USSR Hoax (Hoax Trilogy Book 3)

by Paul Gillebaard

  Anya entered, wearing black jeans and a tight blue shirt, her bright smile lighting up the room. “Are we ready?”

  Peter straightened up. “Sure.”

  Anya bent down and lifted her son out of the play saucer. She felt his diaper. “Oops, someone needs a diaper change.” She looked at Peter. “Let me do this real quick.”

  “No problem.” As Anya left with their son, Peter turned back to his mom. He was curious if the parts he was about to inspect might also be tied into Chris. “Were the pictures I found in Dad’s safe at all related to this information Chris thought he knew?”

  His mom let out a deep sigh. “I’m not sure. I never learned the full details. I got the impression your dad never opened up because he was trying to protect me. The information was that sensitive and top secret.”

  “Anya and I are going to inspect an F-1 engine from a Saturn V rocket, brought up from the ocean floor earlier this morning. I was sent a picture of a part that looked very similar to the hardware found in the pictures Dad kept, even having comparable markings.”

  Anne’s eyes widened. “Oh no.” She looked out the window for a moment before gradually turning her head back. “What little bit I do know is that critical pieces of evidence were supposedly buried deep in the ocean. Your dad slipped once, saying the Atlantic. He was assured the parts would never be found. I always suspected the ‘evidence’ was probably on his rocket, and the pictures in his safe were kept as proof to verify his side of the story, if needed.”

  Peter leaned back on the couch as he rubbed his chin. Things were getting very interesting. He was definitely happy to be the first to see the engine with investigative carte blanche. Regardless of what he found, he was going to protect his dad’s legacy.

  2

  INSPECTION

  An enormous cruise ship leaving Port Canaveral blew its mighty horn, causing Anya to jump back toward Peter as they walked along the soggy wooden deck of the Seven Seas. Peter smiled as he looked out toward the luxury liner. The huge ship seemed to be passing only yards away. He could clearly see the passengers’ excited faces up on the deck waving in another direction. When he turned to Anya, their eyes locked momentarily before she nodded toward the cruise liner, a slight reminder of her desire for a vacation at sea someday. He acknowledged her with a slight wink as the two continued to negotiate their way around the deck of the Seven Seas, inhaling the unavoidable fishy smell mixed in with the salty air.

  The expedition vessel was littered with treasures from its recent recovery voyage, various corroded F-1 engine parts. Some of the pieces were still wet, a sign they were recently pulled from the ocean. Peter and Anya wore white visitor’s hardhats as they followed Ted Sanders, the financial backer behind this ambitious endeavor.

  Ted expertly maneuvered around the obstacles wearing a blue company hardhat while holding a thin leather binder. The middle-aged CEO of Hextronics seemed to notice some of the looks Anya was getting from the ship’s crew. The men in grungy orange jumpsuits and hardhats looked dead tired, a few taking a break as the group passed. Ted glanced over his shoulder at Anya, speaking loud enough to be heard over the tools being operated around them. “Sorry about all the attention. These men have been at sea for over three weeks.”

  Anya smiled. “No problem, I’ll take it as a compliment.”

  “Please do.” Ted looked ahead as he extended his hand. “All these F-1 engine parts you see lying around were on the ocean floor only days ago, over three miles deep in the Atlantic. I made sure my team took painstaking effort to protect these historical artifacts as they were being lifted to the surface. I’m proud to say we have retrieved enough parts to assemble a complete engine.”

  Peering intently at each artifact, Peter wondered if any one of the metal pieces he passed had been on his dad’s rocket. “Any idea which Saturn V rocket these parts were on?”

  “That’s something we expect to know soon. Our hope is the biggest section you’re about to see, a thrust chamber with its intact fuel manifold, will be from Apollo 11. That would be our holy grail. A conservation team is arriving tomorrow to determine exactly what we have. We noticed the odd markings when we were searching for identification numbers.”

  All three turned a corner, and there in front of them was the biggest section of an F-1 engine yet, looking over eight feet tall.

