Dark Side of the Moon

by Alan Jacobson

  “We need to be sure,” Uzi said. “There won’t be any do-overs. And just in case they find the charge, we should have a backup that can do the job.”

  “One thing,” Stroud said. “We can’t destroy the ship until we lift off because the Raptor’s too close. Shrapnel would carry farther than on Earth. It could damage our ascent stage.”

  “So we do it as we lift off,” Uzi said. “Once we’re high enough, we blow it. I’ll need to rig up a remote.”

  “What kind of range will it have?” DeSantos asked.

  Uzi shrugged. “Not a whole lot. We’ve got to be sure it’ll work or we’re screwed. Once we’re out of range, I’m not sure what else we could do. Short of crashing our ship into theirs. A suicide mission. If we could even maneuver like that.”

  “Obviously, it’s not something we ever did in the simulator,” Stroud said. “I could probably pull it off, but a kamikaze mission wouldn’t be my first choice.”

  DeSantos turned off his heads-up display. “So where should we place these charges?”

  “One inside, one outside,” Uzi said.

  “How the hell are we gonna get a bomb on board a Russian ship?” Stroud said. “They’ve stolen our food, tried to kill us. Why would they let any of us onboard again?”

  DeSantos knew the answer to that but chose not to share it. “I’ll figure something out.”

  “The charges are small,” Uzi said, “and magnetic. Almost everything in the interior of the spacecraft is made of metal or a metallic alloy. Anywhere we put that thing inside the crew compartment would work. Except if it’s aluminum.”

  “Which it could be,” Carson said.

  “A chance we’ll have to take. But you’ll feel it as soon as the magnet grabs hold. If it doesn’t, find another place.”

  “So we definitely have to get inside their crew cabin again,” Stroud said. “Without them knowing.”

  “Better chances of hitting the lottery,” Uzi said. “They’ve had a guy posted there 24/7.”

  DeSantos cocked his head. “The Russians are paranoid, cunning, and very careful. But I might be able to get inside by confronting Oleg about the missing food. We can only talk inside the spacecraft. He’ll expect me to accuse him—and he’ll deny it, but who cares? I need an excuse to get in, and arguing about the food will divert his attention from what I’m doing.”

  “I also want to place a Geiger counter close to their craft, if not on it,” Uzi said. “They’re not as small as the explosive charges, but putting it on one of the landing struts of the Resurs should conceal it.”

  “We can create a distraction,” Carson said. “His men will have to react. During the commotion, you can stick it on the strut. It’s likely a magnetic alloy.”

  “If the altercation is nasty enough, they’ll alert Oleg,” DeSantos said. “If I haven’t already had a chance to place the charge, I’ll slap it on something and follow Oleg out so he won’t think twice about leaving me alone in their cabin.”

  “You sure you can get this guy to talk with you?” Stroud asked.

  “No,” DeSantos said. “Not at all. But I’ll do my best.”

  AN HOUR LATER, Uzi left DeSantos on point and took the LRV back to the Raptor to pick up the materials Carson and Stroud had assembled. Forty-five minutes after that, Uzi returned to their stakeout location with Carson beside him.

  “Your timing’s good,” DeSantos said. “They’re all back at the Resurs.”

  Uzi and Carson showed DeSantos what they had—a small, handheld Geiger counter pilfered from a panel in the Raptor and a compact explosive, both fitted with a strong magnetic backing.

  “And this thing is guaranteed to go off?” DeSantos asked as he examined the square of C-4, which was half the size of his palm.

  “Not counting bizarre, unforeseen circumstances,” Carson said, “yes.”

  DeSantos groaned. “I’ve never been a fan of bizarre, unforeseen circumstances.”

  “That’s why we have two charges,” Uzi said.

  “Try to place it somewhere close to their fuel tank,” Carson said. “Or near the avionics panel.”

  “Why don’t I put it right on the fuel tank?”

  Carson held up a hand. “Only telling you what would be best.”

