“Could be.” He picked up the videotape. “I wonder if we have anything that will play this?”
“It’s pretty old. We can probably find something in the morning.”
“Ray—”
“George, this is old technology. But I’ll send somebody out. See if we can find something. In the meantime, how about we do the press release? Let’s just tell them we’re looking into it.” He took a deep breath. “Don’t know about you, but I’ve about had it for the night.”
39
The next night, Blackstone Enterprises threw a huge celebratory party in the Flat Plains hangar. Every member of the press showed up. (“Trust me,” Bucky told Jerry, “these guys would never miss a free meal.”) But they also had half a dozen congressmen, three senators, and two governors, a Medal of Honor winner, five all-pro football players and all-NBA basketball players, and the usual hey-take-my-photograph celebrity crowd.
“Airport must have been swamped,” remarked Bucky.
“You said it.” Gloria Marcos grinned. “They only have one runway and two gates. Your private airfield is every bit as big, and probably a lot more modern.” “You know, I’ve been asked to run for the presidency by members of both parties,” he said. “I wouldn’t want to be George Cunningham tonight.” “You don’t look that happy,” she remarked.
“He’s not an evil man,” responded Bucky. “I don’t know why he lied about it—hell, I don’t know why any of our presidents lied about it—but I’m sure he had his reasons.” He paused. “He didn’t try to stop me, you know.” “Could he have?” asked Gloria.
“He could have made it a lot more difficult.” Bucky frowned. “I think I’ll try to make peace with him in a few weeks.” “And not run against him?” she said with a smile.
“I’m an entrepreneur, not a president.”
“Isn’t that what almost every president is, too—in a way?” said Gloria.
“Stop right there.” Bucky spoke with mock severity. “You convince me of that, and you might spend the next few years dealing with all those jackasses in Congress.” She turned and began walking away.
“Where are you going?” he demanded.
“To get some tape to cover my mouth.”
“Good. I was afraid for a minute I’d said something to offend you.” She laughed. “If that was a quitting offense, I’d have been gone two hours after you hired me.” He winked at her and then went around the room chatting with everyone, endlessly explaining every aspect of the mission, taking an occasional sip of the Dom Pérignon and an occasional taste of the Beluga caviar his people had set out for the guests. After another hour, he was getting bored with the same questions, and tired of fighting off less-than-subtle inquiries about his politics and his willingness to run in next year’s election (for president, for the Senate or the House, or for the governor’s mansion once they could figure out where his legal residence was), and decided he needed a break. He knew that if he went to his own office, he’d be getting a visitor every two minutes once they noticed he was missing, so instead, he went to Jerry Culpepper’s much smaller office at the back of the hangar.
He opened the door, stepped through into the semidarkened room, closed the door behind him, and locked it—and suddenly the lights went on.
He turned, startled, to see Jerry sitting at his desk.
“What the hell are you doing here?” said Bucky.
“I work here,” replied Jerry with a smile.
“I mean, in your office.”
“It’s your party. I thought I’d let you bask in the glow and answer all the questions. Besides, I don’t like mob scenes.” “Well, since it’s your office, I can hardly throw you out,” said Bucky easily. “I hope you don’t mind a little company. I’ve had it with those . . . those . . .” He searched for the right word.
“Sycophants?” suggested Jerry.
“Yes. Except for the ones that plan to stab me in the back—figuratively, of course—as soon as they can.” Jerry indicated a chair. “Have a seat.”
“I don’t mind if I do,” replied Bucky with a smile. He sat down and took a deep breath. “It’s cooler in here.” “You’re not sharing the air-conditioning with ninety other bodies,” noted Jerry.
“And quieter.”
The phone on Jerry’s desk rang.
“Well, it was quieter,” said Bucky.
Jerry frowned. “Who the hell would be calling me at ten o’clock at night on a Sunday?” Bucky smiled. “Why don’t you pick it up and find out?” “Okay,” said Jerry, returning the smile. “But given the day and the hour, I may charge you overtime for this.” He picked up the receiver. “Hello?” Bucky could tell someone replied, but Jerry merely frowned.
