“Are you all right, Mr. Bartlett?”
“I’m fine,” he replied. “Just had one too many cigarettes after dinner. Do you smoke?”
“No.”
“Smart lady. I wish I could break the damned habit. Maybe I can in this place. They didn’t look happy when I lit up.”
“We’re getting off the subject, sir,” said Sabina. “What did you think of Mr. Blackstone’s speech?”
“I think he’s buying a mess of trouble.”
“In what way?”
“You accuse the government of lying, you’re asking for trouble.”
“Yes, I suppose so,” said Sabina.
“Of course, my bet is even the Congress doesn’t know about this. Probably just the president, and maybe two or three others, tops.”
“Say that again?” demanded Sabina, a sudden tension in her voice.
“Sure,” replied Bartlett. “Your boss is buying a mess of trouble.”
“I mean, what does the president know that even Congress doesn’t know?”
Suddenly Bartlett got a haunted look around his eyes, which began darting back and forth. “Presidents know lots of things senators and representatives don’t know,” he replied noncommittally. “That’s why they’re presidents.”
“What does this particular president know about Sidney Myshko’s flight?”
The haunted look became more pronounced. “Who said anything about Myshko’s flight?”
“Morgan Blackstone did,” answered Sabina. “That’s what we were talking about.”
“We were?”
“And you were about to tell me what you know about it.”
“I was?”
“Yes, Mr. Bartlett, you were.”
“Who sent you here, really?”
“Mr. Blackstone.”
“You’re sure?”
“I showed you my credentials before we started talking.”
“How do I know they’re legitimate?” he said. “How do I know you’re not working for The New York Times?”
“Why would I be working for The New York Times, Mr. Bartlett?”
He stared at her again, then sighed deeply. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “I mean, hell, they own the Army, and the Army’s got me locked away here.”
“You don’t mean The Times owns the Army?”
“Hell, no. I don’t know what I mean.”
“Then can we talk about the Myshko flight?” persisted Sabina.
“Why don’t we talk about Neil Armstrong’s flight? I mean, that’s the one everyone wants to talk about.”
“Not you and me,” said Sabina. “We want to talk about Myshko’s flight. And yours.”
The haunted look morphed into a very frightened one. “We do?”
“We do.”
“All right. But I want a cigarette first.”
“I don’t have any.”
“Get me one, and we’ll talk.”
The picture went dead.
“What happened?” asked Bucky.
“I went out and bummed a cigarette off another patient, since I knew they wouldn’t sell any in the hospital shop, and I was pretty sure the staff wouldn’t be permitted to smoke.”
“Makes sense.”
“And when I came back with a cigarette, he’d closed and locked the door.” She looked apologetically at Bucky. “It’s my fault, sir. I forgot that he wasn’t sick, that it was more like protective custody. It never occurred to me that of course he could walk across the room and lock the door.”
“There shouldn’t have been a lock on the inside, not in a hospital,” said Gloria.
“Unless the army wanted one,” said Bucky. “They could probably have rigged a dead bolt in ten minutes’ time. It wasn’t done with you in mind, Sabina; it was in case any members of the press got through, maybe disguised as an orderly.”
“So is the video useful?” asked Sabina anxiously.
“Extremely,” said Bucky. “He as much as admitted something happened up there. We’ll give him a day or two to realize the sky isn’t falling in on him, and then try again. You did good, Sabina.”
“Thank you, sir,” she said. Then: “What do you think really happened up there?”
“Just what I said the other night,” replied Bucky. “I think Myshko was the first man on the Moon.” He grimaced. “Most people think I’m crazy, which is their privilege. What bothers me is that the ones who believe me haven’t asked the most important question.”
“And what is that?” asked Sabina curiously.
“Why was Sidney Myshko the first man on the Moon?”
12
Jerry was prepping for his weekly press conference when Mary came by the office. She delivered an automated smile, no warmth in the eyes, and nodded as if they’d just agreed on something. More bad news on the way. “How’s everything going, Jerry?” she asked.
“Okay,” he said. While she took a seat on the couch, he added some trivia about issues that would probably be raised.
She listened, indicated she agreed with him, made a suggestion about the information they were getting back from the Mars rover. Then she smiled again. “Jerry, I’m not comfortable with this Myshko thing. It’s just waiting out there now that Blackstone has gotten into the middle of it. I still can’t believe he was dumb enough to get involved. It’ll get him the publicity he wants, but that’s purely short-term. In the end, it’ll ruin his reputation. I’ve known him for a number of years. Thought he was smarter than that.”
“I guess,” he said.
“Anyway, he’s made things a lot more complicated. I was hoping we could change the subject, get the reporters talking about something else. But that’s not going to happen. So be ready for it.”
Jerry heard a door close somewhere along the corridor. Then: “I’ll do what I can to sidestep the issue, Mary.”
She shook her head and focused behind him somewhere. “Unfortunately, I’m not sure you’ll be able to keep them at a distance, Jerry. They’re going to be pushing about Blackstone. And they’re going to want to know what you think.”
“We’re not thinking of canceling the conference, are we?”
“No. No way we can do that. But I think this would be a good day for you to call in sick. Put Vanessa out there. Let her deal with them.” Jerry didn’t think much of the idea, and he made no effort to hide his feeling. “She’s been a pretty good backup when we’ve needed her.”
This had become a routine strategy lately. Bury Jerry. “Mary—”
“Did any of the reporters see you coming in?”
“No. I was here early this morning.”
“Good.”
“Mary, I don’t think this is the way to go.”
She sat back, and the lines around her mouth hardened. Mary had fought her way up in the hardscrabble politics that ruled the current era. No mercy. Go for the throat. Never lose sight of the next election. It was a world in which public relations was everything. Truth was defined by how many people bought into a given proposition. She didn’t really care what had happened with the Moon flights a half century ago. The only thing that mattered was the effect they might have on NASA at the moment. What impact would result from his going out and standing behind that lectern? “Why not?” she asked.
“Nobody’s going to believe I just happened to get sick today. In the wake of Blackstone’s broadcast.”
“Do we really care what they think?”
“Isn’t that what this is all about? Mary, I can handle it.”
She shook her head slowly. Not rejecting what he’d said but apparently wondering how they’d reached this point. “All right. But you’re going to be walking a fine line in there. Just try to get through it without making things worse. Do you have some announcements to make?”
“Yes.” He held up some index cards. “We have some new pictures of the Kastelone Galaxy—”
“The what?”
“The Kastelone Galaxy. It’s actually two galaxies. Colliding. We’ve got some spectacular pictures. They’re both bigger than the Milky Way.”