Dark Side of the Moon

by Alan Jacobson

  Black Site

  Vail walked into the observation room and joined Terrence Jones, who had just stood to stretch.

  “Not going very well,” she said.

  Jones checked his watch. “Going about as expected. If it makes you feel any better, I’ve seen worse.”

  Nope. It doesn’t.

  The door swung open wider as Jones walked out and Douglas Knox entered. His brow was furrowed and his jaw was tense. He glanced at her then turned to face the two-way mirror.

  “Everything okay, sir?”

  “I was just briefed on Hector and Uzi.” He paused a moment before elaborating. “Someone tried to pass a message to Hector, like you suggested. And the cameras you recommended yielded an ID. He’s been arrested and is being questioned by OPSIG personnel on base. It was the cook. So far, doesn’t appear to be very promising. He’s talking but he claims he was approached by someone who offered him five grand cash to put an envelope on Hector’s bed. He was not told what was in it but it was suggested that he try not to get caught.”

  “Credible?”

  Knox bobbed his head. “That’s their opinion. He made a cash deposit of five grand into his bank account three days ago. He didn’t think anyone would suspect him, and it doesn’t look like he’s done this before, so he wasn’t very savvy about it. It checks out.”

  “Anything on the person who made the ask?”

  “Claims it was a young woman he met in Starbucks. Hat, sunglasses, attractive, makeup, well-manicured nails. Great body. Description fits about 5 million women in southern California.”

  And not by accident. “How about Uzi and Hector? How’s their training going?”

  “They launched early. There was a malfunction of the rocket on liftoff, but it’s all good.”

  “What kind of malfunction?”

  “Don’t know yet. But I’m told these things happen. We had glitches of all kinds on Apollo. They’ve been a part of spaceflight since the early days. Most weren’t deadly, but some were.”

  “How do we know it wasn’t intentional?”

  Knox rocked back on his heels. “We don’t. But I suggest you get to the bottom of what this guy isn’t telling us. Given his job and where he works, it could be related. Where are we?”

  Should I tell him we’re nowhere? “Working on it.”

  Knox read her face, then said, “Where’s Rusakov?”

  “Restroom.”

  “She helping?”

  Vail hesitated. “We’ll see. Her methods are … unorthodox.”

  “But she gets results.”

  Oh, yeah she does. And those results were all over her clothing.

  “Thank you for having my back, sir. With McNamara.”

  “I believe in you, Agent Vail. You’ve proven your worth in a range of situations. Don’t think I haven’t noticed. I also know you’ve been a key part of the BAU. And I wouldn’t want to disrupt that dynamic. Still, there are times when OPSIG work trumps a serial killer. A dozen lives against thousands, hundreds of thousands. Millions. You’re a good tool to have in our kit. No offense.”

  “I’ve been called worse, sir.”

  Knox allowed a slight smile to tickle the corners of his mouth. “I know.”

  He knows? What’s that supposed to mean?

  The door opened and Rusakov stuck her head in. “Ready to go—oh, sir. Didn’t realize you were here.”

  “Just catching up with Agent Vail.” He turned and headed for the exit. “I don’t have to tell you we need answers. Now. Not later. Keep me posted on your progress.”

  RUSAKOV WALKED BACK into the interrogation room. She wore none of the anger she exhibited before. This was, after all, just business. Except that in this case, the ‘profit’ was national security—and the only currency was actionable information.

  She stepped in front of Lansford and leaned against the table’s edge. “Let’s talk about your son and daughter, Jason.”

  Lansford rolled his eyes.

  “Your daughter’s six and your son’s nine.” Rusakov paused and read his face. When she mentioned their ages, his left eye narrowed slightly but otherwise he kept his composure. Rusakov filed this away. His lack of reaction told her this guy was no ordinary worker bee. Very few fathers, under threat and significant duress, would not flinch—if not freak out—when the adversary brought up his kids and mentioned key information on them. Lansford had some degree of training in interrogation methods—no doubt the reason why Vail had been unsuccessful in eliciting the information they were seeking.

