“Well, I’ll be damned!” said Bassinger. “The hardheaded businessman is a secret romantic!”
Bucky searched his mind for a caustic reply, but stopped when he realized that Bassinger was right, that he was a romantic at heart. Why else would he declare the trip a success a handful of hours into it when the Moon was still three days away?
After that first nap, Bucky slept intermittently during the next two days. He kept staring out the window, thrilled by the sights, reveling in the sensation of weightlessness. Finally, he fell into a deep sleep and woke up almost eight hours later, feeling totally refreshed and unbothered by the confined space in which he found himself.
As the Sidney Myshko neared the Moon, he still felt like a kid in a candy shop. He homed in on Mars again and spent a few hours studying and admiring it. Then he started spotting the bigger asteroids.
“We’ll move into orbit in about twenty minutes,” announced Gaines. “I’ve calculated it—well, the computer has calculated it—and this should put us right over the Cassegrain Crater when we’re on the dark side.” He paused. “Have you got any idea what we’re looking for?”
“Not since the last time you asked.”
“Could it be metal?” persisted Gaines. “We don’t have to see the exact shape of whatever it is. If we have a hint of what it’s composed of, we can run a spectroscopic analysis of the crater square mile by square mile and see if there’s, I don’t know, some titanium or steel there, something from Myshko’s ship.”
“We’ll know soon enough,” said Bucky.
“Not quite as soon as you think,” said Neimark. “Before we land, we’ll take a number of photos and videos with zoom lenses and transmit them back to Earth. Cassegrain Crater is maybe forty miles across. You could land in it and not see a brontosaur at the other end, let alone something the shape and nature of which you can’t even guess at.”
“I know.” Bucky sighed. “It’s just that I’ve been living with this for months, and I want to know what the hell made Myshko land, and especially what made him keep his mouth shut about it.”
“If he landed.”
“He landed,” replied Bucky with conviction. “And I want to know why damned near every photo of the Cassegrain Crater during the sixties was doctored.”
“Just because some unnamed source told that to Jerry Culpepper doesn’t make it so,” said Neimark.
“I trust him.”
“Oh, I believe he was told that, and that he was honest with you. I just don’t know if the source was honest with him.”
“I’m supposed to be the doubter,” said Bucky.
“Nonsense,” she replied. “Scientists are taught to doubt everything.”
“Rubbish,” said Bucky. “They hang on to disproven and discarded theories like religious zealots.”
“Only some of them,” she said defensively.
“And only some religious people are zealots.” He turned to Gaines. “Are we in orbit yet?”
“About ninety seconds.”
“How long before we’re over Cassegrain?”
Gaines shrugged. “I’d guess an hour and a quarter, but the computer can tell you to the second, always assuming we don’t come face-to-face with too much space garbage.”
“Garbage?”
“Meteor swarms, things like that.”
“What about our garbage?” asked Bucky, remembering his half-eaten lunch.
“We hang on to it till we’re back on Earth,” replied Gaines. “If we jettisoned it, it would just take up orbit, around the Moon if we got rid of it here, around the Sun if we dumped it in transit, and as it picked up speed over the years, it could collide with some ship a century from now and wipe it out.” He checked his instruments. “We’re in orbit now.”
Seventy minutes later, Cassegrain Crater came into view.
“Doesn’t look all that special, does it?” said Bucky, somehow disappointed that he could not see something wrong, something askew, from that distance.
“We’ll know soon enough,” said Bassinger. “Got all the cameras working.”
“And then we send the stills and videos back to Flat Plains?” asked Bucky. Flat Plains was his operational headquarters.
“Yes. The government—hell, a lot of governments, and probably some advanced labs—will try to grab them, too, but we’ve got them pretty well coded. By the time anyone breaks the codes and actually sees the pictures, we should be safely back on Earth.”
“Yeah,” added Gaines. “If there’s really something down there, who knows? They don’t have to be as big as Tars Tarkas to cause a panic. Even little green men will do that.”