  Beaming with pride, the CEO stepped to the side and made a sweeping gesture with his arm to reveal his masterpiece. “Here it is. Our big find.”

  The engine was in good shape considering its age and where it had been for the last forty years. As expected, grime and corrosion coated it throughout, along with a handful of barnacles. Most of the metal tubing circling the engine was bent and twisted, and what was left of the thrust chamber was slightly mangled. But overall, the engine looked pretty damn good.

  Ted proudly patted the artifact. “This will be in a museum someday.”

  Reaching up, Peter touched the impressive piece of equipment. He thought of his dad as he rubbed the cold metal. He stepped back to gaze at the workhorse as he wiped his wet hand on his jeans. The F-1 was the most powerful engine ever built. He put his hands into his pockets before slowly strolling around the relic.

  Ted asked, “By the way, are you the guy who flew to the moon a while back?”

  Cocking his head slightly so he could see around the engine, Peter answered nonchalantly, “I am.”

  “Wow, glad to meet you. That was some mission.”

  Peter smiled. It had been sometime since someone had connected him to the flight. “Thanks.”

  “So then you’re the son of Tom Novak, right?”

  Completing his initial inspection, Peter ended up next to Ted. He looked at the CEO. “That would be true.”

  Ted’s face became flushed. “Oh, sorry about saying Apollo 11 would be our holy grail. We would be just as pleased if this engine was from your dad’s Apollo 16 flight.”

  Chuckling at the man’s sudden change in demeanor, Peter patted the CEO on the back. “No worries. Apollo 11 was the first mission to put a man on the moon. I agree, such a find would be extraordinary.”

  “Just so you know, I consider any man who had the balls to be strapped into one of those beasts destined for the moon to be a hero in my book.” An excited look unexpectedly popped on the CEO’s face. He opened up his thin binder, revealing a notebook computer. “I’ve got to show you a cool picture.” Silver hair protruded out from under the hardhat as the CEO tilted his head down and moved his finger over the screen, quickly navigating through various files until he found what he was looking for. He tapped the screen before holding the computer pad in Peter’s direction, his expression similar to that of a proud father showing pictures of his newborn baby. “Look at this! Isn’t that cool? That could be your father’s.”

  Peter moved his head slightly to take the sun’s glare off the screen. His eyes widened at the sight of a Saturn V first stage structure standing upright on the ocean floor. With the bright lights shining on the massive artifact, probably from a mini submarine, Peter could easily make out the black and white color scheme. Though there was some corrosion, the detail was amazingly clear. He could even spot the rocket’s rivets. “Wow! That is a cool shot.”

  Turning the screen toward Anya so she could see, Ted spoke in an excited tone. “I know. I couldn’t believe it when I first saw the shot. The booster practically looks like it did when it was sitting on the launch pad. Too bad that puppy is too big to bring up.”

  Anya didn’t look too impressed.

  Peter nodded. It was time to get down to business. “So where are the markings you wanted me to look at?”

  After closing the binder, Ted placed it on a blue steel drum next to a long metal flashlight. He grabbed the light and crouched down, shining it inside the engine. He searched for a moment before he found what he was looking for. “There it is. See?”

  Kneeling on the wet wooden deck, Peter shifted his hardhat slightly upward. He squinted as he peered thr
ough twisted metal plumbing. He could barely make out what he was seeing. “Can I borrow the flashlight?”

  “Sure.”

  After some minor adjustments, Peter soon had the light aimed perfectly, allowing him to see the stamped markings more clearly. Unfortunately, mangled piping and components in front of the part prevented him from determining if the hardware was similar to what was in his dad’s pictures, though the markings looked comparable. Peter needed Anya’s input. As he started to stand a cell phone went off behind him. He turned to see Ted raising a hand to excuse himself before stepping away to take the call.

  Peter turned to Anya. “The markings are definitely more visible. How about you take a look and see if you can decipher them.” They both knelt on the wet surface as he handed over a pen and small notepad she had requested he bring. He tried to aim the flashlight as best he could. “Can you see it?”