“Who is this?”
Another pause while the man at the other end answered.
“I don’t care what you think you know, I won’t speak to someone who won’t identify himself,” said Jerry curtly. Then he paused. “NASA? What part of NASA?” Bucky gesticulated wildly, and Jerry said, “Hang on. I’m going to put you on hold for just a minute.” He hit a button on the phone and turned to Bucky. “What is it?” “This is a guy from NASA?”
Jerry nodded. “Probably.”
“Probably?” repeated Bucky.
“He says he’s a friend of NASA.”
“There could be a lot of reasons he won’t identify himself,” said Bucky. “Put it on speaker, so I can hear it, too. I won’t interrupt, but let’s find out what he wants.” “A job, probably,” said Jerry.
Bucky just stared at him.
“Okay, okay, you’re the boss.” He put the phone on speaker and took it off hold. “Sorry for the delay. Now, what can I do for you?” “Nothing,” said the voice. “But maybe I can do something for you, Mr. Culpepper.” “But you won’t tell me your name?”
“Hear me out, and you’ll know why. As I told you, I’m a friend of NASA. I think it’s terrible the way they’ve treated the Agency—the way they turned their backs on the Moon half a century ago and even gave up the shuttle. Just terrible!” “You’ll get no disagreement from me,” said Jerry. “Is that what this call is about?” “That’s the reason for it,” said the man. “It’s not the gist of it.” “I don’t want to be rude, but it’s after ten o’clock, and I was up half of the last two nights. I’m tired, and I don’t even know who I’m talking to, so can we get to the point, please?” “I’m coming to it, Mr. Culpepper. You know what they found on the Moon, right?” “Of course I do,” said Jerry in bored tones. “It’s in the next room.” “Impressive, isn’t it?”
Jerry frowned. “Yeah, it’s impressive. So?”
“So do you know what it is?”
“Part of some kind of dome, probably,” answered Jerry, starting to get annoyed. “You got any other questions?” “Just one. Do you know what it really is, and why it’s been kept secret all these years?” Suddenly, Bucky leaned forward, and Jerry tensed.
“Why don’t you tell me?”
“That would be too easy for you and too dangerous for me,” said the voice. “But you can find the answer if you want it.” “Of course I want it.”
“Good.”
“So where is it?” demanded Jerry.
“It’s well hidden,” said the voice.
“Okay, it’s well hidden,” said Jerry. “Where?”
“Just think about it, Mr. Culpepper. If you had something that valuable, where would you hide it?” “In my safe-deposit box,” said Jerry.
“Don’t be a fool, Mr. Culpepper. This is a matter of worldwide importance. Just ask yourself—” “I told you: I’d put it in a bank.”
“Let me finish,” said the voice. “Banks get robbed all the time.” “Okay,” said Jerry. “What should I ask myself?”
“What would Sherlock Holmes do?”
“He’d solve the problem,” said Jerry irritably.
“Don’t be obtuse, Mr. Culpepper. You have your answer.” “What answer, damn it!” snapped Jerry, but the click! at the other end of
the line was audible even to Bucky.
Jerry hung up. “So what do you make of it?” asked Bucky. “Did you recognize the voice?” Jerry shook his head. “No.” He paused. “But it didn’t sound like a crank call.” “I agree. In any case, we’ve got to follow it up.”
“Follow it where?” asked Jerry in frustration.
“I don’t know,” admitted Bucky. “Yet.”
“I don’t know where the devil we can start.”
“With the clue,” said Bucky.
“What clue?” Jerry practically yelled.
“You heard him: What would Sherlock Holmes do?”
“And you heard my answer: He’d solve the damned problem!” “Ah . . . but how?” said Bucky. “That was the clue.” “I don’t understand you any more than I understood him.” “It’s fascinating, Jerry. I don’t know what we’ve found, what we’ve brought back. A couple of curved metal panels, that’s all. But there’s an answer somewhere, and this phone call may be the key to it. In other words, it’s a two-step process. First, we figure out what the hell he was talking about, where this mysterious something is hidden. Then we find it, get our hands on it, and hopefully solve the mystery of what they’ve been hiding from us all these years.” “You make it sound simple,” said Jerry.
