When the report came back as all clear, he picked up the special phone which had been installed for this project. It was answered immediately. “General Draper,” boomed the voice at the other end.

“Sir, this is Air Force Colonel Barrett, all preparations are complete, and we're requesting final launch clearance.”

“You are authorized to launch on schedule. Contact me if there are any problems,” Draper said.

“Yes sir,” Barrett responded.

Three minutes later, the first of the two rockets lifted into the sky, riding on an ever-fading plume of fire. Thirty seconds after that, the second rocket lifted off.

While Barrett and his team conducted their post-launch procedures, he snuck a glance at the digital display an Army officer was studying closely, and he was shocked to see the course and trajectory of the rockets. They weren't going to be coming down at some remote site; in fact, they weren't on a trajectory that would place them in orbit either. The reality was, they were heading out into space.

Now Barrett was confused. The only things ever launched deep into space were automated robotic spacecraft, used for studying objects in space. If that were the case, why were they launching twenty rockets over a ten-day stretch and why all the secrecy?

These people were treating these things like nuclear weapons rather than space probes and that thought gave Barrett an idea which he quickly dismissed. After all, launching nuclear weapons into space was a more ridiculous idea than any of the other scenarios he'd come up with.

Colonel Barrett shook his head. None of this made any sense.

Chapter Twenty-Six

DAY 302

Bill Etcher was driving fast, almost recklessly. He was furious and found that he almost wanted to be stopped by a cop. This idea was tempered when Bill remembered he didn't have a license and he'd go back to jail if he got stopped. He slowed the old pickup just a little as he entered town, spotted the tavern on the corner and made a quick decision. With brakes squealing in protest, he brought the truck to a stop.

This tavern was one of his favorites, he would frequently stop here for an hour or more before heading home from work. He'd been planning to go directly home tonight, but after what had happened, he knew he couldn't face his wife, Marsha without indulging in a few drinks. There were times when she was the most uncaring person in the world and his anger increased as he thought about how she was going to react to his news and what she would say. She'd automatically assume that his getting fired at work today was his fault. She would whine and complain, probably even dare to suggest his drinking was to blame. He knew the speech; he'd certainly heard it plenty of times.