"How can that be?" Maddox asked. "They were supposed to have more than an hour."

"Their space suits ran out of power sooner than expected," Wen answered.

Maddox saw that ground control was trying to contact him so he quickly switched frequencies without telling Wen.

"This is Maddox," the project leader said disgustedly.

"Wesley, this is Armour. We've received enough visual evidence to grant you permission to attempt a rescue," James Armour reported. "Feel free to launch right away."

"The Chinese have less than forty minutes of air," Maddox said, spitting out the bitter words that tasted sour in his mouth. "There was a problem with their space suits and the oxygen supply is depleting faster than originally anticipated."

Maddox glanced at Slava, who stared at the radio without saying a word or looking in Maddox's direction. From the silence on Armour's end, Maddox wondered if the ex-astronaut felt a similar shame that came with costing twenty men their lives.

"The fastest route my men have plotted will take forty-eight minutes to reach Red Glory," Armour said. "Do you think there's any chance their men could survive that long?"

"If I thought there was, I would've switched frequencies already and told them to leave," Maddox said, making no attempt to hide his anger.

"I leave the decision in your hands," Armour said. "I'm sorry if you're angry but we had to do everything possible to ensure the safety of our own before trying to rescue anyone else. We could not have foreseen the Chinese would have further setbacks. If you still want to try and help, you have my full support."

Maddox switched the frequency back to Wen Chen, who continued to plead for any sort of rescue attempt. For the first time since the loss of his own two men, Maddox felt the urge to cry. Without pushing the transmit button, he sat in silence, trying to imagine the panic he would feel had he been in Wen's position. Even worse, he tried to place himself in the shoes of those twenty-two doomed astronauts, wondering what a man might think as his life ticked away...

Slava mistook Maddox's silence as a fear of breaking the news to Wen Chen.

"There is not enough time," Kovalchuk said. "I will also support any decision you make."

"I won't risk Team Four to save twenty-two men who might as well be dead already," Maddox said.

"I think you are making correct choice," the Russian said. "You are making decision any leader must make. If you would like, I will give news to Chinese."

Kovalchuk extended his hand to take the radio, but Maddox knew this was his own dirty job.

"I'll do it," the project leader said.

"Please, why are you not responding to me?" Wen implored. "My brother and men are running out of time and you are cutting it too close."

Maddox paused after hearing Wen mention his brother. The Chinese leader had not mentioned his family being involved in this accident.

"This is Maddox again," he started. "We finally received permission from our ground control to attempt a rescue."

"Good, good. This is a step in the right direction," Wen said. "Please tell your men to hurry."

"I can't do that," Maddox said, trouble speaking the words. "Your men do not have enough oxygen to last until my team arrives. I can't risk the lives of my men if they have no chance to succeed in such a dangerous mission."

"Please, Mr. Maddox," Wen begged. "The chances of success might seem small, but please, you must give my men a chance to live."

"I'm sorry, Wen," Maddox said. If Wen were in the same room, Maddox knew the man would be on his knees begging. The Chinese leader was apparently not going to accept reality, leaving Maddox in the uncomfortable position to be brutally honest. "You have to realize there's no chance to save your men. Even if we left now, your crew would run out of oxygen twenty minutes before we arrived. I'm sorry, but there isn't anything we can do."

"I cannot believe you deny my men their only chance," Wen said, his saddened groveling quickly turning to screams of anger. "I blame this on you, Wesley Maddox, for failing to act right away. You are the reason my men will die, your hesitation to save the lives of my brother and twenty-one good men. I have no doubt your country's close ties with Russia are the reason you waited so long to tell me you were condemning my men to death."

"I can do nothing but apologize again and assure you that America's relationship with Russia had nothing to do with this," Maddox said.

But the line was dead, as was any chance that the American and Chinese space station would ever join forces.

Maddox was angry enough to throw the radio transceiver, but the situation was so mentally draining that he only dropped the small handheld device.

"Did he mention something about a brother?" Maddox asked.

"I believe so," Kovalchuk said. "But he might just use wrong word choice."

"I am going back to bed," Maddox said, though he knew there was no way he could sleep. "Please call Team Four and tell them to stand down."

"Yes, sir."

The next forty minutes of Wen Chen's life seemed the longest and quickest he ever endured. Listening to his twin brother complain of chest pain and light-headedness, all while continuing to promise that the Americans were coming, made the time seem to pass incredibly slow. Yet knowing these were the last moments he would ever speak to Ming made the time pass very quickly.

"I'm beginning to see stars in front of my eyes," Ming said. "And I'm not even looking out the window."

Even though they were twins, Wen and Ming always had different personalities. Wen was the quiet, stoic brother, while Ming was the humorous, light-hearted of the two. Over the last ten minutes, Ming's attitude turned from fearful to relaxed, no doubt due to the lack of oxygen reaching his brain.

"Don't worry, Ming. The Americans will be there soon," Wen said. "Just keep breathing, keep holding on and everything will work out just fine."

