Gary Tigerman, page 23
Augie offered his hand across the table.
Jake looked at it and then took it. It was starting to feel a little like the old days, the good old days. Augie grinned and flagged down their waitress.
“Darlin’? We need a pot of coffee, high-test, and another cup. And tell me, you ever been up in a helicopter?”
Deaver left Augie flirting with the waitress.
“Extreme daylight,” he mused, not really sure what that would be like, but starting to get an idea.
Unsteady on his feet thanks to the shooters, Jake made his way toward a door marked CABALLEROS
and the pay phone next to it. He badly needed to talk to Angela, but she was going to have to call him back from another pay phone.
PART
VI
When you come to a fork in the road, take it.
—Yogi Berra
69
February 11/CPB Building/Washington, D.C.
Angela was feeling both scared for Jake and personally responsible for the spot he was in. She was elated to know that he was safe, for the moment, but he was by no means out of the woods. And Angela didn’t feel better about the situation until they had worked out a plausible way forward, a way, though, that involved both of them taking a risk.
Now that she was free to tell her partner everything, the two women had strategized together after Miriam’s initial shock wore off. They honed their pitch until they were ready to walk into the offices at PBS legal and get what they needed.
“That’s some story,” Arthur Maclewain said, giving his knack for laconic understatement some exercise.
Marvin Epstein, the attorney’s young associate, spoke without looking up from their tightly crafted two-page proposal.
“So, you’re saying you want to offer Science Horizon as a forum for Colonel Blake and Commander Deaver to make a public statement about discovering an extraterrestrial city on the Moon.” Angela turned toward the junior attorney.
“It will be the science story of the decade. Like getting the first Apollo Moon landing exclusive to PBS.”
“But we won’t just be scooping the networks. We’ll make ‘em bid to share our feed,” Miriam added.
“No reason not to make it good business as well as landmark television.”
“That’s not the issue.” Maclewain fiddled with a gold Cross pen.
“You mean, is it covered speech? You tell us.”
The senior attorney looked extremely uncomfortable.
“Whether it’s protected under the Constitution or not, you’re putting your careers, Science Horizon, the station license, and the corporation at risk.”
“Like Edward R. Murrow taking on McCarthy. Or Dan Schorr and Vietnam.” Angela sounded as tough and defiant as she felt.
She and Miriam looked back and forth between the two lawyers.
“So, is it constitutional free speech and free press or not?” Miriam repeated.
“I don’t know,” Epstein said, turning to the senior counsel with an odd light in his eyes. “But I want the ball.”
70
Returning from Denver on Air Force transport, Colonel Augie Blake had a car pick him up at Andrews AFB and drop him at the NASA building in D.C. Stopping in his own office, he checked messages and e-mail, including a cryptic note and a small video file from Jonathan Quatraine, the grad student in Australia.
Huh … Augie looked at the time, then opened the file.
Since he was already aware of Project Orion, the short quick-time sequence of the secret weapons test was surprising only because the Aussie grad student had picked up on it and, impressively, even gotten it on tape.
“Well, good on ya, mate,” Augie said, in a Dundee drawl.
He was playing the file back and wondering how to reassure Jonathan about what he had done when something caught his eye. Augie played the Orion test again. And then again, until he was sure of what he was seeing.
“Those cowboy sons of bitches.”
He then hustled upstairs to join the crisis management meeting already in progress in the office of the NASA Administrator.
71
Office of the NASA Administrator
“I talked to Deaver. After you folks’s little fiasco.”
Augie was splitting his attention between Vern Pierce behind his desk and Bob Winston, who was sharing the office couch with Admiral Ingraham. Winston wasn’t giving away much, but Pierce seemed anguished.
“I hope you told him it wasn’t supposed to have been like that.”
“Yeah, those stuntmen did pretty well screw the pooch.” Augie laughed lightly. “I don’t know whose dick was in whose hand out there in Colorado.”
The attitude alone was almost enough to make Winston walk out, but the dour presence of the Admiral beside him quashed any such impulse: Ingraham hated prima donnas.
Augie turned to the two Intelligence heavyweights, who seemed to be competing for the grim face award.
“I’m afraid y’all’ve got one pissed-off Apollo astronaut on your hands, outside the tent and ready to start pissing in.”
“Where is he?” Ingraham said. Augie shook his head.
“Someplace safe, I’m sure. And ready to face the media with a hundred-percent hangout, whether we like it or not.”
Pierce looked pale.
“He wouldn’t dare! Justice would be forced to indict.”
“Validating Jake’s story,” Augie pointed out. “Not to mention bringing it all crashing down on our collective heads. Unless …”
Augie paused, as if reconsidering his own suggestion.
“Unless what, Colonel?” Ingraham said.
But the National Security Adviser was already there.
“Unless the one man, the one and only eyewitness who could cast doubt on Deaver’s testimony, contradicts his story,” Winston said, letting it hang out there.
Ingraham studied the idea from different angles. Pierce was slack-jawed.
“You can’t be serious.”
“Maybe it’s a bad risk.” Augie shrugged, as if having second thoughts or feeling reluctant at being fitted for the Judas role. But the Admiral was warming to it.
