"Peter is a good man," Marshall said, trying not to badmouth the man who'd been instrumental in getting, and keeping, him in the White House. "But he tends to overreact about certain situations. He'll realize the error of his way."

"Where is he? Every time I'm at the White House, he's lurking close by," Armour said.

"I sent him out to pick up something," Marshall said. "Actually, to pick up someone."

Although the Oval Office was the safest place in America to talk secretly Armour still leaned forward and lowered his voice when talking about anything that concerned Comet Clement.

"Ackerman?" he whispered.

The President nodded.

"When did you tell Peter about our decision to let him back in?"

"A few days ago," Marshall explained. "He wasn't thrilled so I sent him to tell Earl himself. The two of them need to mend fences. He flew out to Ackerman's place this morning. I'm expecting to hear from him any time now."

"If only Henry hadn't died, we could've gotten the whole gang back together."

"Don't forget Neil," the President reminded him. "Have you heard any sort of reply message from him?"

Armour shook his head solemnly. "Since I sent him my last message, I've checked mission control archives several times. I've still heard nothing."

"Could somebody have intercepted the message?" President Marshall asked. "Could a hacker have found the message and deleted it from the archives without you knowing?"

Armour shook his head.

"No, sir. Nobody has access to mission control except me. Secondly, the program I set up in NASA's computer system runs only through my personal laptop computer, which I keep under lock and key at all times. Without my personal computer and password, anybody who attempted to use the computers at mission control would find no sort of connection with the probe. Believe me, nobody can break the safety system I've set up."

The President frowned. This just meant the doomed astronaut was not answering, for reasons unknown to them...

"What does that mean? How can we be sure something terrible hasn't happened to the probe?" the President asked.

"That's easy enough," Armour said. "When I connect to the probe, I received analyses of every system on board. If the probe had been destroyed or rendered unusable, the readings would have reflected this."

"Something must have happened to Neil," the President concluded.

"Maybe he decided that he didn't want to respond. His emotional state after hearing from his daughter might have prevented him from sending a return reply. Or maybe it's a simple error in operator use."

"Operator use? Like he used the radio incorrectly?" the President asked, his doubting tone of voice portraying what he thought of that guess.

"All I'm saying is there could be a number of reasons why we haven't received a message. We don't have to assume that something bad happened," Armour said. "We don't have sufficient knowledge on the long term effects of deep-space travel on the human body. But with all of the systems on board running smoothly, I see no reason why we should assume the worst."

"I hope you're right," Marshall said. "Because that probe and that nuke are worthless if anything has happened to Neil. This is one more reason why we have to proceed carefully with the space station."

The President's intercom buzzed.

"Yes, Mae?" he asked.

"I'm sorry to interrupt, Mr. President. But Mr. Mansfield is on the line. He says it's urgent," the elderly secretary said.

"Put him through," Marshall directed.

Marshall's phone buzzed once and he picked up the line, placing the call on speakerphone, explaining that James Armour was here as well.

"Mr. President, I'm sorry to tell you, sir, but Earl Ackerman is nowhere to be found," Mansfield said.

"What do you mean 'nowhere to be found'? Have you checked the tunnel?" Marshall asked. Before Mansfield left, the Chief of Staff explained to Marshall about the tunnel Earl told him about.

"Yes, sir. The tunnel and the shelter he's built are quite astonishing," Mansfield said. "I doubt either would remain intact after the comet strike but he's apparently put in tons of work."

"I don't care about the tunnel," Marshall said bluntly. "I care about you finding him. Have you asked neighbors if they've seen him?"

"Ackerman lives out in the middle of nowhere. There are no people around for miles. We've waited here all day. His truck is here but he isn't. I hope nothing bad happened to him, sir," Mansfield said, sarcasm oozing from his voice.

To hear his Chief of Staff say this sent chills down Marshall's spine. The President was vaguely aware of the extreme measures Mansfield used in the past to deal with problems, measures the President had prohibited him from ever using again. Marshall could only hope Mansfield hadn't disobeyed his orders.

"Peter, I'm only going to ask you this once," Marshall threatened. "Did you do anything to Ackerman?"

"Sir, I'm insulted that you would consider that," Mansfield answered, the sarcasm gone from his voice.

President Marshall looked up at James Armour, who was again dabbing perspiration from his brow. The Defense Secretary looked surprised at the exchange between the two men.

"Peter, I know you only mean the best when you make some of the decisions you do. And I also know that you'd do just about anything to avoid Ackerman rejoining our little group. I just hope you haven't chosen a route from which you cannot come back."

"Mr. President, I've worked too hard to get where I'm at to throw it away because of some nutjob," Mansfield answered firmly. "I came here to find Ackerman and while it may be against my will to do so, I have never disobeyed a direct order from you. I'm not that foolish, sir."

"So he just isn't there?" President Marshall asked, giving his Chief of Staff one final opportunity to come clean.

"That's exactly what I'm saying, sir. I have not been able to find Earl Ackerman," Mansfield said, his words echoing through the Oval Office.

The President glanced at Armour who shrugged.

"Okay," the President said. "Keep looking."

CHAPTER TWENTY.

July 21, 2013 "Okay, Mr. Armour. We need you to lie down now. We'll get started in a minute," the radiologist said.

James Armour was anxious to get this procedure over with. As if it wasn't bad enough that he was forced to wear this silly gown, the results of the CT scan would tell him whether there was anything wrong with his brain. He suffered severe headaches for a few months but after passing out in the desert a week earlier, he finally broke down and decided to see a doctor. Armour hoped the doctor would prescribe medication or something but the damn quack ordered all kinds of testing, finally ending with this computerized tomography scan.

