As the Spider’s powerful mechanism spun and cut through the layers of rock, he hit the designated depth and reversed the bit, watching it through the windshield as the basalt dust flew in all directions.
A red light blinked on his control panel and he quickly tapped the button to put the drill in neutral. All activity stopped. The dust swirled outside and he had to wait a moment for the cloud to settle.
He examined his instrumentation and concluded that the mechanism had jammed. “Just what I need.” He rebooted the software and the mobile lab came to life. Stroud threw a couple of switches and the computer performed an in situ analysis of the sample he had extracted. The breakdown was not unlike the 838 pounds of lunar rock and soil the Apollo missions had brought back: oxygen, silicon, iron, magnesium, calcium, aluminum, manganese, and titanium. Not a trace of caesarium. He figured as much—what were the odds he would find it on the first hole he poked?
But he had a bigger problem. He donned his pressure suit and climbed out of the rover, moved to its front, and examined the drill with the assistance of his helmet light.
As he cursed under his breath, Carson raised him on the radio.
“How’s it going there, Cowboy?”
“Not too good, man. First hole and the goddamn thing locked up on me.”
“Malware?”
“Don’t know. May just be fine basalt dust getting in the gearbox and jamming up the mechanism. Not sure.”
“Can you fix it?”
“Gotta talk with ground, see what they can tell me. Problem is this thing has lots of small parts and gears, and if I’ve gotta take it apart … I can’t see doing that with these gloves on, this bubble on my head, racing against time before we’ve gotta leave. Not to mention the Russians …”
“Take a breath and talk with Bob. We’ve got a whole team down there.”
“How’s it going on your end?”
“We’ve got the solar arrays and batteries pulled from Chang’e and we’re almost done wiring it all up in the LRV.”
“At least something’s going right. Took me forever to get this rig ready for drilling, and then on the first stinkin’ hole—”
“Call Bob.”
“Yeah. Cowboy out.”
CARSON TURNED AWAY from the LRV and activated his radio. “We read you, CAPCOM. By the way, did you speak with Cowboy?”
“We did and we’re working on it. We’re getting ready to run a simulation here and see if we can reproduce some of the readings Cowboy sent us. SITREP?”
“We’ve got the LRV wired up with the solar panels and batteries in place. Hector’s been cleaning off the rover, doing some maintenance. Apparently he enjoys working on old cars.”
“Damn straight,” DeSantos said. “This one’s in decent shape, considering the fact it wasn’t garaged and has been sitting out in extreme cold and extreme hot for decades. Thing was built like a tank.”
“Yes it was,” Maddox said. “But a lightweight tank.”
“We just have to get the mounts right and we’ll be ready to test it out. Uzi thinks the Chang’e batteries should have a pretty decent charge.”
“Keep me posted. Meantime, we have something for you on the coupler parts for the fuel tank. The printed valve may or may not work. Lacking the female fitting here to examine and take precise measurements made it near-impossible to design something with a reasonable certainty of working.”
Uzi lowered his arms from a vertical metal rod they had attached to the LRV’s chassis. “I sense a ‘but.’”
“But it appears they’re using the same type of engine the Soyuz used although that’s—”
“A guess?” DeSantos asked.
“An educated guess. NASA and the military have been working on an adjustable fitting for their new launch engine to replace the Russian engine we’ve been buying for the United Launch Alliance. It’s so new Issachar didn’t even know about it. Problem is, it hasn’t been field-tested. Just computer modeling. They haven’t even built a prototype.”
“Given China’s propensity for copying intellectual property,” Carson said, “it’s not surprising that it’d resemble the Soyuz.”
“Our thoughts as well. So we ran with that assumption and together with the photos you sent us, we modified that adjustable valve coupler. No need to get into specifics, but let’s just say the female end has the ability to expand half an inch in diameter to allow for a margin of error. If that doesn’t work, we can upload something larger or smaller—you’d have to let us know which and by how much. The only problem is that—”
“It’ll take two days to print and assemble the parts,” Uzi said, “and if it doesn’t work, there’s probably not gonna be enough time for a second stab at it.”
Maddox did not reply. He did not need to.
“So,” Carson said, “let’s hope it works.”
“It’s been uploaded to the printer and it’s in process, but I promised the guys here I’d give you the caveat: they did their best but there was some engineering guesswork.”
“I didn’t think there was such a thing,” Uzi said.
“How’s that?” DeSantos asked.
Uzi chuckled. “Engineers don’t like to guess. They deal in data and facts.”
“Bull’s-eye,” Maddox said. “Good luck, gentlemen.”
53
En Route to
Health Suðurnesja Hospital
Reykjanesbær, Reykjanes,
Iceland
When they climbed into the back of the ambulance, Vail rode in the front and Rusakov in the rear with Uglov and the medic.
As soon as Vail powered up her sat phone, she called OPSIG. Zheng Wei answered.
“Checking in, sir. Mr. Uglov has taken ill—they think it’s a heart attack—and I’m in an ambulance on the way to the hospital.”
“You can’t talk,” Zheng said.
“No.” She glanced at the driver, unsure if he understood English—but either way, she could not chance it.