“Better a live fool than a dead martyr.”
“What exactly are you imagining here?” Pierce said.
Augie explained.
“What if Jake and I go on Angela Browning’s PBS show together, the both of us, and we let Commander Deaver flat-out tell his story … ?”
“But that’s insane. It’s out of the question.”
“Wait, Vern, this is just a backup.” Winston held up his hand like a traffic cop. “Let’s play it out.” Augie leaned heavily forward, resting his forearms on his knees.
“Just so we have no illusions here, gentlemen: unless you find him first and take him off the street, former Apollo Commander Jake Deaver is gonna say what he’s gonna say in one public forum or another, like it or not, or grits ain’t groceries. All I’m saying is, if I’m at least there when he does it, I can set it up so that Jake says his piece first, and then when it’s my turn, I can reluctantly and compassionately decline to confirm the Commander’s version of events.”
“Jesus …” Pierce said, weighing the potential PR nightmare.
“Then you, Vern, have your spin-flacks all geared up with tabloid handouts about Flaky Jake’s psychotherapy, Flaky Jake’s Buddhist-cult practices, Flaky Jake and his psilocybin adventures, ‘Drug Bust Astronaut Sez: “Alien City on the Moon!” ‘ Shit, who the hell’s gonna run it as a straight news story?”
“While you and Colonel Blake take the high road.” Winston nodded. “ ‘Commander Jake Deaver was a courageous, respected member of the Apollo family and always will be, regardless of any unfortunate personal circumstances,’ blah-blah-blah.”
“So, Deaver tells all and becomes the latest Jay Leno joke,” Ingraham said, savoring it. Augie made a face, but did not disagree.
“After which he can say absolutely anything, folks, and nobody who matters will give a good goddamn.” But Pierce appeared unconvinced.
“Look, I just don’t think …”
Ingraham silenced him with a look, then focused his intelligent black eyes on Augie like the arch-spook interrogator he’d once been.
“Colonel, I know there isn’t that much love lost between you and Deaver.” The Admiral’s voice was an intimate rasp. “I just want to be sure you could do this.”
Augie understood and took his time before responding.
“Admiral, I know Jake Deaver. And I know that when he’s mad, he’s one stubborn son of a bitch. Well, right now he’s as pissed off as I have ever seen him, drunk or sober. That old boy is ready to walk, head high, through hellfire, draggin’ yours truly right along with him. And he’s not askin’ anybody’s opinion or permission, least of all mine. What his old podnah might want, or how what he does affects me and the rest of my life, is totally off his fuckin’ radar. Now, I may know him like my idiot brother and I may understand why, but forgive me if I say fuck that noise to the bone. And if I have to save his sorry butt to save mine, so be it. That said, Admiral, there is one thing …” Augie leaned in close, his voice sinking to a quasi-confessional register.
“Jake’s made some bad choices, all right? So, the way I see it, he is forcing my hand. And I can and will consign my old podnah to permanent public irrelevancy. But make no mistake.” Augie turned to include Winston.
“If an unidentified assailant robs him and leaves him dead in the street, or there is some tragic, fatal hit-and-run accident? Or CNN reports he was found overdosed on heroin, or some other shit he does not use, in his cabin in Colorado? You know what I’m saying. If Jake Deaver so much as chokes on a goddamn chicken sandwich, instead of dying in his sleep a very old man, I will know who did it. And I will track you down and put each one of you down like rabid, feral dogs.” Winston was afraid to look over and see what Ingraham’s reaction might be. But the stern-faced Admiral was actually rather amused, although he believed Augie Blake meant exactly what he said, 100 percent.
They all ignored the NASA chief, who was too busy eating his tie to say anything.
“I don’t suppose he’ll thank you,” Winston said.
“No.” Augie relaxed back into his chair, looking oddly pensive. “I don’t suppose he will.” 72
February 15/PBS Studios/Washington, D.C.
A phone bank was set up at the PBS station and staffed, just like pledge week, with volunteers poised to handle the expected tidal wave of calls. Additional security was laid on, both inside and out, with instructions that nobody go in or out without a verbal okay from Miriam.
Once the Science Horizon staff understood that the show was going “live” and why, everyone was too excited to complain about the restrictions, which extended to e-mail and phone calls: a full lid was down.
A video team was dispatched to cover Augie on location at his NASA office, the PBS soundstage was set up and lit, and a Chinese takeout feast was making the table groan in the greenroom. Jake’s whereabouts, however, remained a mystery to everyone for safety’s sake: he’d be calling in his interview from an undisclosed location.
Leading Marvin Epstein, the junior attorney, into the greenroom, Angela and Miriam looked at the clock and then addressed the buzzing staff and crew, who were busy loading plates full of Kung Pao chicken and vegetable chow mein.
“As you know, this may be a little like Orson Welles’s War of the Worlds tonight,” Angela said, “except we’re dealing in fact not fiction.”
Miriam then introduced Epstein.
“So, everybody say hi to Marvin, from the PBS legal department, who is here to provide his counsel and support for the duration, just in case.”
