“Fuel’s almost done transferring over,” Carson said. “Maybe another ten minutes.”
“And that’s our cue to finish up, Boychick. For all we know, Stroud just tripped and face planted.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” Uzi turned on the device and the LEDs glowed brightly. “Shit.”
“Caesarium? No way. He would’ve told us immed—”
“Obviously he found some.” Uzi held it over Stroud’s body and the readings were strongest in the vicinity of his thigh pocket. “And it looks like he was planning to take it back with us.” Uzi leaned forward and looked at the black streaks that originated in the pocket and traversed the white suit material. It was as if someone pulled a dirty box out and dragged it up and across Stroud’s body.
He touched the broken face plate, examining the fracture pattern in the glass, then ran his glove over the helmet just above the visor. There was a slight indentation. The surface was abraded and covered in Moon dust.
“We were tasked with running the tests here,” Carson said, “and specifically told not to bring any back with us.”
“Those were the orders.” Uzi swiveled around and surveyed the area, then canted his head up the rock face to his right. He stood carefully and stepped around Stroud’s body. Boot tracks. They were similar to the prints made by US pressure suit footwear, but possessed a key difference: aside from the parallel horizontal lines that ran from toe to heel, the ones he was looking at here had a vertical line down the center. He had seen this once before—at the Resurs. They were Russian.
He followed them: two sets from what he could tell. They were heading toward Stroud’s body—as well as away. He skipped several more feet and around the bend and found tire tracks. No doubt the Russian rover.
“Uzi,” DeSantos said. “Get back here. We’ve gotta go. Enough playing detective.”
“This was deliberate, Santa. Cowboy was murdered.”
“How do you figure?”
“No rocks on the ground near his body, so if he fell, he couldn’t have struck his helmet on anything sharp and hard. These visors are made to withstand normal blows, for this very reason. Jack Schmitt fell a number of times on 17. I think someone swung a blunt object of some kind into Cowboy’s face, denting the helmet and smashing the visor and faceplate.”
“You sure?” Carson said over the radio. “I’m kind of blind here.”
“As sure as I can be dressed in a pressure suit in a microgravity environment. On the Moon. Without proper equipment.”
“Why not just shoot him?” DeSantos said. “They’ve got guns. Not like we’d hear it in our pressure suits.”
“Because it’d be obvious they did it,” Carson said. “And that it wasn’t an accidental fall. They staged it to look like an accident. This way, even if we suspected them—maybe—we couldn’t be sure. Obviously there’s no way for them to know about Uzi’s FBI background. You and I, we wouldn’t have thought twice about it.”
“We’ve gotta get going,” DeSantos said. “Examining the crime scene isn’t gonna bring him back. But unless we get off this rock soon, we’re all gonna die here. Let’s get his body onto the Spider.”
“Uh, guys? Russian rover’s headed for the Raptor. They’re a distance away but you better get back here now. Headed straight for us. Looks like they’re in a rush.”
“How long do we have?” DeSantos asked.
“If you want me to figure their exact position,” Carson said, “I have to stop what I’m doing. And right now, lifting off is my priority. But if their rover goes about as fast as the Spider and my guess is they’re maybe three miles out right now … they’ll be here in about eighteen minutes, give or take.”
“And it’ll take us fifteen to get back to the Raptor,” Uzi said. “Get in. No time to get Cowboy’s body.”
“We can’t just leave him h—”
“No time,” Uzi said. “And no choice. Digger, fuel done?”
“Maybe another minute.”
“This is bullshit,” DeSantos said as he started toward the Spider, which was as Stroud had left it.
“No—the LRV’s faster.”
They got into the Moon buggy and Uzi accelerated. They instantly felt the pull of the vehicle as the four meshwork tires gripped the lunar dirt.
“Digger, how soon can we be airborne?” DeSantos asked.