“We’ve been in contact with our asset in Iceland,” Zheng said, “and alerted him to be on the road that leads from Keflavik International Airport to Health Suðurnesja Hospital. It’s not a busy area and Garðskagavegur is the only road there, so once you get out of the airport, he’ll be by the side of the street in a brown Peugeot sedan. Make sure you stop for him. The hospital is only three miles away so this needs to happen quickly.”
It was raining and dark, so she was hoping the Peugeot would be visible far enough in advance for her to get the driver to stop. “Just cleared the airport. And …” She struggled to see a sign. “Looks like your route is right.”
“Asset goes by Zero.”
“Really?”
“Really. Standing by.”
“Right.” Vail disconnected the call and turned to the man beside her. “You speak English?”
He looked at her and shrugged.
In that moment, she swung her gaze back to the road and saw a brown Peugeot by the side of the road with its hazard lights on. A man dressed in a jacket and wool cap was frantically waving his hands at them.
“He needs help,” Vail yelled, pointing at Zero. “Stop.”
The driver looked at her—English speaker or not, “help” was a fairly universal word, as was “stop.” The man seemed surprised she would want to delay their trip given they had a medical emergency in the back. He shook his head and turned back—
But Vail reached over and slapped the steering wheel with her right hand, then again gestured at Zero. “Stop!”
His brow furrowed but he did not slow.
Vail had no handgun, so body language, vocal urgency, and physical antagonism were the only weapons at her disposal.
She grabbed the wheel and pulled it gently toward the curb. Judging by the driver’s wide eyes, he was shocked at her aggression. “Stop. Now!�
��
He pushed on the brake and guided the ambulance behind Zero’s Peugeot.
Their asset was at the driver’s side door immediately—and Vail hit the unlock button. Zero yanked it open and he did have a pistol, which he kept low but made sure his victim saw.
The window to the rear compartment slid aside and Rusakov poked her face through. “All secure back here. Threat neutralized.” She handed a syringe to Zero and he held it up to the driver. He said something in a foreign language, which Vail assumed was Icelandic. She imagined it was something like, “This won’t hurt. Once you wake up, we’ll be gone.”
Then again, for all she knew, it could’ve been, “You’ve had a good life. Now it’s over. Resistance is futile.”
Zero stuck the needle into his thigh and in fifteen seconds, the man’s eyes closed. Vail helped move him into the passenger seat then climbed behind the wheel and followed Zero as he drove his Peugeot to a darker, secluded area.
She figured the hospital would be expecting their patient momentarily, so they did not have much time before the police would be notified of their missing medical transport. They had to work quickly.
Zero parked and joined them in the rear compartment. A young man was slumped in a corner and Uglov was on a gurney, strapped down. “Let’s wheel him over to my car and offload him into the backseat. I don’t want to be anywhere near the ambulance in case they come looking for him.”
“What do we do with the medic?”
“I’ve dosed him pretty well with BetaSomnol,” Rusakov said. “He won’t be waking up for a while. And I added a dose of Midazolam, so he won’t have much of a recollection of what happened. Hopefully we’ll be long gone by then.”
Three minutes later they were back on the road and a short time after that they were entering a light industrial area.
They parked in a loading bay and brought Uglov into a nondescript bathroom at the back of a warehouse. There was no writing, signs, or posters—no distinguishing marks of any kind, other than the robust odor of ammonia and the telltale spray of urine around the toilet. This was obviously a men’s room.
They sat him up on the commode and Rusakov administered another injection to counteract the initial drug Vail had given him with the handshake on the plane. Aside from the BetaSomnol, Vail had no idea what these pharmaceuticals were. All she was concerned about was that they worked as intended.
And, in fact, Uglov was regaining consciousness. He opened his eyes and his gaze moved from Vail to Rusakov to Zero. Then his face took on a greater degree of awareness as he glanced around the room. “Who are you people?”
Zero said a few words in Icelandic to him, just to disorient the man.
“I—I don’t understand. Where am I? Why am I here?”
Rusakov spoke next, in Russian.
Vail got into the act and spoke a few words in Arabic. Rusakov replied in Arabic, several full sentences—and Vail nodded, as if she understood and agreed. She did not, so she could not … but Uglov did not know that.
This was intended to further confuse Uglov, and it worked. His lips parted slightly and he turned from Vail to Rusakov to Zero, and back. “What do you people want?” He turned to Rusakov and spoke Russian.
She babbled back, then said, “Let’s talk in English.”
“You want English? I want answers!”
“That’s good,” Vail said. “So do we.”
Zero walked out, the door swinging shut behind him.
“I’m Russian diplomat, I have diplomatic immunity. I don’t tell you anything.”
“Save it,” Rusakov said. “We’re not in the United States and we’re not the police.”
“Now, Mikhail,” Vail said, “we’re gonna have a chat. And you’re gonna tell us what we want to know.”
“I—I have nothing to say.”
“Sure you do.” Vail leaned her left shoulder against the wall and cradled her sling with the other hand. “See, we found a fingerprint on the inside of a wireless router that was planted in someone’s house near Washington, DC. That print came up as belonging to Evgeny Kirilenko. Kirilenko is … well, let’s just say he’s another person of interest for us. You know Kirilenko?”