  “May not be necessary,” Uzi said. “I’m going to try to put this secondary charge onto one of their struts. Even if it doesn’t ignite the fuel, knocking off one of the legs should do the job. They won’t be able to lift off.”

  “You clear on how you’re going to approach Oleg?” Carson asked.

  “It’s all about the food. I’ve got it. What about you guys?”

  “Gonna be a little harder for us. Uzi and I have something planned. We can talk between us and they can’t hear us, so that’s an advantage. But we can’t converse with the cosmonauts. So we have to antagonize them without getting so crazy that they pull their guns. Because if they fire, even a minor flesh wound would depressurize our suits and kill us instantly.”

  “Okay then.” Uzi got back in the rover. “On that happy note, let’s do this.”

  UZI DROVE THE LRV right up to the Resurs, allowing him to position it very close to the side strut of the large lander. DeSantos got out, striding—as best he could in one-sixth gravity—toward the men.

  Carson followed, creating some anxiety. Even in their bulky pressure suits Uzi could see the cosmonauts’ postures change, ready for confrontation.

  DeSantos looked into each of their helmets to see which was Oleg. They raised their sun visors and DeSantos pointed to the forward hatch, indicating that he wanted to talk with him.

  Oleg obliged, climbing the twelve rungs up to the egress platform. He spun the wheel and pulled open the access panel.

  A MINUTE LATER, the cabin was pressurized and they removed their helmets.

  “You came to accept offer,” Oleg said.

  “Offer? What offer?”

  Oleg contorted his mouth, as if it should have been obvious. “Deal. For your father.”

  “Where are our food packs?”

  “Food? What food? Do not know what you say.”

  “C’mon, Oleg. There are eight people on this entire planet. Four of them need that food to survive. The other four … well, life would be a lot easier for them if those four had to leave prematurely, wouldn’t it?”

  “You have—how do you say? Active imagination.”

  “Do I?” DeSantos glanced around the small cabin, looking for a good place to stick the charge. He turned his torso and reached down—and in that instant, he placed it under a control panel. “I don’t believe you,” he said angrily as he felt the device grab the metal surface. He continued moving his hands around the interior. “I know it’s here somewhere. Where’d you put it?” he said, his voice rising.

  “I tell you. We do not take food.”

  DeSantos swung around. “It’s not here, is it? He examined Oleg’s gaze. “No. You wouldn’t bring it back here. You’d dump it someplace we’d never find it.”

  Oleg appeared to be suppressing a grin. “We here for caesarium. That is all. Well, we also come to keep United States from getting it.” The left corner of his mouth lifted noticeably this time—a devious smile.

  “I told you,” DeSantos said, looking deep into his eyes. “We’re not here to bring caesarium back with us. If we’d wanted to do that, we would’ve come years ago. Before Russia or anyone else knew about it.”

  Oleg spread his hands. “Then there not be problem. We not want a war with—”

  “No,” DeSantos said. “I’m sure you don’t. Except for one thing. You’ve kidnapped my father.”

  Oleg shrugged. “He be well cared for.”

  “Really? He didn’t look so well cared for in that video.”

  “You worry much. He is fine. And he is released once we have caesarium safely in Russ
ia. If caesarium not get to Russia …” Oleg sighed. “Well, no need to spell out meaning.”

  “You have a father, Oleg?”

  “Everyone has father. Some know who he is, some do not.”

  “You care about yours?”

  “This about you. Not me.”

  “It is about you. As a human being.”

  “No, my friend. This bigger. Me, you? We just players in game. But,” he said, his gaze boring into DeSantos’s, “you not careful, this become war.” He tapped his temple with an index finger. “Think careful.”

  “You harm my father and I won’t stop until you’re all dead. That’s not a threat, Oleg, it’s a promise. Tell your people. He gets returned or you’ll be sorry you fucked with me. And my friends back on Earth.”

  “There is saying you Americans like: ‘Good luck with that.’”