“Besides, the boss isn’t into sharing,” said Bassinger with a grin. “Until he makes his millions first.”
“If we find anything but rocks there,” promised Bucky, “you’re going to see just how into sharing your boss is.”
As they were speaking, pictures from the Cassegrain Crater were already showing up on the navigational screen. The regolith was flat and gray, featureless save for occasional smaller craters.
Then—
Bucky stared. “Son of a bitch!”
29
After the Watergate scandal, Eugenio Martinez had established a quiet career selling real estate and had eventually retired to a small town in southern Georgia. “It’s not something I’m especially proud of,” he told Weinstein, referring to his part in the burglary. “I don’t much like to talk about it, but I guess I’ve gotten used to it. What do you want to know that hasn’t already been reported in every newspaper in the country?” He sounded annoyed. Weinstein sympathized. It would have been difficult to refuse to do something if the president of the United States asked for your help. “Mr. Martinez,” he said, “first let me assure you that whatever you have to say to me will be held in the strictest confidence.” Martinez frowned. “They’re not opening this thing up again, are they?” “No, no. Nothing like that. It’s just that we’ve heard a couple of rumors, and we’d like to get a handle on what really happened.” “Oh.” He smiled. “I’m relieved to hear it. What are the rumors?” They were sitting in Martinez’s living room, facing each other across a sleek, square cocktail table. The walls were paneled with mahogany, and curtained windows looked out over a lake. A light rain was falling. “Did you know Jack Cohen?” “Cohen?” He frowned. “I don’t think so.”
“The name doesn’t ring a bell?”
“No.”
Weinstein produced a photo of Cohen, taken during his days at GWU. “You don’t recognize him?” “Nope. Never saw him before.”
“Well, it’s been a long time.” He placed the photo on a coffee table where Martinez could see it. “Let’s try another question.” “Go ahead, Mr. Weinstein.”
“Was there a sixth burglar?”
Martinez laughed. “A sixth burglar? Where on Earth did you hear that?” “Was there?”
“No. Of course not.”
“Mr. Martinez, if you’re hiding anything, I can assure you there’s no need. I can get you a letter from the president himself releasing you from any responsibility for withholding classified information.” “No need to bother. I’m not hiding anything. There was no sixth burglar.” He paused. Looked out as a bolt of lightning flickered against the window. “You wearing a wire?” “No.”
“You mind if I have a look?”
“Go ahead.”
Weinstein stood while Martinez did an inspection. “Okay,” he said finally, “I guess you’re clear.” “So what were you going to tell me that required a search?” They both sat back down. Martinez studied him for several moments, making up his mind. Then: “Just for the record, I’ve never thought of myself as a burglar. We were the president’s operatives.” “The fall guys,” Weinstein said.
“No. He took the fall. The big one.” He looked ready to call a halt.
“Was there anybody else at all involved with the break-in other than the people who came to public attention?” “Why are you asking?”
“Look, Mr. Martinez, I’m not supposed to mention this, but it looks as if I have to: The president wants to know. Don’t ask me why. There’s reason to believe someone else was with you inside the Watergate.” Martinez took a deep breath. Picked up the photo and switched on the lamp behind his chair. Held the picture so the light fell on it. “It could be him.” “It could be who?”
“There’s no way I can be sure. It’s too many years ago, and I only saw him that one night.” “When you did the break-in?”
“Yes.”
“So there was a sixth burglar. Is that what you’re saying?” “No. That’s not exactly what happened. If this is the same guy”—he stared at the photo—“he’s the reason we were there in the first place.” “Wait a minute, Mr. Martinez—”
“Call me Eugenio if you like.”
“Why were you at the Watergate? You were sent in to bug the place, weren’t you?” Martinez took a deep breath. “Maybe I should get that release.” “I can arrange it.”
He got up, walked over to the window, and stared out. The skies were gray. “I guess, after all these years, it won’t matter.” “So what were you actually after at the Democratic National Headquarters?” He was still holding the picture. “This guy’s briefcase.” Weinstein stared at him. “Why?”