  Anya shifted her head. “I think so. You need to drop the light down a bit.”

  Peter made the small correction. “How’s that?”

  “Good. Hold it there.” Anya started writing on the notepad. She darted back and forth from staring into the engine to writing. “Okay, got it.” She got up off her knees and studied what she had written. She started to make notes, as if trying to decode the markings.

  “So what is it?”

  Biting her lower lip, Anya stared curiously at the pad. “I’m not sure. They appear to be a bunch of random numbers and letters.” She turned to Peter. “I think it’s just an identification number.”

  “Is it Russian?”

  “Not necessarily, but probably.”

  “Damn.” Peter turned the flashlight back toward the engine and crouched over as he slowly walked around searching for more clues. He felt a tap on his shoulder. He looked up and saw Ted towering over him.

  “I need to step away for a moment.” The CEO tilted his head slightly. “Is everything okay?”

  Peter straightened up. “Everything’s fine.”

  “Any idea what those markings are?”

  Peter shrugged. “Not sure.”

  “Any chance it’s Russian?”

  “Possibly.”

  “So what else are you looking for?”

  Peter carried on with his search. “I’m just checking to see if there are any other similar markings.”

  “I doubt you’ll find any. We looked over this thing pretty well, but feel free to search.” Ted cupped his hands around his mouth and called out to a worker washing down a yellow bin. “Hey, Kevin, can you come over here for a minute?”

  Ted turned back toward Peter. “Kevin will assist you with anything you need.”

  When the employee wearing a Hextronics blue jumpsuit arrived, he said, in a firm tone, “Yes, sir?”

  “Kevin, I’ve got to step away for a few moments. Please watch these folks and help them if they need anything.”

  It sounded to Peter like Ted was asking the young man to keep an eye on them.

  “Will do.”

  Ted grabbed his leather binder then looked back at Peter. “Remember, this engine is a historical artifact. So please don’t disturb any of its parts.”

  Peter winked. “Got it.”

  After Ted took off, Peter resumed snooping around the machine. This time he inched along more slowly, shining the light through the many tiny openings and gaps looking for anything out of the ordinary. Anya seemed to read his mind as she engaged in small talk with the worker, taking his focus off Peter.

  After circling the engine a few times Peter stopped on the opposite side from where Anya and Kevin stood. A chunk of the engine was missing. Hoping to get a better view of the part’s shape from behind, he shone the light into a small dark opening and squeezed his head in. After adjusting the light, he eventually located the back end of the part, which appeared similar to the hardware shown in his dad’s pictures. As he studied the piece, there appeared to be something strange on it he couldn’t quite make out.

  Concealing what he was doing, Peter pulled out his pocket knife, not worried about the CEO’s request not to disturb history. Keeping the flashlight aimed just right, Peter reached in with his other hand and scraped off corrosion with the knife’s blade. With his trained eye, he thought he could be looking at fluorescent paint. He put the knife away and set the flashlight on the deck. He then pulled out his smart phone. The SID-issued equipment had some special features, including the capability of beaming a black light. He quickly clicked on the special light and aimed it at what he suspected was fluorescent paint. The stenciled lettering glowed, and he was shocked to see it was Russian writing. Anya needs to see this. He snapped a couple of quick pictures with the phone.

  Not to give anything away, Peter placed his phone back in his pocket, picked up the flashlight and walked back around the engine. He purposely shook his head as he approached Anya and Kevin. “I couldn’t find anything out of the ordinary.” Peter needed to show the pictures to Anya privately, and he wanted to do it near the engine in case he needed to get more photos. Seeing his grimy hands sparked an idea. He extended his free hand. “Kevin, do you mind getting me something to wipe off my hands with?”

  “Sure. I’ll be right back.”

  As Kevin left, Peter set the flashlight back on the blue drum before leaning in toward Anya and whispering. “I think I found something interesting.” He pulled out his phone and swiftly brought up the best picture that showed the florescent lettering. “I believe this is Russian. Can you read this?”

