“Don’t worry. I’ll post a twenty-four-hour guard on your rental car. After all, its value is obvious.”
“You’d better, pal,” Ryan said, as he was shoved none too gently into the back of the car. “I signed for that piece of shit.”
From CNN World News
The reporter stood on the deck of the French aircraft carrier Charles de Gaulle (R91). The wind tore at his clothing and styled hair:
“As the flagship of the French navy, the Charles de Gaulle is better protected than any other warship steaming from a European port. The great vessel has been moving at flank speed for the east coast of South America since the early hours yesterday.” The camera pulled back to show six enormous tarp- and plastic-covered cylindrical objects. “Her task is to deliver the component parts for two Ariane 7 rockets and their corresponding top secret payloads. It has been speculated among the world’s topmost intelligence agencies that an attempt is underway by not only the European Space Agency but also by the Russian Federal Space Agency and the China National Space Administration, or CNSA, to reach the surface of the Moon in a cooperative venture to find out the root cause for yesterday’s high-yield explosion at Shackleton Crater. While the United States has fervently denied any wrongdoing, it has become apparent that they have not joined in this effort to reach the lunar surface, and many in the international community are asking, why? This is Frank Dance, reporting from the deck of the aircraft carrier Charles de Gaulle somewhere in the central Atlantic Ocean, for CNN.”
The Reverend Rawlins closed his eyes, but this time he couldn’t contain the explosion that traveled from the pit of his stomach to his temples. He angrily threw the remote control for his television hard against the expensive high definition screen, cracking the plastic and sending shards of the remote control outward like shrapnel from a grenade. Rawlins stood and paced to the large window of his office in downtown Los Angeles. In the distance he could see the Hollywood Hills and the late afternoon sun playing off of the city’s many billboards. He calmly ran a hand through his silverish hair and then took three deep breaths.
As Rawlins moved to his desk, he straightened his blue silk tie and made sure his white vest was pulled taut over his muscled abdomen. He hit the intercom on his switchboard.
“Tom, have you reached Mr. Smith?” he asked, in a far calmer voice than he felt he could muster at that moment.
“Yes, sir. He is on line one.”
“Is the line secure?” he asked, looking down at his left hand and examining his manicured fingernails.
“Yes, Reverend. All lines were swept this morning and there were no compromises.”
Without saying anything to his assistant, he reached over and hit the first flashing button on the console.
“May I assume you have seen the news reports coming out of Europe and Asia, Mr. Smith?”
“Yes, sir, I have. While the reports from Europe involving the ESA and the Russians are worrisome, they are not yet as worrisome as the developments in China.”
“Meaning?”
“As I have explained to you many times, we can get to the European agencies and stop their launches. We cannot, however, do the same in China. We have no assets there, therefore we cannot stop them from attempting a Moon shot if they so desire.”
“You told me, Mr. Smith, that you have the assets to stop them,” Rawlins asked, feeling his temper start to get the best of him once again. “What happened to those?”
“And I do have solutions to these problems. But as I explained to you, the cost in human assets and monetary losses would be extraordinary if we have to strike at China.”
“Cost is not my concern. I can outspend most nations. These blasphemers must not be allowed to bring back any evidence from the Moon. Am I making myself clear on this?”
His eyes flared, as though reflecting the fire of some burning bush.
The director of the agency sat at his desk and read the letter Niles Compton had delivered to him. Next to Niles, Lieutenant Sarah McIntire and Deputy Director Virginia Pollock stood silently watching to see Jensen Appleby’s expression when he saw the signature at the bottom of the White House stationery. They didn’t have to wait long.
“Bullshit,” he said, surprising Sarah and Virginia. Niles, however, seemed to take the anger and the rebuke of the president’s letter in stride; he simply smiled. Sarah figured Niles had gone through this before. And ever since his seven-hour meeting with the president the previous night, he seemed extra tense, so the smile gave her some relief. “I don’t know you. And your credentials, which you refuse to show me, would more than likely prove to be as false as this forged document.” Appleby punched a button on his phone. “Get me a security team in here, ASAP.”
Niles looked over at Virginia and Sarah and shook his head as he pulled out a cell phone and opened it. He hit only one button and then closed it just as the security team arrived. As the first man reached out to take Niles by the arm, Compton held his right index finger into the air, and then pointed at the phone on the desktop of Director Appleby-the phone buzzed.
Appleby hit the intercom to his outer office. “Yes,” he said, while eyeing the small man in the black jacket and plain white shirt who wore his thick glasses down toward the end of his nose. Then his eyes turned to the two striking women next to him.
“Uh, sir, the White House switchboard is calling; the president has asked to speak with you.”
Suddenly the blood drained from the man’s face as he swallowed. He had just been cursing the president in the last few weeks for cutting his budget and that of NASA. He was wondering now if he had heard about his bashing and had sent these three here to collect his scalp. He slowly lifted the phone from the cradle.
“Appleby,” he said meekly into the phone, as he held his left hand up to stay the security team from removing Niles, Sarah, and Virginia from his office. As the thin man with the lab coat listened to the president, he nodded and said, “Yes, sir.” Appleby punched a button and laid the phone back in the cradle. Then he nodded for the security team to leave by moving his eyes toward the door. The speakerphone came to life.
“Mr. Compton, I owe you five dollars, you were right, he didn’t believe the letter or the signature. I’ve got to stop betting with you. Mr. Appleby is now a believer and has recognized my voice, although he will undoubtedly run a trace program for further confirmation when no one is looking.”
Niles took a step toward the desk. “Yes, sir, I’m sure he will,” he said softly as he pushed his glasses back onto his nose and stepped back.
“Okay, Mr. Appleby. Dr. Compton and the two fine scientists in his company are there to evaluate any and all contingency plans DARPA may have on the boards for getting to the Moon in one hell of a hurry. If you remember the security briefing you attended at the Pentagon three years ago, you may recall the password Case Blue?”
Neither Sarah nor Virginia had thought that still more blood could drain from the scientist’s face, but it did. Whatever that code name was it had scared the hell out of the director of the agency.
“Dr. Compton and his two assistants are to be given every consideration, and hold nothing back from them. If there is something on the boards, explain it to these three. I don’t care if it’s something your people have doodled out on the toilet wall, show it to them. At the moment, the general public and the world think that the United States is out of the investigation that is to take place on the Moon’s surface; I want it to stay that way for the time being. Do you understand everything that I have said, Mr. Appleby?”
“Yes, sir, full cooperation. However, may I ask just who these people are, and just what are their qualifications to be in our facility?”