well, I’m going to hate myself for saying this, but I just don’t think it will work. Don’t get me wrong, please. You’re the best thing that’s come into my life in a long long time. And I love being with you. But I don’t think a marriage would work."

"What’s wrong with the idea of us getting married? Why wouldn’t it work?"

"Look, Bill. Let’s be realistic. Your Air Force career could well mean that you get transferred at any time. You could be sent across the country or perhaps half way around the world. But, I couldn’t follow you. I can’t leave this place, my ranch and my horses. I’ve got too much invested here, emotionally, physically and otherwise. Can you understand that?"

"I guess I hadn’t thought about our relationship in those terms. I assumed that if you ever agreed to marry me that you’d go wherever we had to. And yes, I hope you know that I love you too. I think I fell for you the first time I saw you, that night in the Club when Ed and Jim introduced us."

"Bill. If ever I did agree to marry you, I would be willing to follow you anywhere. That’s the problem. I can’t agree to marry you, knowing that it would mean leaving here. My whole world is tied up in this 40 acres. This place is in my blood and I can’t even conceive of living anyplace else. Can you understand that?"

"Wow. That’s something I didn’t expect. I thought we were becoming closer and closer. And I naturally felt that getting married would be the next step."

"We are, Bill. We are getting closer together. And I do love that growing in our relationship. We’ve clearly developed a mutual love and caring for each other. I cherish that. But, somehow, it cannot displace this feeling I have for my home and my way of life here."

"So, Grace. Where does this leave us? Do we go on being lovers, good friends or just pals. I’m kinda at a loss here."

"What’s wrong with staying the way we are? We enjoy each other’s company and share a lot together. We could go on like this until it’s time for you to go wherever the Air Force sends you. I’m willing to accept that. Are you?"

"Sure, I guess so. It sure beats losing you. But let me ask you this. Would you marry me if I wasn’t in the Air Force? If I was willing to settle here?"

"In a heartbeat, Bill. In a heartbeat, yes. But the Air Force is your life. I couldn’t ask you to do that, just as I hope you understand that I can’t accept uprooting myself and leaving this."

Bill reached for her, wrapping his arms lovingly around her and drawing her close. He hugged her for several minutes, not wanting to let go. Then he kissed her, tenderly and lovingly. "Okay, hon. Let’s keep things like they are and see how it goes. Agreed?"

"Agreed," she said. "Now you go back to the VOQ and pack some things for our weekend trip. See you in the morning, early. Okay?"

"You got it, sweetheart. Pick you up at 7:30? We’ll grab breakfast up the highway. Or is that too early?"

"7:30 is just fine. I’ll be ready."

It was a weekend to remember, The drive up into the California mountains couldn’t have been nicer. In the high country the air was cool and crisp, especially early in the day. They stayed at a bed a breakfast, looking all the world like newlyweds. And much too soon the two-day getaway ended, when Sunday noon rolled around and they had to head back.

Grace helped Bill carry his stuff from the VOQ to his new room in the BOQ, just a block away. It didn’t take long, for Bill didn’t have much more than he brought out in the car from Washington.

"Are you sure you don’t want to move in with me instead of this boring barracks room?" she asked.

"Well, not just now. Let’s let the dust settle. I loved our weekend together and don’t want to stop seeing you, but living together without planning to get married is not what I envisioned. Okay?"

"Yes, sure. Whatever you like. I just thought you’ve be more comfortable at my place."

"I can still come over now and again, can’t I?" Bill asked.

"Of course. I said before that we can keep things like they are. So. Is the last of your stuff? Are we done moving you?"

"Yep. That’s it. All I have to do now is turn my key in and arrange for a telephone in my new room. Hmmmm. Wonder what Li Han will think if he tries to reach me?"

"Him? I’ll bet he knows about this already. Not much gets past him," Grace allowed, as she headed for the car and a ride back to her place.

Bill dropped Grace off, just as it was getting dark. Jose had apparently just fed the horses, for they were lined up with noses in the feed trough.

"Goodnight, sweetheart. I had a great weekend," Bill exclaimed, as he was leaving.

"Me too. Maybe we can go back up there another time."

Chapter 23

Bill decided he finally had enough detail on the night capsule system to tell Li Han a little about what might be coming. He called the answering service, suggesting a meeting, perhaps on Friday. He left a message saying, "Would like you to view a video of an actual night capsule test?"

As expected, Li Han took the bait. That very night he called Bill at the VOQ, only to learn that Bill was no longer living there. The young airman on duty, a brand new desk clerk, never even heard of Lieutenant Colonel Wilcox. Even after looking in the Edwards AFB roster of officers, he found no one of that name. Bill wasn’t listed there because he was a member of a tenant organization, SORTG, and not a base unit. Li Han was livid.

Late that Thursday evening, Li Han called Grace, in an obviously agitated state, inquiring the whereabouts of Colonel Wilcox. She didn’t realize that Li Han was unaware of Bill’s move to the BOQ. Rather, she thought that Li Han was referring to Bill’s exact whereabouts at that moment.

"I don’t know where he is, sir. He didn’t tell me of any plans to leave," she replied.

Li Han was becoming concerned, wondering if Bill had been suddenly transferred or gone away on leave. "It’s very urgent that I contact him, Can you suggest where I might do so?"

"Well, yes sir. He doesn’t have a telephone in his BOQ room, but you can reach him at his office in the morning. He hasn’t been here tonight and I don’t expect him."

Li Han didn’t catch the subtle difference between VOQ and BOQ, so in a very frustrated state of mind, he was resigned to waiting until morning. He’d have to call Bill at his SORTG office, something he was loath to do. He did not want a government telephone involved in their relationship.

Friday morning, right at 0800 hours, Li Han called Bill at his office. This was the first time that happened, since Bill left the Pentagon months ago.

"Colonel Wilcox? This is your friend." And Bill immediately recognized the voice, though it surprised him.

"Yes. What can I do for you?"

"Lunch at the Antelope Valley lodge. Fine. Twelve noon."

"Yes, sir. I’ll see you there. We’ll need a standard video player, a VCR and a television monitor."

"It will be there, Colonel. Same private dining room as last time. See you then." ... click.

Once more, Bill noticed that Li Han ended the phone call without saying good-bye. He smiled, at that habit and in the realization that Li Han was very interested in the news about the night recovery system. "Gotcha," Bill muttered aloud.

Next, Bill called Charlie of the CIA. But not knowing whether his office phone was bugged, by Li Han or anyone else, Bill suggested, "Hey, Charlie. Let’s meet for coffee at the Bowling alley snack bar. Our friend is getting anxious. Ten minutes? Okay?"

Just as Bill parked in the bowling alley lot, up drove Charlie. The two walked into the snack bar, ordered coffee and headed for a booth in the back of the area.

"You say our friend is getting anxious? How So?" Charlie asked.

Bill explained that he’d called Li Han and suggested a viewing of the video from the recent drop test. Li Han responded enthusiastically, Bill reported, and they would meet without using an airplane, because a room with a VCR and television set was required. That could not be guaranteed at the other usual meeting places.

"Noon today at the AVL," Bill affirmed. "That might give you a chance to attach a tracker on his car, or perhaps tail him to his office or residence."

Charlie was delighted. He was even thinking about possibly bugging the private dining room and installing a clandestine TV camera to capture the meeting on tape. Now he had to devise a scheme to separate Li Han’s driver from the car, long enough to install the tracker device.

Just before noon, Bill appeared at the AVL, wearing casual civilian clothes. He proceeded to the private dining room. It was empty. Not a soul in sight.

He waited, 10, 15 and 20 minutes. There was no sign of Li Han. Soon, a waiter came by and asked, "Are you William Wilcox, sir?"

Bill nodded in the affirmative. "Oh," your party is in room 166, sir. The other gentleman wanted a room with a big television set, not the small ones up there on the wall brackets," the waiter said, pointing to the sets up high.

Bill left for room 166 and knocked. Soon Li Han opened the door, inviting his visitor to enter.

"Over there, Colonel, is the VCR and a television set. Did you bring the video tape?"

"Sure did. I thought it might interest you. Are you ready?"

"Yes, Yes please, "Li Han anxiously responded. It’s turned on and ready for you to insert your tape. Go ahead, please."

Bill inserted the video tape and soon the silent, un-narrated record of the night drop appeared on the screen. Li Han’s eyes were fixed on the screen. The viewing lasted about 15 minutes.

"Re-wind it, please, and play it again. This time, however, please explain what I am seeing."

Bill complied and carefully explained how the parachute was illuminated and the pattern flown by the JC-130 in making the catch. He did not tell Li Han that no actual catch was made.

"I didn’t realize how high above the parachute your pilot would fly," Li Han commented. That caught Bill a little off guard, but he quickly hinted that for night recoveries a high pass was safer, though it did require a last second descent maneuver to engage the hooks in the parachute. Since such a maneuver was not reflected on the tape, Li Han did not argue the point.

Meanwhile, though Charlie had managed to place a video camera in the private dining room, all it was recording was a darkened empty room.

Outside, in the AVL parking lot, Li Han’s white Lincoln sat, with the driver dutifully seated behind the wheel. Charlie and a fellow agent observed from a safe and discrete distance.

Charlie’s associate suggested that they create a diversion, one that might cause Li Han’s driver to leave his vehicle long enough for the tracking device to be installed. But the question was what kind of diversion would do the trick.

"How about using a smoke bomb dropped into the bed of that pickup truck next to Li Han’s car. We could time the smoke with the arrival of a fire truck and perhaps distract the driver," suggested Charlie’s fellow agent.

"What the hell. Let’s give it a try. I’ll use that pay phone behind us and call the fire department. You wait until you hear the sirens and toss the smoke grenade. When the trucks arrive, I’ll have a fireman in bunker gear bang on the window of Li Han’s car and tell the driver to get out and clear the area," Charlie declared.

In a few minutes, the sound of approaching fire engines, sirens wailing, came closer to the AVL. They turned onto the north side parking lot, where Charlie told them a truck was on fire, the truck next to Li Han’s sedan.

The other CIA agent slipped over to the truck, from the opposite side so the Li Han’s driver would not see, and tossed a smoke grenade into the cargo bed. Soon a billowing cloud of white smoke enveloped the truck and Li Han’s car.

One of the two fire engines pulled up behind the smoking pickup truck, and happened to block Li Han’s vehicle from moving. While a fireman held the driver’s attention, attempting to get him to leave the area, the CIA agent crawled under the Lincoln and attached a stick-on tracker device.

In just seconds, the firemen discovered and extinguished the smoke bomb, though Li Han’s driver did not see what caused the problem. Charlie approached the fire captain on scene and explained the real story, cautioning him not to report the incident as anything other than a routine car fire.

Back inside the AVL, in room 166, Bill and Li Han conversed at length about the night recovery system. Bill explained the kind of documentation he was attempting to get, though it fell short of everything on Li Han’s wish list. Still, Bill managed to keep interest high.

"How soon will you have the materials?" Li Han pressed. "My government is quite anxious for these details."

"I’m not sure, but next week I’m going down to Los Angeles. I’ll get what I can there with the camera. Are you also interested in the aircraft modifications we are making to improve the night recovery capabilities."

"Yes. Yes. Get whatever you can that is at all relevant to the system. And when you deliver I am prepared to be quite generous.

Just to demonstrate my special friendship for you, and our interest in this particular project, I am prepared to pay you one-half now and the remainder on delivery. Here take this."

Bill took another fat envelope from Li Han, thanking him and slipping it inside his shirt. "Boy, this guy is really fascinated by the night capsule," he thought.

As they were ready to conclude the meeting, Li Han asked if he might keep the video tape, but Bill responded that he had to get that original back to the office before it was missed. Yet, Li Han pressed the matter and finally Bill agreed, on condition that Li Han get a copy made and return the original to him at Grace’s place that night.

"I’ve got to put that tape back no later than tomorrow morning, or it might be missed and an investigation started."

"You will have it by midnight, Colonel. I promise. It will be returned to the oat bin at Grace’s ranch," Li Han declared, obviously pleased to have something tangible right now.

Bill left the AVL and drove through downtown Lancaster. He observed that one of the local banks was promoting free checking on new accounts. That prompted him to stop by and open a new account and get another safety deposit box.

While alone in a little privacy booth, that deposit box customers often use, Bill removed the thick envelope from his shirt. He opened it and couldn’t believe his eyes. There in that envelope was $75,000 in cash, all $100 dollar bills. He left $70,000 in the safety deposit box and took the remainder to a teller for deposit in his new checking account.

On leaving the bank, Bill felt much better about not keeping his largesse in just one bank. He still worried that the OSI or some other government agency would lay claim to the money from Li Han. "Maybe if they clamp a lien on my account at the base, they won’t get to this one before I can," he thought.