  Anya took the phone and studied it for a second. “It’s Russian.” She enlarged the picture so she could more easily read it. An alarmed look slowly crept over her face as she examined the writing. When she came to the last bit, a terrifying revelation seemed to hit her like a slap in the face. She gasped as she placed her hand over her mouth.

  Peter leaned in expecting to see something on the small screen. “What is it?”

  Anya slowly lifted her head, her eyes filled with shock. “Oh my God!”

  3

  SPACE RACE

  1966

  Lee Collins nervously wiggled his foot as the President of the United States leaned back in his reclining leather chair intently studying the report Lee had just handed over. As the Executive Secretary of the National Aeronautics and Space Council, Lee was the principle advisor to the White House regarding space issues. He was responsible for keeping the president abreast on how America was doing in its space race against the Soviet Union. Even with a Gemini space mission currently underway, Lee needed to inform the president of the latest news.

  As the tense moments passed, the president’s brow began to narrow, a defined crinkle settling on his forehead. He slowly took off his reading glasses before swiveling around to focus in on the executive secretary. “So you’re telling me we can’t put a man on the moon by the end of this decade?”

  Keeping his poise, Lee straightened up in the chair. Though the president had long known of the combustion instability problem associated with the Saturn V rocket, this was Lee’s final assessment of the situation. “Yes, sir. Even though we thought we had solved the instability problems with the F-1 engines back in ’61, the problem has been recurring in recent tests preparing for the first Apollo launch.”

  The president slammed the chair’s armrest hard with his fist. “Damn it! We can’t lose to the Soviets. There must be something we can do.”

  “Sir, only one country has the expertise to solve this problem.”

  “Let me guess. The USSR?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  The president angrily swiveled his chair before propping his snakeskin cowboy boots up on the edge of his desk. “Can’t we just copy their design?”

  “Sir, the Soviets have figured out how to handcraft this particular part that attaches to the combustion chamber, which would fix the problem. These parts are made by Russian engineering artisans in a process we haven’t been able to duplicate.”

  Shaking his head in disgust, the president let out a frustra
ted sigh as he looked out the window, mumbling to himself. “If those Commies conquer the moon, they’ll control the world.” The president started tapping his glasses on his armrest. “How far behind are we?”

  Every time Lee visited the White House, the president wanted to know if America was gaining ground on the Soviets in the race to the moon. “If the engine wasn’t a problem, I would say about four months.”

  “Damn, that’s close.” The president crossed his legs. “What about…” he looked down at the floor, struggling to think of something, “…that astronaut flying a jet pack later today in space, umm, what’s-his-name.”

  “Tom Novak?”

  “Yeah, Tom Novak. Won’t that show up the Russians when he jets around in space over the world? That’s never been done before.”

  “Yes, sir. That will be very impressive. Especially considering it’s only our second spacewalk. It will definitely put a notch on our belt and put some fear in the Soviets that one day soon our Air Force will have men patrolling space on jet packs.” Lee leaned back in his chair. “But as impressive as it will be, it doesn’t get us any closer to the moon.”

  The president put his hands over his face and rubbed hard for a second before slowly sliding them off. “Would you say the Soviets are staying on schedule?”

  “As long as the Iron Curtain is in place, it’s anyone’s guess. They have had some notable successes recently, which they’ve graciously shared with the world. It’s the failures they don’t publicize that are the big unknowns. Our intelligence says the N1 rocket looks to be ready for a test launch soon. If that’s the case, then a mission to the moon wouldn’t be too far off. At this point, I would have to say yes, they’re hitting their marks.”

  The president’s boots dropped to the floor with a loud thud. He got up out of his chair and walked over to a large antique globe resting within a chestnut-wood floor stand. He spun the globe and stared at the spinning ball. All of a sudden the president turned to Lee and said in a direct and serious tone, “How tough would you say it is to put a man on the moon, compared to other achievements throughout history?”