Uglov stared straight ahead.
“That’s okay,” Vail said. “We already know you do.”
“But something also came up when we were doing our homework. A very old Interpol case that had to be searched manually because it hadn’t been digitized into the database. It traces back to thirty years ago. Do you know what I’m talking about?”
“This? This is what we talk about? Something long time ago?”
“That’s where we’re going to start,” Rusakov said.
The door opened and Zero entered with three folding metal chairs. He set them out against the back wall of the moderate-size bathroom, a couple of feet from Uglov’s knees.
Vail watched as Zero sat down. “The police found a fingerprint in that bombing. It belongs to Arkady Barndyk, a twenty-five-year-old Russian who, back in the mid-eighties, was working for the KGB.”
“I do not know this name.”
“Not only do you know this name, but you are this name.” Vail paused. “Arkady was wanted for questioning in connection with an unsolved 1986 bombing in Nice. Apparently he left his fingerprint on a bomb component. Just as Kirilenko did. Nasty habit you two have. One might think it’s a clever way of signing your work. Or just carelessness. Which is it?”
He worked his jaw and turned away.
“I know what you’re thinking,” Rusakov said. “Years ago the KGB would’ve cleansed that case of any connection you had to the bombing and destroyed that latent print. But that piece of evidence was never made public. And the records were not digitized back then, so there was no way for the KGB to know it existed.”
“You are Arkady,” Vail said. “And you may remember that four Americans were also killed in that bombing. The French have been looking for you. So has the FBI. They’ve been waiting for this moment for over thirty years.”
“I tell you, I have diplomatic immunity.”
Vail laughed. “No you don’t. Mikhail Uglov has immunity. But Mikhail Uglov does not exist. It’s a fictitious name. You’re Arkady Barndyk, and we’ve got a copy of your birth certificate to prove it.” Not really. But he doesn’t know that.
“Arkady Barndyk does not have diplomatic immunity,” Rusakov said. “Besides, Russia’s got enough problems with the international community right now. They’re not gonna want to fight for a fugitive who killed scores of people.” Rusakov pulled out her sat phone and held it up. “One call to France’s General Directorate for Internal Security or the FBI and your life is over.” Rusakov looked at Vail. “Which would you prefer? Tough choice. Terrorism trial in France or the United States?”
Uglov studied their faces. “What do you want?”
“Answers,” Vail said.
“I don’t know about this bombing.”
“That’s not what we want to know about,” Vail said. “We want to talk about Ronck.”
“I am no longer CEO.”
“But you are the second largest shareholder.”
“This I will not deny.”
Vail laughed. “Well, I guess we’re making progress.”
Rusakov shifted her seat closer so that her left knee was against his right. “So here’s the deal, Arkady. You’re in deep shit. You can tell us what we want to know and we leave. You’ll have to find a way to Russia because your flight’s left. But you’ll go free and no one will be the wiser. Or you refuse to cooperate—and if we don’t kill you, we’ll make a call and turn you over to the French or the Americans for a death penalty trial. And with the forensics we’ve got on you, I’m sure either agency will have no problem convincing the jury to return a guilty verdict—especially when they flash photos of the victims and their families on a
big screen.”
“I talk to you, it is death sentence. Without jury.”
“We’re not cops, so there’s no way anyone would know the information came from you.”
“You ask me to put trust in you.”
“No,” Rusakov said, “we’re asking you to give us the information we want and we’ll make sure you’re taken care of. We’ll even put you back in the ambulance and call the police, tell them the ambulance has a flat tire and has been sitting on the side of the road.”
“What ambulance?”
“For the apparent heart attack you had on the plane.”
Uglov’s mouth dropped open.
“We’ll inject some ethyl alcohol into the driver’s bloodstream,” Rusakov said, “and sprinkle a little vodka on his shirt collar. The police will take you to the hospital and you’ll have your tests and they’ll pronounce you fit to travel and you’ll go home.”
“Fit? So no heart attack?”
Vail rolled her eyes. “No, you didn’t really have a heart attack. We gave you a drug.”
Uglov processed this a moment, then nodded understanding. “Very good, you people. But ambulance driver. He know about you, will tell—”
Rusakov waved him off. “They won’t remember what happened when they wake up.”
“For this to work,” Vail said, “you have to start talking—because the more time that passes, the less believable it’ll be that you got delayed by a flat tire and a drunken ambulance driver who passed out behind the wheel.”
Uglov put both hands on his face and rubbed hard. He moaned and leaned back. “What you want to know?”
“Ronck has been working with the Chinese on mining equipment for the Moon,” Vail said.
Uglov nodded. “What about it?”
“We know why China launched the Chang’e 5. But Russia also launched a mission to the Moon. Why?”
“They want what Chinese want. The element.”
“How did Russia know about this element?”
Uglov shifted on the toilet. “We have people. In important places.”
“You know we’re not going to accept that. Who’s ‘we’? What places?”
Dark Side of the Moon Page 28