“It can’t be simple, or someone would have figured it out in the past half century.” “Not necessarily,” replied Jerry. “For most of that time, no one knew there was anything to be discovered, or that Myshko had landed on the Moon.” “Then, since we know it, it shouldn’t be that difficult, should it?” said Bucky.
Jerry just stared at his employer. Now I know why you’re the billionaire, and I’m the employee, he thought. You love a challenge, you come alive with one, and I just want it to go away.
“Have you read much Holmes?” asked Bucky.
“A little.”
“And you didn’t recognize the voice?”
“No,” said Jerry, frowning. “Why?”
“Because if he doesn’t know you, he can’t assume you’re familiar with the canon, that you know all the stories inside out. So that has to be a simpler clue than we thought at first.” “I don’t see anything simple about it.”
“What characters do you know from Sherlock Holmes?” asked Bucky. “Besides Holmes, Watson, and their landlord, what was her name? Ah! Mrs. Hudson! Okay, who else do you know?” “Professor Moriarty, of course,” said Jerry. “Irene Adler.” He frowned. “Moriarty, Adler . . .” He shook his head. “That’s it.” Suddenly, Bucky was grinning like the cat that had swallowed the canary.
“Son of a bitch!” exclaimed Jerry. “You know! Just from that, you know!” “I think so,” said Bucky.
“Well?” said Jerry. He could barely control his voice.
“I think almost everyone knows Moriarty and Irene Adler. A few might also know Colonel Sebastian Moran, but you didn’t, and he couldn’t assume you did. But even if you’ve never read the books, one or the other is in more than half the movies. Hell, they were both in a Broadway musical called Baker Street a few years before Armstrong landed on the Moon.” “How do you know that?”
Bucky smiled. “I’ve always had a passion for Mr. Holmes.” “So what’s the answer?” persisted Jerry.
“Consider this: Moriarty was even more of an egomaniac than Holmes was. He never hid anything from Holmes. He wanted Holmes to know what he was doing and dared the detective to stop him. But Irene Adler, despite the fact that the movies loved her, appeared in only one story. She had some love letters and was blackmailing the king of Bohemia with them, and Holmes was paid to get them back. He failed.” “Why?”
“Because she was as smart as he was, and she realized that the very best place to hide something everyone’s searching for is in plain sight.” Bucky paused. “She had them stashed behind a sliding panel out in the living room, where you might keep a few glasses. The problem is that we need your brainpower on this, not mine. You’re the one he spoke to, so the clue is for you.” Jerry sat motionless for a full minute. Finally, he responded. “Son of a bitch!” “You know!” said Bucky excitedly.
Jerry nodded. “I think so.”
“Well? Where is it?”
“Can your private jet get me to Huntsville, Alabama, first thing in the morning?” “No,” said Bucky, and before Jerry could protest he added: “But it can get us there.” “Okay, but I don’t think they’ll let you in.”
“In where?” asked Bucky.
“The Huntsville Archives.”
“Everybody knows you’re working for me now. What makes you think they’ll let you in?” “Because I just may have a secret weapon. I’ll let you know tomorrow morning whether I can manage it.” “What are you going to do?”
“Call Mary. My old boss.”
“You think she’ll help?”
He thought about it. “Yes,” he said. “I’d be surprised if she didn’t.”
40
Jerry and Bucky drove up to the NASA Archives in a rented car.
“Jason Brent is going to kill me for leaving him behind if someone else doesn’t kill me first,” noted Bucky wryly.
“I’ll see if I can get you in,” said Jerry, opening his door. “It’ll be easier if they don’t recognize you.” “If they don’t recognize me, I hate to think how many hundreds of millions of dollars I’ve wasted.” “No kidding, Bucky,” said Jerry. “You’re not the government’s favorite person this week. Let me handle it.” Bucky nodded and fell into step behind Jerry, who climbed the stone steps and approached the two armed guards at the front entrance.
“May I help you, sir?” said one of them, with an expression that implied that helping the visitors wasn’t first on his list of priorities.
