“And, as you directed, sir,” Lee went on, “the federal government is only providing support in the form of using federal facilities such as national laboratories, launch pads, and computer networks—things that are already being used for other projects. We’re not loaning money to anyone. The companies and universities involved in these programs have to invest themselves big-time, and they are. If they’re successful, they hope to get reimbursed with government contracts to operate the systems they develop.”
“Excellent,” the president said. “Please keep me informed, Mr. Undersecretary.” He stood, shook Lee’s hand, and dismissed him as well, and soon afterward Glenbrook departed. After the two had left, the president said to Ann Page, “Once the video of that Russian section of the ISS separating from the station gets out, Ann, we’re going to take one hell of a shellacking in the press, with a little less than a month to the elections.”
“I’m a little more optimistic, Ken,” Ann said. She knew it was time to take off her vice president’s hat and put on Ken Phoenix’s chief political adviser’s hat, something that she always enjoyed doing very much. “Secretary Barbeau criticized your space initiative as another Reagan ‘Star Wars’ folly. When the public sees the Russians starting to push back in space, they’ll know that Barbeau is on the wrong side of the issue.”
“I hope so,” Phoenix said, “but it’s been several months since I announced the initiative on board the space station, and so far only the Russians have made good on their promise to take their modules off the ISS. Are any of those space programs going to be available to us to use in the campaign?”
“Absolutely, Ken,” Ann said. “The XS-29 spaceplane has made its first orbital test flight and has already done a mission both to the ISS and Armstrong Space Station. The solar-power-plant project might go online before the election, and we could describe it as another project that Barbeau doesn’t support, is not taxpayer funded, and will be an example of what will wither and die if you are not reelected. The new advanced rocket boosters are not quite as far along, but we could do tours of the assembly buildings and remind the voters about how important those things are.”
“Where are we on the solar power plant?”
“It’s all assembled—they’re just doing last-minute testing and checking,” Ann said. “About a dozen spaceplane missions and one heavy-lift rocket, all assembled by remote control with just two or three spacewalks. It was designed that way from the beginning by a team of college students, supported by scientists and engineers from all over the world . . . led, by the way, by one Bradley James McLanahan.”
“Brad McLanahan?” the president exclaimed. “You’re kidding! Patrick McLanahan’s son? I was sorry for him when he dropped out of the Air Force Academy and when his father was killed—I guess he’s landed on his feet. Good for him.” He paused, thinking hard, then said, “How does this sound, Ann: let’s get Brad McLanahan and maybe one or two others on his team up to Armstrong Space Station.”
“As long as you don’t tell me you want to go up there again, sir.”
“I think I’ve had my share of excitement for a lifetime,” the president said. “Would this make Brad the first teenager in space?”
“Unless you don’t count the dogs and chimps that have already been sent up, yes,” Ann said. “I hear Brad’s been asking to go up on station for a while.” Her expression turned serious. “Initial thoughts, sir: risky. If the flight fails, the son of a very popular and high-value figure gets killed, and your space initiative might go out the window, like after Challenger and Columbia. Not good.”
“But if it succeeds, it could be awesome, yes?”
“Yes, it certainly could, sir,” Ann Page said.
“Then let’s make it happen,” the president said. “We’ll send McLanahan and maybe a female member of his team up for the first use of the thing.” He shook his head. “I remember the first time Patrick brought Brad to the White House. He looked around and said, ‘Boy, Dad, you sure work in an old place.’?” The president’s expression turned serious. “Speaking of Brad McLanahan . . .”
“Yes, sir?”
“I didn’t tell you this, because I thought the fewer who knew the better, but back last spring Brad McLanahan found out, so I think you should too.”
“Found out what?”
Phoenix took a deep breath, then said, “Last year, right after the Chinese attack on Guam, a private counterintelligence group led by former president Martindale went out to Guam to collect information on the hacked utilities and to see if there was any other evidence of a Chinese intelligence presence on Guam.”
“Scion Aviation,” Ann said. “I remember. What does that have to do with Brad McLanahan?”
“One of Scion’s teams had Brad under surveillance after that break-in at Patrick McLanahan’s columbarium in Sacramento,” the president said. “They wanted to make sure that the same Russian agents that broke into the crypt wouldn’t target Brad. Turns out they did target him and actually attacked three times. Scion’s guys saved him.”