"When they get here, tell them to wake me up," Ming said. "Everything is starting to get dark. I might take a quick nap before the rescuers arrive."

"Ming! Listen to me! You can't go to sleep," Wen yelled.

"But some of the other men are sleeping," Ming said. "Actually, it looks like everyone else is sleeping."

"Ming, they aren't sleeping," Wen said. "They're dead. That's why you can't take a nap. You have to stay strong and keep breathing. Help will be there any minute."

When Ming did not answer back right away, Wen dreaded that he heard the last from his twin brother.

"Wen, please tell me the truth," Ming said, the quiet innocence in his voice comparable to that of a small child. "The Americans aren't coming, are they? There is no help on its way."

It was more a statement than a question and Wen knew he could no longer lie.

"I'm sorry, Ming," he said. "The damn Americans are apparently caught under the Russian's spell and decided not to help. I should've told you earlier but I wanted you to remain hopeful."

Wen was met with silence on the other end of the line yet again. When Ming spoke again, his voice was raspy and even quieter than before.

"It's not nice to lie, Wen," Ming said. "I'm sorry but I can't stay awake any longer. Goodnight, brother."

The moment Wen dreaded for the last two hours finally arrived but his emotions were frozen in shock. He did not shed a single tear. He listened intently to the radio and heard a few more raspy breaths followed by nothingness. It was over.

Wen turned to the young communications officer, who sat quietly throughout the entire ordeal after being yelled at. In a mixture of intense anger and bitter grief, Wen made a promise that he swore to keep with every fiber of his being.

"I will make the Americans pay."

CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT.

OCTOBER 15, 2016.

THREE YEARS, TEN MONTHS, SEVEN DAYS UNTIL IMPACT...

"We're almost there, Mr. Carollo," the large armed man said.

Although Gaspare Carollo thought the man looked large enough to be a professional wrestler, the movie producer was shocked to hear him speak so politely, almost eloquently. If Carollo had met the huge man under different circumstances, he might have offered him a role in one of his movies.

"If we're almost there, why can't you tell me what the hell is going on?" Carollo asked, his words harsh but his tone of voice curious.

"I'm sorry, sir. I don't have enough information to paint an accurate picture of the situation," the large man said.

Carollo expected this answer and a part of him would've been disappointed if his captor let out the surprise with simple prodding. At this point of his abduction, Carollo was beyond the point of fear. He'd come to understand that his life was not in his hands now. He saw enough movies to know that a person his size would be in trouble if he tried disarming and escaping from a man the size of his captor.

So Carollo viewed this situation as if it was a movie and he was the main protagonist. With the ending soon in sight, he was excited to find out what was going to happen. Besides, kidnapping movies always had happy endings; test studies showed that audiences preferred good endings to bad ones.

Carollo never imagined being kidnapped. After all, men in his profession were mostly unknown to the general public, who mostly obsessed with actors, actresses and directors from the movie industry. But Carollo banked tens of millions of dollars as one of Hollywood's top movie producers, so he now cursed himself for ignoring his wife's advice to hire security protection.

Maybe she arranged this kidnapping to teach me a lesson. Or maybe she's still mad that I won't cast her in any more of my movies, Carollo thought cynically. She should understand why. Test audiences don't see her as leading-lady material at this stage of her career.

After leaving the set of his studio's latest movie, a blockbuster about a 13th Century Mongol conqueror appropriately titled Khan, Carollo got into his limousine to continue his long day of meetings and schmoozing with actors perfect for his upcoming movies. Once he realized the limo was traveling in the wrong direction, Carollo lowered his privacy window and noticed he had a different driver than usual.

"Did Salvatore go home sick?" Carollo asked. He implicitly trusted his usual driver Sal because the two shared a similar Italian ancestry.

Upon questioning the new driver, the limo suddenly pulled to the side of the road. At this time, Carollo saw movement in the passenger's seat and realized the driver was not alone up front. The movie producer watched as the passenger got out of the car and walked toward the back, opening the door and joining Carollo in his section of the stretch limo. Once the large man was seated across from Carollo, the limo pulled back onto the road and continued toward its unknown destination.

Gaspare Carollo was nearing the age of sixty. He was a small man in both height and weight and had never been confused as an athlete or a fighter. Secretly, he often wished he could be the Adonis that many of his leading actors were, but he took great pride that his mind and savvy made him a multi-millionaire. Because he was a brains-over-brawn type, the muscular physique of the man sitting across from him was enough to convince Carollo not to fight. But just in case, Carollo's huge abductor held the movie producer at gunpoint.

"Mr. Carollo, I apologize for the unexpected intrusion. I assure you, if you cooperate, no harm will come to you," the large man told him.

"Who are you? What do you want?" Carollo asked.

"That is not important at the moment."

"At least tell me what you've done to Salvatore," Carollo said, sincerely worried about his old buddy who'd been driving him around the last ten years. "He's a hard-working family man. May Gold help you if you've done anything to harm him."

