Starfire Page 21

  “Not at all, Helen,” Jason said. “Have something for us?”

  “An announcement,” she said. She walked to the front of the room and stood beside Jason. “The board of directors has selected three projects to provide grants to this year, all of them at universities: State University of New York at Buffalo for a swarming satellite project; Allegheny College in Pennsylvania for a laser communications system; and the bulk of the award, twenty-five million dollars, going to California Polytechnic University, San Luis Obispo, for a very impressive orbiting solar-power-plant project.” Another round of applause from the branch directors in the room.

  “That project is being run by Brad McLanahan,” Boomer said. “That kid’s amazing. I ask the kid a question about some part of the project, and he says he doesn’t know and he’ll get back to me, and next thing I know I’m getting a phone call from some Nobel Prize laureate from Germany with the answer. He’s got a list of experts and scientists on his team that’ll water your eyes.”

  “We’re already heavily investing in their project,” Jason said. “We’ve already provided them with a Trinity module they’re using for dimensions and mate-testing. When they start fabricating subsystems, they want to lift parts of the space-based system up to Armstrong Space Station on Midnight and Black Stallion, so they asked for things like dimensions of the cargo bay, systems, power, environmental, temperatures, vibration, et cetera. They’ve also asked to see computer code on the Skybolt aiming system—they want to use it to beam maser energy down to a rectenna on Earth, and their computer-team leader thinks he can improve the accuracy.”

  “They have their act together, that’s for sure,” Boomer added.

  “I will give the universities the good news,” Helen said. “That’s it. Anything for me?”

  “Boomer had a great idea: meet with President Phoenix and whoever’s heading up this new space initiative, present them with some ideas, and find out what they’re interested in doing,” Jason said. “He also wants to form a team to start designing space stations, military and industrial. His proposal and budget are on my tablet.”

  “Good ideas, Boomer,” Helen said. “Drop his proposal off to me in my office right after the meeting.”

  “Will do,” Jason said.

  “I also suggested you or Jason volunteer to head up the government space initiative if there’s no one named yet,” Boomer said.

  “I have a job, thank you very much, and Jason is not going anywhere—I just got him here, after a lot of cajoling and harping,” Helen said, smiling. “But a trip to Washington for us sounds good.” She fielded a few more questions and comments, then departed. Jason continued to chair his meeting, going around the table getting reports from all of the operations branch directors, and it broke up about an hour later.

  Jason walked up to Helen’s office a few minutes later and knocked on the doorframe of the open office door. “I have that report for you,” he said through the doorway, holding up his tablet computer.

  “Come in, Jason,” Helen said, working on her laptop at her desk. “Close the door.” Jason did as she ordered, then walked over to her desk and initiated the file transfer from his tablet to her laptop.

  “It’s kind of a long file,” he said. “You know Boomer—why say something in just two words when he can think of twenty?”

  “That is fine,” she said. “What shall we do while we are waiting?”

  “I’ve got a few ideas,” Jason said, smiling, and he leaned down and gave her a deep kiss, which she returned with equal enthusiasm. They kissed for several long, lingering moments. “I wish I could take your hair down right now,” he said in a deep, quiet voice. “I love watching your hair cascade down from being pinned up . . . especially if it comes down across my naked chest.” She responded by pulling him down and giving him another deep kiss. “Are you free tonight? I haven’t been with you in days.”

  “Jason, we should not be doing this,” Helen whispered. “I am your boss, and I am over ten years older than you.”

  “I don’t care how chronologically old you are,” Jason said. “You are the most exotic, most alluring woman I’ve ever been with. Sex radiates from you like a laser. And you may be older than me, but I can barely keep up with you in bed.”