  DeSantos seated his helmet and turned to the hatch. He took a breath, pushed the anger from his thoughts, and realized there had been no interruption about a commotion outside. Had something gone wrong?

  63

  Potomac, Maryland

  Vail leaned her air splint against a large piece of plywood—and it nearly fell over. A divider to a back room? She moved to the edge where it met the cinderblock wall and squeezed around its edge.

  “Alex, in here.”

  Rusakov joined her. “Well, well, well.”

  “It wasn’t built to pass as a fake room. So what are we looking at here?”

  Rusakov pointed. “See that tripod over in the corner? And the walls, how they’re painted and decorated?”

  “Yeah, so? I’m not seei—”

  “It’s a movie set. Sort of. But you get the idea—our friendly neighborhood mercenary shoots ransom and proof of life videos down here. Untraceable to a region because there are no identifiable objects in the background. And …” Rusakov reached up to the ceiling and poked at it. “Sound proofing. So even if the person screamed, in the basement and with no houses nearby, their pleas would be swallowed up by a soundproofed interior.”

  And we have no warrant so we can’t arrest the bastard. We’re technically not even here.

  “I know what you’re thinking,” Rusakov said. “At least he’ll be on our radar. And the FBI can keep an eye open so when he does cross the line, they’ll be able to come in and take him down.”

  “A guy like that will know people have been in his house,” Vail said, “no matter how careful we are. He’ll disappear. Or take his business somewhere else. Another state. Another country.”

  “You may be right. Meantime, we’ve gotta stay focused on our task. I know it’s hard for you to turn off one part of your brain and switch to the other. But the lab guys will be here in ten minutes and we’ll have some answers as to whether or not the general was kept here.”

  Vail glanced around at the movie backdrop Patrone had created. “That proof of life gif we received will be our quickest indicator. If it matches the setup here, we’ll need to look into where Patrone was headed on that flight. You have the video on your phone?”

  “I can call it up. Give me a minute.”

  Vail walked over to the tripod and held up her cell, opened the camera app, framed the shot, and tried to picture where the general was kneeling when the video was filmed.

  “Here it is,” Rusakov said as she held up the device between them.

  They only had a few seconds to work with, but after watching it several times as it looped repeatedly, Vail was able to place where Lukas had been kneeling. “This is where it was shot.”

  Rusakov looked from the image to the area in front of them. “You sure?”

  “Look at the fold in the burlap in the corner. And that torn scrap of paper on the floor. Same as the video.” Vail lowered the resolution setting, then pressed record and held it in place for a few seconds. She played it back and compared it to what Rusakov had on her phone.

  “You convinced me,” Rusakov said. “Now what?”

  “Now we track Patrone’s movements, where he’s been, who he’s met with, and where he’s going. And we do the same for Bill Tait. He was out of town. Let’s find out where. And why.”

  64

  Taurus-Littrow Valley

  DeSantos climbed down the long Resurs ladder, scowling at the other three cosmonauts as he passed and giving them the middle finger—at least, that’s what he tried to do. In those gloves, it looked more like an Italian salute, conveying, “Up yours.”

  “Did you do it?” Uzi asked.

  “I did. What about you two?”

  “Done and done. We didn’t even need to start a fight.”

  “Too bad. Would’ve been the first one ever on the Moon.”

  Uzi harrumphed. “I think we’ve already created enough firsts on this mission.”

  “While you were cavorting with Oleg,” Carson said, “CAPCOM told us the 3D printer’s done making the parts. We’ve gotta get back and see if we can hook them up. Cowboy’s on his way with the Spider to the Apollo lander. Hector, you stay here and watch the Geiger remote Uzi set up. Uzi and I will haul the tank over to the Chang’e and try to offload that fuel. One of us will get back here as soon as possible.”

  “I’ll hold down the fort. One against four? No weapons? No problem.”

  “Wrong, Santa. You have two weapons at your disposal: sharp wit and biting humor.”

  Carson shook his head at Uzi’s joke—an awkward jiggle with a pressure suit on. “God help us.”