"I don't believe you are in much of a position to make threats, Mr. Carollo," the man said, wiggling the gun for good measure. "I assure you, no harm has come to your driver. He was simply called away on other business."

Carollo was hard pressed to take the word of a man who had kidnapped him at gunpoint, but he was obviously not going to get any more information about Sal.

"Can't you tell me anything?" the movie producer asked.

"There's nothing I can tell you now that you would find useful," the large man said. "But there is one thing I must request you do."

Again, the man wiggled the gun in his hand to show that his request was really more of an order.

"What is that?" Carollo asked, somehow dreading whatever his kidnapper wanted him to do.

"I want you to call your assistant, Carlene, and tell her to cancel the rest of your appointments for today," the man said.

"Don't you think she'd be a bit suspicious if I cancelled meetings with some of the biggest stars in Hollywood?" Carollo asked.

"Not unless you give her a reason to be suspicious," the man said. "You've been around the movie business long enough to know how to lie. Just make up some excuse, act the part. I think you can handle that."

Carollo's abductor was right. Being a successful movie producer made it not unusual for Carollo to cancel meetings on a regular basis. When he called his personal assistant and told her he would not make any of his appointments today, she was not surprised. Carollo was disappointed that Carlene did not recognize the alarm in his voice.

The rest of the ride was spent in silence, as Carollo had been unable extract information from his abductor. The large man only made one small concession.

"The only thing I can say is that you have nothing to fear," the man said. "In fact, your abduction is a pre-cursor to the financial opportunity of a lifetime."

"The financial opportunity of a lifetime?" Carollo asked, slightly insulted. "Did you not see the kind of numbers that The Bishop, the Pawn and the Knight pulled domestically alone? Well over $200 million dollars, and that doesn't include the foreign gross. Not to mention the six Academy Awards."

The large man had a smirk on his face. Carollo wondered if the only financial discussions he'd have today would involve the amount of money his captors would demand to set him free. Carollo just hoped his wife would pay whatever was required. He suddenly wished she was not still angry about the rumors circulating for the last few years about his involvement with a number of young starlets.

Upon arriving at an abandoned office building two hours later, Carollo was not sure whether to be more nervous or less. The small, one-story building looked like the type of set location that Carollo's studio purchased to blow up during an action sequence. Demolitions like that were good for movies-test audiences always rated explosions highly-and good for the nearby community that could not afford to rip down the building. When he thought about it, Carollo often remembered abandoned buildings as being the perfect place for kidnappers to stash their victims, certainly not a good sign for him.

But who owns the other ten limos parked out front? Carollo thought as his stretch came to a stop. Either I'm dealing with some high-class kidnappers or there are quite a few other important people here.

The large man holstered his gun and was the first to get out of the car. He held the door open for Carollo and led him into the building, the way someone would lead him to a meeting. Carollo continued having doubts but when the large man opened the door to a conference room inside the building and ten chairs were set up in front of a small stage, he wondered if this really was some sort of pitch meeting. There was even a podium with a large projection screen on the wall behind.

It wasn't until Carollo saw the group of men standing in the front of the room that he knew this was no ordinary abduction. Among the group of men were: Bernard Jones, founder of one of the largest software companies in California; Roy Hopkins, owner of two California sports franchises; Heather Sanders, the hottest young actress in Hollywood, a young woman who Carollo would love to work with one day; and Jeremy Walker, a baseball player who currently had the largest contract in professional sports. There were a few other men and women whom Carollo could not identify from sight, but they all wore expensive suits and had the air of wealth and importance about them.

Everyone looked just as confused as Gaspare Carollo about what they were doing here.

"Hey, you tell whoever brought us here that they're going to pay for this," the baseball player, Jeremy Walker, said as he approached Carollo's captor.

Walker was just as large and brawny, but the fact that he lacked a gun gave Carollo's kidnapper little reason to worry. Once the gun was raised at eye level with Walker, the baseball player retreated to the rest of the group. The movie producer turned back toward the man with the gun.

"Now what happens?" he asked.

"Now, I leave you," the man said, holstering his weapon. "You will have your meeting and then leave. I'll be waiting to escort you back to your studio in Hollywood. Good luck."

The man with the gun walked out of the room and closed the door behind him. Carollo heard the clicking of a door lock. The movie producer turned toward the group, who silently eyed him. Many apparently did not recognize him. If it wasn't for Heather Sanders, the beautiful young actress, the group might not have accepted him into their frightened herd.

"Mr. Carollo, it's nice to meet you, albeit under strange circumstances," she said, emerging from the rest of the group with her hand outstretched. She appeared as frightened as the rest of the group, but happy as she approached Carollo.

"Please, Miss Sanders, call me Gaspare," he said, as he took her soft hand and received a kiss on each cheek from the actress.

"Only if you call me Heather," she said.

"What the hell is going on here?" Carollo finally asked.