The greenroom crowd shouted, “Hi, Marvin!” The slightly abashed young attorney waved hello back, and then got in line with Angela for the dim sum.
Across town at the Mayfair Hotel, Richard Eklund and a cadre of Mars Underground comrades had taken over a high-floor suite. A green felt poker table with fresh decks of cards and a rack of clay chips was already set up.
Overtipping the exiting room service waiters, who’d laid out a small buffet with sandwiches, soft drinks, and coffee, Eklund put the “Do Not Disturb” sign out and locked the door.
“Okay, no outgoing calls, nobody leaves the room until it’s over. And anybody hungry better eat now.” He retrieved several laptops hidden in the bedroom closet and his colleagues began networking them off the business suite’s DSL connection.
“Richard?”
“Yep.” Eklund tuned in PBS on the hotel TV.
“Are you gonna tell us what’s up now?”
“First, give me a hand here.”
Eklund and another Underground techno-god opened and shuffled the decks, dealing out hands of stud and setting stacks of chips in front of each empty chair.
“So, we’re not gonna play cards?”
Once the poker table looked more like a game-in-progress, Eklund abandoned it and put the hotel TV
on mute.
“All right. We’re tuned to PBS and wired into Science Horizon because they are airing a very important special tonight, a program that’s going out live, for reasons you will understand when you see it. Our job is to protect the show’s Web site and all the mirror sites, and believe me, we’re gonna see a huge number of hits. Huge. You’re gonna need to work fast to manage volume and at the same time be ready to react quickly to serious signal jamming. I mean, cyberspook, heavyweight hack attacks, so get your game on.”
“Must be a helluva special.”
“You could say that.”
“What kind of jamming?”
“Won’t know till it happens. But expect the full Monty.”
“What about Science Horizon? Is that all we get to know?” Eklund took a roast beef sandwich from the room-service buffet and began to make quick work of it.
He’d been too busy to eat since Miriam Kresky had taken him to lunch and asked him for help.
“I can’t tell you what we’re going to see before we see it.” He paused and chased a mouthful of sandwich with some diet Coke.
“But if this thing goes on as planned and we can keep it on, I can promise you we will remember where we were, who we were with, and what we did tonight for the rest of our lives.” 73
In his office at NASA, Augie Blake stood stiffly in a beribboned Marine colonel’s uniform and massaged the keys on his computer, revisiting his e-mail.
Across the room, the remote-camera operator was tweaking the shadows, and a sound engineer, who’d fitted Augie with a clip-on mike, was setting levels.
“Say something, Colonel. In your normal speaking voice.”
“Testing, testing, one-two-three …”
A few blocks away, Augie’s plush Lincoln Navigator was parked somewhere near the Jefferson Memorial. Inside, Commander Jake Deaver shuffled through some three-by-five cards with his prepared statement, tuned in the public-radio simulcast, and talked to Miriam on the hands-free phone.
“Can you hear me now?”
“Loud and clear, Commander. But turn down your radio.”
“Jake? You ready?” Angela said, and heard Deaver’s disembodied laugh.
“Ready or not. Will Augie be able to hear me?”
“Yo, Daddy-o. We are good to go …”
In her booth above the PBS soundstage, Miriam orchestrated the elements: Angela down on the floor, Augie’s on-camera remote, and a still picture of Jake and the phone-patch audio from his still-undisclosed location. She glanced at the clock: time to call CNN, which had won the live feed in secret bidding.
“Wolf? Miriam Kresky. We’re live in five … no, so far so good … thanks, you, too … and buckle up.”
Miriam put on her headset and looked down through the double-paned glass, seeing Angela on her mark, with the red light up on Camera One. She glanced at the monitors, turned to Marvin Epstein, who was sitting nervously behind her, and gave him a conspiratorial wink. Then she got on the talk-back.
“Okay, everybody. We are live, no jive, so if you screw up just keep on going, there’s no going back.
Angie? This is it, kiddo. In thirty … break one.”
She acquired eye contact with Angela and raised her right hand, the way she had done a thousand times before. But this would not be like any time before.
“I’ll count you in … five … four … three … two … and … go!” The monitors in the booth and televisions all across America that were tuned to Science Horizon now showed Angela Browning standing in a tight pool of light on a dark soundstage, speaking to the camera.
“This is Angela Browning. And tonight, this special edition of Science Horizon is coming to you live in order to offer a forum for two very special guests, Apollo astronauts Commander Jake Deaver and Colonel Augie Blake …”
Across the street, a plainclothes snatch team had taken over Flowers Not to Reason Why, a florist shop with a view of the PBS Building entrance. Hiding behind a “Closed” sign and a large spray of yellow spider mums, they’d been hoping to catch Deaver going in or out. So far, no luck.
Still with nothing to report, they checked in with Bob Winston.
The President’s adviser for national security was taking his calls in the NASA Administrator’s office, where he and Vern Pierce were watching Angela Browning on a bookshelf TV.
“Commander Jake Deaver, who is on the phone with us, and Colonel Augie Blake, speaking from his office at NASA, have asked to make personal statements for the first time concerning their Apollo 18 mission to the Moon in 1973, and Science Horizon has agreed to provide a platform for them tonight.”
