With his highly regarded status at Grumman still intact, he could use this cover, until a new plan could be hatched to put a stop to the NASA slave-drivers, and their extra-terrestrial quests, forever. It would need to be something to cause such a huge public outcry, it would be enough to call a halt to space travel, once and for all, and would also perhaps include an end to the Soviet space programmes as well. Perhaps a future Saturn V could fall onto a populated area, the fires, the carnage? Yes, that would be more than enough for a public outcry!
He would gather the remaining members, for a meeting to instigate this plan. Suddenly, a niggling doubt began to creep into his scheming mind. Had Weisemann done enough for now? He recalled back in the storeroom, the engineer certain he had fixed the lunar module's guidance unit, as specified by Fleischer, but could he trust the information from a desperate man? Brauer sighed, convincing himself thoughts such as these, were normal, having just been handed this major new responsibility. He pondered on this, as he stared through the windscreen at the two beams of light, bathing the road before him.
A few miles further into his journey, a thudding noise brought his wandering mind to immediate attention. He listened, as the sound increased, and after realising the problem, cursed out loud in German. He steered the car over to the side of the road and pushed on the brake, bringing it abruptly to a halt. Furiously, he yanked up the handbrake, then reached into the glove compartment to retrieve a torch. He opened his door and walked around to the passenger side of the car. Shaking his head at the sight of the deflated tyre, he cursed again. Then, composing himself, casually reached into the boot compartment and extracted the jack and the tyre lever. He would leave the replacement wheel, until he removed the damaged one.
Despite being very early in the morning and still quite dark, the tropical temperature was still warm. He opened the rear door of the big saloon, removed his grey sports jacket, and threw it onto the back seat. After rolling up the sleeves of his shirt, he crouched down at the damaged wheel, and placed the lever onto one of the bolts. It was stiff, having probably never been undone, since the car had been acquired from the rental company, in Miami.
Brauer cursed again, giving it all his strength. The lever slipped, and as the metal cut through the back of his hand, the German cried out in pain, dropping the lever onto the floor with a heavy clang. Unknown to him, the disabled car was parked next to a disappearing low bank of a swamp, which as he wrestled with the wheel, now had his back to. In the darkness, it looked like a splash of black ink, with only the light of the Moon on the still water, revealing a hint of its existence. In his frustration, and sheer determination not to be defeated, the German took a handkerchief from his trouser pocket, hastily wrapped it around his bleeding hand, and resumed his task.
Below the bank at the edge of the swamp, something had stirred to the sound of the steel rod bouncing off the tarmac. A long, rock-like hump quickly emerged from beneath the surface of the water. Attracted by the sudden scent of fresh blood, the scaly leviathan eased itself out of the water, and hungry for it, the long snouted creature began to slowly climb the grass mound, to seek out this tasty source. It lumbered forward, stealthily propelling itself, with its powerful bent hind legs, and long spiked tail.
Brauer continued his fight with the wheel, oblivious to the monster’s presence. After a few more tenacious tugs, he gave a triumphant smile, as the stubborn bolt finally began to rotate. He loosened it enough to be satisfied, then set about on the other three bolts, keeping the wheel secure on its mount.
Behind him, the twelve-foot-long male alligator, moved closer; the reptile’s nocturnally adapted eyesight could clearly see his prey, a white shirted human figure, that moved in response to the actions of their task.
Inside the creature’s nostrils, the tormenting smell was too overwhelming for its small brain and vivacious appetite. Now only a few feet away, it paused for a few seconds, as if to weigh up an impending challenge. Then with one powerful lunge, the huge mouth opened wide then snapped shut, as it gripped a hold on Brauer’s left arm.
The German was flipped over onto his back. He turned his head and with horror, realised what had suddenly knocked him off his feet. With the arm still in its mouth, the alligator suddenly sensed a better prize. It snapped out again, the razor-sharp teeth, now surrounding the lower half of Brauer’s torso. He let out a blood curdling scream, as the creature shook him rapidly from side to side. The hem of Brauer's white shirt began to turn red, abdominal flesh being pierced several times. With its reward firmly caught between its strong jaws, and highly motivated by the taste of the foreign blood on its tongue, the alligator began to retreat into the murky swamp. With its feet backtracking into its own footprints, it pulled its well-earned meal towards the water.
Brauer was helpless; all he could do was scrape at the wet mud and grip blades of grass with one hand, while with the tyre lever still in his other hand, made futile swipes at the animal's armoured head. Completely undeterred by these feeble attempts to thwart it, the amphibious predator carried on dragging the Onyx Cross assassin, known as Cormorant, down the bank.
It was later that morning, a park ranger’s pick-up truck halted in front of the solitary white Ford saloon with the open boot. The bewildered young uniformed officer scratched his head, and gazing inside the empty abandoned car, searched through the jacket to find Brauer’s wallet. He also found something else that puzzled him. Staring inside the slim metal box at the hypodermic syringe and the small vial of clear liquid recessed beside it, he wondered what it could be. He looked down at the discarded car jack and torch, and then surveyed the tell-tale tracks leading down to the swamp. There was only one possible conclusion, this could be a rare gator attack, and after tracing the tracks, the ranger spotted more evidence, convincing him of his theory. At the water’s edge, he discovered the tyre lever and a blooded handkerchief, half buried in the mud. He saw the footprints, confirming this unfortunate innocent breakdown victim, had indeed somehow succumbed to the Sunshine State's most-deadliest form of indigenous wildlife.
By mid-afternoon, a television news crew would arrive, and he would be interviewed at the scene, while in the background, a brave, but cautious State Police dive team, searched the swamp for the body. There was also another mystery, and until the ranger could find his answer, that little metal box and its possible use, would continue to repeatedly play on his mind.
Chapter 50
Three days later, in the early hours of the morning in the East End of London, almost every house along the street displayed a light.
In the Gable’s living room, Swan leant forward on a dining chair, his legs spread, as he sat the television set was showing the live images from NASA Mission Control, at Houston in Texas. The rows of consoles, with eager white-shirted men leaning over them, was a tense spectacle. Alongside Swan, on another dining chair, sat Janet Ross.
Arthur Gable came out of the kitchen with a tray of hot drinks and passed them around, then sat down on the sofa next to his wife Annie. ‘Where are they?’ He asked, enquiring as to how far away from the surface of the Moon, the two astronauts were.
Swan acknowledged him. ‘They are just searching for a suitable landing site. Armstrong has just reported, the original site has too many rocks, and has just told Collins, they are going for an alternative site.’
The image changed to the increasingly approaching Moon and the lunar module’s spindly leg could be clearly seen in the corner of the picture. The newscaster then interrupted. ‘We have just heard Armstrong say to Mission Control, that he has a Program Alarm, it is unsure what this means at this time. Aldrin has just read the alarm as Error code 1201, and Houston are looking into it.’ On the screen, the shadow of the lunar module moved closer to the moon’s surface. The commentator spoke again. ‘Aldrin has just announced another alarm, a 1202.’