  “Stop it, you randy goat,” Helen said with a smile, but she gave him another deep, lingering kiss in gratitude. She grabbed his face and gave it a playful shake. “I have that speech for the Lander County Chamber of Commerce meeting tonight, remember, and the city manager, planning-commission chair, and police chief want to talk afterward. I think it is about extending utilities to build more subdivisions near the airport and revising the letter of agreement with airport security, the county, and company security. I want to make sure housing stays well outside the airport noise zone, and I do not want our security officers tied down by the sheriffs in federal and state security agreements. Charles Gordon from the governor’s office will be there too, and I want to talk with him about getting some seed money for an airport expansion.”

  “Damn.”

  “Why don’t you come with me? Everyone knows you as the guy who designed and built the Cybernetic Infantry Device that saved the city from Judah Andorsen and the Knights of the True Republic—I am sure they would like to meet you.”

  “I’m not into politics,” Jason said. “I’m into you. I don’t think I could keep my hands off you.”

  “Oh, I think you have more impulse control than that, Jason,” she said. “Besides, I am sure they would want to meet the future president and CEO of Sky Masters Aerospace.”

  “We need to talk about that some more, Helen,” Jason said. He took a seat across from her. “I don’t think I’m CEO material. You had to persuade me to take over as chief of operations after Patrick McLanahan was killed—”

  “And you are doing a great job,” Helen said. “Your team is the best in the business. You have only been in the position for a few months. It will become second nature before you know it. You need a little more business education, maybe an MBA to add to all the other degrees you have, but you are obviously a leader.”

  “I feel more at home in a lab, not behind a desk.”

  “Nobody says you have to stay behind a desk,” Helen said. “Leaders do their thing in all sorts of ways. You know how to assign, delegate, and organize—that leaves you the time and ability to spend more time with your engineers as well as do all the things that CEOs have to do.” She got up from her desk and stepped beside him, pressing her breasts against him as she knew he liked. “Come with me tonight. Afterward, if it’s not too late, I would love to have you over.”

  “Thought you said we shouldn’t be doing this.”

  “Oh, we should not,” Helen said with a smile. Jason stood up, and they shared another deep, passionate kiss. “I might lose my job if the board found out that I was sleeping with one of my vice presidents, even though I cofounded the company.” Another kiss. “You would definitely be fired, and you would probably be sued for your signing bonus.” Yet another kiss.

  “Stop talking now, please, Miss President,” Jason said.

  “Yes, Mr. Vice President,” Helen said, and they kissed again, and this kiss lasted far longer than the others.

  It was well past sunset when Boomer left the Sky Masters Aerospace facility and headed home. The formerly sleepy, isolated little mining settlement of Battle Mountain in north-central Nevada had undergone an incredible transformation in just the three years since Sky Masters Aerospace Inc. had relocated there from Las Vegas: the population had more than tripled, construction projects of all kinds were everywhere, and the unincorporated settlement—it had retained its mining-camp and railroad-way-point identity since its inception in the 1840s, even though it was the seat of Lander County—finally became Nevada’s newest city and one of the fastest growing in the nation. Boomer rented a house in one of the newer subdivisions located between the airport and the new heart of the city, close enough to visit the new casinos and high-end
restaurants when he wanted but convenient enough to commute to work, especially now that the morning commute on Interstate 80 to the airport seemed to be getting busier and busier by the day, thanks to the dozens of businesses that had sprung up in the area since Sky Masters Aerospace expanded its operations.

  Boomer parked his Lincoln MKT in the garage, looking forward to a nice relaxing evening. He was a regular at several of the new casinos in town, and hadn’t had to pay for a meal or drinks in over a year—he was sure he had given the casinos plenty of money at the card tables to more than make up for the comps—but tonight was just going to be a down day. Maybe a little wine, maybe a movie, maybe—

  “About time you got home,” a voice said from the kitchen. It was Sondra Eddington, wearing nothing but one of Boomer’s Sky Masters Aerospace Inc.’s T-shirts, her long blond hair draped just perfectly around her breasts as if she had arranged it that way—which, Boomer thought, she probably had. “I was about to start without you.”

  “I didn’t know you’d be coming over,” Boomer said.