It bothered Bill that he could not invest most of that money. It could be earning interest, in certificates of deposit, stocks, bonds or other instruments. Yet he dared not place it anywhere that the IRS might discover this abnormal increase in his wealth.

Bill headed east from town, toward Grace’s ranch. She was surprised to see him, for they didn’t have a date planned.

"Hi, Grace. Just thought I’d stop by. I was on my way back from a trip to Lancaster. How are you this fine day?"

"You’re sounding chipper. What did you do? ... swallow the canary?"

"No ... just out enjoying this fine weather and decided to see my best girl. How about dinner at the Apple Valley Hacienda tonight? I’m buying."

"Of course you’re buying, silly. You don’t invite a girl out and expect her to buy, do you?"

"Well? Are you interested in dinner out?"

"Sure. Come on in and let me get cleaned up. I’m kinda ripe from cleaning the stalls."

"I wasn’t going to say anything. I just thought you were wearing new perfume," Bill said with a laugh. And Grace tossed a wet towel in his face, saying, "You’re lucky we’re not outside or it might not have been just a towel," she replied, grinning.

"Say. Did you know that Li Han called me last night looking for you. He was in a tizzy because he couldn’t reach you at the VOQ. What’s up?"

"Oh, not much. I guess I never told him of my move. He’ll live. C’mon, girl. Get ready."

Li Han and his driver left Lancaster, headed south on Highway 14 to Los Angeles. They were unaware of the transmitter device affixed to the under side of the vehicle, its signal being tracked by Charlie and his associate.

As the big Lincoln made a detour through a construction zone, it hit a huge pothole and bottomed out, scraping the frame on the rocks and gravel. Off came the tracking device, rolling down a ravine and landing with a plop in a big puddle.

The CIA vehicle too came upon the construction detour and following along in a line of cars, single file, through the work zone. By the time that they got back onto the pavement, Charlie exclaimed, "Wait a minute. Now Li Han is behind us. Quick. Turn around and go back. He must have turned off at the exit back there in the construction area. Damn."

It took a couple side trips and turn arounds for Charlie to realize that the tracker device was down in the ravine. There was no sign of a vehicle.

Li Han and his driver, wholly unaware of the excitement generated behind them, proceeded blithely to the Los Angeles area and their destination near the marina at Culver City.

Once again, Li Han eluded the efforts of the CIA to follow him. Once again by good luck alone.

Chapter 24

Bill and Grace enjoyed their dinner at the Apple Valley Hacienda, though the place was crowded that Friday night. The host, remembering them from previous visits, took them to a booth away from much of the noise and traffic, a place where they could talk and relax over a delightful meal.

"You know, this would be a good place for me to throw my promotion party," he suggested to Grace. "I wonder if they could set it up for next weekend?"

When the waiter came by again, Bill asked if the manager could come by the table.

"Is there anything wrong, sir?" the concerned waiter quickly responded. "No. Not at all. In fact, I want to see if I can bring several people here for a party next weekend." Oh, I’ll get him for you right away," the much relieved waiter responded.

"You wanted to see me sir? I’m Andre, the manager."

"Yes, Andre. First off, I want to say how much we enjoy coming here for dinner. You do a great job. And next, I’d like to know if I can schedule this place for a party next Saturday night, for perhaps 35 people?"

"Oh, yes sir. We can accommodate you and your group. I suggest 8:30 P.M., after the early dinner crowd has thinned out. Thirty-five people, you say? Will they all be adults? Or will you have families with children?"

"All adults, they’re people from Edwards. I’m throwing a small promotion party. Dinner with wine, perhaps. No bar, though a cash bar should be available, I suppose."

"Yes, sir. Would you and the lady here care to select entrées for the event, or would you prefer to have people order from the menu individually?" Andre inquired.

"Let’s give our guests the opportunity to chose from your menu, but if you have any specials I would appreciate it."

"Of course, sir. And in whose name shall I make these arrangements?"

"I’ll be taking care of the bill, all except the bar. My name is Lieutenant Colonel William Wilcox. May I pay by check? ... or do you prefer credit cards?"

"Your check will be just fine, Colonel. And congratulations on your promotion. Will you be arranging for special decorations, flowers or party favors, sir?"

"No. I think not. Just wine and dinner for 35 ought to do it. And I’m just estimating that 35 will come. That could vary up or down by two or three couples."

"No problem, sir. We will see you next Saturday at 8:30 P.M.. And I will arrange for valet parking. Tell your people to stop at the front door and we will park their cars in the back lot."

"Fine. Will do. See you then."

Andre motioned for the waiter to come by, and added "Please accept a complimentary cognac or brandy of your choice, for you and your lady tonight."

Bill and Grace enjoyed two brandies as a fine conclusion to their superb dinner.

"I hope this means you’ll be my date next Saturday, sweetheart?" Bill asked his favorite companion.

"I’d be honored, Colonel, sir."

That done, they headed for the car and the drive north to Grace’s ranch. On the way Grace asked, "Say, Bill. Would you like me to send out the invitations for your party? Or would telephone invitations be better? It’s pretty short notice, so I suggest calling."

"Yes, you’re right, as usual. I’ll get you a list by tomorrow and we can divide up the names for calling. Okay? What would Emily Post say about this?"

"Well, she’d probably be aghast that you gave your guest such short notice ... an have a cow because you simply telephoned the invitations. But what the heck, this is the 70’s and rules are looser. Don’t worry about it."

Sunday morning, in his BOQ room, Bill began making a list of people he should invite to the promotion party. It didn’t take long to come up with 45 or more. So he began the process of prioritizing and culling names. It wasn’t easy keeping it down to 35, mostly SORTG people. "Well, let’s see ...," he mumbled. "I don't think I have to include Li Han, or the two guys from the OSI ... or even Charlie and his pal from the CIA. But, even though he probably won’t come, I’d better invite General Atkins and his wife." Soon Bill had his list done.

Sunday afternoon, Bill dropped by Grace’s place to discuss the list with her, and get her ideas on how to divide up the names for each of them to call.

"Bill. You can’t use the telephone to invite General Atkins, or General Kilgore, for that matter. These two have to be written invitations. The others will probably not object to simply a telephone call."

"Okay. I’ll get some note cards and make out the two to the generals. I can drop off the one for General Kilgore at his office on Monday, and take the other down to General Atkins when I go to Los Angeles this week.

Should we specify casual dress?"

"Yes ... you’d better. In this day and age, some will come casual no matter what you indicate. Play it safe an plan on casual all around."

"Well that’s done. Thanks for your help," Bill exclaimed.

"And just how do you plan to pay for this? You realize, of course, that you’ve committed yourself to spending over $500 here."

"Oh. That easy. Li Han is paying for this, though he doesn’t know it. Pretty slick, huh? Couldn’t happen to a nicer guy. He’s just the last of the big spenders, I suppose."

The trip down below for Sgt. Davis and Bill the next Tuesday was very worthwhile. Davis was treated by the officers in the headquarters like a latter day Thomas Edison or something. His creativity in coming up with the night capsule, especially the newest version, was well received.

Bill discussed the problems of getting together the package for Li Han. He ran into a surprising obstacle.

"Colonel, we’re not so sure that the whole idea of a night recovery system is a dead issue," said one of the lieutenant colonels he encountered on his earlier trips.

"In fact, we’re wondering if it’s such a good idea to give any information about it to your Chinese friend."

"Wow. That’s a change. What does General Atkins say about this?" Bill responded.

"Well, we haven’t discussed it with him yet, but we’re putting together a white paper to explain our position. Some new developments bear on our change of heart."

"Oh. what might they be?"

"First of all, that heads-up display system, to give pilots the capability of seeing an artificial horizon in front of them while looking through the windscreen for the parachute, is about ready for installation. We’ll be sending a contractor team up to SORTG in a week or so to install a prototype system."

"That’s a step in the right direction, of course, but it doesn’t solve the reliability problem of the capsule light systems, or the weight and volume penalties," Bill responded, trying not to sound defensive.

"We’ve got some ideas there too. A new metal hydride battery design will clearly fix the heavy battery concern, and a new bulb, similar to Davis’ idea, will improve reliability of the illumination system. We believe that we can make the concept work."

"That’s great. But there’s still General Atkin’s opposition, you know. We’re still forbidden to try catching this new capsule."

"My guess is that he’ll come around and soon you will be testing a much improved night capsule," Bill’s friend replied.

"I guess that Sgt. Davis deserves more than a pat on the back then. If this really goes forward, he ought to get a medal, at least. I’d say he ought to get some kind of monetary award too."

"You’re right on that score too, Bill. And I’ll personally see to it that he gets the recognition he deserves."

"Thanks. That’s great. But, now what am I to do with Li Han? He’s expecting a data package? I’m working with some CIA guys to give him enough to let them grab him with the goods. We gotta give him something."

"We know that. And we’ve come up with a real Rube Goldberg package for you. It’s a bit more high tech that what we have now, but should convince him that we have really got something. We’re including all of the ideas that were rejected for various reasons in earlier testing. You know, I’m sure, that night recovery was a hot topic several years ago too."

"No. I didn’t know that," Bill answered, in surprise.

"Well, I guess in this compartmentalized world of ‘black programs" maybe you wouldn’t, but believe me others have toyed with it in the past. Some of the things we learned, for example, was not to use strobe lights. They only disorient the pilots. That’s a design feature we can give Li Han."

"Yeah, I like that one," Bill smiled.

"Well, here’s another, bound to drive the Chinese to distraction. We actually tested a design with glowing fiber strands built into the parachute. The gore seams held cords that lit up, kinda line a line drawing of a parachute in the dark sky. It wasn’t worth a damn, but we tested it. And we have some drawings and design details that we can include there too."

"Okay ... lead me to those materials so I can photograph ‘em for Li Han."

For the next half hour, Bill took pictures of a variety of materials, including drawings, parts lists, maintenance manuals and the like. He too care to make sure that any dates appearing would be masked out, so as not to appear obsolete.

Then Bill dropped off his invitation note for General Atkins and his wife to join the festivities on Saturday evening. As, expected, Atkins had other commitments, but relayed his thanks and regrets.

One final session with the fellows working on the Li Han data package that afternoon concluded their business. Bill had mixed feelings about the team’s position on re-activating the project for real while making plans to give data, right or wrong, to Li Han.

General Atkins met Bill in the hallway outside his office as Bill was preparing to leave. He invited Bill in, saying he needed to talk about the Li Han package. Bill was headed to the lobby on the first floor to meet Sgt. Davis, but of course went right on in to speak with the general.

"Bill, I want to tell you something in confidence about this night capsule. You must not tell this to any of my people or anyone else, but you need to know this as it relates to the Li Han matter."

"Yes, sir. It won’t go beyond me," Bill assured.

"Well, I know that some of my staff is promoting the restoration of the night recovery project. I applaud their zeal, but they don’t understand that the whole idea is soon to be moot."

"How so, General?"

"Are you familiar with the newest technologies pertaining to image scanning, digitizing and telemetry?"

"Only in broad terms, but what’s the latest, I really don’t know."

"Bill, there are technologies in the pipeline, pretty close to being made operational, that will make it no longer necessary to physically recover satellite payloads, day or night. In fact, the whole methodology could change, within a year.

We will be able to receive at our various tracking stations around the world, images and data of high resolution, without having to bring down those sensors and recording devices at all." The general seemed genuinely excited by the developments coming out of various laboratories, universities and some contractors.

"I guess I’m not surprised, general. Some of that is already being used to support flight test. It will certainly speed up our obtaining the latest intelligence data," but how does that relate to what we do about Li Han?"

By the time that Li Han and his people figure out what we’re doing, or not doing, in the aerial recovery business, it’ll all be passé. So whatever we give him won’t matter one bit. I just wanted to assure you that you are not at all compromising our national security in giving Li Han information. If it helps the CIA nab him and his colleagues, that’s terrific. But that’s the only useful thing that the data might serve."

"That’s a relief, General. I’ve spent many sleepless nights worrying about all of this and my role in passing potentially useful information. My talks with those CIA fellows give me the impression that the Chinese are excited about getting more on the night recovery system. In fact, Li Han told me that his government is really worried that we will be able to get information much quicker and around the clock because of the system."

"In terms of the old technologies, he was probably right. But within a year, maybe a matter of months, it will be old stuff. We’ll be getting information almost on a real time basis. That’s a secret he should never know."

"Does Colonel Browning know any of this, General?"

"No. And I’ll probably not tell him. He’s got to keep the troops motivated to solve today’s problems. I won’t undercut his job and let the word get to those who might lose interest or the necessary zeal for what’s happening now. That’s why it’s so important for you to keep this under your hat. And I hope this helps you put this whole Li Han affair in perspective."

