Paul Gillebaard again puts his creative talents into creating a unique, fresh spin on the space race of the 60’s, including my Gemini mission, providing for an entertaining ride through history. It’s fun fiction, but inspired by some actual events. No doubt this book will help new generations to embrace the future through real world space exploration.
CAPT EUGENE A. CERNAN
GEMINI IX – APOLLO X – APOLLO XVII
SUBJECT OF THE AWARD-WINNING NEW FILM, “THE LAST MAN ON THE MOON”
WWW.GENECERNAN.COM
All characters in this book, with the exception of Sergei Korolev and Paul Calle, are fictitious, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The names, incidents, dialogue, and opinions expressed are products of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Nothing is intended or should be interpreted as expressing or representing the views of the CIA, NASA, CNSA or any other department or agency of any government body.
USSR HOAX
Copyright © 2016 by Paul Gillebaard.
All rights reserved. Printed in the United States of America. No part of this book may be reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
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Hardcover ISBN: 978-0-9839561-5-0
eBook ISBN: 978-0-9839561-6-7
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TO THE THOUSANDS OF MEN AND WOMEN WHO HELPED PUT A MAN ON THE MOON, PROVING THE IMPOSSIBLE IS POSSIBLE!
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
A big thanks to Jim Banke, whose early ideas and later critique greatly influenced the storyline. To John Vester for investing many long hours editing the book—twice. Thanks to my editor, Kelly Lynne. To Cindy Cowlin for proofreading. Thanks to the former astronauts for their advice and input. Finally, to my wife Anne, for all her support.
1
SECRET PAST
Peter Novak sat in his beach chair, mesmerized by the sight of his alluring wife walking toward him in a white bikini. To him, she was simply physical perfection. Anya was dripping wet after a brief swim in the ocean. Her leg muscles flexed as she powered through the loose sand. He couldn’t be more proud as he did a quick scan of the shoreline to see if anyone else was checking out his beauty. He smiled at a chubby old man a few towels over trying to steal a discreet glance over his sunglasses.
After giving birth to their son less than a year ago, Anya had worked hard to get her body back. She often worked out early in the morning before Peter left for work. As if on cue, little Viktor would wake up crying as soon as she stepped out, needing a diaper change and a bottle. Peter never minded tending to his son. He enjoyed being a father.
The December afternoon in Cocoa Beach was a comfortable 75 degrees. The Novak family was on a mini vacation taking advantage of a luxurious beach house offered by the SpaceQuest CEO. The gesture was a generous way of saying thanks to Peter for successfully flying SpaceQuest’s rockets on two critical top-secret missions for the U.S. government. Those flights proved to NASA what SpaceQuest’s equipment could do, propelling the company as the bona fide leader of the lucrative commercial space business. Those missions also opened the door for Peter to step up from the ranks of agent to Director of the Space Intelligence Division (SID), in the CIA. One of the perks of the desk job was being able to schedule time off.
Anya approached, twirling her jet black locks tightly with both hands, trying to wring out the water. She had an innocent smile when she discreetly pointed to a towel lying on top of the cooler next to Peter. He tossed it up and leaned back to watch her dry off. Suddenly a splatter of sand pelting the side of his body interrupted his serene moment. He jerked over to see his son playing aimlessly with a red toy shovel, swinging it wildly through the sand.
Grabbing the plaything from his nine-month-old son, Peter spoke with frustration in his voice. “Viktor, you don’t want to be swinging this thing around.” Peter then patiently showed his son how to use the shovel, digging it in the sand before dumping some into the boy’s toy bucket. Peter gently placed the shovel back into the little boy’s tiny hand. “Now you try.”
Viktor went back to swinging it around uncontrollably, but fortunately this time he was whiffing it through the air. Peter smiled as he turned to Anya. “I guess that didn’t help.”
Wiping off her legs, Anya looked up. “Be patient, he’ll figure it out. He has a little of dad in him.”
Peter assumed she meant that little Viktor could be stubborn. The boy was named after Anya’s father, with whom Peter flew on the covert operation to the moon, proving that Americans did walk on its surface. The brave cosmonaut ultimately died on the mission, sacrificing his life to repay a long-overdue debt to Peter’s father, Tom Novak, who saved the cosmonaut’s career. Peter had a ton of respect and love for the elder Viktor, especially after he performed a dangerous spacewalk to save the mission. Though the man was a jokester, he was someone Peter could always count on to get the job done. Because of Viktor’s ingenuity and strength, the operation was a success. Peter would be honored if his son had many of his grandfather’s traits. “I hope he is like your father.”
“I bet he’ll have a little of both of our fathers in him.”
Peter brushed off the annoying sand as Anya took a seat in her beach chair on the other side of Viktor. A déjà vu moment struck Peter, seeing his wife helping their son work with the shovel. “I sure hope this isn’t a dream.”
A surprised look shot across Anya’s face. “Why would you say that?”
“When I was returning from the moon, I had a dream just like this. I was on a similar beach with you and our child. It seemed so real at the time. I was heartbroken when I woke and realized I was still stuck on the Chinese spacecraft, destined to be put in one of their prisons when we returned to Earth.”