  “You’ve had some time to think. And I know you’re a smart guy, so you’ve put two and two together. We’ve got your family. And what you’re involved in with the Chinese, well, the stakes are very high. You need to tell us what we want to know. No more bullshit.”

  “How many times are you gonna ask me the same thing and I’m gonna tell you the same thing? I don’t know what you’re talking about. I have no relationship at all with the Chinese government.”

  “You’ve been very calm, cool, and reserved. Well-trained. I respect that. But will you remain so calm and cool when we involve your kids? You’ll have no one to blame for what happens to them—but yourself. Because you can stop everything. Right now.”

  He studied her face, then said, “You’re a woman, maybe one day you’ll even be a mother. You don’t have it in you to kill, let alone harm young children and an innocent woman.”

  Rusakov got in his face. “Maybe I’m giving you too much credit, Jason. The very fact that I’m sitting in a room here with you should tell you all you need to know about me. Do you think they’d send some lackey to do this? I’m not playing games. And you should stop playing them too. Because your family’s life is at stake.”

  Lansford’s eyes flicked back and forth. He was thinking.

  “Nothing can be that important, Jason. Whoever you’re protecting, it can’t be as important to you as your family. Because I make one call, and you’ll never see them again. Their bodies will never be found. And when we get the info we need—and we will—we’ll make sure your ‘employers’ know you gave them up. Even if you didn’t. You know what will happen next. I don’t have to spell it out for you.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  Rusakov kept her expression impassive. “How does Kathy like first grade?” No response. “I hear Mrs. Clerk has taken quite a liking to her. And I have to say, Kathy has beautiful penmanship. It’s quickly becoming a lost art, you know. Most kids these days aren’t taught cursive, can’t even sign their names on a financial document.”

  Lansford looked up at her. “Is there a point to this?”

  Yes, Rusakov thought, this guy has definitely been coached. “Looks like Zach is having trouble with math. Funny thing is, when I asked him about it, he said that he likes it, that you’ve been a big help in showing him shortcuts for multiplication.”

  This got Lansford’s attention. His mouth opened slightly. He was beginning to realize that Rusakov was not bluffing. Such details about their families often rattled even the best spies.

  “Looking good,” Jones said in her ear. “Spikes all over the place.”

  “So you know about my children,” Lansford said. “Kathy likes blue dresses. Did she tell you that too?”

  Rusakov tilted her head. “Actually, she said she hates dresses. The breeze blowing on her legs makes her uncomfortable.”

  A fine layer of perspiration formed on Lansford’s forehead.

  “Oh, yeah,” Jones said. “You’ve got him.”

  Lansford cleared his throat. “Why are you so interested in my kids?”

  “I thought I made that clear.” She folded her arms across her chest. “Because you keep lying to us, Jason. And we need leverage. You’re obviously a very skilled spy, so I’m sure you understand.”

  Rusakov grabbed a remote and a
imed it at a screen on the right wall. A dark, dilapidated room appeared. Two large beefy men dressed in black with baklavas over their faces held submachine guns in their hands. The camera panned left, revealing a woman in her thirties. Her face was etched with terror, a fact not lost on Lansford, who leaned forward in his seat.

  To her left, as the image shifted, a young girl came into focus, tears sliding down her cheek and reflecting the dim light that swung gently from side to side. A boy, a year or two her junior, clung to her.

  Rusakov pressed another button and the monitor went black. “Now.” She knelt in front of him. “Jason. I think we understand each other better.”

  Lansford’s eyes found hers. “But you’re a woman,” he whispered. “How could you do this?”

  Rusakov had to stifle the smile. “You may’ve miscalculated on this one, Jason. You have no idea who I am. What I’ve done.” She pulled out her phone and snuck a look. “In two minutes Renata, Kathy, and Zach will be on their way to a secure location. It’ll take about three hours for them to get there. That gives you some time to think, which is always a good thing.”

  Lansford’s eyes narrowed.