  “I was a little amped after flying this morning,” Sondra said in a half-weary, half-teasing tone. “I tried a run and a hard workout at the gym, but I’m still a . . . little wired.” She went over and gave him a kiss on the lips. “So I decided to drop by and ask to see if you knew any ways I can burn off a little energy?”

  Boomer tried, but he couldn’t help but let his eyes roam across her body, which made her smile. “Where’s your car?” he asked.

  “I parked it at the convenience store down the block,” Sondra said. “I’ve seen too many people from Sky Masters in your neighborhood, and I didn’t want them to see my car parked in front of your place a lot.”

  Sounds like a really good idea, Boomer thought. He held her at arm’s length and looked her directly in the eyes. “Or we can do the right thing, like we talked about, and not sleep with each other anymore.”

  “Oh, I know we talked about that,” Sondra said with a little pout, putting her arms over his shoulders and her hands behind his neck, “but I can’t help myself. You are such a hot hard-body, and you have that roguish little grin and that give-a-shit attitude that just drives me nuts. Not to mention you’re a tiger in the sack.”

  “Thank you,” Boomer said. “You’re pretty hot too.”

  “Thank you.”

  “But your boyfriend, Brad, is becoming a friend, and if he found out about us, it’d be hard to work with him in the near future. His Starfire project just got approved for funding.”

  “Then I’ll break up with him.”

  Boomer blinked in surprise. “Just like that?”

  “When it’s time to break up with you, it’ll be just as quick,” Sondra said. “I like Brad, and he’s a hard-body too like you, but he’s way younger than me, and he’s away to college, and lately he’s been too busy to come visit me, and I’m lonely being away from home. Besides, I don’t like getting tied down. I want what I want, when I want it, and right now I want you.”

  “And when Brad’s here, you’ll want him too?”

  Sondra shrugged. “Maybe. I don’t think he’d take me back after the breakup—he’s a little immature about women and relationships, and I don’t think he could handle just being friends or casual sex partners.” She drew him closer. “How about it, stud? Fire up the engines and take me for a ride?”

  Boomer smiled, but he shook his head. “I don’t think so, Sondra,” he said.

  She took a step back and ran her hands down her blond hair, which was draped across her chest. “You don’t want me anymore? I said I’d break up with Brad.”

  “We had sex once, and we talked about it afterward and both decided it wasn’t right,” Boomer said. “We’ll be training together for another twelve months. I’m your instructor. Sleeping together is not a good idea.”

  “If you say so,” Sondra said in a soft voice. Then, slowly and seductively, she pulled off the T-shirt, revealing her breathtaking body, firm breasts, and flat tummy. She held the T-shirt out, being careful not to let it block Boomer’s view of her exquisite body. “Do you want your T-shirt back, Dr. Noble?”

  Boomer reached out and took the T-shirt from her . . . then flipped it over his shoulder. “Shit, I’m going to hell anyway,” he said, and he took Sondra in his arms and kissed her deeply.

  FOURTEENTH BUILDING, THE KREMLIN, MOSCOW

  RUSSIAN FEDERATION

  DAYS LATER

  President Gennadiy Gryzlov’s primary official offices in the Kremlin government complex were in the Senate Building, also known as the First Building, but he much preferred the more isolated president’s reserve working office known as the Fourteenth Building. Recently he had completely renovated the building, making it a high-tech copy of his oil company’s offices in St. Petersburg, with several layers of security, sophisticated surveillance and countersurveillance systems, and ultrasecure communications, all of which rivaled and in many ways exceeded the best Russian technology; it also had an underground emergency escape railway that could whisk him to Chkalovsky Airport, eighteen miles northeast of Moscow, which was his cosmonaut training airfield serving Star City and now had a contingent of military transport planes that could get him safely away if necessary.

  He was determined not to be trapped inside an underground command post during an air raid, the way his father had been: at the first warning of any danger, Gryzlov could be out of Fourteenth Building in less than a minute, out of the city in less than five, and stepping aboard a jet ready to take him anywhere in Europe in less than thirty.

