The Cassandra Project (6 page)

“Is that the formal NASA response?”

“No. I’d guess, Ralph, at this point, that we’re strictly no comment.”

—

Jerry went immediately to the archives. For more than seventy hours, while the capsule orbited the Moon, Bartlett’s voice had been the only one heard from the capsule. On the way out, and during the return flight, Walker had dominated the conversation. And occasionally, Lenny Mullen, the LEM pilot, could be heard.

But for almost three days, Walker and Mullen had been silent.

It was a rerun of the Myshko recordings.

Bucky Blackstone was in New York when the news broke. He made three quick calls, one to Ralph D’Angelo, two more to D’Angelo’s editor and his publisher—both longtime acquaintances if not exactly friends—and when he was done, he had no doubt that the diary mentioned a landing.

But that was ridiculous. The most important event in human history, and they covered it up for half a century? It made no sense. Even if the government had some reason for a cover-up, how the hell could they get the consent of the crew? There wasn’t a schoolkid anywhere in the Western world who didn’t know the names of Neil Armstrong and Buzz Aldrin. How could you convince any landers who predated them to forgo that glory? And even if they agreed at the time, why would Myshko and the others keep quiet for twenty or thirty years—or fifty, if any of them were still alive?

He rubbed his chin absently, staring at nothing in particular, and frowned. No one had landed on the Moon before Armstrong. If they had, it would be a triumph, not a secret. We were in a race with the Russians, and Sputnik had predated everything we’d done. We couldn’t have been sure that Khrushchev and the Russians weren’t secretly working on their own Moon landing. If we
could
have touched down, we
would
have.

Don’t forget those Kennedy memos that came to light back in 2012,
he reminded himself. JFK didn’t give a damn about science. All he was concerned with was the prestige of beating the Russians to the Moon. And if Harvard John didn’t care about the scientific breakthroughs, you could be sure that Landslide Lyndon and Tricky Dick didn’t give a damn either. To all three, the only important thing was getting there first, so of course they wouldn’t hide the accomplishment.

So why did Aaron Walker write that in his diary?

Think, Bucky!
he told himself.
You’ve already bought half an hour on CNN and Fox News to offer
your
version of what happened and what’s being covered up, and to challenge the government to prove you wrong. You’d better be damned sure you’re right, or no one will ever listen to you again.

One thing is certain: Walker didn’t write it as a joke. A lot of social mores have changed over the years, but diaries are still private things. He never expected anyone to read what he wrote—so
why
did he say that?

He checked his Rolex. Thirty-three hours before he had to speak on television. That didn’t give him a lot of time.

He had come with a skeleton staff—Ed Camden; his longtime secretary, Gloria Marcos; and his bodyguard, Jason Brent. (Bucky thought of himself as a pretty fit specimen, more than capable of taking care of himself—but when you’re a billionaire, you’re a target for kidnappers and all the disgruntled rivals you beat, which is to say bankrupted, on the way to your fortune. He hated the thought of traveling with an entourage of bodyguards the way so many others of his economic stature did, so he’d chosen Brent, a one-man wrecking crew who was a crack shot, a karate champion, and had the fastest reaction time he’d ever seen.) Bucky summoned all three of them to his suite. Well, to the huge living room of the presidential suite. Jason would never agree to stay down the corridor with a locked door between them, and slept in the adjoining bedroom.

“What’s up?” asked Camden.

“You heard the news?” said Bucky.

“Yeah,” replied Camden. “I wonder what the guy was smoking.”

Bucky turned to Gloria. “You think anyone’ll believe it?”

“Why not?” she answered. “Hell, a third of the public doesn’t believe we ever landed. Why shouldn’t another third believe we landed more often than we said?” “I’m going in front of fifty million people tomorrow night,” said Bucky. “I’d like to think I’m not about to make a total fool of myself.” Jason Brent looked puzzled. “I don’t see a problem, Boss. I assume you’re going to give your version about why Kirby wouldn’t accept that award.” “He accepted it the next day,” noted Camden.

“Even so, something’s going on, and the Boss is going to give his version. Thing is, whatever it is, they’ve kept it a secret for fifty years, and that’s if anything happened at all. So what if he’s wrong? Who will know? Or put it this way: If something
did
happen, and he’s wrong about what it is, the only guys who can contradict him and prove he’s wrong are the same guys who have been lying about it for fifty years. He’s not NASA’s enemy, so why would they reverse course just to embarrass him?” Camden considered what Brent had said and finally turned to Bucky. “He’s got a point, you know.” “Look,” said Bucky. “We’re going to the Moon. If I wind up looking like a buffoon over this, every single thing we find, everything we learn, everything we announce to the public when we return, will be suspect because I’ll have proven how easily I can be bamboozled.” “Then why not just ignore it, cancel your airtime, and pretend it never happened?” said Camden.