  AFTER UZI AND CARSON transported the Apollo 17 fuel tank to the Chang’e, they spotted the small Chinese rover returning to transfer its find into the lander’s onboard laboratory for analysis.

  They stuck the back end of a wrench in its rear wheel gear to jam it. The robot attempted to reverse, then drive forward to free the obstruction. Finally it stopped moving and went into sleep mode. They cut the wiring to the solar array, essentially rendering the rover inert.

  Carson pried open its payload door and Uzi ran his Geiger counter over it.

  “Nope,” Uzi said.

  “CAPCOM,” Carson said, “this is Raptor. Chang’e rover disabled. Ready to install the pump and coupler, then try to offload the Chang’e fuel.”

  “Roger that, Raptor. Issachar is here standing by.”

  “Gentlemen,” Issachar said, “I want to give you one more thing to watch out for. These engines are pretty simple in that you just mix the fuel and oxygen and it ignites. But those propellants need to be pressurized to make them flow into the engine, since you can’t rely on gravity in space. Typically, we use high pressure helium tanks to pressurize the propellant tanks.”

  “Meaning?” Carson asked. “That the fuel will be under pressure?”

  “Yes. Hundreds or thousands of PSI. The pressure can be vented by activating a valve. So when you’re ready, let me know and we’ll figure out which one it is.”

  “Don’t worry,” Uzi said, “we won’t be making a move without your input.”

  It took them forty-five minutes to make the connections and, with Issachar’s instructions, find the valve and release the pressure.

  “Is the pump working?” Issachar asked.

  “It is,” Carson said, “and we’re ready to load the tank.”

  “Let her rip. We’ve all got our fingers crossed here.”

  “We would do the same, if we didn’t have these ridiculous gloves on.”

  “Starting transfer,” Uzi said. He watched and waited, then gave an awkward thumbs up to Carson. “Both couplings are holding. I think it’s working.”

  “Great news,” Issachar said. “Just so you know, start to finish, this is going to run about four hours, so you might want to take turns sleeping. It’s gonna get mighty boring staring at two fuel tanks.”

  “Ten-four,” Carson said.

  Uzi thought of leaving Carson and rejoinin
g DeSantos, but they all felt it was best to maintain two “guards” at the Chang’e. It was their only hope of getting off the surface—and if the Russians somehow got wind of their fuel situation, the Chinese craft would become a prime target.

  For the next several hours, DeSantos was on his own.

  65

  Potomac, Maryland

  Vail and Rusakov had gotten to their SUV when Vail’s phone rang.

  “This is Hodges at headquarters. I’ve got a couple things for you. The guys decrypting Kerwin’s laptop said they found the name of the guy working with Lansford and Kerwin at Aerospace Engineering.”

  “The one who put the Chinese comms chip on the mainboard?” Vail asked.

  “Right. They went to pick him up but looks like he left the country. Kerwin must’ve gotten word to him his cover was blown. We’re trying to figure out where he went. If he’s gone underground, we may not find him for a very long time. And if he’s fled to a country without extradition … well, we should be glad we at least got Lansford.”

  “And the second thing?”

  “A call just came through on Vail’s Bureau Samsung. A US marshal, Lewis Hurdle.”

  Vail lifted her brow. “Can you call him back and patch him through without him seeing my OPSIG caller ID?”

  “Give me a few seconds.”

  She heard a beep, then said, “Hurdle? That you?”

  “What the hell’s going on with you, Karen? You got secretaries answering your cell now?”

  “Ha. Good one.” Please let it drop. “So you have something for me on Jessie Kerwin?”

  “Better than that. I’ve got Kerwin.”

  “You shitting me? You’re really good, you know that?”

  “I told you. The marshals always get their men. And women. So what do you want me to do with her?”

  “Turn her over to the FBI. I’ll have you coordinate with the director’s office and—”

  “The director’s office? Get outta town. What are you doing working cases with that much weight?”