"Yes, indeed, General. And thank you for trusting me with this information. It won’t go beyond this room. Oh, and we’ll raise a glass on Saturday to you and Mrs. Atkins. Sorry you can’t make it to my promotion party."

"Thanks, Bill. We’re sorry too, but have a great time."

Bill left and headed for the lobby to meet Davis and then drive back to Edwards. It had been quite a session, down below.

On the drive up the hill to Palmdale and then over the desert to Edwards, Bill’s mind was racing. He barely spoke with Davis as the miles passed. He hoped that this who thing with Li Han would soon be over and put behind him. But he knew there was more to come.

"Sir? Could we stop here a minute, over there at that pullout?" Davis asked.

"Yeah. Sure. What’s the matter?"

"I just want to get a picture of that steep gorge that crosses the highway, just below the construction area. The sun angle is just right and that will make an terrific picture."

Bill pulled off to the roadside. Davis was right. In this light that geological formation was spectacular. Davis jumped out and began taking several pictures with his full-size 35mm camera. Bill looked at the scene for several seconds and decided to do the same, only with Li Han’s little spy camera.

"What have we got here, Sarge?" Bill asked.

"Oh, this is one of the most unique places to see the fault line, the San Andreas fault that runs north and south through these mountains. I’ve often driven this road, but with the wife and kids in the car, in this traffic, I couldn’t stop. I appreciate your taking a few minutes to let me finally get these shots. Impressive as hell, isn’t it, sir?"

"Other than being an impressive sight, what’s so special about this fault region?" Bill asked.

"Sir, this is perhaps California’s most active earthquake area. Geologists have been studying this region for years because its so unusual. You know, when the ‘big one’ hits, it may well be along this very stretch of the fault line."

"No. I didn’t know that. I only vaguely remember hearing or reading about this earthquake region. I just didn’t expected it to look like this. So this is it. Right under our feet, on both sides of the road. Wonder what would happen if a quake hit right now."

"Well, sir. You wouldn’t want to be driving along here. The road could open up with a crevice and you’d fall in, or it could be so shaky that you’d lose control of your car. But don’t worry too much. The odds of it happening at the moment you’re driving by are pretty darn slim," Davis concluded, snapping the lens cap back on his camera and returning to the car.

"Yeah, I suppose so. But it could happen, I guess."

Davis watched as Bill returned the little Minox camera to its case. "I don’t think that small format will do justice to the scenery, sir, even if you blow up the pictures."

"It doesn’t matter all that much. This camera belongs to a friend. He’ll probably wonder how these pictures got on his film," Bill responded, easing back onto the highway for the remainder of the drive back to the base.

Chapter 25

On the drive back to Grace’s, after the party on Saturday night, Bill reflected, "That was fun, wasn’t it? Everybody seemed to have a good time and the food was terrific. Did you enjoy it?"

"Oh yes, Bill. It’s the first party I’ve been to in a long time and I had a great time. That’s a wonderful bunch of people. And I think they all had fun too."

"Well, I guess we have to raise at least one drink to Li Han. He paid for it all, but I won’t tell him."

When they pulled into Grace’s driveway and up to the back porch, Bill noticed that someone had placed a note on the screen door. Bill walked her to the door, and Grace removed the pin holding an envelope. She turned and handed it to him. "It’s for you. See? Your name’s scrawled on the front, but it’s sealed."

Grace opened the door and they both went in to the kitchen. Bill tore open the envelope and then muttered, "Now what? It’s from Li Han and he wants a meeting tomorrow, on a Sunday yet."

"Forget Li Han, you .... and come here," she said, pulling him close to her. Then she kissed him. It was not a grand-motherly peck on the cheek either, not by a long shot. Soon an aroused Bill swept her up into his arms and started down the hall toward the bedroom.

"Wait," she said. "Back up and let me turn off the light. Is the back door locked?"

"Yes. It’s locked and now the light is off. I’ll probably trip and dump you somewhere in the hall before we get to the bedroom."

"You’d better not."

Later, as the two lay side by side in the darkness, Bill asked, "Is this how you treat all your suitors after rejecting them?"

"No all of them," she whispered, nibbling on his ear, "Only the very special ones."

Next morning, after a quick breakfast of coffee and muffins, Bill explained that he had to go. "Li Han said I should go to Fox Field again. I have to be there at 10:00 A.M.. Looks like I get to build some more flying time in the Cessna."

"Be careful," Grace urged, as Bill headed for his car.

Once again Bill found the same Cessna that he flew the first time, the new one. In the ashtray was the usual note and ignition key. The note said for Bill to fly down below to the Van Nuys airport and meet Li Han in the coffee shop.

After another careful preflight, Bill started the airplane and headed for the end of the runway. Soon he was airborne. He called the Palmdale FAA station and filed a flight plan to Van Nuys. He got his clearance, but was advised to avoid the hills west of the I-5 freeway. Brush fires and heavy smoke restricted visibility and there were helicopters dropping water in the area.

"Well, if it’s not mudslides or earthquakes out here, it’s fires. What a place to live," he thought. "Never a dull moment."

Soon he homed in on the radio beacon that took him to the Van Nuys airport. He called the tower for landing clearance and was advised he was number six for landing. "Boy, everybody who owns an airplane is out for a Sunday morning ride," he mumbled. "I’ve never been number six in the pattern before. Better be extra careful. There’s as many planes buzzing around here as a swarm of bees."

In a few minutes he was on the ground. He switched his radio to Ground Control and was advised to taxi over near the Shell Oil sign, to the transient parking area.

A line boy guided him with hand signals into a parking spot a quarter mile from the terminal building. "Ya need gas, Mister?" the young man asked.

"No. It’s fine. Thanks."

"Well, then, sir ... you gotta stop by the desk in the terminal and pay your landing fee. It you’d bought, gas you wouldn’t have to."

"That’s the breaks, I guess. How much is it?" Bill Asked.

"Ten bucks, sir."

Bill walked over to the terminal, noting that there was a coffee shop right next door. First, however, he stopped by top pay the landing fee.

In the coffee shop, back in a rear booth, Bill saw Li Han. He headed that way and passed the waitress, who asked," What ya having, friend?"

"Oh, how about coffee and toast. Make that rye toast." The waitress nodded and Bill continued back to Li Han’s booth.

"Good morning, Colonel. How was your flight?"

"Not bad, aside from the heavy smoke from those fires in the hills. And I’ve never seen so many small planes buzzing around an airfield. Lots of Sunday flagpole flyers."

"Flag pole flyers?" Li Han inquired. "What is flag pole flyer?"

Bill laughed. "It’s just American slang. It means pilots who just fly close to the airport or don’t go cross country. It’s nothing important."

"More of your strange sayings. I’ll never get used to you people," his host replied.

"So? What’s so urgent?" Bill asked.

"Let us enjoy our morning repast. We will talk after you have eaten and drunk your order."

"Okay, then let’s talk about other things, while we wait for my coffee and toast."

"Yes? You have something in particular that interests you?"

"I do, Li Han. I want to thank you for helping me get out of my financial mess. For the first time in years I don’t have creditors hounding me, or banks threatening to cancel credit cards and the like. And, as you may or may not know, I expect my wife’s divorce action to be completed in a week or two. I feel freer than I have in a long time."

"That is good. I am pleased to assist a friend, Colonel."

In a few minutes, both were nearly finished with their food and drink. Bill refused the waitress’ offer for a third cup of coffee.

"Colonel. Now it is time to talk business. We have a problem with your last delivery of merchandise."

"What’s the problem? Were the pictures fuzzy or not exposed right?"

"No. Your photography was, in fact, very good. My people were most interested in the merchandise."

"So? what’s the problem?"

"The information about the beacon codes is incomplete. We do not have anything that helps us determine the suitable codes for the day. Can you provide that, please?"

"Well, codes are not my thing. And, as a matter of fact, the daily codes aren’t relayed to us except when there is a catch to be made. That’s all controlled up in the San Francisco center."

"Oh. I did not understand it to be that way. So tell me then, please. When you get the codes are they send by wire or radio messages?"

"As far as I know, they are encrypted and radioed to the operational flight group in Hawaii. In our test work at Edwards, we have no need for real codes. Practically all of our catches are of simulated payloads, and those we drop ourselves. In fact, I’ve never actually seen a coded beacon signal."

"Ah hah .." Li Han nodded, in new understanding. "But, what would happen if someone picked up the coded signal and didn’t have the code of the day. What would he see on his direction finder scope?"

"Good question. I never even gave it much thought. But, it wouldn’t surprise me if the person tuning a receiver to that frequency observed just a line on the scope. He would have no way of verifying that the source was the descending capsule or some ship or airplane in the area transmitted at the same time."

"Yes. I suspect you are correct, Colonel. I am embarrassed that my own people did not figure that out. So, your are really telling me that you cannot give us the codes, but perhaps we might not need them. Is that correct?"

"That’s my best guess," Bill responded.

"Thank you for coming down here this morning. I appreciate your trouble. But there is one more question I must ask."

"Yes? What is that?"

"How soon will you deliver the next package of merchandise, the night material?"

"I can’t say exactly, but I should be calling you for a pickup in a week or ten days at the most. My last trip to the Los Angeles office was productive. I am expecting to receive the last of the requested data soon."

"Very good, Colonel. Very good. I will await your call. Have a safe return flight. I must go now."

"Adios," Bill replied, observing that Li Han reached for the check. "And thanks, for the snack and the flight time. Later." Bill decided not to mention the landing fee, for Li Han had already been generous.

The flight back was pleasant. And since Li Han had already paid for three hours, Bill chose to detour up the coast, to Santa Barbara, San Simeon and then east to Tehachapi. From up above, the area was indeed as pretty as a postcard. Just as the tachometer neared the three-hour mark, Bill taxied in and parked the Cessna back at Fox Field.

It was a little after 2:30 by the time Bill returned to the base and his BOQ room. His late morning snack with Li Han still wasn’t enough, and he felt hungry. So he headed down to the bowling alley to grab a hamburger and milkshake. Just as he came in, he saw Sergeant Davis and his family bowling with some other folks.

"Come on over, Colonel. Watch my little girl bowl. Last frame she got a spare, and that’s better than I did."

"Be right there. Just want to get something to eat first. I’ll be right over."

For the next two hours, Bill sat with Davis and his family. They seemed to be having a fine time. Though they invited Bill to roll a line or two, he decided just to watch and enjoy the fun they were having. Carl appeared to be a happy family man.

On the way to his BOQ room, Bill stopped by to check his mail box. Most of the mail was junk, but there in a thick, official looking envelope, he discovered some legal papers. It was the final divorce decree, all signed, sealed and official. Bill was no longer a married man, or obligated to support Helen in any way. Though he was relieved, he felt a bit empty as well. That phase of his live was officially over. "Some guys would probably jump up and click their heels," Bill thought, "but somehow I don’t feel that kind of elation."

On thinking over the activities of his day, Bill decided he’d better give the CIA people a ‘heads up’ on what transpired. He walked over to the VOQ office and used the telephone in the lounge.

"Charlie? Yes. This is Bill. Just thought I’d let you know that I met our friend again today. I didn’t bother to call you when I found out that it was to be by another flight from Fox. Yeah, that’s right, no chance for you to follow really. Why? Because he sent me to Van Nuys, and you know what a zoo that is. I was number six for landing. Yup. Number six. Imagine what your plane would have been.?"

Then he went on to explain that the meeting’s purpose was so that Li Han could protest about not getting the beacon codes.

"Yeah. I think be bought it when I explained that we don’t need codes for our tests here at Edwards, since we drop our own capsules. No. He doesn’t know that we don’t use codes. Uh huh ... yes. I’ll let you know when the next meet is scheduled. It won’t likely happen until I call to say that I have the next data package. No ... I haven’t any idea where he’ll want that next meeting. Yes, Charlie. I’ll call you first. Okay. Good night."

Bill hung up the phone. He clearly sensed Charlie’s frustration, and knew that all things were pointing toward collaring Li Han after this next delivery. And then he wondered what that might mean for him. "It’s one thing to have Li Han in custody," he mused. "But what will his people do after that? Will I still be on the hook?"

Chapter 26

"Good morning, Ted," greeted General Atkins on the telephone, early on Tuesday morning.

"And to you, General. What can I do for you?" responded Colonel Browning.

"Well, Ted. My guys down here have been working hard on this night capsule thing, as I know yours have too. So, I’m going to reverse my hold order on night catches, but only if you feel comfortable trying again. I don’t want you to do it if you have even the slightest doubts safety-wise. It’s just that I think it might be a morale boost for our troops to see their efforts tried in flight again. What do you think about that?"