“Because
something
happened,” said Bucky decisively. “I don’t know what, though I’ve got a pretty good idea. And if I’m right about what it was, it’s essential that NASA come clean before we actually launch our Moon mission.” He paused, looking from one to another. “Doesn’t it bother any of you that they’ve been lying to the public for half a century? And that it’s got to be about something major, something
important
. If it’s minor, there’s no need to still be keeping it secret. If it was just some stupid glitch that could embarrass or humiliate them, hell, 80 percent of the public wasn’t even alive then, and just about anyone who could be embarrassed is dead by now.” “That’s an assumption, Bucky,” said Gloria. “A logical one, but still an assumption. You know the government: It lies about something, usually something trivial, every five minutes. “ “I just explained why it’s
not
trivial,” said Bucky.

She shook her head. “You just explained why you
think
it’s not trivial, and it was a logical answer—but what has logic got to do with the government? You say everyone’s dead, so why not reveal whatever it was if it was trivial? I say there have been so many lies and cover-ups, why go to the trouble of exposing this one if everyone involved is dead and most of the public can’t even remember the Apollo missions?” “Okay,” said Bucky, “I’ve listened patiently. I haven’t heard anything to make me change my mind. Now we’re going to spend the next day and a half trying to find out what the hell happened. Clearly, Ralph D’Angelo has either gotten possession of the diary, or he’s made a photocopy of it.” “Why?” asked Brent.

“Because he’s an hour from Washington, and he had to be under a lot of pressure to keep quiet about this,” explained Bucky patiently. “So he had to protect his ass, and that means either the diary or a photocopy, with some expert already authenticating Aaron Walker’s handwriting.” He paused. “We need a copy of whatever he’s got.” “Don’t look at me, Boss,” said Brent. “I don’t leave your side, not for anything.” Bucky turned to Camden. “Okay, Ed. Get on the next flight down there, and don’t come back without it.” “And if he doesn’t want to part with it?” asked Camden. “I can’t bust down doors the way Jason can.” Bucky sighed deeply. “We’re not criminals, Ed. I don’t want you to beat it out of him.” “Then what?”

Bucky stared at him. “You’re working for a billionaire. What do
you
think I’m going to suggest?” “How high can I go?”

“Gloria, D’Angelo’s not syndicated, right? He just works for
The
Baltimore Sun
?” “That’s right.”

“What’s the most he could be making?”

“Week, month, or year?”

“Per year.”

“Without being syndicated? No more than $130,000, probably a little less.” Bucky turned back to Camden. “A quarter million ought to do it.” “And if he wants more?”

“Tell him you have to see it to decide if it’s worth more.”

“And then?”

“Then decide.”

Camden walked to the door. “I’ll get back to you as soon as I can.” Then he was gone. Bucky lit a Havana, took a couple of puffs, and walked back and forth in front of his desk, thinking. Finally, he sat down.

“I need to talk to Jerry Culpepper,” he announced.

“Culpepper?” repeated Gloria. “Even if he knows what happened, which I, for one, doubt, he’ll never tell you.” “We’re on the same side,” replied Bucky. “He just doesn’t know it yet.” “What makes you think so?” asked Brent.

“His job is disseminating information.” Gloria and Brent just stared at him, puzzled. “Don’t you see?” he continued. “Everything he’s built in his career depends upon his credibility. If they’re lying to him or feeding him false information, they’re destroying the one thing he trades on: his veracity. If he
knew
he was lying, that would be different, it’d be his choice—but my reading of him is that he’s an honorable man. Hell, you saw what precipitated that
brouhaha
with Kirby: He wanted to know what happened.” Another pause. “He’s on
our
side. One of these days, he’ll figure it out. In the meantime, I need to talk to him.” “If he’s lying or ignorant, why?” asked Brent.

“So he’ll know he’s got a home here if they ever kick him out,” answered Bucky. “Sooner or later, the truth will come out, and they’re going to need a fall guy—and as Humphrey Bogart would say, he’s made to order for the part.” Brent shrugged. “You’re the boss.”

“If we’re all agreed on that, set up a face-to-face for me.”

Gloria went to her much smaller desk, and a moment later Jerry Culpepper’s image appeared on Bucky’s computer screen.