  “I know. Your mind’s working this through. What’s within three hours of Washington, DC? A lot of places, I guess. Are they flying or driving?” She faked a laugh. “So many variables to consider. Well, I don’t mind telling you we’ve got a number of safe houses in that radius. Including Cuba, our new friend.” She paused, let that sink in. “Do you know what that means, Jason? If we’re taking them to Cuba, it means that we’re using a black site.”

  Lansford turned away. “I don’t know that term.”

  Rusakov chuckled softly, mocking him. “I think you do.” She threw a thigh across his lap and sat down, placed a hand on each of his shoulders, his nose inches from her breasts. “You’re being ungrateful, Jason. I did a nice thing for you before. When was the last time your wife did that for you? I made you feel good. And you did feel good. That much was obvious.” She grinned, then placed a finger under his chin and raised it to her face. “Yet you continue to treat me with disrespect. I really don’t appreciate that. That will work against you.”

  “I don’t know what you’re getting at.”

  “See?” Rusakov got up, then leaned forward and rested both hands on her thighs. “That’s what I mean. You do know what I’m talking about. In fact, you’re really good at this. You’ve been trained well. But I’ve got friends all over the world. We’re analyzing your DNA right now. I’m sure you remember where I got the sample from.” She paused for effect. “It’s being run through CODIS and the profile is being sent to Interpol. We will find out who you’re working with. And why.”

  “That’ll be a waste of time.”

  “And I know that you didn’t start in the spy business yesterday. Your craft is too refined. Did someone mentor you?” She studied his face a moment. “Who was it?”

  Lansford narrowed his eyes but did not reply.

  “Do your wife and kids know what you’ve been doing? Who you really are?” Rusakov waited a beat for an answer, though she did not expect one. She leaned in closer. “No, I didn’t think so. And now they’re on their way, on a terrifying journey, whisked off by big men in black tactical gear with scary-looking submachine guns, into a private jet. Oh!” she stopped, cocked her head. “I gave it away, didn’t I?”

  Lansford tensed his jaw.

  “They’ll enjoy Cuba. Lots of very colorful cars from the 1950s. You know, they have a hell of a time finding parts for those things. Sometimes they have to jerry rig them with custom-made contraptions to keep them running. Pretty cool, actually—it’s like a scene out of an old movie, only it’s real. But Renata, Kathy, Zach … they won’t see any of it. Because they’re blindfolded. Your wife is scared. Kathy was screaming when they pulled her from her bedroom. Zach peed in his pants.”

  She stopped, watched for a reaction. This was all conjecture, but it served to tighten the screws. However, she saw only a slight twitch in the skin around his eyes.

  “Not getting much,” Jones said. “His heart rate’s still elevated but he’s doing a damn good job at controlling it.”

  “I know,” Rusakov said. “Your handlers taught you to accept it. Your wife, your kids, are collateral damage. Maybe you figured that one day it’d be inevitable something like this would happen. Or maybe you deluded yourself into believing you’d never get caught.”

  Lansford spit in her face.

  Rusakov did not move. “The shame of it all is that they’re innocent in this whole thing. You’re using them as pawns.”

  “I’m using them as pawns? I’ve done nothing wrong. You can’t prove anything. And yet you’ve kidnapped my family.”

  “Yes. We did.” Rusakov stood up and used her sleeve to clean off her cheek. “But that’s the least that’ll be happening to them.”

  VAIL NEARLY ASSAULTED Rusakov when she walked through the door. “Are you out of your mind? You kidnapped his wife and kids?”

  “I don’t owe you an explanation. But you did hear me tell him we were going to bring his fam—”

  “I thought you were bluffing.”

  “We’ve got a job to do and that guy in there has critical information we need. And he’s not providing it. We had to motivate him.”

  “By psychologically damaging his children?”