"My guys will be happy about that, General. I know that Sergeant Davis, especially, has worked hard to correct the deficiencies in the first design. And from what I’ve seen in the pure drop tests, he’s done a good job. The improvement in both reliability and visibility are a credit to his efforts. But, to answer your question, yes. I’d feel comfortable giving it another try."

"Okay then, I’ll have Major Jacobs come up and fly along with you. He’s been working with Colonel Wilcox on the special package. He’ll be up tomorrow with the last of what we’re going to offer up to Li Han. And I sure as hell hope the CIA can get that guy this time. Oh, and by the way, Jacobs will also be bringing up something for you to present to Sergeant Davis, a small token of our appreciation for his dedicated work."

"Thanks, General. We’ll set up a flight for tomorrow night. Davis will be excited. But, I assure you, that if anything looks even the slightest bit unsafe, I’ll abort the catch attempts."

"I know you will, Ted. And good luck. I’ll have Jacobs brief me when he returns."

After hanging up, Browning called Bill to give him the word. Wednesday night the recovery will be attempted again. Take-off is set for 8:40 P.M., weather permitting.

Wednesday morning, just after 8:30, Major Jacobs arrived at SORTG. He dropped off a small box for Colonel Browning and a big package of drawings for Bill. This was the last of the material that needed to be photographed for Li Han.

"I’m going up with you guys tonight," Jacobs told Bill. "Can you borrow that video camera again? I’d like to bring a tape down to show General Atkins."

"Yes, sure. I’ll get Lt. Heflin on it right away. You staying over tonight? Or are you headed back down below after we land?"

Jacobs responded that he’d get a VOQ room for the night and head down the hill early in the morning.

"You want to see the new night capsule? It’s back in the lab with Sergeant Davis." Bill took Jacobs back to the unit, which Davis had just finished re-assembling after another thorough check out.

"She’s ready for tonight, Colonel. Oh, Hi there, Major. Good to see you again, sir."

"Major Jacobs is flying with us tonight, Sarge. And he wants to get another video tape to show the folks down in L.A.. After Li. Heflin gets the camera, would you give him a hand getting it mounted and checked out. And make sure we’ve got a couple tapes aboard.

"Yes, sir. Will do," Davis affirmed.

Turning to Jacobs, Bill suggested, "Why don’t you come into my office and help me photograph that package you brought? I need to finish taking the pictures for our friend."

Bill and Jacobs spent about an hour spreading out the drawings and documents that came up from L.A.. Once again, Bill took pains to be sure that no dates would be photographed, for some of these documents were several years old.

"I heard about another new development that might really help the night recovery project," Jacobs offered.

"Yeah, what’s that?"

"You ever hear of lasers being used as range finders, Bill?"

"Sure. It’s something new, but I’ve heard of it. Why?"

"Well, some of us down in L.A. got to thinking that a device like that just might be adapted to give pilots a range indication to the parachutes, day or night. But, at night it would be especially useful."

"Simply pointing a laser beam at the parachute, one with some reflective material sewn on the fabric seams, would give an instantaneous digital readout of distance to the target. The co-pilot, for example, could simply point a beam at the parachute and the pilot would see a range readout on his heads up display screen."

"Well, I suppose it might work, but keeping a narrow laser beam shining on a descending parachute from a bouncing airplane might not be all that easy," Bill responded.

"We don’t really know, but don’t be surprised if one day soon we bring up a prototype for testing."

After finishing the picture taking, Bill unloaded the little Minox camera and dropped the exposed film into a cassette. He slipped it into the front drawer of his office file safe. "There. That’s done. Do you want to return these things to L.A. when you go back?" he asked Jacobs, referring to the now rolled-up data package.

"Sure. But let’s keep ‘em here until I get ready to drive back down. Now I want to go chat with Sergeant Marvin. I want to get his ideas on a few things we’re working on. Meet you here at what? ... eight o’clock for tonight’s flight?"

"Yes. That’ll be about right. See you then."

Then Bill got on the telephone and called Charlie, his CIA contact.

"Charlie? Bill here. I’ve got the package ready for our friend. When do you want me to set up a meeting?"

Charlie suggested this coming Saturday, and asked again if Bill had any idea where Li Han might want to meet. Bill said no, but he’d call as soon as he knew anything more.

Sergeant Davis and Max had the night capsule ready to go. They loaded it aboard Grabber 25, the drop ship. Davis was careful to brief the loadmaster to be sure and switch the master power switch on just before shoving the capsule and parachute off the cargo ramp.

Aboard Grabber 22, Colonel Browning briefed his crew on the night drop mission, reminding them that this could be dangerous. Major Jacobs sat in the jump seat between the pilots, Bill in the navigator’s seat and Davis rode down in the cargo area with Sergeant Marvin and his crew.

Grabber 25 took off 20 minutes ahead of 22, heading for the drop zone and 30000 feet. Browning shoved the throttles forward and soon the recovery aircraft lifted off, headed for 18000 feet at a point east of the base.

Marvin and his crew readied the spreader poles and the looped rope fitted with six hooks. The dolly was positioned aft and the winch was ready for a recovery. Marvin checked in with his pilot, affirming that the aft crew was ready.

It was dark and noisy back there in the cargo area, with only a few overhead compartment lights to enable the men to move about. Behind the aircraft, the night sky was lit only by the stars. There was no moon.

Bill tuned in the beacon frequency, getting ready to receive the capsule’s transmitter and give Browning a bearing from the direction finder scope. He leaned over to the co-pilot in front of him, saying "Is that camera ready?"

"Roger, Colonel. It’s ready. I’ll turn it on as soon as we see the parachute."

Grabber 25 soon reported that the drop would be coming up in two minutes. The drop ship was in position and ready.

"God, I hope the loadmaster remembered to turn on the master power switch," Davis said, from his position now behind Colonel Browning’s seat.

"Capsule away," came the radio message from Grabber 25.

Soon, Bill had a strobe signal. "It’s off at your 11:00 o’clock, Colonel. I’ve got a good strobe," Bill declared.

"C’mon .... c’mon," urged Davis, straining his eyes for a first glimpse.

"There it is," the co-pilot announced, pointing toward a small half-moon object out ahead.

"Oh boy, it’s working," Davis happily exclaimed, tapping Bill on his shoulder.

"Yes. I’ve got it," Bill responded, happy for Davis and anxious about what was to come.

Browning pointed to it for Major Jacobs, who acknowledged that he saw it too. "We’re about eight miles away, if 25 dropped it where we expected. The chute looks good. It’ll be down to our altitude in a minute or two."

The co-pilot asked Marvin, "You guys ready the back? We’ve got a visual on the parachute. Looks like we’ll make our first pass in a couple minutes."

"Roger, sir. We’re all set."

Browning was pleased with the sight. As Grabber 22 closed in, and the illuminated parachute got larger and larger, Browning adjusted his rate of descent. "Ten Degrees of flaps," He called.

The parachute looked pretty stable. It didn’t wander or even twist very much. Browning noted that the lights even reflected on the shroud lines. Soon he saw the whole thing was in just the right position.

"Going to grab it on the first pass, Marvin. Stay alert."

Just as Grabber 22 passed atop the well-lit orange and white parachute, the hooks caught it and the long rope rapidly unreeled from the winch spool.

"She’s in steady trail, sir," Marvin soon exclaimed. We’ll reel her in ... in a minute or two."

Browning relaxed a bit. There was no repeat of the last night time disaster. It worked just fine. Then he admitted to his co-pilot, and all the others on the interphone,

"It looked great and I decided not to make orientation passes. While I knew we had lights, I decided to grab it."

The co-pilot reached up and turned off the video camera. Turning to Jacobs, he said, "Guess your tape for the general will be a short one, but at least it’ll show the catch and how the chute looked."

In about ten minutes, Grabber 22 was back on the ground, followed quickly by Grabber 25, which had loitered above, watching the successful night recovery.

Back in the SORTG parking area, Davis unhitched the capsule from its parachute attachments. He and Heflin loaded it onto a cart for return to the hangar. Davis patted his creation, saying "You worked just fine. Couldn’t have been better."

Heflin kidded him, reminding, "The damn thing isn’t alive, Sarge. It’s just a metal case loaded with parts."

"Yes, sir, but I’m kinda attached to it, you know."

"Gee. I never would have guessed. But I have to hand it to you. It worked great." Max concluded, as they left the hand cart in the hangar for the night.

Colonel Browning congratulated his team and then told Major Jacobs, "Tell General Atkins that there was no concern on my part. I just grabbed it when I had a chance. And I’d like you to send me a copy of that tape when you can."

Jacobs confirmed that he’d convey the message and be sure that a copy of the tape was sent up to SORTG in a day or two.

The next morning, at about 9:30, Bill, Max and Sergeant Davis were summoned to Colonel Browning’s office. None had any idea what the colonel wanted, but dutifully appeared.

On walking into Browning’s office, Bill noticed that Mrs. Davis was there, and a photographer with a press camera.

"Sergeant Davis," Browning began. "It gives me a great deal of pleasure and pride in your accomplishments to present you with this award." And then Browning pinned the Air Force Commendation Medal on Davis’ shirt, a beaming Mrs. Davis applauding along with the others. The photographer took several pictures, one of the actual pinning and others with handshakes between Davis and the colonel. Then he took one of Sergeant and Mrs. Davis.

Bill and Max added their congratulations and turned to leave, when Browning said, "Not so fast there Max. I’ve got something for you too, Captain." That word ‘captain’ soon brought another round of applause, as Bill and Colonel Browning removed the lieutenant’s bars from Max’s collars and replaced them with shiny new captain’s insignia.

"Congratulations, Max ... you finally made it," Bill smilingly added, shaking the hand of his newly promoted colleague. "Now it’s your turn to throw a party."

"I suppose so, sir, But it sure won’t be as fancy as yours. About all I can afford is pizzas and beer."

"Don’t sweat it, Max. Whatever you decide will be fine with us. I was just kidding you. So, don’t go overboard."

Bill was disappointed that the folks down in Los Angeles didn’t include a cash award with Davis’ medal. So, he decided that he would divert $250 from his Li Han fund to Davis himself, without explaining anything other than a cash bonus came with the medal. He’d give cash, instead of a check, sometimes used to reward creative personnel.

In fact, it was the next morning that Bill walked into the lab and handed Davis the money, explaining that it just came in and hadn’t arrived in time for the presentation ceremony.

Davis was delighted, saying that it came just in time, for his wife’s car needed new tires in the worst way. Bill just laughed, knowing that Li Han’s money went to a good cause.

Chapter 27

Li Han’s answering service took Bill’s message, saying simply, "Merchandise ready. Includes extras. How about next Saturday?"

Bill placed that call just before leaving work for his BOQ room. Walking out to the access gate and to his car, he was startled to see Charlie standing there.

"What are you doing here?" Bill asked.

"Waiting for you."

"Well, I just left a message for our friend, suggesting a Saturday meeting. It’ll be a while before he calls, I expect."

"Here," said Charlie, handing Bill a leather briefcase. "Use this when you meet with him."

"What is it?"

"It’s contains another tracking device. Do you think you could give this case to Li Han with your film cartridge and some documents or something?"

"I could put the VHS cassette in with the Minox film. I’ll be giving him a copy of pictures from our catch the other night. It’s just a seven minute video, but I know he’ll want it."

"Okay, that’ll work. Here let me show you something. When you spin these numbers for the combination lock on the case in the direction of the arrows, it operates the lock. But, when you spin them backwards it activates the switch and battery, turning on the transmitter. Once it’s on, it stays on."

"You think this will work any better than the last tracker beacon? And won’t he find your transmitter inside?"

"Well, it’s supposed to, our lab guys claim. Hell, I don’t know. They just gave it to me and said pass it on to you. You can’t find the battery or electronics inside, ‘cause it’s hidden between the layers of leather and inside the lock hardware. It’s quite a gadget. But, as far as I am concerned, actually following the guy visually is better."

"Yeah. Unless he loses you in traffic again."

"Look, Bill. When Li Han contacts you, suggest some place different. If he wants you to fly again, why don’t you propose the Antelope Valley Lodge or the Howard Johnson’s in Palmdale?"

"Yeah, but if he’s already prepaid for the plane, he’ll be ticked off if I don’t want to use it."

"Well, try anyway. It makes my job a helluva lot easier if you stay on the ground. Has he asked for anything else, beyond the night capsule system?"

"No ... not so far. I think he’s pretty well hooked on knowing how we can get satellites down sooner. He was quite apprehensive about our having an around the clock capability. His people are probably scratching their heads now trying to figure out how to mess us up," Bill suggested.

