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to kick him in the balls if he got near her again. “ Fuck the suit, General. What about my husband ?”
    Hastings leered at her as the Alamo scientists approached them. Everyone in Mission Control was silent and looking in their direction.
    But all Angela could notice was how the two gurus also didn’t seem alarmed, almost as if they had expected this. The man readjusted the glasses on his nose while speaking in a low voice to the woman fingering her tablet computer.
    What the hell’s going on?
    The woman then nodded at Hastings, who returned the nod before signaling to Captain Riggs, who came over along with two of his men.
    Paranoia triggered alarms through her system as the military detail converged around them and drew their sidearms.
    Pete materialized from somewhere and jumped in between Angela and Hastings’s posse.
    â€œWhoa! This is NASA, folks!” he proclaimed, arms in front, palms opened as he faced Hastings and the wrong end of three shiny black pistols, which Angela recognized as 9mm Sig Sauers Model P229, similar to one of Jack’s. “We’re scientists. Let’s put the weapons away now.”
    â€œWrong, Flaherty,” said Hastings with a composure that only fueled Angela’s rising state of anxiety. “This is a national-security-level military operation that happens to be supported by NASA. I’m in command, and I need you to manage this mess in here while I have a little private chat with the doctor. Then you and I are going to figure out how to handle the press downstairs before calling Washington. Until then, Riggs will see to it that no one in here talks to anyone.”
    â€œGeneral, guns were not in the deal.”
    â€œThat’s right, Flaherty. The deal was Descent Profile Alpha-B.” He looked over to his gurus and added, “My people tell me that this little lady here took it upon herself to hack into the mainframe and reprogram the descent back to Alpha-G while making us all believe it was still an Alpha-B jump. Isn’t that right, Dr. Taylor?”
    Angela just stared back.
    â€œThat’s what I thought,” Hastings continued. “So, Flaherty, from now on, we do it my way and under the supervision of my scientists.” Turning to Angela, Hastings added, “See, Dr. Taylor, I may not have a Ph.D. but I own plenty of them.”
    â€œFine, General,” replied Pete, “but none of this changes the fact that we have a big problem to solve, and I need my complete staff of experts to do it, including Dr. Taylor. She designed the suit, remember?”
    â€œWho’s stopping you from solving the problem?” said Hastings, nodding to Riggs, who promptly holstered his sidearm. His two wingmen did the same. Raising his light-colored brows at Pete, Hastings added, “There. Happy? Now, why don’t you put all of those engineering degrees of yours to good use and go do your fucking job while I go do mine. And I need Dr. Taylor for five minutes.”
    Pete blushed as he hesitated. Angela gently nudged him aside before removing her lab coat, revealing a black AC/DC T-shirt. “It’s okay. I don’t mind having a word in private with the general. Why don’t you go find out what happened to my husband … and the OSS. Start with the video feed. It doesn’t make sense. There was no reentry burn-up or visible suit malfunction. Jack just vanished.”
    Hands on his waist, Pete took a deep breath, looked at Angela as she reached for the black leather jacket on the back of her chair, then at Hastings and his guards. Slowly nodding, Pete backed away.
    â€œOkay, people,” he announced to the onlookers while pointing back at the monitors. “The problem is that way. Back to your stations and let’s walk through the telemetry.”
    â€œShall we, Dr. Taylor?” Hastings said as he started for the door that led to the stairs going up to the private offices on the third