Paul Gillebaard - USSR Hoax

A big thanks to Jim Banke, whose early ideas and later critique greatly influenced the storyline. To John Vester for investing many long hours editing the book—twice. Thanks to my editor, Kelly Lynne. To Cindy Cowlin for proofreading. Thanks to the former astronauts for their advice and input. Finally, to my wife Anne, for all her support.

Peter Novak sat in his beach chair, mesmerized by the sight of his alluring wife walking toward him in a white bikini. To him, she was simply physical perfection. Anya was dripping wet after a brief swim in the ocean. Her leg muscles flexed as she powered through the loose sand. He couldn’t be more proud as he did a quick scan of the shoreline to see if anyone else was checking out his beauty. He smiled at a chubby old man a few towels over trying to steal a discreet glance over his sunglasses.

After giving birth to their son less than a year ago, Anya had worked hard to get her body back. She often worked out early in the morning before Peter left for work. As if on cue, little Viktor would wake up crying as soon as she stepped out, needing a diaper change and a bottle. Peter never minded tending to his son. He enjoyed being a father.

The December afternoon in Cocoa Beach was a comfortable 75 degrees. The Novak family was on a mini vacation taking advantage of a luxurious beach house offered by the SpaceQuest CEO. The gesture was a generous way of saying thanks to Peter for successfully flying SpaceQuest’s rockets on two critical top-secret missions for the U.S. government. Those flights proved to NASA what SpaceQuest’s equipment could do, propelling the company as the bona fide leader of the lucrative commercial space business. Those missions also opened the door for Peter to step up from the ranks of agent to Director of the Space Intelligence Division (SID), in the CIA. One of the perks of the desk job was being able to schedule time off.

Anya approached, twirling her jet black locks tightly with both hands, trying to wring out the water. She had an innocent smile when she discreetly pointed to a towel lying on top of the cooler next to Peter. He tossed it up and leaned back to watch her dry off. Suddenly a splatter of sand pelting the side of his body interrupted his serene moment. He jerked over to see his son playing aimlessly with a red toy shovel, swinging it wildly through the sand.

Grabbing the plaything from his nine-month-old son, Peter spoke with frustration in his voice. “Viktor, you don’t want to be swinging this thing around.” Peter then patiently showed his son how to use the shovel, digging it in the sand before dumping some into the boy’s toy bucket. Peter gently placed the shovel back into the little boy’s tiny hand. “Now you try.”

Viktor went back to swinging it around uncontrollably, but fortunately this time he was whiffing it through the air. Peter smiled as he turned to Anya. “I guess that didn’t help.”

Wiping off her legs, Anya looked up. “Be patient, he’ll figure it out. He has a little of dad in him.”

Peter assumed she meant that little Viktor could be stubborn. The boy was named after Anya’s father, with whom Peter flew on the covert operation to the moon, proving that Americans did walk on its surface. The brave cosmonaut ultimately died on the mission, sacrificing his life to repay a long-overdue debt to Peter’s father, Tom Novak, who saved the cosmonaut’s career. Peter had a ton of respect and love for the elder Viktor, especially after he performed a dangerous spacewalk to save the mission. Though the man was a jokester, he was someone Peter could always count on to get the job done. Because of Viktor’s ingenuity and strength, the operation was a success. Peter would be honored if his son had many of his grandfather’s traits. “I hope he is like your father.”

“I bet he’ll have a little of both of our fathers in him.”

Peter brushed off the annoying sand as Anya took a seat in her beach chair on the other side of Viktor. A déjà vu moment struck Peter, seeing his wife helping their son work with the shovel. “I sure hope this isn’t a dream.”

A surprised look shot across Anya’s face. “Why would you say that?”

“When I was returning from the moon, I had a dream just like this. I was on a similar beach with you and our child. It seemed so real at the time. I was heartbroken when I woke and realized I was still stuck on the Chinese spacecraft, destined to be put in one of their prisons when we returned to Earth.”

Anya reached over and grabbed his hand. “This is no dream.” As she patted him she flashed an appreciative wink and spoke in a silky calm whisper. “But if it is, thanks for including me.”

The chime of Peter’s cell phone broke their attention. Thinking the call could be his mother, he turned his attention to the beach bag where the sound was coming from, expecting the caller ID to show Mom . Peter had invited his mom to join them on the vacation. He thought it would be a nice getaway for her, and suggested she fly back home with them afterward for the holidays. Since his new position was based out of the CIA headquarters in Virginia, his family now lived halfway across the country from his mother’s home in Texas, making it tough for her to see her only grandchild.

Anne Novak had happily accepted the offer but had one request. She preferred not to trudge around in the sand. While Peter and his family were on the beach, Anne would stay back in the quaint beach house, enjoying a nice book.

Peter started digging through the bag.

Anya chimed in. “If it’s work, don’t pick it up.”

As the SID director, he had no choice but to answer it. “It’s probably Mom.”

Peter had to rummage through all the kid stuff until he found what he was looking for. He quickly pulled out the thin metal smartphone and saw that the call was from Gavin Ross, his boss and now Director of the CIA. Afraid the call would be sent to voicemail, he quickly pushed the accept button without informing Anya who it was. “Hey, Gavin.”

Gavin’s voice was loud and clear. “Hello, Peter. So how’s the vacation going?”

Peter looked at Anya, who had raised her eyebrow. “Fabulous. We’re sitting on the beach enjoying another perfect Florida day.”

“I’m jealous. It’s cold and wet here.”

Peter leaned back and crossed his outstretched legs at the ankles in the sand. “Well, that makes this even nicer. So why the call?”

“Are you aware of the private organization trying to bring up one of the Saturn F-1 engines from the bottom of the Atlantic?”

Peter had heard news reports of some rich tycoon organizing an expedition to locate the massive Saturn V first stage boosters that helped send men to the moon. The awesome power propelling those boosters was five enormous F-1 engines on the bottom of the stage. Within minutes of an Apollo flight liftoff, the massive first stage would have exhausted all of its fuel and would be cut loose to fall to a watery grave deep in the Atlantic Ocean. “Yeah, I’m aware of it. Why?”

“We just got a call from NASA. One of the engines was found and pulled up this morning. When it was being searched for identification markings, a part was found that had Cyrillic lettering. The leader of the expedition thought it could be Russian in nature. He sent a picture of it to NASA, and they forwarded a copy to us.”