"Depending on what time you get through with him, I’ve got to go down to Los Angeles on Saturday anyway. It sure would be convenient if I could do that while following his white Lincoln."

"Uh huh. So do you want me to have him slow down for you to catch up?"

"Funny man. No. You just give him your stuff in this briefcase and make your meeting as short as possible. I’ve got to meet my son at LAX. He’s coming in from the east coast at around 5:30 and I said I’d meet him. I’d like to get him to the house by 6:00, because his mother is throwing a little dinner party for him. So that’s why I want you and Li Han to be done early."

"I’ll do what I can, but there’s no predicting that guy."

"Remember. Unlock the briefcase by turning with the arrows. The combination is 1-0-3. And initiate the transmitter by turning the numbers in the opposite direction. Do that before you meet him. The batteries last about 18 hours."

"Okay. Will do."

Charlie headed for his car, that same plain looking Chevrolet. And Bill climbed into his even shabbier looking old Ford.

Dinner in the O. Club wasn’t memorable, but a little better than the usual fare. After his meal he stopped in the lounge and ordered a cognac. He no sooner got his drink than Ed and Jim walked in. They spied him sitting alone and came over.

"Hi guys," Bill greeted the two pilots. "Pull up a chair and take a load off."

"We got a bone to pick with you ... er ah, colonel? Hey, Lookie there, Jim. When did you pin those on? Last we saw of you, you wuz a lowly major. Now you is a wheel ... or somethin’, colonel, sir," Ed remarked.

Jim held out his hand and congratulated Bill on his promotion. And so did Ed, but added, "We still have a bone to pick with you."

"What bone? What’s the matter/"

"The matter is, Colonel, sir .... we don’t get to see much of Gracie and more now that you’ve moved in," Ed continued. "And I thought you were married, you sly old fox."

"The operative word, gentlemen, is ‘were’. I were married and now I’m not. My divorce became final just last week. So that makes me the same as you, on the prowl for great looking blondes, like Grace."

Ed looked at Jim and said, "My god, Jim. Now we got colonels to compete with. What are we going to do?"

"Ed, my friend. We’re just going to have to admit it. We’ve been out-classed and out-foxed by this here colonel. So, I guess the least we can have him do is buy us a drink." Bill raised his hand to signal for the cocktail waitress to come over. "Give these two guys whatever they like. I’m buying."

"Your usual, gentlemen?" responded the waitress. Martini’s, very dry?"

"Too bad you fellows missed my promotion party. There were about three dozen of us down at the Apple Valley Hacienda. We had a great time. So where were you?"

"What do you mean, where were you? You know damn well we were never invited."

"Oh, that’s right. It never occurred to me that fighter jocks like parties. Sorry about that. Next time. Okay?"

The drinks arrived and Jim, somewhat reluctantly, raised his glass, "Next time, you’re damn well right, sir. And don’t forget us again. Okay?"

"Okay."

"So, tell me, seriously now. How long do you think your F-15 test force will stay here? A year? ... two?"

"Bill, we don’t really know. But from what we hear of the continuing modification and upgrade plans, we could spend our whole careers here at Camp Swampy. It’ll be years before the shut our outfit down. Why do you ask?"

"Oh, nothing special. Just looking at my options. I’d kinda like to stay here at Edwards for the long haul, if possible. I’m just asking around to see what jobs might be available for a flight test engineer."

"Well, you’ve got a problem then?"

"Oh. Why’s that?"

"You’re too damn rank, Colonel, sir. What I mean is you’ve got too much rank. There aren’t many openings for lieutenant colonels. We’re looking for younger men," said Ed, poking his pal in the ribs.

Ed then explained that most of the men in the F-15 test force were captains and majors, many graduates of the Test Pilot School. There were only a few LC’s and just one colonel. "But you ought to try the B-1 test group. They have more slots and more rank, from what we’ve seen. And hell, they’ll be out here for 20 years or more, I’d guess."

"You’re probably right, guys. I’ll look into it." Bill looked at his watch. "My goodness. It’s almost colonels’ bed time. It’s 8:30 and us old timers have to get our sleep, you know. See you around, youngsters."

He shook Ed and Jim’s hands and left the lounge, thinking to himself, "Those two clowns are probably right. I should think in terms of the B-1 Test Force. After what General Atkins said, my SORTG career may not be all that long. I wonder what Grace would say if one day soon I told her that I might get assigned here with a long-term program? I’ve only got six years to go to retirement and I could settle down out here. There are lots worse places."

Back at his BOQ room, Bill discovered a note attached to his door. The desk clerk at the VOQ passed along a telephone message, obviously from Li Han, which said, "Antelope Valley Lodge, Private dining room. Saturday at noon."

"Hmmmmm. Charlie will be pleased," Bill thought. "No airplane or out of town rendezvous this time. Great."

The next morning, from his office, Bill called Charlie’s number, getting once more the clerk that simply took incoming messages. So Bill simply restated Li Han’s note, adding, "Call me at my office. Bill."

Colonel Browning caught Bill in the corridor, asking, "Say, Bill. Did you give Sergeant Davis some money? He stopped by my office this morning to thank me for the cash accompanying the medal. He said that you passed along a monetary award that didn’t get here in time for the presentation ceremony. There was no monetary award, so I figured it had to come from you. Right?"

"Yes, sir. I mention to the guys in Los Angeles that a cash award would be nice, but when only the medal came through, I decided that I’d let Li Han contribute. Davis sure seemed glad to get it, though. He mention buying new tires for his wife’s car."

Browning laughed. "Well, I’ll be. I guess you’re not all bad after all. Oh, and by the way, speaking of Li Han, when are you meeting him again?"

"Saturday, for lunch. I called Charlie’s office and left him the message. And this time it’s at the AVL in Lancaster."

"Good. I hope that those CIA guys finally nab him and we can put it all behind us."

"Me too, but I worry that if Li Han is nabbed and I’m involved, they’ll come after me. But I guess I should have thought of that before I got into all of this. Play with fire and you risk getting burned," Bill philosophically suggested.

"And that’s exactly why I haven’t pressed the issue about your keeping Li Han’s money. Not only did it go to good purpose in getting you out of debt, you’ve probably earned it for the risks you’re taking."

"Thanks, Colonel. I appreciate that. And speaking of my past problems, did I tell you that the divorce decree came through. Helen is a free woman and I’m out from under."

"No. You hadn’t mentioned it. I guess you’re relieved and can get on with your life."

"Yup. Whatever that means." And Bill continued down the hallway toward his office.

Max greeted him, remarking, "Oh, Bill .. there’s a copy of that video tape for you on your desk. Jacobs sent up three, one for you, Browning and the office."

"Thanks, Max." Bill was pleased, because he’d planned on passing along a copy to Li Han. He dropped it into the CIA’s briefcase and retrieved the film cassette to add to it. Then he put a couple of Davis’ snapshots in the case, as well. "That ought to be enough," he muttered. "Saturday and it’s over. I hope."

Sitting quietly at his desk, Bill’s mind began to wander, especially about his future. Knowing what General Atkins told him, and what nobody else at SORTG knew, about the future of aerial recovery operations with the advances in technology, Bill tried to visualize what the next few years might bring. He was concerned that if he didn’t take action to determine his own future, other people and events might cause things to happen in a way he would not choose.

He remembered last evening’s conversation with Ed and Jim, deciding that perhaps they were right. He really should investigate possibilities with the B-1 test program. In fact, he picked up the telephone and called the office of the B-1 Test Force Director, Colonel Jamison. He made an appointment to go see Jamison that afternoon at 3:00 o’clock.

The short meeting with Colonel Jamison proved to be very interesting. There were indeed opportunities in that test group for flight test engineers, especially ones with bomber experience, which Bill had. And Bill’s rank and background might open up the chance to move in as head of the engineering section.

Bill and Jamison appeared to hit it off quite well, pressing Bill about his availability for transfer from SORTG. Though Bill could not tell Jamison when he might become free to move, he did affirm his sincere interest in doing so. They left it at that, with both men agreeing to talk again soon. On leaving the B-1 offices, Bill smiled, convinced that he probably would be happy making such a move, at the right time.

Friday, after work, Bill and Grace decided to stop by the ‘Office" for a drink and just to watch the goings on at that sometimes rowdy place. The managed to find one of the few free tables. "Two drafts and a bowl of pretzels, please," Bill asked the waitress, though he had to shout to be heard over the din of noise. Leaning over to talk into Grace’s ear, Bill asked, "What would you say if I got a long term job at Edwards. Would you marry me then?"

Grace was startled, not so much by what he said, but that he said it at all. She thought they had an understanding and that the matter of commitments was over. She didn’t answer.

"Did you heard me?" Bill asked.

Taking his hand in hers, she replied, "Bill, you dear. I thought we had this conversation."

"We did, but that was in the context of you’re not leaving the area. Now I’m talking about my staying here to be with you. I think I can arrange that. Do you understand?"

"Let’s talk about this later, where it’s not so noisy and distracting. Let’s just have our beers and go somewhere else later. Okay?"

Bill patted her hands, pulling his back just at the beer and pretzels arrived. He nodded to let her know that was probably the best thing to do.

Walking out of the ‘Office’, about 40 minutes later, they headed for Grace’s car parked near Bill’s. "Did you hear what I said back there?" he asked, once again.

"Yes. I’ve thought of nothing else for the last half hour. Come on. Meet me at the ranch and I’ll fix us some supper. We can talk there. Okay."

"You bet. Back to the ranch, ma’am. Meet you there."

Bill sat at the kitchen table, while Grace made a salad and cooked supper. Both sipped on glasses of wine and talked, while she worked.

"What did you mean, when you said you could arrange to stay here?"

"Just that, sweetheart. I had a conversation with some people at the base about a job opportunity in one of the test forces. They seemed interested and I have reason to believe that I could finish my career right here. I’ve only got six years to go, you know."

"Yes, Bill, but in that six years anything could happen. The Air Force could still decide to ship you off to who knows where, maybe even tomorrow."

"Is that a ‘no’?" Bill asked, a tone of disappointment in his voice.

"It’s not a complete ‘no’, you dear. It’s an ‘I don’t know’. Does that make sense?"

"Okay. I’ll take that as not a flat turn down. Enough said for now. But I’m not giving up on us."

Grace came around the table, kissed Bill on his forehead, saying "Somehow I didn’t think you would. Now, you set the table. supper’s almost ready."

Over their meal, Bill paused to tell Grace that he was meeting Li Han tomorrow.

"I sure hope this is the last meeting with that guy."

"Don’t count on it. He’s like a bulldog. He bites and never lets go," Grace warned.

"Oh, did I tell you that I ran into Ed and Jim? We had a drink together at the Club and your name came up in the conversation. They kidded me about my moving in on you and cutting them out of the pattern."

"Those two. They’re lots of fun, but they are just kids. They are 28 going on 14 in their behavior. Life is just a continuous party to them. Except for their flying, I don’t think they have had a serious thought yet. I’d much rather be around you."

"You be careful," she said, returning the conversation to Li Han and her concerns that Bill could be hurt. "Call me or come by after your meeting. Will you, please?"

Bill didn’t spend the night with Grace, this time. He was back at his BOQ room by 10:30.

In the morning, he rose early, more out of habit than any particular reason. So he dressed and took another long walk around the area, even following a trail out in the desert for a bit. He saw dozens of birds, two giant land tortoises, several jack rabbits and one rattle snake. It surprised him a little, for in driving by in the car one sees few signs of wildlife, yet there’s plenty there, even in this hot and sometimes inhospitable desert.

By 11:15, Bill decided it was time to head for the AVL and his meeting with Li Han. He placed Charlie’s briefcase, containing the video tape, film cassette and Davis’ photo’s, on the seat beside him. It was hot and sunny that day, with the mid-day temperature already approaching 100 degrees. Yet in the desert dryness, Bill did not perspire. He was careful, however, to wear a hat and sunglasses.

Li Han’s Lincoln awaited when Bill arrived, but the driver wasn’t inside. It was much too hot to sit there while waiting for his boss. Bill reached down and rotated the briefcase lock numbers backwards, initiating the tracker beacon contained within. On entering the main doors, Bill noticed the driver sitting in the hotel’s lobby, as he headed for the private dining room and the meeting.

Bill entered and there sat Li Han and Won Lu, both drinking what looked like lemonade.

"Come in, Colonel. Please join us."

"Good afternoon, gentlemen. Warm enough for you? I see your driver is waiting in the lobby, where it’s air conditioned."

"Yes. It is much hotter up here than in Los Angeles. We will be most pleased to return to the cool coastal breezes. We don’t understand how people live here. It’s just too hot," Won Lu commented.

