Paul Gillebaard - USSR Hoax

Spotting the sign of the local strip mall was like a slap in the face, reminding Tom he was supposed to pick up David at the tire shop and give him a ride to work. Darn it, I almost forgot! He looked down at the clock on the dash and was relieved to see it was only 7:20. Whew, it’s still early. David had requested 7:30 a.m. Tom quickly shoved the clutch peddle hard to the floor as he downshifted the ’69 Corvette. Tires screeched as he slowed the mighty car down before turning into the parking lot.

As Tom drove up to the tire shop he was puzzled to see Dusty sitting in his white ‘67 Plymouth as it idled out front. David was on the other side of the sedan putting something in the backseat. As Tom pulled up, David looked over in his direction with a surprised look. I know David asked me to pick him up. Tom wondered if his friend still needed a ride. If he did, he expected David to haul out whatever he had just put in the car. But instead, his neighbor closed the door and hit the roof, signaling Dusty to move on.

As Dusty drove away Tom pulled up next to David. His buddy eagerly opened the door and jumped in. “Hey, Tom.”

“So what was all that about?”

David raised both eyebrows. “What are you talking about?”

“Why was Dusty here?”

David seemed flustered. “Oh, he saw me waiting and asked if I needed a ride. I told him you were picking me up.” He quickly changed the subject. Looking at Tom’s flight suit, he asked, “Are you flying today?”

“Yeah, Dick scheduled me for some training.”

“What for?”

“Don’t know, but it’s fine with me. It gets me out of the office for awhile.”

David asked anxiously, “Can you still get me back here after work?”

“Sure. I’ll be returning to the office later in the afternoon to escort a senator around.”

“Good, because you’re my excuse for leaving early. I promised Joan I’d finally attend one of Ashley’s piano recitals. Besides, the tire shop closes at 5:30.”

Though the timing was perfect for Tom to get out of the office soon after snagging the lunar sample, he still wondered why his friend was so adamant about the ride. “Don’t worry, I’ve got you covered.”

“Thanks, buddy.”

Both men rode out the remainder of the drive in silence. As Tom pulled into the MSC parking lot, David spoke up. “I decided to cool it on messing around on Joan. You were right. I would hate to lose what I have.”

Tom was happy to hear his friend was going to change his ways, but it wouldn’t be easy. He knew of other astronauts who tried to stop cheating only to eventually fall back into their old ways. It seemed once that line had been crossed, it was that much tougher to resist the ever-present temptation of overly-friendly women. Tom thought back to Connie, glad he had resisted that temptation. He vowed he would never put himself in any future compromising situation, and he hoped his friend could sustain his resolve. “I think that’s a good call.”

THE MUGGY AUGUST weather was sucking the air out of Tom as he and Senator Olson approached the MSC-issued sedan. The late-afternoon sun that reflected off the car’s bright white exterior slashed at Tom’s eyes, making it difficult to make out the NASA emblems plastered on the front doors. Tom decided it was best to drive to the LRL building instead of walking the half mile trek in the draining sun. Entering the car was like stepping into an open blast furnace. As gobs of sweat developed in his flight suit, Tom looked desperately for relief and immediately rolled down his window. Unfortunately, the weak air conditioner wasn’t going to provide any immediate respite over the short jaunt. Instead of dealing with the blistering hot air that would initially be spitting out of the vents, Tom elected not to even bother turning on the AC.

After he started the car, Tom observed perspiration dripping down the senator’s forehead from his swept-back, greasy black hair down past his thick, black-rimmed eyeglasses. Tom felt he needed to apologize for the Texas attack. “Sorry that this car feels like a wet sauna. I figured walking would be even worse.”

The man removed his glasses and casually took a handkerchief from the pocket of his tailored suit. He wiped his face thoroughly. Without looking towards Tom, the senator said dismissively as if he was talking to some lower class functionary, “This is the weather I expected. I’ll be fine.”

Tom had done his best to give an entertaining tour of the grounds, but his heart hadn’t been in it. His mind had been racing over what he was about to do in Building 37, their next stop. An edge of anxiety crept into his voice as he informed the senator, “Our final stop is the Lunar Receiving Laboratory where the Apollo 11 astronauts were quarantined and all the lunar rocks are stored. You are about to be one of only a handful of people to actually see moon rocks up close.” And I can’t believe I’m about to steal some.

The senator was direct and harsh as his condescending voice cut through the musty air. “I’m very familiar with the building, and I don’t care about seeing rocks. What I do care about is seeing how your agency is protecting the world from the possible threat of a deadly organism being brought back from the moon. I expect to get a firsthand look at how those rocks are being handled, as well as ensuring their safeguard.”

Tom was done trying to be nice to the annoying and pompous senator. Besides, he had more pressing issues on his mind. Knowing the senator was going to be scrutinizing every aspect of the lunar material’s security meant the person not in on the plan would be keeping a close eye on the overall operation of the building, including the group being escorted. Since the senator wasn’t star-struck by the veteran spacewalker, Tom wouldn’t be cut any slack if caught. In fact, the senator would probably consider the foiled crime as another notch on his belt of protecting America’s interests.

After the short, quiet drive to the unassuming, university-like concrete building, Tom threw the car into park and sat staring at the front door. He cringed at the thought of possibly walking out of the structure in handcuffs, his career over. Everything he had worked so hard for over the last five years was riding on what would happen during the next thirty minutes, and it scared the hell out of him. What are you doing, Tom? You’re not some secret agent man. He drew in a calming breath and bowed his head. He then forcibly hit the steering wheel with his balled-up fist. You can do this, Tom.

“Is this the building?”

Breaking out of his trance, Tom wondered how long they had been sitting in the idling car. He turned off the motor. He noticed it was four o’clock. “It is. Let’s get on inside where there’s air conditioning.”

Neither man bothered rolling up his window. The unbearable heat appeared to be taking its toll on the senator, who got out of the car lethargically, gradually working his way to the main entrance. A gush of welcoming, cool air greeted them when Tom opened the glass door. He stepped aside, allowing the senator to enter the freshly painted lobby first. Tom followed and directed them toward the receptionist. Their steps echoing off the linoleum floor got the attention of three men huddled together in white lab coats. The men looked over. Right away Tom recognized the weathered face of Gerald White, who oversaw the operation and security of the building.

Gerald’s eyes widened. He instantly parted from the other men and marched directly toward Tom and the senator.

Tom halted in his tracks, surprised the head of the building’s security was there. Is Gerald one of our escorts?

“Hey, Tom.” Gerald looked toward the senator as he extended his hand and said in his gruff voice, “You must be Senator Olson. Welcome to the LRL building. I’m the Chief Operations Manager, Gerald White.”