Anya reached over and grabbed his hand. “This is no dream.” As she patted him she flashed an appreciative wink and spoke in a silky calm whisper. “But if it is, thanks for including me.”
The chime of Peter’s cell phone broke their attention. Thinking the call could be his mother, he turned his attention to the beach bag where the sound was coming from, expecting the caller ID to show Mom. Peter had invited his mom to join them on the vacation. He thought it would be a nice getaway for her, and suggested she fly back home with them afterward for the holidays. Since his new position was based out of the CIA headquarters in Virginia, his family now lived halfway across the country from his mother’s home in Texas, making it tough for her to see her only grandchild.
Anne Novak had happily accepted the offer but had one request. She preferred not to trudge around in the sand. While Peter and his family were on the beach, Anne would stay back in the quaint beach house, enjoying a nice book.
Peter started digging through the bag.
Anya chimed in. “If it’s work, don’t pick it up.”
As the SID director, he had no choice but to answer it. “It’s probably Mom.”
Peter had to rummage through all the kid stuff until he found what he was looking for. He quickly pulled out the thin metal smartphone and saw that the call was from Gavin Ross, his boss and now Director of the CIA. Afraid the call would be sent to voicemail, he quickly pushed the accept button without informing Anya who it was. “Hey, Gavin.”
Gavin’s voice was loud and clear. “Hello, Peter. So how’s the vacation going?”
Peter looked at Anya, who had raised her eyebrow. “Fabulous. We’re sitting on the beach enjoying another perfect Florida day.�
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“I’m jealous. It’s cold and wet here.”
Peter leaned back and crossed his outstretched legs at the ankles in the sand. “Well, that makes this even nicer. So why the call?”
“Are you aware of the private organization trying to bring up one of the Saturn F-1 engines from the bottom of the Atlantic?”
Peter had heard news reports of some rich tycoon organizing an expedition to locate the massive Saturn V first stage boosters that helped send men to the moon. The awesome power propelling those boosters was five enormous F-1 engines on the bottom of the stage. Within minutes of an Apollo flight liftoff, the massive first stage would have exhausted all of its fuel and would be cut loose to fall to a watery grave deep in the Atlantic Ocean. “Yeah, I’m aware of it. Why?”
“We just got a call from NASA. One of the engines was found and pulled up this morning. When it was being searched for identification markings, a part was found that had Cyrillic lettering. The leader of the expedition thought it could be Russian in nature. He sent a picture of it to NASA, and they forwarded a copy to us.”
Peter was impressed the search team was able to haul up one of those beasts. However, he seriously doubted a Russian part could be on that engine. The Soviets were America’s mortal enemies during the ’60s when the two countries were in a heated race to the moon. “Have you seen the picture?”
“Yes, and our team is analyzing it. But the lighting isn’t good. Besides, that engine has been submerged for over forty years and the part is showing its age with some corrosion. The CEO financing the expedition doesn’t want the engine disturbed in any way, but he was open to having a government representative stop by to inspect it.”
It was becoming clear why Gavin had called.
“Since you’re already out there, I wondered if you wouldn’t mind swinging by their ship to take a look.” His boss tried to put a positive spin on his request. “You never know. It could be one of the engines that sent your dad to the moon.”
Peter looked at Anya, who, he could see by the set of her mouth, was getting a sense of what was going on. “All right, send me the picture and where to go.”
“I’ll send the picture now and follow it up with the address and who to see.”
“Sounds good. I’ll call you once I’ve inspected it.” As he said goodbye, a displeased look darkened his wife’s face.
Anya’s voice was laced with a pouting tang. “This was supposed to be our time.”
Anya spoke and read Russian; maybe she could translate the markings. “Though it is work, it might be something you can help me with.”
Peter’s phone vibrated, signaling that he’d received an email. Seeing it was from Gavin, he swiftly brought it up. Attached was the picture. He opened the file and studied the image for a moment. Gavin was right. The markings stamped on the metal were tough to see on the aged part, but as he focused in, his heart skipped a beat. Could it be? The writing looks the same. He slowly rotated the picture around, and though the part was partially blocked by other components, his eyes still widened. Is this the same piece of hardware that was in those pictures I found in dad’s safe?
Earlier in the year, well after his father’s death, Peter had helped his mom go through the morbid chore of boxing up items in his dad’s office. When he was going through his dad’s safe, he came across a handful of ’60s vintage Polaroid photographs. Each photo was of the same shiny metal hardware. The only difference was that some had stamped cryptic lettering while the others had scratches ground over where the script probably once was. Wondering why these photos were in his dad’s safe, Peter had confronted his mother. Her alarmed expression at the sight of the photos made Peter even more curious. After some persistence, his mom eventually opened up. She stated that his dad had been involved in something top secret at NASA that worried him, and only a few people knew of it. Peter’s dad was convinced that if the information ever leaked out, it would ruin his career and possibly bring harm to innocent people.
Peter had a sneaking suspicion the part he was about to inspect was the same hardware. He handed the phone to Anya. “Are you familiar with this style of writing?”
