He still can’t work out why Menzel never told him about their destination, or if he did why that memory remains a blank. He can only assume it was for reasons of security. But strange as all of this seems, finding the Russians here feels like he’s back on familiar ground. This is something he can work with. “Why are you guys locked up?”
Patsayev says, “They tell us Earth is a world of war.”
“Which is true enough,” Borman admits.
Dobrovolsky says, “Mars men say we are not being trusted. They not believe we come peaceful. You must tell, Frank Borman.”
Borman rubs his hand through his hair. “I have, believe me boys, I have. Not sure they believe me either.”
“No secrets,” says Patsayev. “They say: speak truth of why we come here.”
“They want to know Russian technology,” says Dobrovolsky. “They say, ‘tell us how you beat America to build rocket flying to Mars’. We tell. They not believing.”
Patsayev says, “You must tell them how we came here. Together. Tell them Russians good people.”
Borman stifles a laugh to avoid seeming rude. He takes a step back. “Well hey, I’m sure you boys are fine upstanding citizens. But I’m not so sure I’ll be vouching for your overlords in Moscow. Why were you all so eager to come to Mars anyhow?” And why desperate enough to make a deal with Bermuda?
Patsayev backs away from the bars, muttering under his breath. There’s anger in his eyes. He looks like he’s damping down a sudden urge to grab Borman around the throat and choke the life out of him. Clearly, this relationship of theirs has come at a cost to all of them. Yet Borman can’t help feeling at a disadvantage. These guys know more than he does.
“Frank Borman,” Dobrovolsky pleads, “they will kill us. You tell Mars men Russia is not trouble. You tell why America join us to come here. You know the truth.”
The walls of their cells begin to glow and vibrate. The Russians jump back like they know what’s about to happen. Borman takes another step backwards for good measure. The bars turn red hot and start to ooze and expand like lava through a crack in the ground, until the ooze sews itself into one solid glowing metal wall, encasing the Russians and hiding them from view.
As the molten metal starts to cool and solidify, he looks around the atrium for something he might use to knock through it so they might escape. But there’s nothing. And it would be pointless. Where would they go? None of them will be getting out of this maze without Martian cooperation. He walks along the line of cells in the prison block. All of them are locked and empty, but at one end a lone door hangs open. It’s the entrance to another chamber. With nowhere else to go, he passes through it, half expecting to find himself imprisoned.
He finds himself in a small, rectangular room with five doors: two on the right, two straight ahead and one to the left. This time he takes the one on the left. It brings him to a set of stairs that disappear into an inky blackness. He starts descending, holding his hand to the wall for balance in case he loses his footing in the darkness. This time, the walls offer no illumination. As the last strands of light vanish above him, Borman has to actively fight a panicked urge to retreat back up the stairs. He’s well aware the mind game is deliberate, but somehow that doesn’t make it any easier to resist.
The air starts to feel much hotter around him the moment the staircase ends and the walls open into a pitch-black cavity. He inches his way to the left. Following the edge of the wall and holding out his arms, he checks the ground with every step, a blind man trying to cross a busy road. He has no way of knowing what’s here, but there is a hollow hum in the air suggesting he’s in some kind of cave.
“Donald?” he calls, but his words disappear into a black abyss in front of him. He calls louder. “Anyone down here?”
“Over here.” Menzel’s voice. But he can’t tell what direction it came from.
He reaches out with his foot to take another step, but feels no more ground in front of him. Instead he inches forward, still hugging the wall, which starts to curve sharply away. He’s standing on some sort of ledge and he’s right on the brink. A dim yellow light flickers on from somewhere above him, but below his feet is just a black hole. He staggers backwards, worried he’ll lose his balance and fall. “Where are you?”
“Over here.”
Menzel is huddled in a corner on the opposite side of the ledge, curled up in a ball. There’s blood all over his face.
21
The blood is matted through his hair and sprayed down the front of his shirt. His face is a mess of cuts and swollen bruises. He’s huddled like a frightened child and stinks of sweat and fear. He doesn’t move when Borman approaches; he just stares back like he’s in a trance. Borman kneels down beside Menzel and touches him on the face, wiping blood away from his eyes.
“What did they do to you?”
“They don’t care about me. It’s you. If you don’t tell them the plan, they’ll keep hurting me.”
Borman isn’t quite sure how to respond. It occurs to him that Menzel might be trying to talk to him in code. “Did you tell them my memory has been taken from me?”
“They don’t believe it. They think you’re hiding it from them deliberately.”
“And they call themselves mind readers… Heck Donald, you know more about this than me. You’re the one who took my memories away, aren’t you?”
“No. Not me.”
“OK then, but I’m guessing you knew about it in advance.”
Menzel shakes his head.
Borman says, “You’ve got to tell them I’m not hiding anything.”
“They don’t want to hear it from me. They want the truth. From you.”
“Damn it, I don’t know the truth!” Borman screams in frustration.
“Maybe you just don’t want to remember.”
“That we were coming here to confront an advanced civilization? Why would anyone want to forget that?”
Menzel doesn’t answer the question directly. “I’ve told them everything. Now it’s your turn.”
“It’s not every day you get to commit an act of treason in the name of national security,” says Borman. “Is that why you kept it all from me?”
“You’re good at following orders, even if they didn’t come from the Commander in Chief. We knew you’d do what needed to be done.”
That disdain for the president again, just like the day they met in the White House. He tries to wipe blood from the man’s face. “Look Donald, I’m not blaming you for what you all did. Heck, maybe I’d have done the same in your shoes. But I need you to tell me this plan of yours. What needed to be done?”
The scientist just stares back at him, expressionless. Oblivious to the fact that Borman’s running on empty. “Why didn’t you leave here the way you came?” Again, nothing. “Will Bermuda be unhappy with you for spilling the beans?”
Terror fills Menzel’s eyes. But it’s neither Borman nor Bermuda that is frightening him. He’s staring over Borman’s shoulder. Someone else is behind them.
22
Skioth stares down at Menzel, like he has already passed judgment and found the man guilty on all counts. Borman gets to his feet. “You said you’d let us go.”
Skioth almost looks apologetic. “I said I would set you free if you chose the right door. Instead you chose to speak with the Russians, though they were not the ones you had come here to see.” He grabs Borman by the arm, not roughly but with enough force to get his point across. “Please, Colonel, I need you to step back now.” Borman’s feet move without him even consciously being aware of it.
“No!” Menzel yells, not bothering to hide the fear in his voice. The walls of the cavern ripple and shift, wrapping around Menzel like a curtain, entombing him and swallowing his cries. It’s starting to feel like some sort of twisted maze, in which the ground itself is continually shifting. As the wall envelops Menzel, another door opens up beside it. Skioth directs Borman through it. There seems little point in arguing.