David Golemon - Legacy

“Yeah, I think it’s time to retreat from Germany,” Everett said, taking a corner faster than he wanted to.

“Where to now?” Ellenshaw asked, actually enjoying the intrigue.

“Jack?” Carl looked in the rearview mirror.

“We’re not leaving,” was Collins’s surprise answer.

“Uh, Jack, in case you didn’t notice, you’re probably the most wanted man in the Western world at the moment.” Everett grimaced at the thought of staying.

“Yeah, but we need to get to the records at Spandau.”

“We can do that through Europa,” Pete said. “And if memory serves, Spandau was demolished in 1987.”

“If the plane’s been compromised we can’t use Europa. We just can’t take the chance we’ll run into an ambush. Someone gave the authorities my picture and only one name keeps coming into my head.”

“Your old friend McCabe?” Carl asked.

“You bet. We need to know who that guy was in the photo at Zinsser’s apartment. I have a gut feeling everything here is connected somehow.” He looked to his left at Golding. “And you’re right, Pete. Spandau was demolished, but the Germans, being as honest about the Nazis as they can to the general public, have a small museum dedicated to it.”

“If we’re staying, I would feel better with a gun, and preferably not a policeman’s weapon.”

“Well, we better get some,” Collins said in answer to Everett’s suggestion. “I know a man here. But first we have to hole up somewhere and get some rest. We’ll let my celebrity cool down for a day or two, at least until I can make a few local telephone calls.”

“What about this?” Pete said, holding out his cell phone.

Jack watched the buildings of Berlin slide by his darkened window, so Pete could only see Jack’s reflection and the set of his features.

“They can trace that signal, Doc. No cell phones.”

Golding swallowed and then pulled the phone away from Collins. He nodded his head and then turned and saw his own scared reflection in the glass.

Ellenshaw turned around in the front seat and looked at Pete Golding.

“I told you, Doctor. Now isn’t this better than being stuck inside the complex all the time?”

Pete didn’t say anything as Everett sped sharply around a corner, almost bringing the vehicle up on two wheels.

For a man who had never left Nevada on a field assignment, Pete Golding was taking the adventure rather stoically, but still wide-eyed and excited, feeling alive for the first time in years as the Audi sped into the night.

Niles was examining the Moon rocks that had been couriered over from the National Geographic Society. There were two of them and they had the identical properties of those seen in the video from Paul the Beatle on the Moon’s surface. The CIA had donated them to the National Geographic Society when they were discovered in their archives back when the CIA went by another name-the OSS. Not knowing what else to do with the stones, they emptied their files of the only specimens that had survived Operation Columbus all those years before.

“As far as our records are concerned, there are only twelve such examples in the world like those. We estimate that of all the meteorites discovered in history, these are the rarest.”

“Where are the rest of the meteorites?” the president asked from over two thousand miles away in Washington.

“Several that we know of found their way to China and France after the war. The OSS was sketchy on the details of something called Operation Columbus.”

“Well, that kind of sums it up, doesn’t it? These two countries know firsthand the properties of the mineral, thus their lust for it and their massive expenditures to get to the Moon to recover more.”

Niles was silent as he listened to the president excuse the director of the CIA. A moment later the president’s face came into full view, after the selling job and acting class 101 let out.

“Niles, how is everyone taking to the fact that I advanced the timetable for launch?”

“Everyone here in Houston and Florida is worried that we’re lagging in safety precautions, and I agree.” Niles held up his hand for the president to see, halting him from saying anything. “However, I also agree with your new timetable and have explained it to the parties involved.”

“Things are getting out of hand fast, Niles. The religious fanatics are killing us in the press, and their coordinated antigovernment protests in every city in the world aren’t helping matters.”

“I don’t understand. The mainstream religious communities are lying low on this one. Only the fringe element is rearing its head. Fundamentalism may be creating some strange new bedfellows.”

“Speaking of which, have you heard from the colonel?”

“Not a word since he and Captain Everett flew out.”

“We’ve got quite a mess on our hands in Berlin. I hope he knows what he’s doing over there. I want you to understand, Niles, that if he’s caught we can help him. The German government will assist in getting him out of there quietly, but if he’s shot while on the run it will be a purely legal act.”

“I assume Jack knows that. If he’s staying in place, it’s because he has a lead on Columbus and its backers. I just assume if he comes up with something here on earth that will stop us from sending men and women into space, that you’re prepared to do something about it.”

“Short of war, I’ll do anything, Niles.”

Compton didn’t question the statement. He just looked into the monitor.

“What is it?”

“I was just wondering what the difference was between a shooting war on the Moon and one that starts right here.”

The president didn’t answer for the briefest of moments. Then he reached out and for a second his hand paused over the off button on his laptop.

“About six billion eight hundred million people-give or take a couple of kids.”

Niles smiled as his eyes widened in mock surprise. “You do have your moments of clarity don’t you, Mr. President?”

“Once every few years, Mr. Director, I get lucky.”

Niles had one of the most important meetings in his life scheduled in just ten minutes.

The U.S. Navy signalman was already preparing the camera for the linkup with Houston, Florida, Jet Propulsion Lab, and Washington. He was about to hand over control of the mission to the more experienced arm of NASA. His coordinating and planning days were now over.

As Virginia Pollock and several others prepared the charts and graphs to be used in the director’s final meeting with the space groups, Niles walked to the conference table and waited. He had forced himself in the past week and a half to concentrate on the Moon and how the U.S. could get there, and had pushed out of his mind the situation with Garrison Lee and his final days.

“Director, Alice Hamilton is on line two,” his assistant said from the outer office.

Niles hesitated one moment before picking up the phone. He really didn’t know how to approach the subject of the senator’s health. Everything he thought of saying seemed so shallow.

“Alice, how are you?” he asked, avoiding the main question for as long as he could.

“I’m fine, Niles, and for the moment so is the senator.”

Niles closed his eyes and a small smile reached his lips. Leave it to Alice to cut to the chase and place him at ease.

“Good. I’ve been a little busy here.”

“So we’ve noticed. We also see that Jack has been a little busy too. His face is plastered on every news broadcast from here to China.”

“Don’t believe everything you hear,” Niles said as he placed the phone between his head and shoulder. He pulled the knot on his tie upward.