The radiologist, a pretty middle-aged woman with bushy hair, watched as Armour lay down on the bed, his head facing the scanner's tunnel.

"Some people don't like going into the scanner. Do you suffer from claustrophobia, Mr. Armour?" she asked.

"Claustrophobia?" Don't you know who I am, sweetheart? If I suffered from claustrophobia, I wouldn't have been much of an astronaut. "No, I don't suffer from claustrophobia."

"Have you ever had a CT scan before?"

"No," he answered anxiously, wishing she would stop asking so many questions.

The woman explained the procedure to Armour, who only paid attention to half of what she said. When asked if he understood, Armour grunted his acknowledgment. The radiologist entered a small booth and informed Armour that they were about to begin.

As the woman explained, the bed on which Armour laid moved into the scanner's tunnel and the machine whirred to life. Much to Armour's surprise, he grew nervous as the machine took dozens of pictures of his brain.

July 25, 2013 Marc Hudson could hardly believe what he heard. After what felt like hundreds of phone calls and countless rejections, the persistence from Tyler Ainsworth's personal assistant finally proved successful.

"Yes, thank you. Please tell your boss that Mr. Ainsworth is very appreciative and greatly looks forward to their meeting," Marc said before hanging up his cell phone.

Once the person on the other end of the line agreed to the meeting, Marc practically sprinted out of his office before exact details of the arrangements were even finalized. This was news Tyler would want to hear right away, news that would no doubt put Marc in his boss's good graces forever. While Marc realized how important he was to Tyler's success, he had the feeling his boss was sometimes annoyed by his presence. But after Tyler heard this news, Marc knew he would never be unappreciated again.

"Mr. Ainsworth is in a meeting," Tyler's secretary said as Marc blew right by her desk. Tyler always had his secretary lie and tell people he was busy but Marc knew otherwise.

"That's okay, Julie. He won't mind being interrupted for this," Marc said, winking at her.

He threw open Tyler's office door and was surprised to see other people actually in the room. Tyler and two other men huddled around a table, where a large set of blueprints was laid out.

"I'm sorry for the interruption," Marc said, as Tyler quickly rolled up the blueprints before his assistant could see them. "But I've got really big news that can't wait."

As usual, Tyler looked annoyed.

"Could you gentlemen excuse us for a moment?"

Marc recognized the two men as engineers from the developmental department. They walked out and Marc motioned toward the set of blueprints.

"Am I interrupting something?" he asked.

"Nothing," Tyler said, brushing off the question asked of him. Marc did not completely understand why but his boss's flippant attitude made him uncomfortable about being kept out of the loop. "What's so important that you had to barge in like a crazy person?"

"You'll never believe the phone call I just received," Marc explained, unable to contain his giddiness.

"Stop playing games and tell me already," Tyler snapped.

"I just talked to James Armour's people," Marc said. "I have a meeting set up between you and the Defense Secretary next week to discuss the contract we have with the Navy and National Defense."

Marc expected Tyler to break out a bottle of champagne, sing a song or do a dance. His boss had craved such a meeting ever since the company began its decline. Tyler didn't even smile.

"Sir, this is something you've been wanting for months. I've been trying to set this up forever. Aren't you glad it's finally going to happen?" Marc asked, confused by Tyler's complacence.

Is he just so shocked that he doesn't know what to say? Marc wondered. Tyler's eventual response proved this theory wrong.

"Cancel it," Tyler said. "The government contract has controlled us for long enough."

Marc was shocked, especially as Tyler showed him to the door without offering any further explanation. The two engineers walked back into the room and the door was shut in Marc's bewildered face.

"Is building this even possible?" Tyler asked.

The head of Ainsworth Industries stood around the table with his company's two best developmental engineers. The three stared down at the set of blueprints just recently completed.

"Yes, sir," one of the engineers said.

"If we're going to build something like this, I want it done the right way, with the ultimate in luxury and comfort," Tyler said.

"The technology now exists to build anyway you'd like," the other man agreed. "As long as you're willing to sink enough money into it."

Tyler Ainsworth Jr. smiled.

"Sink might not be the best choice of words," Tyler said.

The three men chuckled.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE.

November 22, 2014-5 years, 9 months until Impact...

How the hell could Neil Peterson have stayed sane after sitting alone in that probe for so long?

If anyone could sympathize with the stresses of traveling in small space vehicles, it was James Armou. But his astronaut days had been years ago. As the Secretary of Defense lay in the confined space of a CT scanner, he realized that older age finally brought upon a sense of claustrophobia never there before. Considering he'd gone through a number of brain scans during the previous year, Armour figured it was only logical that this procedure would become routine.

His logic was wrong. Every time he needed another CT scan, the procedure caused Armour more anxiety. He would almost rather deal with the symptoms from his brain cancer than subject himself to any more tests. In fact, he could care less about the results of the test, good or bad, if only he could forget the entire illness altogether.

But President Marshall would not allow him to forget.

"Okay, Mr. Armour. We're almost done here, but your heart rate is rising a little. Take a few deep breaths so we can get through this."

Armour did as told and the rapid beating of his heart calmed. He thought about Peterson again. If the doomed astronaut could show bravery when he was in a small probe millions of miles from Earth, then Armour could force himself to show bravery when in a piece of machinery inside an exclusive medical facility.