“Hi, Jerry. Did I catch you at a busy time?”

“These days, those are the only times I’ve got.” Jerry smiled. “What can I do for you, Mr. Bucky?” “Bucky,” Bucky corrected him.

“Bucky,” said Jerry. “Do you mind if I ask you a question?”

“Be my guest.”

“Your given name is Morgan. Why Bucky? The press has dubbed you ‘The Cowboy Millionaire,’ but unlike all the Texas oilmen I’ve met you don’t wear a Stetson and boots, so why . . . ?” “You really want to know?” asked Bucky with a smile.

“That’s why I asked.”

“It’s for Buck Rogers. I always wanted to be an astronaut.”

Jerry smiled. “Really?”

“Is it so hard to believe?” asked Bucky.

“Not at all. There were days that I was John Carter of Mars or the Gray Lensman. Earth was never big enough for me.” Bucky chuckled. “I
knew
we had a lot in common.”

“I’m not so sure,” said Jerry. “Your pin money could eat my life savings for breakfast.” “Come to work for me, and we’ll do something about that.”

Jerry smiled and shook his head. “I’ve got a contract, Bucky.” “I have the best lawyers in the country, and I’ll pay court costs if NASA sues.” “I appreciate the offer, truly I do,” said Jerry. “But I have to honor my commitment. What would you think of me if I broke it?” “As disappointed as I am, I admire that,” replied Bucky.

“So is that what this call is all about?”

“No, though of course I’d be thrilled if you came over to our side.” “
Are
we on different sides, Bucky?” asked Jerry.

“I hope not.”

“Everyone at NASA is rooting for you to accomplish all your goals in space and hopefully awaken enough interest that we can get sufficient funding to get back in the race,” said Jerry. “You’re our best hope, so why should you be on the opposite side?” “Because
you
may know something that
we
need to know,” replied Bucky.

“Oh?” Jerry arched an eyebrow. “What?”

“I don’t know,” admitted Bucky. “But I have a feeling that Aaron Walker could answer that, and maybe Ralph D’Angelo, too.” Jerry tensed visibly. “Why do you think
I
know anything about it?” “I said Aaron Walker knew,” said Bucky. “
Do
you know anything about it?” Jerry exhaled deeply. “I wish I did.”

“I believe you. For now.”

“I haven’t been told not to dig,” said Jerry. “There’s no place I can’t go, no file I can’t see, no one I can’t talk to. But . . .” “But if it’s hidden well enough, what they let you do makes no difference.” “What the hell could it be?” said Jerry, forcing a shrug. “We landed. We came back. All but one mission went like clockwork—and when Apollo XIII screwed up, nobody made any attempt to hide it.” “Can you take a word of advice from someone who’s older and been around a lot longer than you, Jerry?” “I’m all ears,” replied Jerry sincerely.

“Protect your ass. When whatever it is comes out, they’re going to hang you out to dry.” “Me? I’m the most loyal employee they’ve got.”

“You’re the most
visible
employee they’ve got.”

“Look,” said Jerry, “whatever happened or failed to happen, I’m sure it was decidedly minor. Probably just a lousy turn of phrase when you come right down to it.” There was a long, uncomfortable pause.

“But?” said Bucky. “I sense an unspoken ‘but’ at the end of that sentence.” “But this is my organization and my country, and while I may be as curious as you, if they want it kept secret, I’m ethically compelled to keep it secret.” “If they’re lying to the American public, of which you were a member last time I looked,” said Bucky, “I think you’re ethically compelled to find it and bring it out in the open, whatever
it
is.” Jerry shook his head. “We’re on opposite sides on this one, Bucky. My best advice to you is to leave it alone.” “And my best advice to you is that the last person you ever want to lie to is—” “You?” interrupted Jerry.

“Yourself,” said Bucky, breaking the connection. He turned to face Gloria and Brent. “He’ll come over when the time is right.” “If someone lets the cat out of the bag, who cares if he comes over?” said Brent. “And if they don’t, he won’t.” “He’s a moral man,” replied Bucky. “They’re few and far between in this business, but they’re always predictable. The bigger the secret, the more he’s going to feel betrayed and ill-used.” “Let’s see if it
is
a big secret,” said Gloria.

Bucky grimaced. “You haven’t been listening to me. It’s big.” “How big?”

“You know what I think?” said Bucky. “I think some member of Myshko’s team died when they were orbiting the Moon and NASA kept it quiet until they could find out what caused it. Remember, we were racing against the Russians, and that would have been a huge blow to our prestige.” “You really think so?” asked Brent.