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As the atmosphere grew denser, the heat turned the Gettysburg's belly a vivid orange. The thrusters lost their effectiveness and the elevons and the rudder began to clutch the heavier air. The computers controlled the entire flight. Jurgens and Burkhart had little to do except monitor the TV data and systems indicators.
Suddenly a warning tone sounded in their headsets and a master alarm light came on. Jurgens quickly reacted by punching a computer keyboard to call up details of the problem while Burkhart notified ground control.
"Houston, we have a warning light."
"We read nothing here, Gettysburg. All systems look great."
"Something is going on, Houston," persisted Burkhart.
"Can only be computer error."
"Negative. All three navigation and guidance computers agree."
"I have it," said Jurgens. "We're showing a course error."
The cool voice at the Johnson Space Center returned. "Disregard, Dave. You're right on the beam.
Do you copy?"
"I copy, Foley, but bear with me while I go to the backup computer."
"If it will make you happy. But all systems are go."
Jurgens quickly punched a request for navigation data from the backup computer. Less than thirty seconds later he hailed Houston.
"Merv, something's fishy. Even the backup shows us coming down four hundred miles south and fifty east of Canaveral."
"Trust me, Dave," Foley said in a bored tone. "All tracking stations show you on course."
Jurgens looked out his side window and saw only blackness below. He switched off his radio and turned to Burkhart. "I don't give a damn what Houston says. We're off our approach course. There's nothing but water under us when we should be seeing lights over the Baja California peninsula."
"Beats me," said Burkhart, shifting restlessly in his seat. "What's the plan?"
"We'll stand by to take over manual control. If I didn't know better, I'd swear Houston was setting us down in Cuba."
"She's coming in like a kite on a string," said Maisky, his expression wolfish.
Velikov nodded. "Three more minutes and the Gettysburg will be past the point of no return."
"No return?" Maisky repeated.
"To bank and still glide to the runway at the Kennedy Space Center."
Maisky rubbed the palms of his hands together in nervous anticipation. "An American space shuttle in Soviet hands. This has to be the intelligence coup of the century."
"Washington will scream like a village of raped virgins, demanding we return it."
"They'll get their billion-dollar super-machine back. But not before our space engineers have explored and photographed every square inch of her."
"And then there's the wealth of information from their moon colonists," Velikov reminded him.
"An incredible feat, General. The Order of Lenin will be in this for you."
"We're not out of the woods yet, Comrade Maisky. We cannot predict the President's reaction."
Maisky shrugged. "His hands are tied if we offer to negotiate. Our only problem as I see it is the Cubans."
"Not to worry. Colonel General Kolchak has placed a screen of fifteen hundred Soviet troops around the runway at Santa Clara. And, since our advisers are in command of Cuba's aircraft defenses, the shuttle has a clear path to land."