“I’ll get us up as fast as I can,” Carson said. “Putting my helmet back on and depressurizing the cabin. But we haven’t checked the weight. Or the weight distribution.”
“We’re two hundred pounds lighter,” DeSantos said with disdain.
“I don’t even know if this fuel will work. Or if we’ve got enough to get us into orbit.”
“Bad enough they killed him,” DeSantos said. “Goes against my core to leave him behind.”
Uzi navigated around a crater at top speed, causing a slight lateral slip of their rear wheels.
“We’ve got no choice,” Uzi said. “And we’ve got no time.”
“Are we being cowards?” DeSantos asked. “We should stay, confront them. Stand and fight.”
“We don’t have usable weapons and they do. We’ve accomplished almost everything we needed to do here. The charge is set on their ship. We’ve gotta get off the surface before they do. Nothing to be gained by confronting them, as much as we want to. Assuming things go as planned, we’ll have the final word.”
“Assuming that, yeah. But what if those charges don’t blow?”
Uzi kept his gaze on the path ahead. “Then we fly over their lander and cut our engines. And hope we can steer into the Resurs, destroy it.”
A few moments of silence passed as Uzi navigated the landscape.
“Why do you think they killed Stroud?”
Uzi took some time to work it out as he moved the control stick left, then right, avoiding rocks and ruts. “They were going to take us out one or two at a time. Divide and conquer. They don’t know what weapons we’ve got. And since we haven’t been in one place at the same time, they can’t kill all of us simultaneously. With as many of us out of the way as possible, the greater the chance they accomplish their mission. Nothing we can do to sabotage them. They eliminate the threat. Could be other explanations, but that’s my take.”
DeSantos was silent for a while, no doubt running that scenario through his filters. Finally he said, “Yeah. Makes sense.” Concession in his voice, as if angry at himself for not figuring it out sooner. “Digger, we’re two minutes out.”
“Roger,” Carson said. “Fuel’s done. I’m commencing countdown. Computer will fight me because it won’t let us open the hatch to let you in. I’ll have to override it manually.”
Uzi saw their lander ahead—and the cloud of dust being kicked up by the Russians as they approached.
He pulled the LRV in front of the Raptor, beside the ladder. They hopped off and started ascending the rungs, climbing as fast as they could. Uzi’s hand slipped off twice and he almost went flying sideways.
Before Uzi squeezed through the hatch, he looked out at the Russian rover and dust cloud, both of which grew in size as they neared. “We’d better hurry.”
DESANTOS GAVE UZI a shove into the airlock. He followed a second later and cranked the door closed behind them.
The moment of truth had come. If Uzi was right about what happened with Stroud, the Russians stole the caesarium Stroud had found—so they now had the element. If they let them leave the surface, would Oleg keep his end of the deal and release his father? He chided himself for even entertaining the idea.
“Keep your helmets on,” Carson said in their headsets. “Safety precaution against sudden depressurization.”
Uzi hit a button and the airlock door slid apart. “You mean if the Russians shoot holes in our cabin?”
“Exactly.”
As they entered, Carson was pressing vi
rtual buttons on the control panel, re-securing the room.
DeSantos thought of Stroud—and knew Uzi was right. Given the situation, they didn’t have a choice. But the concept of leaving no one behind was not just a hollow phrase. It meant something.
“T-minus three minutes,” Carson said.
DeSantos looked out the small window that faced west. “And they’re getting close. Too close.”
“Soon as they see us lift off,” Uzi said, “they’ve got two options. Shoot at us or return to the Resurs and take off. If I were them and I had the caesarium, I’d get the hell off this rock. But I’m not them.”
“Our walls are only a quarter inch thick,” Carson said. “Like a piece of glass. It’s all about weight and strength. The Apollo LMs were some kind of thin Mylar you could poke a finger through. Ours is carbon fiber—but I’ve got no idea if can survive gunfire.”
“It’d have to be too thick,” Uzi said. “And too heavy. They hit us, we could be fucked. It might disperse the force of the round but at the very least it’d crack the shell.”