Li Han, always attentive to the protocols of business meetings, suggested, "Why don’t we have our meal, and something cool to drink, before conducting our business?" He raised his hand and soon there appeared a waitress with menus.

"I’ll have one of those lemonades, Miss," said Bill, motioning toward the ones his companions appeared to be enjoying."

In a few minutes, luncheon orders were placed, this time Bill elected not to have the seafood plate. Li Han and Won Lu did.

Conversation during the meal covered a broad range of topics, none dealing with the work at Edwards. But as the plates were finally removed, and the waitress left them alone, Li Han inquired, "Do you have some merchandise for me, Colonel?"

"I do indeed, sir. I have a whole roll of pictures, undeveloped as you prescribed, in this briefcase. And there is another video for you. It’s of our most recent night catch. It runs only seven minutes, because the pilot was able to make a grab on the very first pass. That attests to the good appearance of the lighted parachute using the new design."

"Very good, Colonel. I am most anxious to view it. Do you want the tape returned, as you did last time?"

"No, sir. This copy is just for you. I had some made for my headquarters and an extra for you. There are no records of this copy, so you may keep it."

"Thank you, Colonel. I will show it to my superiors."

"Oh ... and there are some snapshots, prints, made by my Sergeant, of the latest night capsule configuration. We have solved the battery problems that plagued earlier versions. This is the very latest. And I want to explain some of what you will find on the miniature camera film."

Li Han was most excited, as he took the briefcase from Bill, who interrupted saying, "By the way, sir. You ought to know that the combination to that lock is 1-0-3. Here, let me open it for you." And Bill was careful to make sure that Li Han saw him unlock the case with the numbers moving in the direction of the arrows. Li Han nodded in understanding and passed the case to Won Lu.

"As I was saying, some of the shots on that Minox roll of film include still-experimental designs for night recovery systems.

I was able to take some of those on my last trip to Los Angeles, though I must tell you that I was very afraid of being caught."

"Yes, go on, Colonel. Tell me what is on the film, in general terms," Li Han pressed.

"Well, sir ... you will see copies of drawings from at least two different illumination designs. And there are copies of pages from test reports, parts lists, and a study on how to make the capsule components lighter and smaller. This is all the most recent material, though I have to admit I don't know which design approaches my headquarters will select."

Li Han smiled, obviously pleased with what Bill described. In a few seconds, he handed Bill another fat envelope. "This, Colonel, as agreed, is the other half of the payment. I told you that I would pay the full amount on delivery. Here you are. You have done well, and my government is appreciative."

Won Lu asked Bill, "Was that your airplane making a night recovery a few nights ago, east of Lancaster?"

"Yes. That is the recovery that appears on the video tape in the briefcase. Why? Did you see that catch?"

"No. I would liked to have done so, but it was reported to me by one of our people visiting in the area. He was, in fact, dining at the Apple Valley Hacienda. Do you know the place? It is very nice."

"Yes, I know the place. That’s where I gave my promotion party one Saturday night. And I agree. It’s a nice place."

Li Han appeared to be anxious to leave. He tried to cut off the conversation developing between Bill and Won Lu, saying, "Colonel, we apologize, but we must return to Los Angeles promptly. I believe we have concluded our business."

Bill took the not-so-subtle hint that it was time to leave. All three shook hands and Bill left the room, stuffing the fat envelope inside his shirt.

Li Han and Won Lu remained briefly, after Bill left. Li Han saying to his companion, "Let us hurry. I have to catch the 4:30 flight to Hong Kong. My superiors will want to see this material immediately." Soon the two left and headed for the lobby, where their driver awaited. As soon as he saw his passengers coming, he hastily scurried to the car and opened the doors. A blast of hot air, from the sun heated interior, immediately struck him in the face. He hastened to start the engine and get the air conditioning going.

Observing from across the street, in the Chevrolet sedan, were Charlie and his fellow agent. As soon as they saw Won Lu and Li Han enter the Lincoln, Charlie started his car’s engine and anxiously waited for the air conditioning to cool them off, for both men were very uncomfortable after being in their sun baked car.

"Don’t lose him this time," Charlie said, dropping his fellow agent off at the second car parked nearby. "I’ve got a signal from his tracker, so you follow me. Two cars are safer than just one."

In seconds the two agents were following Li Han, from a safe quarter-mile distance. Charlie’s assistant radioed, "Right behind you. I’ve got the signal too. Looks like he headed south."

Chapter 28

Li Han’s Lincoln headed south on Highway 14, down to Palmdale and then up the hill toward the road leading to Los Angeles. Traffic was not too heavy on that Saturday afternoon.

They passed the construction area and soon Li Han told his driver to speed it up. "I’ve got to get to the airport to catch that 4:30 flight. Hurry."

Charlie noticed that the tracker signal reflected Li Han’s sudden increase in speed, but he was still crossing that one-lane construction area. "Damn. Don’t you get away from me now," he muttered.

Suddenly, Li Han thought about the briefcase. "Strange," he wondered. "Why would Colonel Wilcox give me such a nice leather case, instead of just the merchandise? It doesn’t seem right."

"Won Lu. Quickly now. Hand me that case." Li Han excitedly demanded.

Grabbing the case from Won Lu, he opened it and dumped the contents on the seat between them. Out fell the Minox film, the video tape and the photographs. Li Han was puzzled. "Why would he give me such a nice case?" he asked his back seat companion, while carefully examining the case.

"Open the window ... the one on your right. Hurry!" And as soon as the window was open, Li Han tossed the case out the window from the now speeding car. The wind at 75 miles per hour buffeted through the passenger compartment, until Won Lu finally closed the window.

"Why did you throw that briefcase away?"

Li Han looked at his young assistant, a frown on his face, saying, "I will take no chances. If that case carried a bomb or a transmitter, it was not wise to keep it. And in any case, I did not need it. It is better to be safe than sorry."

Finally, Charlie got through the one lane construction zone and pushed his foot hard on the accelerator pedal. Soon he too was racing down the curving mountain freeway. The transmitter signal was still up in front.

"Oh shit," Charlie blurted aloud. "That damn signal has stopped." But, Charlie kept on going.

Li Han’s car approached the San Andreas fault canyon, that picturesque place that Davis wanted to photograph. The Lincoln was still doing 75 miles per hour, with Charlie now a half mile back and the other agent farther behind.

"Hey, Charlie," came the crackle on the radio between the two agents. "The signal has stopped moving. Do you see the Lincoln?"

"No, damnit ... I’m still headed down the hill. If you see the car off to the side, give me a holler."

Just as Li Han’s speeding car came upon the fault canyon, an earthquake suddenly struck. Li Han’s driver couldn’t understand why he was having difficulty controlling the car. He stepped on the brake, but Li Han shouted, "Don’t stop. Go faster... faster."

The big white sedan weaved as the world around them shook and tumbled. Rocks were falling onto the highway from the hills above. Then the driver suddenly lost control. The car was going too fast and the earth was tossing them, and everything else, first one way and then the other.

Cars on both side of the road began to stop, or swerve out of control. Li Han’s driver tried in vain to zig zag between the other cars, and then with a crash the speeding Lincoln veered to the left and tore through a guard rail, down across the three northbound lanes and into a ravine. It rolled several times before coming to a crushing stop against a pile of huge boulders. The Lincoln was on its side, all four wheels still spinning.

Charlie too was having difficulty keeping his car on the road, but he stepped on the brakes and soon was down to 30 miles per hour, when the earth stopped shaking.

"What in the hell ... ??? Was that a gust of wind, or what?" And then Charlie noticed that cars in both directions were either stopped on the roadway or down in the ditch. "What is going on?" he demanded.

"You all right, Charlie?" came the voice over the radio. "I’m a little ways behind you. I see your car up ahead."

"Yeah, I’m all right. Where is that damn Lincoln?"

Charlie started to increase his speed, determined to catch up with Li Han’s car. And then he saw it. There, across the highway, down in the ditch, was the over-turned Lincoln.

"Oh my god, there he is," Charlie muttered, on seeing the white sedan resting on its side. A wisp of white smoke rose from the front of the car, though it could have been steam from a busted radiator.

"I got him," Charlie called to his fellow agent, over the radio. "He’s down in the ditch on the northbound side, just beyond the fault line."

Charlie pulled his car over, stopping on the gravel shoulder of the road. He reached for his pistol in the glove compartment, opened his door and ran across the freeway. Two cars screeched their brakes, trying not to his the pedestrian in the road ahead of them. On cursed, questioning Charlie’s pedigree.

Jumping over the jumble of rock and debris, some of it from the earthquake and more from the Lincoln’s horrendous roll and tumble down the embankment, Charlie reached the car.

Carefully, methodically with his gun raised, Charlie crept around the smoldering vehicle. The wheels we now stopped. It was silent within.

From the side with it top turned to face Charlie, he saw the carnage inside the vehicle. The driver was jammed against the crushed and broken windshield. There was blood everywhere. Two bodies, Li Han’s and Won Lu’s, were piled one upon the other against the left side door, now resting on the ground. There was no sign of life.

"Hey, Mister," came a voice from up on the roadway. "Get the hell out of there. The damn thing may blow any second. Any survivors?"

Charlie turned, looking up the hill, and recognized a California Highway Patrolman yelling down at him.

"Get out of there. That’s an order, Mister," the patrolman said while himself scrambling down the side of the ditch.

Charlie turned and displayed his CIA credentials to the patrolman, saying, "There’s no one alive in there, patrolman. This is the guy I’ve been following for miles. I’ve got to retrieve some contraband from inside."

"Well, damnit, Mister ... you’d better hurry. The car could explode or catch fire any second. Smell that gas."

Soon Charlie’s fellow agent scrambled own to the two men. "Charlie, you all right?" asked his companion.

"Yeah, but let’s get that film and the other evidence. Get whatever ID and stuff you can find in the front. I’ll check the back seat. And, officer ... see if you can get that trunk open. Hurry."

Charlie and his associate tossed out lots of stuff. Papers from the glove compartment, another briefcase, the ID’s from all three men, and anything they could find. The patrolman could not budge the trunk lid. They gathered up all the stuff tossed from within the vehicle and moved away, watching the still-smoldering car. It did not catch fire or explode, though it could have. Gasoline from the broken fuel line dripped all over the wreck.

"I’ve got a wrecking bar in my patrol car, the officer said. You want me to get it?" Charlie nodded and the officer scrambled up the steep slope.

Soon the patrolman returned and pried open the trunk lid. They found Li Han’s suitcases and some boxes taped securely, as if for mailing. In the next few minutes, Charlie and his fellow agent carried all of that material up to the latter’s car.

"What do you want me to do with these three dead guys?" the patrolman asked.

"Contact the Chinese consulate office in L.A. and tell ‘em you’ve got three of their spies, all dead, if they want ‘em. I sure as hell don’t. Oh ... and remember this, officer. We were never here. And you don’t know what happened to the contents of the vehicle. You got that? This is a national security matter, so don’t screw things up."

"Okay, Charlie. What are we going to do now?" asked the other agent.

"You, my friend, are going to take all of this stuff to the office. Inventory it, tag it and I’ll see you Monday. I’ve got to got to LAX and meet my son."

"Okay, Charlie. See you Monday."

* * *

Back up in the desert, Bill was totally unaware of the drama and tragedy taking place on Highway 14. He did, however, feel the earth tremble, casually noting that it must have been an earthquake. But in Lancaster it was very minor.

His current worry was what to do with all that money still stuffed in his shirt. He’d checked and found another $75,000, the full balance of the $150,000 promised. The banks were closed and he didn’t know where to keep all that cash.

He thought about bringing it out to the base, but the BOQ room wasn’t all that secure. And there were house cleaning people in an out of the place all the time.

He decided to stop by a local office supply store and purchased a small, heavy duty mailing envelope. Into that he placed the thick wad of cash, again all $100 bills.

"Where is there a place open on a Saturday afternoon that might have a safe?"

Driving by the new Holiday Inn, he suddenly thought of a solution. He turned off the road and under the portico of the motel. Then he walked across the lobby to the front desk, and asked to speak with the manager.

"Do you have a safe that where your guests can secure valuables?"

"Why yes, we do, sir. But it is reserved for registered guests only. What is your room number?"

"I guess I’d better register then," Bill declared, reaching for the pen. And in a few minutes he was a registered guest, eligible to use the hotel safe.

"Will you be staying with us very long?" the manager asked, taking the envelope, now marked with Bill’s name and room number.

"Oh. Just the weekend. I’ll bring my baggage in later."

From his room, Bill telephoned Grace. When she answered, he surprised her by asking, "Hi, gal. How would you like an all expense paid weekend at the Holiday Inn in Lancaster. Grab your toothbrush and pack some duds, and don’t forget your swim suit. They have a fabulous new pool here. I’ll be by to pick you up in an hour. I’m in Room 144."