  Rusakov looked away. “I realize you don’t know me. You think I’m some unfeeling bitch.” She turned to Vail and met her gaze with sparkling clear gold-brown eyes. “Truth is, it bothers me. A lot. But I’m a good actor. I have to be, doing what I do. And you know what? He is too. You see how calm he is? He’s not some fly-by-night mole who was paid to do a one-and-done job. He’s a legit spy.”

  “And his family gets to suffer because of that? I doubt they know what he is, what he does.”

  “You tried to reason with him. I tried too. You wanted to stay away from enhanced interrogation. Despite what you think, I’m not crazy about it, either. A lot of times it doesn’t work. But I’m also trained to do what needs to be done. I don’t take that responsibility lightly. So what’s left? There’s no time to spend months building a rapport with him—which, if I’m right about him being a trained spy, wouldn’t work anyway.”

  “I know.”

  “We had one thing, and only one thing, as leverage on the guy.”

  Vail clenched her jaw. “I still don’t like it.”

  “The United States has four operatives risking their lives to prevent an aggressive country from getting hold of an extremely dangerous weapon of mass destruction. And our—your—friends are hurtling through space with no lifeline, no rescue team. Lansford may have information we need to help them—or keep them from blowing themselves up.”

  Vail turned toward the two-way glass and watched as Lansford fidgeted in his restraints. Likely agonizing over what to do. How difficult a decision could this be for him? “I’ve been running this through my mind, trying to reason it out. It’s not adding up.”

  “Why?”

  Yes, why. Vail sighed. “I don’t know. I can’t explain it, but we’re missing something. We’ve got something wrong.”

  “You think he’s innocent?”

  “Not at all,” Vail said. “He so much as admitted it to you. ‘They’ll kill me,’ he said, if he talked to us. No, I think he’s exactly what we think he is, but something … there’s something about those trips to China. Or his connection to China, his family.” She shook her head. “I’ll keep on it. Meanwhile, let’s give him some time to think about this.”

  “Time is not on our side.”

  “Sometimes you can’t rush these things.” And sometimes you have to accept you’ve come up empty. “What if we can’t get him to open up? What will they do to him?”

  “I honestly don’t know.” Rusakov glanced at Vail. “But I think we can make an educate
d guess.”

  30

  Deep Space

  The alarm took them by surprise.

  The words “O2 tank #2 failure” were flashing across Uzi’s glass display. He tapped the screen and tried to ascertain where the problem was located.

  Stroud was doing likewise. “I’m seeing a main B bus undervolt.”

  “CAPCOM,” Carson said, “this is Patriot. Bob, do you read?”

  Nothing.

  “Uzi,” Stroud said, “look out the port window and let me know if you see any vapor venting into space.”

  Uzi craned his neck but did not see anything unusual, let alone a gaseous release. “Everything looks fine. Santa, you see anything out starboard?”

  “Crystal clear blackness. What’s the deal, Cowboy?”

  “Looks like we’ve lost oxygen tank number two. And number one went almost immediately after that.”

  “Switching to exterior cameras,” Uzi said. He studied the screen, which showed various angles of the ship’s exterior. “Everything looks good.”

  “How can that be?” Carson asked. “Cowboy, what are our O2 levels?”

  “Tank one’s empty. Two still has 200 PSI, but it’s falling. But we’ve also lost three fuel cells.”

  “Hang on a second,” Uzi said. “What could cause such a complete failure of the O2 tanks?”

  “On Apollo 13,” Stroud said, “an explosion took out number two, which then caused number one to fail by rupturing a line or damaging a valve. Something like that.”

  “Sounds like the issue we’re having is exactly what happened on Apollo 13,” Uzi said.

  “Sure does,” Stroud said.

  DeSantos shifted in his seat, an easy task in zero gravity. “That’s kind of odd, don’t you think? Almost like it was designed to mimic a previous problem.”

  Uzi threw a switch on his panel. “And according to CAPCOM—and from what we were able to determine from our own readings—our rocket malfunction on launch was not a malfunction at all.”

  “As far as we know,” DeSantos said. “They were still analyzing the data.”

  “How much longer to go on that diagnostic?” Carson asked.