“That’s why we’ve got our suits on,” Carson said.
“If they start shooting,” Uzi said, “losing our atmosphere would be the least of our problems. Damaging our electronics, hitting the computer or fuel tank—”
“I know the risks,” Carson said as he worked the touch screen. “T-minus two minutes,” he said, the digits on the LCD rapidly counting down the seconds.
“Longest two minutes of my life,” DeSantos said.
“Hopefully it won’t be the last two minutes of your life.”
DeSantos craned his neck again to position his oversize helmet for a look out the window.
“You have the remote control for the charge you planted?” Carson asked.
DeSantos patted the front pocket of his suit but did not answer.
“Santa,” Uzi said. “You got it?”
“Got it.” He again thought of his dad. If he blew up their ship, if what Oleg had told them was true, he would be killing his father as well.
“T-minus ninety seconds,” Carson said. “What are they doing?”
“They’re slowing,” DeSantos said. “I think they realize we’re about to lift off.”
Uzi grabbed hold of a metal bar. “Moment of truth.”
“Do we know for sure the Russians got the caesarium?”
“The Geiger counter lit up, Santa. They have it. I’m guessing the sample Stroud had in his pocket is what they returned to the Resurs with. That’s what set off the alarm we rigged. They’d just come from killing Cowboy. That’s why they came from a different direction.”
“Even if you’re wrong,” Carson said, “odds are they’ll find it after we leave. We’ve gotta destroy their ship to prevent them from leaving. We don’t have a choice.”
I’m beginning to hate that saying, DeSantos thought.
“Fifteen seconds,” Carson said. “Secure your harness. Prepare for ignition.” The engine rumbled and the vehicle vibrated.
DeSantos hesitated. He did not trust the Russians and—almost on cue—the cosmonauts got off their rover and brought something up in front of them. “Gun!”
The numerals on the red LED clock tumbled lower. “T-minus twelve. Ten. Nine.”
A concussive force struck the wall facing the Russian rover. Then a second and a third. It cracked and a chunk broke inward.
“What if they hit our engine?” Uzi asked.
“We’ve only got one,” Carson said. “Pray they miss.” He grasped the sides of the control panel and held tight. “We have ignition.”
A vibration shook the craft—and DeSantos saw a sparking fire through the new “window” in the Raptor’s side.
“Two. One.”
DeSantos felt a hard rumble beneath his boots, followed by a forceful upward lift.
They rose rapidly off the surface. The sensation was palpable as if something was exerting tremendous force, pulling them down into the floorboard.
“Forty feet,” Carson said. “We’ll be clear of the explosion radius in five seconds.”
“Do it,” Uzi said, turning to DeSantos. “Blow it.”
But DeSantos did not move. He continued to stare out the hole in the fuselage.
“Santa. Blow the charges!”
“Yeah, I know.”
“What the hell’s the problem?” Carson asked. “Do it!”
“They tried to kill us, Santa. We’ve got our order—”
“I know.”
“You keep saying that.”
“Fifty-five feet,” Carson said.
“We don’t know the range of that remote,” Uzi said, his speech quickening. “If it doesn’t transmit the detonate order, we’re fucked.”
But what about his father?
Uzi grabbed for the remote, but DeSantos yanked his hand away, closed his eyes, and pushed the button.
A long second later, a concussive force shot skyward, shaking their fragile craft as the engine continued its burn and powered it higher against the Moon’s light gravity.
67
616 23rd Street NW
Washington, DC
Vail stole away from her nonstop schedule to have lunch with her son Jonathan at the Potbelly Sandwich Shop on the George Washington University campus.
She had just finished her skinny chicken salad sandwich when her OPSIG phone buzzed.
“You gotta get that?” Jonathan asked.
Vail frowned. “I do. Can you give me a minute?”
“Mind if I get a berry smoothie?”