"Are you serious, Bill? And what are you doing there?"

"Ask me no questions and I’ll tell you no lies .... at least until I get you alone here. This room is plush. Are you coming?"

"Oh heck ... why not. I’ve heard about that place and am dying to see what it’s like. You’re a nut."

Bill drove out to the base, to his BOQ room, and packed a small bag. Then he drove down to get Grace. She was ready, though quite surprised by Bill’s sudden impulse to spend the weekend in the new hotel.

"What’s come over you? You’re not this impulsive. Are you on something?"

"No, Grace. I’m not on anything. Maybe it’s just that I wanted us to do something different for a change. Or maybe it’s just that I’m nuts about you."

"So? How did it go with Li Han," she finally asked, as they approach town.

"It went very well, and from his tone, I have some hope that he’s through with me."

"Don’t count on that," Grace retorted.

"Well, enough about Li Han. Let’s just say that our weekend fling here is on him. Wait til you see this place. It’s pretty fancy for these parts, and we’ve got a room you’ll love."

Chapter 29

Before checking out on Monday morning, very early, Bill retrieved his envelope from the hotel safe. It was 6:00 A.M. when he dropped Grace off at her place so she could get changed for work. Jose was just arriving to feed and tend the horses.

"See you at the office, hon. I’ve gotta run up to the BOQ and get into my uniform," Bill explained as he backed out of her driveway.

As he rushed to dress in his BOQ room, Bill decided to carry the money with him to work, placing it in his office safe until lunch time, when he’d have a chance to get to his safety deposit box.

He no sooner closed and locked the safe when the phone rang.

"Bill? Where have you been? I’ve been trying since Saturday night to get you," explained Charlie.

"Sorry, but I was unavailable to the world in general on Saturday and Sunday. Grace and I stayed at the new Holiday Inn in Lancaster. Why? What’s up?"

"We gotta meet. I can’t explain all of what’s happened over the phone. In fact, I’m going to call General Kilgore and see if he’s available this afternoon. How about 2:00 in Kilgore’s office? Oh .. and you’d better bring Colonel Browning along too. He’ll want to hear this."

Bill headed down the hall to Browning’s office, catching his boss just as he was leaving for the Monday morning staff meeting at Center headquarters. Bill explained Charlie’s strange call.

"Yeah. I’ll be there at 2:00. Let me know at noon if there are any changes," he said, heading for the stairs. "See you later."

Grace was a few minutes late coming in that morning. She came up the stairs just as Browning was leaving. Bill saw her and asked,

"What’s the matter? Rough weekend?"

"You should know," was all she said as she headed for her desk, embarrassed that Colonel Browning had seen her coming in late.

Bill couldn’t imagine what Charlie was going to say. It seemed that the morning would never end and 2:00 o’clock wouldn’t come. But at noon, Bill headed for the bank and placed the latest cash bundle in his safety deposit box, breathing a sigh of relief at finally getting it safely stored.

"C’mon, Bill. You can ride with me," Browning called as they met just before 1:45, headed down the stairs. Any idea what this is all about?"

"No, sir. Charlie was very circumspect about it all. But, I’ll bet it has to do with Li Han."

On arriving at General Kilgore’s office, Bill and Colonel Browning met Charlie coming down the hall at the same time. All three were ushered into Kilgore’s office by his secretary, and were seated at the small conference table.

"Well, Charlie ... you’ve got us all curious about what’s going on. So tell us," the general began.

Charlie then explained the sequence of events last Saturday, beginning with his stakeout at the AVL, watching Bill come and go, and then the wild ride to follow Li Han toward Los Angeles.

"And from the stuff we found in Li Han’s car, we were able to locate his Los Angeles headquarters. Sunday morning we raided the place and hit pay dirt."

"It’s hard to believe that this ended in such a tragic way, but I suppose it’s for the best. I’m just glad it’s over," the general responded.

Colonel Browning asked, "What do you mean, Charlie, about finding pay dirt?"

"We found telephone records, things sent to Li Han from his answering service, that exposed a much larger network of agents and contact in our military services than we ever imagined."

"Wow," Bill exclaimed in amazement. "What kind of contacts, people like me?"

"Did you ever hear of the ‘200 Club’, Bill?"

"No. Should I?"

"Well, you were a select member of what Li Han dubbed his ‘200 Club’, a lot of military and civilian people in the Department of Defense, all over the country, who he identified as possibly useful to his government in the future. We found dossiers on dozens of people, yours included."

"What’s in those documents, Charlie? And are there any other 200 Club people at Edwards that I should know about?" General Kilgore pressed.

"Just the two, General, Colonel Wilcox and Grace Elsworth. And they were labeled in his files as contacts. He had a separate listing of his own people, or agents. We’re starting a national sweep right now. I just hope we can move fast enough, before they find out that Li Han is dead."

"And, oh yes ... we found this in the car, Bill," Charlie said, handing him the Minox camera film, the video tape and the photo’s from Davis. The prints were blood stained."

"Thanks. I’ll see that these are returned to Los Angeles."

"It’s a good thing we had a little help from Mother Nature, for Li Han had airline tickets in his coat, tickets for Hong Kong on the 4:30 flight Saturday afternoon," Charlie added. "We suspect he was anxious to report to his superiors there."

"Can you identify any of those superiors from the stuff you found?" Browning asked.

"Yes. We have a few leads. We’re going to work with the Brits, their MI-5, or whatever they call their equivalent to our CIA. There may be another club, like the ‘200 Club’ which applies to their military, but I doubt it."

"Do you think this is over .. I mean really over now?" Bill asked Charlie.

"Hell. I haven’t any idea. If the ‘200 Club’ was just Li Han’s baby, yeah, maybe. But if it was initiated higher up in the Chinese intelligence system, probably not."

"That’s not very encouraging. First I find that I’m a member of some club I never heard of, and now you tell me I may not be able to get out of it," Bill dejectedly commented. "I can’t win."

"I wouldn’t say that, Bill," Charlie continued. "Without your help, we never would have ended Li Han’s enterprise. What you did took guts, and that includes your coming forward up front and participating to the end. That’s the good news."

"And what’s the bad?" Browning urged.

"The bad news is that we can never let our guard down. These people are well-organized, well-funded, smart as hell and damn determined. If nothing happens for a while, it’s just a reflection of the temporary setback all this has given them. But you Air Force folks have to re-double your security measures. And you, Bill ... you have to be especially careful. Don’t think for a minute that you’re out of the woods."

General Kilgore sat there, digesting all of what Charlie reported. Then he suggested that it was time for Charlie, or Bill or even himself to bring General Atkins up to speed on all of this.

"General, I’d like to go down to Los Angeles, with Charlie, and discuss this with General Atkins ... unless, of course, you or Colonel Browning would prefer otherwise."

"Okay with you, Ted? I think Bill and Charlie are probably the right ones to do that," General Kilgore agreed, and Browning nodded as well.

"Would tomorrow in Los Angeles suit you, Charlie?" Bill asked.

"Yeah. Sure. Give me a call when it’s set up. I’ll be there."

The three men then left the general’s office, Charlie heading for Los Angeles and the other two back to the SORTG hangar.

Back in his office, Bill called Los Angeles to see if General Atkins would be available to meet with the CIA agent tomorrow. He was and a 2:00 P.M. get together was scheduled. So Bill called Charlie’s number to affirm the meeting, leaving the message with that same non-talkative answerer.

Driving down below on Highway 14, the next morning, Bill felt an ominous twinge as he passed the spot where Li Han and his associates were killed. And he remembered the time that he a Sergeant Davis stopped just to take pictures.

Bill carried with him all the material on the night capsule, the aircraft modifications and the data he’d gotten from the folks down below. He even brought that little Minox camera, along with several rolls of film, intending to give it to Heinrich, who seemed so interested in the device. Bill wanted no part of it.

The session with General Atkins went much the same as the one with General Kilgore, yesterday. The only new item which Charlie had to report was a disappointing one about how few of Li Han’s agents the CIA was able to round up. Only four were caught, all of them from the Washington, DC area. He had no word on anything about the British moves against agents in Hong Kong.

After the main purpose of the meeting was completed, and Charlie bade farewell to the Air Force people, Bill requested and got a few minutes more with General Atkins.

"What’s on your mind, Bill? I can only give you a few minutes, so let’s get right to it," the general declared.

"Well, General. In light of our little talk at our last get together, I wondered how you would respond to my request to transfer over to one of the continuing programs at Edwards? I am interested in staying there, even beyond the time of SORTG. I’d much rather join one of the permanent programs there than be re-assigned down here."

"If that’s what you want, Bill, I won’t stand in your way, but I do ask one thing of you."

"Yes, General. What is that?"

"I’ll do what I can to help you move over to the Center organization, and into whatever program you select, but I ask you to stay with us for at least six months. Colonel Browning and I need your help on some current projects. I don’t want to have to bring another engineer in, or even send one of my staff here to replace you. Deal?"

"It’s a deal, General, and thank you. I am very much interested in the B-1 Test Force and believe that my background in bombers, plus my engineering experience would be useful there."

"Okay, Bill. I’ll give Colonel Jamison, my old friend from our days at Wright-Patterson AFB, a call. It might help. Anything else?"

"No. But thank you, General. I appreciate your willingness to help ... and in letting me make the move. Thank you."

Bill rose, saluted and turned to leave. Atkins added, as Bill headed for the door. "And I appreciate your help on this Li Han thing. Well done."

Bill turned, smiled and gave the general a second, though albeit less than military, salute.

Chapter 30

It was after 5:00 o'clock by the time that Bill got back up to the desert. That Los Angeles traffic convinced him that his request of General Atkins, not to be transferred down below when SORTG folded, was the right move.

He decided to swing by Grace's place on his way back to the BOQ, though he hoped that he was also in time for supper with her. Pulling up into her driveway, he noticed a strange car parked behind Grace's. That piqued his curiosity.

Knocking on the back door, Bill heard two voices, Grace’s and a man's. The man's voice was shouting and this was obviously not a friendly get together. Bill knocked again, loudly.

When he got no response, Bill opened the door and stepped in. There at the kitchen table sat Grace, and she was crying. A man across the room looked up when Bill entered.

"Who the hell are you?" the unshaven, heavy-set and clearly angry man yelled.

"Bill. Oh, thank god. Come in, please. This is Jack," Grace exclaimed, an expression of great relief showing through her tears.

"So .. you two know each other. Well, isn't that cozy. And a colonel at that. You're moving up, Grace."

"What's going on?" Bill asked.

"None of your damn business. This is between me and my ex-wife. So butt out."

"Listen, Jack. I don't know what you're doing here or what's going on, but Grace's safety is my concern. What have you done to her? Why is she crying?"

"Bill. Jack came here to claim my ranch. He says the divorce settlement was unfair and the ranch is really his. He has been here all afternoon, waiting for me to come home."

"What's the matter, Jack? Can't you read the court's decision. You lost when you walked out on Grace for that other woman. Give it up. This place is hers, lock, stock and barrel. Now get out of here and don't come back," Bill said moving toward Jack, threateningly. He towered over the short, stocky man standing by the sink.

"Be careful, Bill. Jack is wild and unpredictable. And he sometimes carries a gun." But this time, Jack didn't have his gun.

Jack moved backwards, and then around the room, toward the back door. Bill moved closer and Jack retreated. Grabbing the handle and turning it, Jack swung the door open and started to leave.

"This isn't over, Grace. I'll be back."

"That wouldn't be a smart move, Jack. This place is Grace's and you have no business here. Now beat it ... and don't come back."

Soon Jack's car left, spinning rubber and careening out of the drive. It turned south and sped away.

Grace stood up, ran over to Bill and wrapped her arms as round his neck. "Bill. I'm so glad you decided to come by when you did. This was frightening. I know he'll be back."

"Well, he's gone for now, so you can relax. I'll spend the night, if that will make you feel better."

"Oh yes, please. I don't want to be alone here, not tonight."

After some ten minutes, standing there together embracing, Bill asked, "Okay? Are you calmed down? It's all right now."

"Yes .. I'm okay. And I suppose you want me to fix supper now. Right?"

"Well, if I'm to protect you, I'll need my strength," Bill exclaimed laughingly, and then looking in the refrigerator to see what might be available.

"You won't find much there. When you invited me to the hotel on Saturday, you also kept me from going to the store. All we've got are some TV dinners and frozen pizzas. Which will it be?"

"Pizza. And I see that you do have some salad makings to go with it."

After their supper, they sat talking, first about Jack and his unwarranted claim on the ranch. Grace even showed Bill the court papers that clearly gave her title to the place, including the remaining mortgage that Li Han eventually paid off. Later, they got around to Bill's news.

