Ultra Deep Read Online Free PDF

control stick to zoom the telephoto lens to a magnification of fifteen. The rocket jumped in size until it filled his screen. The white-hot exhaust of the main engine and the two solid rocket boosters were almost blinding.
    Mirakov hoped that those on the ground appreciated the view.
    As the A2e increased the distance between them, Mirakov kept increasing the magnification until he had reached its maximum of twenty.
    The rocket was quickly diminishing in size on the screen.
    “Twenty-five thousand meters,” Condor Two said.
    They had reached their maximum ceiling. His controls felt sloppy in the thin atmosphere. Without directional thrusters to augment the control surfaces, flying at such altitudes was extremely dangerous. Any abrupt deflection in the line of flight could cause the MiG to begin tumbling and spinning.
    At this point in their chase flights, the MiGs went into a shallow descent, easing their passage back into thicker atmosphere, while the cameras began to nose up in order to keep the rocket in view.
    “Initiate your recovery,” Mirakov ordered.
    He eased the stick forward while simultaneously using another thumb wheel to angle the camera upward. With his left hand, he pulled the throttles out of afterburner.
    Major Mirakov had already begun to think of this as yet another routine flight when something on the screen changed.
    What was it?
    The right booster exhaust seemed brighter than that of its twin, or of the main rocket motor.
    There. It flared again.
    “Launch Control,” Mirakov called on his secondary channel, “we have an anomaly.”
    “Report it, Condor.”
    Before he could depress the transmit stud, the A2e abruptly rolled on its longitudinal axis and nosed down, turning slightly to the north. The exhaust trail of the main engine winked out.
    “Out of control,” a ground controller said. “We have lost altitude.”
    “Main engine shut down,” another controller said.
    “Jettison rocket boosters,” the launch controller said.
    “Jettisoned,” another voice reported.
    Mirakov could see the image on the screen. He thumbed the transmit button. “Negative jettison.”
    The well-known voice of Colonel General Oberstev came on the air. “Range officer, destroy the vehicle.”
    That did not work, either.
    Mirakov watched as the A2e slowly accelerated away from the camera’s eye.
    Losing altitude.
    He estimated that he was 1,600 kilometers east of Moscow, and he wondered if the rocket would impact in any populated area on the eastern coast of the Commonwealth.

 
     
    Chapter Three
     
    0004 HOURS LOCAL, LANGLEY, VIRGINIA
    “Son…of a…BITCH!”
    Carl Unruh thought that Jack Evoy came out of his chair rather involuntarily, almost like his exclamation. Evoy rounded the big table, headed for the consoles, his eyes staying on the colorful lines streaked across the screen.
    “Mark that,” Unruh called to the technician at the console. “Get the coordinates.”
    He pushed himself away from the table in the castered chair, reaching for the phone on the cabinet behind him. Lifting the receiver, he punched the buttons for the night duty officer at Langley.
    When the man answered, Unruh identified himself and said, “Get me the DCI. Urgent.”
    While he waited to talk with the Director of Central Intelligence, he studied the plotting board. From Plesetsk, a dotted purple line emerged, aimed toward the east-southeast. A heavy yellow line and two thinner orange lines also traveled in the same direction. Every few inches along the way, a rectangular box enclosed pertinent data — altitude, velocity.
    The two orange lines, representing the Foxbat chase planes, had achieved almost 83,000 feet before curling back and heading for their base.
    The yellow line separated from the dotted purple line — the expected track into orbit — at 186,000 feet and almost directly over the Russian Republic city of Prokopyevsk. Abandoning the track the CIA and DIA experts thought the A2e most likely to follow, it