“Go for it.” She handed him her credit card. “And get me an oatmeal chocolate chip cookie.”
As Jonathan walked off toward the counter, Vail brought the phone to her ear. “Yeah.”
“Sorry to interrupt lunch with your son,” Rusakov said, “but I think this is something you’d want to know right away.”
“What’d you find?”
“We were running that list of known associates, right? Well, a name showed up in an unexpected place. Seems that Bill Tait employed a guy off the books for some freelance work nine years ago.”
Vail glanced around, cognizant of who was around her. In DC, you could be sitting beside just about anyone—a foreign dignitary, a spy, a senator, FBI support personnel, Secret Service agent … the list was endless—especially so close to the White House. The “threats,” in this case, were many. She guarded her words carefully.
“How’d you find that?”
“Total accident. A note on the margin of the checkbook, a stub about a misspelled name. Otherwise, I doubt we would’ve known to dig deeper.”
“Okay,” Vail said. “Sometimes we need breaks like that to solve a case. And that person’s name?”
“Gavin Stroud.”
Vail almost dropped her phone. “The astr—the um, the guy who’s working with our friends right now?”
“Yes.”
“Could there be someone else with the same name?”
“Wishful thinking, but no.”
Vail swallowed hard. What does this mean? Maybe nothing. Maybe everything. She sat there a moment, suddenly numb.
“Mom,” Jonathan said. He was standing there holding the smoothie and cellophane wrapped cookie. “You okay?”
Vail looked over at him and realized her jaw was slack. Her mouth was cotton-dry. She forced a smile. “All’s good, honey. I’m fine.” She felt for the back of her chair and sat down gently.
“I know, that threw me too,” Rusakov said.
“Why didn’t we know about this?”
“It was off the books. And it was only a few months. When he went to work for OPSIG, he didn’t disclose it and they didn’t catch it during the vetting process—or they caught it and didn’t think it was important. At the time, it probably wasn’t—it’s o
nly in the context of what we know now that it’s significant. It wasn’t a red flag.”
“Is there a way to get word to our friends?”
“At this point Knox and McNamara think it may make more sense to let things play out and not confront him with it. Good news is that they’re now off the surface. I can give you a better SITREP when you’re back.”
“Sounds good.”
“Oh—nothing concrete connecting Tait to Patrone or Stroud. He may be wrapped up in this, but other than speculation, we’re not finding anything.”
“A guy like that, with a lot to lose, covers his tracks. Even if he’s involved on some level, we may never be able to connect him. I’ll—” She looked at Jonathan, who was sucking on his straw and watching his mother’s face carefully. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
Vail ended the call and tore open the cellophane packaging.
“So,” Jonathan said, studying her face. “Unexpected news?”
Vail took a bite of the cookie and laughed nervously. “Playing detective with me?”
Jonathan shrugged. “The best start young. Weren’t you like twenty-one?”
Vail rolled her eyes. She had hoped her son would change his mind about going into law enforcement. But that wish had thus far not come true. At the moment, however, she had other things to occupy her concerns.
“I’ve gotta go, sweetie. You mind?”
“I have to get to class. But thanks for lunch. I’m glad you were able to get away.”
“Me too.” She gave him a kiss on the cheek, then stuffed the cookie back in the wrapper and handed it to him before she jogged toward her car.
68
Lunar Orbit
You okay?” Uzi asked, studying DeSantos’s face through the visor.
“Me? Hell yeah. Mission accomplished.”
“Approaching Patriot,” Carson said. “Uzi, can you give me a hand with docking?”
“Um … yeah.” Uzi turned and faced the touch screen beside Carson.
Carson talked him through the process—which was largely automated by the flight computer software and high resolution cameras—but given the malware issues, Carson was not taking any chances. He watched over the instrumentation and made sure the readings were logical and expected. The docking went off without a hitch and they opened the connecting hatch.
Dark Side of the Moon Page 36