"I had a chat with General Atkins this afternoon. It was about something that might interest you."

"Oh, and what might that be?"

"Well, it was about my being transferred to another test program."

"See that. I told you. I told you when you asked me to marry you that some day you'd get transferred. That's why I couldn’t marry you."

"Hey ... calm down. You didn't let me finish. The transfer I'm talking about is to the Flight Test Center, not to another base. I talked to Colonel Jamison about it and he says there’s a likely opening in the B-1 outfit. And then General Atkins said he’d speak to Jamison. They are old friends, and that couldn’t hurt my cause."

"And when will this transfer happen?" Grace inquired.

"Not for six months. I agreed to stay put, to help Colonel Browning on some current projects that need engineering support. But Atkins says in six months I can move over to the Flight Test Center, and the B-1 program."

"Well, that’s better ... I would like it very much if you stuck around here."

"By around here meaning the ranch and with you? .... or just around Edwards?"

"Both, sweetheart. Both."

"And does that mean you’ll marry me?"

"I can’t answer that now, Bill. I do love you and we’re so good together, but I can’t say yes just yet. Be patient with me, please."

The next morning, before Bill left for work, he saw Jose working in the corral area.

"Good morning, Jose. Can I talk to you a minute, please."

"Si, Senor Bill. A beautiful day isn’t it, senor?"

"Yes, indeed it is. I want to ask you about Grace’s ex-husband, Jack."

"Oh yez, that Senor Jack is one mean hombre. He didn’t want Senora Grace to hire me, because I do not have papers, the green card, you call it. And he always shouts bad things at me. I work hard, but he never happy."

"Well, Jose. Jack was here yesterday afternoon, and he gave Grace a bad time."

"Oh, Senor, that is not good. He did not hurt her, did he?"

"No, but he scared her and made claims on the ranch. And that’s why I wanted to ask you something. Can I count on you to keep an eye on Grace and help me protect her from Jack?"

"Si, si Senor. I will gladly do that. Senora Grace has been good to me and my family. I will watch carefully."

"Do you have a gun, Jose?"

"Oh, no, Senor. I do not own a pistola. But, I have a machete and I am very fast with that. I keep it in my old truck, over there."

"Well, that might be good enough, but be careful. Grace says that Jack carries a gun, though he didn’t show it yesterday. Just be careful."

Bill patted Jose on the shoulder and waved good-bye, as he climbed into his car and drove away. Jose stood there, scratching his head and shaking it side to side.

* * *

Sixty days went by and Grace wasn’t bothered again by Jack, though she remained wary and worried.

At SORTG, the emphasis in Bill’s job shifted to working with a contractor brought in to install the heads-up display (HUD) system, previously envisioned to assist in night recoveries, but also beneficial during cloudy daylight conditions. The installation and ground checkout took several weeks, mostly because the technician sent by the factory was inept. And to Bill, the so-called expert was more interested in touring southern California than getting the job done.

Finally, after slipping 30 days behind schedule, the system flew its first flight test. It worked as advertised, surprisingly. Colonel Browning even tested the HUD at night on one occasion, once again using Sergeant Davis’ illuminated capsule, though he made no catch. That effort made Davis believe that the night capsule project was getting back on track at long last. But, that was not in the cards, and the only man at SORTG to know why was Bill.

One day, Browning called Bill and the rest of the SORTG crew into the large room used by Sergeant Marvin’s loadmasters. It was the only room in SORTG large enough to hold everyone.

"Gents, I’ve got some news that effects us all. By the end of the year, we’re going out of business. There will be no more flight tests conducted on recovery equipment, or parachutes or our airplanes."

A murmur passed through the crowd, people looking at each other in disbelief.

"How’s come, Colonel?" came a voice from the back of the room.

"We’re victims of technology, Sergeant. It seems that the folks at the National Reconnaissance Office have come up with ways of getting the satellite data down without having to actually catch parachuted packages any more. Now they do it by radio, telemetry signals beamed to our tracking stations around the world. It’s faster, cheaper and safer."

"Does this mean the Hawaii operations folks are going out of business too?" came another question from the room.

"Yes. That’s right. Headquarters has decided that all of it will shut down in 120 days. So, you fellows can expect to receive transfer orders sometime in the next 60 days. This came as a surprise to me too. General Atkins called me this morning to give me the word."

"What’s going to happen in the meantime, sir?" asked Captain Heflin.

"I really don’t know. Those details haven’t been sent yet, though I expect we’ll have a lot to do. Our airplanes have to be re-configured back to standard C-130’s. They will probably return to regular cargo work, meaning all the special stuff we carry is no longer needed and has to be removed."

"Does that mean we can all expect to be re-assigned to troop carrier or trash hauling squadrons?" Asked one of the co-pilots.

"I don’t know that either, Captain. Just as soon as I get more information, I’ll pass it along. That’s all for now. Dismissed."

The group was stunned. Some folks, like Sergeants Davis and Campbell, were very apprehensive about what would become of them. Others, some of whom had formerly been in troop carrier outfits, were not happy to go back to that activity. They didn’t want to leave this specialized and unique kind of work.

"Bill .. can you come into my office?" Colonel Browning asked, as the room cleared.

"Yes, sir. You wanted to see me?"

"General Atkins told me that you’ve been angling for an assignment with the B-1 test group. In fact, he asked me to tell you that Colonel Jamison is anxious to have you join his outfit. Did you know about all of this?"

"Some of it, sir. Not all. General Atkins and I chatted following the last CIA report by Charlie, after Li Han’s demise," Bill responded.

"I thought you ought to know that most of these folks will be leaving Edwards for other C-130 outfits. Sergeant Davis might want to look into an opening for a technician in the Instrument Shop here. If he wants to stay on the base, tell him to talk to Master Sergeant Wilson. Wilson can arrange the transfer for him. And I’m staying here too. I’ll be headed to the C-130 outfit across the field that works those drones. Their commanding officer is retiring and I’ll be taking his place."

"Well, sir, I’m sure Davis will be delighted, but how about Max?"

"No word on him, though maybe you could use him in the B-1 group, after you get established," Browning continued.

"I’d like to make a request, on Max’s behalf sir. Since I’ll be leaving SORTG, before the rest of you, I wonder if you couldn’t designate Max as Chief Engineer for the last few months. Having that on his records might help his career. And I’ll ask Colonel Jamison about Max. I’d like to have him on my team."

"Good Idea, Bill. I’ll see to it. Damn good idea. And one more thing. I hate to ask you, but I was wondering if some of that money you got from Li Han, if it’s not all gone, could be used to help throw a big farewell party for the SORTG people, say next month."

"Yes, sir. There’s some left. How much would you need?"

"Oh, $250 or $300 ought to be enough. We could have the guys each chip in, say, $5.00. That would help a lot."

"Tell you what, Colonel. Let’s make Li Han’s donation an even $500. I’ll get you the cash next week. Okay?"

"Great, Bill. And thank you. I think these guys deserve a farewell picnic or something. Your $500 ought to buy a lot of pizzas and beer."

"Not mine, sir. Li Han’s. Let’s keep that to ourselves."

* * *

One Saturday night, just after Bill joined the B-1 test force, he got a call in his BOQ room. Colonel Jamison insisted that Bill get a telephone there. Bill answered and it was Grace. She sounded totally distraught.

"Bill .... I need your help. Please," she barely managed to say, crying uncontrollably.

"What’s the matter, Grace? What happened?"

"It’s Jose. Jack shot him. Jose was trying to keep Jack from hitting me and Jack pulled a gun and shot him. Hurry, please .. come over ... now. I need you."

"Is Jose alive? How bad is it?"

"Yes ... yes, I think he’s alive, but Jack shot him in the shoulder and Jose has lost a lot of blood. Please come, please."

"I’m on my way. Has anyone called 9-1-1 yet?"

"No ... I’ll do that as soon as we hang up. Come ... please."

"I’m coming, Grace. You call 9-1-1 and I’ll be there in a few minutes."

Bill grabbed his jacket, car keys and his wallet. Then he bolted out the door and headed for his car. In seconds he was speeding out of the driveway, when a base police car caught him and pulled Bill over.

"Call the sheriff’s office," Bill demanded. "There’s been a shooting. I’ve got to get over there right a way. It’s off base, but at least you can call the sheriff for me. Please. I gotta go."

"Okay, sir. But be careful. I won’t write you up this time, but watch yourself. I’ll radio my dispatcher to call the sheriff," and the policeman confirmed that he had Grace’s address right.

By the time that Bill got there, there was a rescue ambulance, lights flashing, sitting in the driveway. The sheriff had not arrived yet.

"How’s he doing?" Bill asked the emergency medical technician working on Jose.

"He’s lucky, it’s not a bad wound and we’ve got the bleeding stopped. We’ll take him in to Lancaster Community. Does he have any family or next of kin here?"

"Yes. I’ll get his wife and meet you at the hospital. But first, I have to check on the owner of this place, Grace Elsworth."

Bill saw Grace, standing outside, next to the back steps. She was crying and seemed confused. When she spied Bill, she ran to him and grabbed him and held on tightly.

"Oh, Bill ... Bill, it was horrible. Jack shot Jose and then took off."

"Are you hurt, Grace? Here, sit down on the steps. I just heard from the medics that Jose’s wound is not all that bad. He’ll make it."

After a few minutes, Grace seemed to calm down, a little. Then she said, "Marie, Marie doesn’t know. Can you tell her, Bill?"

"Yes. I’ll drive around to Jose’s place and tell her. In fact, I’ll take her to the hospital. Do you want to come?" Grace didn’t answer.

Just then the sheriff’s car pulled into the driveway, his car lights flashing too. A deputy came over to where Bill and Grace were sitting.

"What happened here? I got a report of a shooting. Is that the victim being loaded into the ambulance?"

Grace explained to the deputy what happened, as Bill headed for Jose’s place to get Marie.

Grace explained that Jack was drunk, He came by the house and shouted all kinds of threats. He hit Grace a few times and knocked her down, just as Jose came in from the corral to see what all the commotion was about. Jose tried to pull Jack away from Grace and Jack whirled around, pulled out a pistol and shot Jose once. There was only the one shot. The deputy wrote furiously in his notebook, trying to record Grace’s every word.

Bill, in the meantime, reached Jose’s place and banged on the door. Marie came to answer, quite startled to see Bill standing there.

"Marie. I’m Grace’s friend. Jose has been injured, but he’s going to be okay. He was shot by Grace’s ex-husband, Jack. It’s in his shoulder and not life-threatening. He’ll be okay, but I’ve come to take you to the hospital where they’ve taken your husband."

Poor Marie, she didn’t understand much at all of what Bill was saying. But, she sensed that something was terribly wrong and that Jose was in trouble. Bill was having a difficult time trying to communicate. He spoke no Spanish and Marie no English. So in frustration he used hand signals, gestures and facial expressions to convey that Marie and the kids should come quickly, get into Bill’s car and go to Jose.

Bill drove Marie and the children to the hospital. Jose was in the emergency room and already doing much better. The bullet went through without shattering a bone or even a major artery. He was lucky.

From the hospital, Bill called Grace, both to let her know that Jose was doing well and to find out how things were at the ranch. Grace said that an all points bulletin was out on Jack, and that, when asked by the sheriff, she said she would indeed press charges. Bill explained that he would be at the hospital for a while longer, before bringing Marie and the kids home.

It was late that evening before Bill returned to Grace’s, after dropping Marie and the children at their place. Grace insisted on going over to Jose’s to see and comfort Marie. So, Bill went along and they stayed an hour or so. Grace spoke enough Spanish that she was able to calm Marie down and tell her that she’d take them to the hospital in the morning to check on Jose.

Back at Grace’s place, the two sat at the kitchen table, both eventually realizing that they’d had nothing to eat since noon.

"I’ll do the cooking," Bill declared. "I make great scrambled eggs." And in a few minutes they both ate a very very late supper. Or was it an early breakfast?

The next morning, around 7:00 A.M., the sheriff’s office called to say that they had Jack in custody. He was in jail and would stay there until arraigned and perhaps longer. Since there was no one to make bail, Jack remained confined.

He was eventually convicted and sentenced to prison for attempted murder, breaking and entering and a few other charges, including assault on Grace.

One day, a month or so later, The entire SORTG group had their party, a truly festive affair with pizza, beer and soft drinks enough for an army. It was a bittersweet gathering, folks glad to be sharing a common event and long relationship, but sad because they knew many would we sent to distant bases.

On returning to Grace’s house, after the picnic party, Grace surprised Bill at the back steps. Without explanation, she looked up at him. And then kissing him gently, she said, "Yes, Bill. I will marry you. Yes."