  Gryzlov rarely conducted meetings in Fourteenth Building, preferring that all official and high-level cabinet meetings be in his office in First Building, but he had summoned Foreign Minister Daria Titeneva to his office in Fourteenth Building early in the morning. She was escorted into the office by Chief of Staff Sergei Tarzarov, who then assumed his “out of sight, out of mind” position in the president’s office, but was dismissed with a glance from Gryzlov. “Privetstviye, Daria,” Gryzlov said from behind his immense desk. “Welcome. Tea? Coffee?”

  “No, thank you, Mr. President,” Titeneva said. She took a moment to look around the office. Behind Gryzlov’s desk were picture windows with spectacular panoramic views of the Kremlin and Moscow, and on the walls before the desk were large-screen, high-definition monitors displaying a variety of information, from international news to feeds from government proceedings, to stock-market price and volume tickers from around the world. A conference table for twenty was to the president’s left, and a comfortable seating area for twelve, surrounding a coffee table, was on the right. “I have not seen your private office here since you finished remodeling it. Very businesslike. I like it, Mr. President.”

  “I cannot get very much work done in the Senate Building with the staff running amok,” Gryzlov said. “I go to First Building to hear the hens cluck, then come back here and make decisions.”

  “I hope I am not one of those hens you speak of, Mr. President,” Titeneva said.

  “Of course not,” Gryzlov said, crossing around his desk, stepping up to Titeneva, and giving her a light kiss on the cheek, then receiving a polite one in return. “You are a trusted friend. You worked with my father for many years, ever since you served together in the air force.”

  “Your father was a great man,” Titeneva said. “I was privileged to serve him.”

  “He brought you along the whole way with him, did he not?” Gryzlov said. “You both rose through the ranks in the air force together, and then he led you through the ranks of government, yes?”

  “Your father knew that it was important to have trusted individuals with him, both in and out of the military,” Titeneva said. “He was also careful to make sure I learned from the best experts in the Kremlin.”

  “You were his chief of staff for a short while, before the traitor Nikolai Stepashin, if I recall correctly,” Gryzlov said. “I am curious: why did you leave him and join the Foreign Service? You could have bee
n prime minister or even president by now.”

  “We both thought that my talents could better be utilized in Washington and New York,” Titeneva said casually. “Back then, women did not take on most high-level positions in the Kremlin.”

  “I see,” Gryzlov said. He turned directly to her. “So the rumors I have heard about a long-running sexual affair with my father are untrue?” Titeneva said nothing. Gryzlov stepped to her and kissed her lips. “My father was a lucky man. Maybe I can be as lucky.”

  “I am almost old enough to be your mother, Mr. President,” she said, but Gryzlov leaned forward to kiss her again, and she did not back away. Gryzlov smiled at her, let his eyes roam up and down her body, then returned to his desk and took a cigar from a desk drawer. “You invited me to your private office to kiss me, Mr. President?”

  “I cannot think of a better reason, Daria,” he said, after lighting his cigar and blowing a large cloud of fragrant smoke to the ceiling. “Why not come visit more often?”

  “My husband, for one.”

  “Your husband, Yuri, is a good man and an honored veteran, and I am sure what he does when you are away from Moscow is of no concern to you, as long as he does not jeopardize your position in the government,” Gryzlov said. Titeneva said nothing. Without turning to her, he motioned to a chair in front of his desk with his cigar, and she took it. “You are receiving the reports of the American spaceplane flights?”

  “Yes, Mr. President,” Titeneva said. “The flights to the military space station have increased in number slightly, from three a month to four.”

  “That is a thirty percent increase, Miss Foreign Minister—I would say that is significant, not slight,” Gryzlov said. “Their cargo?”

  “Intelligence reports suggest that some major improvements to the station, possibly to the laser-beam control and power-distribution systems,” Titeneva said. “Optical sensors can see very little change to the outside of the station.”