“There was a notebook in it. I don’t know what it was about. They never told us.” “So how would you know it when you found it?” “We had a description of the briefcase and the notebook. And the guy it belonged to was with us.” “The sixth burglar.”
“Not really. We kept him outside. In the passageway.” “Do you know how this notebook came to be at the Democratic National Headquarters?” “I’ve no idea.”
“You say you had a description?”
“Yes. We knew what it looked like.”
“Did you know what was in the notebook?”
“They told us it had a couple of pages in a foreign language.” “Which language?”
He shrugged. “I don’t remember. I really don’t. Sorry.” Thunder rumbled in the distance. “We need the rain,” Martinez said.
“Did you find the notebook?”
“No. The police got there too quickly.”
“Why didn’t they get the guy in the hall?” “We’d expected to come up with it pretty quick. Actually, I think what happened was that when we didn’t see it, we told him to take off. They told us to take no chances with him.” “Then what? You went back and looked some more?” “We kept looking until we heard the cops were coming up. There was no way to get clear, so we switched to our secondary mission.” “Bugging the place.”
“Yes.”
“But you did that strictly—”
“To provide a cover story. As we were instructed to do.” “And you, and none of the other guys, ever gave the real reason for the break-in.” He shook his head. No.
Weinstein felt a sense of admiration. “You took all that heat.” “We were told to keep it quiet.” He leaned forward, his eyes locked on Weinstein. “If this story ever comes out, I’ll deny everything.”
30
“I still don’t know why I had to stay up here,” grumbled Bucky. “After all, every Moon landing we ever had, two went down and just one stayed behind to pilot the ship. That’s you.” Ben Gaines smiled. “Two went down. That’s them.” “But you don’t need me up here,” continued Bucky. “I don’t know the first damned thing about running the ship.” “You don’t know the first damned thing about landing on the Moon and taking off from it.” Then came the final argument. “It’s my expedition, damn it! I’m paying for it, so I should go to the surface if I want to.” Gaines chuckled. “There’s the hatch. Feel free to leave.” “Maybe I should fire you for insubordination,” said Bucky with a smile.
“Be my guest.” Gaines returned the smile. “I’m tired of driving this thing anyway. You take over.” “Oh, hell, I guess you can stick around.” Bucky laughed, and Gaines joined in. He looked at the numerous dials and readouts on the control panel. “Have they landed yet, do you think?” “Soon,” said Gaines. “Maybe another twelve or fifteen minutes.” “Good. I’m getting tired sitting here doing nothing.” “Well, we couldn’t send them until we’d picked their landing spot.” “It seems so inexact,” complained Bucky.
Gaines frowned. “They’ll land within a few hundred yards of the descent modules.” “I don’t mean the landing is inexact,” said Bucky. “I mean we still don’t know why Myshko and Walker went down there in the first place. Do you see anything else?” “Not a thing, Bucky.”
Bucky paused, staring out through the port. “Where the hell is the lander?” “You can’t see it right now,” Gaines said. “We’ve got the wrong angle.” “Damn! I should be down there!”
“You’re starting to sound like a broken record,” said Gaines.
“They stopped making records before you were born,” growled Bucky. “What do you know about it?” “Hey, I still collect vinyl,” said Gaines. “Not every record was transferred to CD or MP3 files. Especially old comedy records, topical ones.” “You really collect them?”
Gaines nodded. “Mort Sahl, the original Second City, Stiller and Meara—almost none of them made it to CD. Same goes for a bunch of old Broadway shows that weren’t big enough hits to get revived. There’s really quite a large market for that stuff.” “You live and learn,” said Bucky. Suddenly, he grinned. “Here I thought I was putting you down, and you made a fool of me. I like that in an employee.” “So I get to orbit the Moon once or twice more before you fire me?” “Maybe even three times.” Bucky turned his attention back to the panel. “Have they landed yet?” “Bucky, take a nap. I’ll wake you when they’re there.” “Shut up.”