“My name is Jerry Culpepper. I used to work for NASA. I believe Mary Gridley has cleared me to enter.” “I’ll have to check on that, sir.”
The guard pulled out a communicator and spoke into it in low tones, then waited for an answer. Bucky looked around at the utilitarian buildings of the Marshall Space Flight Center, their blandness contrasted with the rockets, the shuttle, and the landers on display.
The guard got his answer and nodded. “Welcome to the Archives, Mr. Culpepper. You have been cleared.” “I assume my assistant can accompany me,” said Jerry, indicating Bucky.
The guard frowned. “I don’t know anything about an assistant, sir.” “Damn it,” said Jerry, trying to look annoyed rather than terrorized at the consequences of sneaking the notorious Morgan Blackstone into the building. “I expressly said I would be bringing him along.” “Hold on, sir,” said the guard, pulling out his communicator again. “I’ll have my superior check with Ms. Gridley.” “Good,” said Jerry, wondering what the penalty was for lying to an archive guard.
There was a pause that stretched from one to two to three minutes. Finally the guard pocketed the device and looked up at Jerry.
“Ms. Gridley is away from her desk at the moment,” he announced. He stared at Bucky, but there was no sign of recognition on his face. “All right,” he said at last. “I suppose there’s no harm. After all, he works for you, and you’ve been cleared.” “Thank you,” said Jerry.
He entered the building, followed by Bucky.
“I thought this was a public building,” said Bucky, when they were out of earshot. “Why do you need permission to enter it?” “There’s a ton of stuff that collectors would love to get their hands on,” answered Jerry, “either to keep or sell on the black market.” “Makes sense,” said Bucky, looking around.
“Okay,” said Jerry, “I got us this far. Whatever we want is in the building—or at least is probably here.” He grimaced. “But it’s a big building. Where do we start?” They looked around at cubicles filled with boxes and crates. “They must have a section devoted to the Apollo program,” said Bucky.
They walked over to a backlit floor plan and located it.
“That was easy enough,” said Jerry. “Look, they have a section designated Myshko mission.” He be
gan walking, but Bucky stood still, lost in thought.
“What is it?” asked Jerry, returning to him.
“That’s too easy,” answered Bucky. “I’ve been telling the public about Myshko for more than a month now. We can look later if we don’t find something, but all that’s going to be is records of our Moon mission. And probably the controversy preceding it.” “Where the hell else would it be?”
“Not with Apollo XI,” replied Bucky. “Everyone and his brother would have headed straight to that display.” “I don’t know,” said Jerry dubiously. “We’re not here on a hunch. Someone called and told me to come here.” Bucky smiled. “He told you to go somewhere to find something. The rest was pure Holmesian deduction.” “Okay, Sherlock,” said Jerry in frustration. “Where should we be looking?” “I’m working on it.”
“Let’s at least walk over to the Apollo section while you’re thinking. The farther we get from the entrance, the less likely they are to pull you out of here if Mary calls back and says she doesn’t know anything about you.” “Lead the way, Watson,” said Bucky.
—
They soon reached the lineup of Apollo cubicles, with crates filled with material, logs, helmets, photos, occasionally a captain’s chair or a Yankees baseball cap or a Bible. Exhibits ranged from the first suborbital flight to the very last Moon landing. Jerry walked over to the Myshko area, scrutinized the content tags thoroughly, opened more boxes, but couldn’t find anything out of the ordinary. The tags were accurate. “It’s just what you said, Bucky. Could we have been wrong?” Bucky shook his head. “You got the call last night. The government’s had a month to go over every inch of the Myshko display, all the messages, transcripts, video coverage, everything. It was never going to be here.” “You suddenly look very smug,” said Jerry. “What do you think you know?” “The same thing you know,” said Bucky.
“What?” Jerry almost shouted.
“There were two Moon flights involved in this. Walker’s was probably given the job of destroying the dome.” “Walker!” exclaimed Jerry, snapping his fingers. “Of course!” They quickly moved to the Walker exhibit.
The Cassandra Project Page 33