She stared at the phone for a minute. “It looks like some type of old Russian character encoding similar to those used in our early computers. I’ve run across it at work.”
“Can you tell what it says?”
To get a better look, Anya put her hand over the phone in an effort to block out the sun. “Not really. This picture isn’t very clear.”
Peter definitely needed her help and did his best sales pitch. “Well you mentioned you wanted to check out a museum. How would you like to be one of the first to see a historical engine that is destined to be in a museum someday? It’s one of the rocket engines that took men to the moon.”
In a joking tone, Anya asked, “Russian men?”
A smile crossed Peter’s face. Anya knew the only cosmonaut to have flown to the moon was her father. “There’s only one Russian who’s been to the moon, and I took him.”
Peter went on to explain why they needed to inspect the F-1 engine and his suspicions. When she learned of the details and why she was needed, she happily agreed. They quickly packed up their stuff. The plan was to stop off at the beach house to change and drop off Viktor before hustling over to the expedition ship.
CARRYING HIS SHOES, Peter sauntered across the living room floor in his socks. He had washed and dressed in a pair of jeans and a short-sleeved polo shirt, the appropriate clothing for venturing on a servicing vessel. His mom sat cross-legged on the floor, placing Cheerios on a small plastic tray attached to the blue activity play saucer Viktor sat in. Peter’s son ate some of the cereal rings while occasionally tossing a couple on the tile floor. Peter took a seat on the couch watching the annoyed look cross his mother’s face as she picked up the loose food. He wondered how she was going to handle the situation.
His mom spoke in a stern voice as she held a Cheerio by her mouth. “No, Viktor, don’t throw. You eat them, like this.” She put a few onto her tongue before chewing them.
Viktor started swinging his arms excitedly as she placed a few more on the saucer. The boy grabbed the Cheerios and brought them close to his mouth. He held them there for a moment and stared at his grandmother, as if challenging her. Peter knew what was coming next. In defiance, the child threw the cereal to the floor. Peter chuckled internally as his mom calmly picked up the mess and said, “Then, no more for you.” As she got up Viktor let out a loud wail.
Peter started putting on his shoes. “Was I stubborn like that as a nine-month-old?”
Anne took a seat on the couch next to Peter. She took off her glasses as she kept her gaze locked on her grandchild, who had already gone back to playing with one of the toys on the saucer, having forgotten about the cereal. “Though you could be just as ornery, sometimes you surprised me.” A soft smile grew as she seemed to be reflecting on a distant time. She slowly turned. “You were nine months when your dad flew his first space mission. Our house was filled with family and friends there to support me. But occasionally I had to get away and be alone. I often escaped to the privacy of my room, taking you with me. I would play with you on the bed while listening to the mission’s transmissions over the squawk box. You were so cute and well-behaved. I was lucky to have you there, especially when your dad was struggling during his spacewalk. To me, you seemed to understand what I was saying. You helped me get through it all.”
Of course Peter had no recollection of the moment or that period of his life. Most of what he knew of the troubled Gemini flight was told to him by his father. Peter patted his mom’s leg. “Well, I’m happy I was able to help.”
A vibration in his pocket signaled he had gotten a text. As he reached for the phone, his mother sat back down on the floor next to Viktor. A quick glance showed a text from one of his top agents, Jesse Johnston, the ex-NASA astronaut Peter recruited from EarthOrbit. He scrolled up the text. Did you hear Chris Riddick died?
/> A tinge of satisfaction shot through Peter reading the news. He despised Chris, and strongly believed the man had secretly supported the Chinese, backing their lies about the moon landings never happening, which Peter felt had led directly to his father’s death. There was no love lost between Peter and his old boss. Under his breath, Peter uttered, “Good.”
Hearing the remark, Anne tilted her head slightly. “What?”
Peter sent a reply, questioning how Chris had died. Peter looked to his mom. “Chris Riddick just passed away.”
Surprisingly, Anne had no reaction. She simply went back to tending to Viktor.
This was not the response Peter expected-not from someone who would shed a tear over a pet goldfish dying. He always suspected his mother also harbored ill feelings toward the ex-NASA man, but he never knew why.
Peter reflected on the night he snooped around Chris’s office and covertly learned of his computer password, Anne. By her reaction, his gut told him his suspicions about the password referring to his mother might be correct. “Mom, was there anything going on between you and Chris?”
Anne became defensive and shot him a harsh look. “What? Why would you ask that?”
“I found out Chris’s password for his computer was Anne. It always bugged me, wondering if it was somehow linked to you.”
Anne got up, went over to the couch, sitting next to Peter. “You remember that top secret thing I told you about, that your dad was working on at NASA?”
“Yeah.”
“Chris was never a part of it, but somehow he got wind of something related to it. According to your dad, the man had his facts wrong. Anyway, Chris tried to use that against your dad. He also tried to take advantage of me, using the information as a threat.” His mother lowered her eyes to the floor. “I was very confused at the time.”
Not wanting to know the specifics, Peter put his arm around his mother. “Mom, Chris was an asshole.” Cowboy boots hitting the tile floor interrupted Peter. He turned.
USSR Hoax (Hoax Trilogy Book 3) Page 1