“Okay, then—go to the bathroom. By the time you get back in all your gear, they’ll have landed.” “I liked you a lot better five minutes ago,” said Bucky.
“Ditto,” said Gaines.
“You wouldn’t talk to me like that if we were back on Earth,” “Sure I would.”
“You’re a good man, Ben. I chose the right pilot.”
“You didn’t choose me at all,” said Gaines.
“Maybe not, but I chose not to fire you a couple of minutes ago. That counts for something.” They kidded and teased each other for another ten minutes, and finally they got the message they’d been waiting for.
“We’ve touched down in Cassegrain Crater.” It was Marcia Neimark’s voice.
“Everything okay?” asked Gaines.
“No problems of any kind.”
“You want to talk to the boss?”
“Sure—but it makes more sense for him to wait until we have something to tell him.” “Can you see the modules?” asked Bucky.
“Yeah. We’re a good distance away, but we can see them.” “Is there anything else?”
“Negative.”
“Can you see any reason why they might have gone down there?” “Not yet, Bucky. But give us a chance to look around a little. We’ll be climbing down out of the lander in a couple of minutes.” “Make sure you set up a video camera on one of the landing legs so we can see what’s happening.” “Of course, Boss,” she said.
“Just making sure.”
“Bucky, that’s the fifth time you’ve made sure today.” “Sorry.” He was grateful that she couldn’t see his guilty smile.
“Okay.” Bassinger took over as the voice on the speaker. “Are we all set for a Moon walk?” “Help me secure my helmet, and I am,” said Neimark.
A moment later, they’d set up the video camera, and Bucky was able to watch them descend to the surface.
“It’s a shame the people back home can’t see this,” said Gaines. “But we can’t transmit this until we’re on the near side of the Moon.” “Just as well,” said Bucky. “I’d like to know precisely what we’ve got before we start announcing stuff. We don’t want to get ahead of ourselves.” “Well, I don’t think there’d be any problem showing them walking on the surface,” said Gaines, “as long as we don�
��t show what they’re walking toward.” “We’re not entirely sure what they’re walking toward,” said Bucky, staring at the screen.
“Oh, come on, Boss. What do you expect to find? A Russian base?” “Save the sarcasm, Ben.”
“Okay. Sure. But we can show them walking, right?” persisted Gaines.
“Ask me when we’re in a position to transmit it.”
Bucky learned forward, concentrating on the two images on the screen. Like Neil Armstrong and Buzz Aldrin half a century before, they seemed suddenly unfettered by gravity, even by the weight of their assignment. They jumped up again and again, then trotted in huge strides that would have lifted them over high hurdles had there been any.
“My God, I feel reborn!” exclaimed Neimark.
“We haven’t had any gravity in the ship for a couple of days, but it’s not the same thing!” Bassinger could barely contain himself. “I never want to go back!” “Use up all your oxygen, and you won’t go back,” said Bucky. “What can you see?” “Bunch of rubble,” said Bassinger.
“That’s all?”
“Bucky,” said Neimark, “try to be patient. Give us a chance to get to the modules.” “How close are you?”
“Maybe a quarter mile.”
“I thought you were supposed to land closer.”
“Oh, come on, Bucky—we’ve traveled 250,000 miles and landed maybe five hundred yards from our target. You can’t get much more accurate than that.” “Okay, okay.” Bucky looked at Gaines. “I knew I should have gone down with them.” Then he leaned over the mike again. “Just get on with it. I want to know what’s over there.” “There’s probably nothing, Bucky. Except the descent stages.” “Just take a look, okay? There had to be a reason for the initial landings.” “We’re moving as fast as we can, Bucky,” said Bassinger. “Just give us a few minutes, and we’ll settle it once and for all.” “Go ahead,” said Bucky. He turned to Gaines. “I hate waiting.” Gaines grinned. “I would never have guessed.”
The Cassandra Project Page 26
