Free Atlantis by Robert Doherty Page B

activity as controllers prepared their equipment.
    “Slow to imaging speed,” Ariana ordered and the pilots reduced thrust until the 707 was flying only 20 knots above the aircraft's stall speed.
    Ariana knew the routine by heart but she used the checklist taped to an open space on her console anyway. “Open viewing doors.”
    Along what had been the luggage compartment of the aircraft, hydraulic arms slid open doors on the right side of the plane. Inside were mounted the eyes of the Lady Gayle . There were regular video and still cameras with various degrees of telephotic lenses thermal sensors, and imagers that could view throughout the spectrum from infrared to ultraviolet. Although they couldn't directly see the outside world from the enclosed space of the plane, the analysts could now see the world below through the magic of their machines.
    Verbal reports came back to Ariana through her headset, confirming what her console told her; they were ready.
    “Mark,” she said to Ingram, “let Argus take over and give us the planned racetrack over the area.”
    Ingram coordinated with the pilots and soon the plane was being flown by the master computer along a pre-determined path. The 707 banked to the right, aligning all the sensors with the ground and began a long, slow turn.
    “We're getting some interference on FM,” Mitch Hudson announced in her ear.
    “Switch frequencies,” Ariana ordered.
    “We've got nav problems,” Ingram was looking at the relay he had from the cockpit.
    “Specify,” Ariana ordered as she leaned forward and her fingers flew across the keyboard of the closest computer, drawing up the navigational information.
    “Our compasses are going nuts,” Ingram said.
    “GPR still working?” she asked.
    Ingram's hands were flying over his control panel. “Roger. We still have GPR and satellite communications, but our FM and UHF are down.”
    “High frequency radio?”
    “Still working.”
    Her father's voice crackled in her headset. “Ariana, what’s going on? They're going crazy down in the IIC.”
    “We're getting some interference, dad,” Ariana said. She glanced at Ingram's data, then spoke to him over the intercom. “Can we make the run, Mark?”
    “Imaging is fine. I've switched from normal data link to putting everything through satellite. So far so good. But if we lose satellite and HF we have no back-up. Standard operating procedure for this situation is we abort.”
    “This is our only window of opportunity,” Ariana said. “Hie-Tech will be here, if they aren't already, and get a jump on us if we don't do it now.”
    Ingram's voice was impassive. “I'm telling you the rules we wrote, Ariana.”
    Ariana thought for a second, then keyed the radio. “Dad, I think we should abort.”
    “What's that?” her father's voice was now distant and scratchy. “I . . . hear . . . . said. Repeat . . .”
    “We're over target area,” Ingram cut in on intercom. “Everything's rolling, but we're scattered on the satellite link.”
    Ariana slapped a palm onto her chair arm. “All right. We--” She froze as the plane dipped hard right and alarms began going off.
    “I've got controls!” the pilot’s voice was calm and controlled. “Auto pilot is down. Nav link and GPR are down. Argus is off-line to flight controls.”
    “Can you handle it?” Ariana demanded. She felt her stomach tighten and her breakfast threaten to come up.
    “We're trying,” the pilot responded.
    “Abort and return to Bangkok,” Ariana ordered. She was forced to swallow down a trace of acidic vomit that came up her throat.
    “Oh hell!” the pilot yelled in the intercom. “We're losing control. There's some sort of strange mist outside.”
    Ingram's voice came from the console area. “The wings, the tails, they're controlled by radio. If we're losing all spectrums, then the pilots are losing their ability to control the plane using normal controls.”
    “Carpenter!” Ariana called out the name of the