Paul Gillebaard - Space Hoax

Thanks to Ed Gibson (NASA astronaut) and Jim Banke (veteran aerospace writer) for doing a final technical read. Thanks to my editor, Kelly Lynne, for once again doing her magic. Thanks to John Vester who went above and beyond as a proofreader/editor, giving some fabulous suggestions for the book. Thanks to Francis French (accomplished space author) for doing a great edit. Thanks to my proofreaders, Dr. Marjus Lenger, Cindy Cowlin, Ted Gillebaard, and Penny Shays. Finally, thanks once again to my wife Anne, for supporting me through the whole writing process and not laughing at my first drafts.

Peter Novak sat comfortably in a beach chair on a sandy white beach of a beautiful, secluded tropical island. The hot sun beat down on him as he dug his feet deep into the warm sand, wiggling his toes. A smile crossed his face. He inhaled the salty ocean breeze as he watched his beautiful baby daughter playing in the sand near his buried feet. Seeing the joy on her cute little face reminded him of how lucky he was to be sitting here, blessed to be part of her life. A soft squeeze of his hand prompted him to turn and gaze into Anya’s crystal-blue eyes. The love of his life sat in a chair next to him, giving him a proud nod. She looked stunning in her sexy red bikini as her gorgeous, black hair fluttered in the breeze. Though it couldn’t get any better than this, something still gnawed in his gut, like he was missing something.

Anya let go of his hand before leaning forward to give their daughter a small plastic toy shovel. Watching his daughter’s tiny fingers reaching for the orange plaything set Peter’s mind off racing to the moment his life depended on him reaching a thin metal antenna rod in space. It seemed like only yesterday that he was floating precariously alone in his spacesuit above the silent, barren moon. Without a jet-pack or a tether line to guide him, he was at the mercy of the vector he had pushed off in. His target was a Shenzhou spacecraft there to rescue him, which baffled Peter since it was the same ship that had tried to kill him. When he leaped toward the Chinese spacecraft, his foot slipped, causing his aim to be off. There was no way of correcting the mistake; his course was set. His last ray of hope as he drifted over the moon was the shiny four-foot antenna sticking off the Shenzhou spacecraft. Grab it and be saved, miss it, and die.

Peter studied the waves crashing on the shoreline. The tumbling motion churned up his irritation about what had sent him to the moon in the first place. China had made a shocking claim that America never put a man on the moon, that the films were all faked in a movie studio. Conspiracy theorists had been spouting the idea since 1969. China’s “evidence,” backing their claim, was convincing—rocks they’d scooped up on a covert mission to the moon’s back side. If China then openly landed their taikonauts on the moon, history would be rewritten. America’s heroic moonwalkers and space program would be disgraced. The only way to expose China was to send an astronaut to the moon, a feat that hadn’t been done by the United States in over forty years, to take detailed pictures of the Apollo landing sites. The LEM’s descent stage, lunar rover, footprints, the American flag—all the detritus the landings had left on Earth’s only satellite, 239,000 miles away.

America had figured out how to get their man to the moon, but with only one booster engine; there was no way back. After successfully transmitting detailed pictures of the landing sites back to Earth, the astronaut would float in lunar orbit until his air ran out.

Peter was part of SID, the Space Intelligence Division of the CIA. As one of their top agents, previously trained by NASA, he was offered the suicide mission. Peter struggled with the decision of accepting the task. He loved life and had no plans of cutting it short. But his father’s legacy balanced on the outcome of the operation. Tom Novak was one of only twelve men to have walked on the lunar surface. Witnessing his dad’s sudden death, his heart attack prompted by China’s lies, was enough to fuel Peter to accept the deadly assignment and set the record straight. China chased him there in their Shenzhou spacecraft, but they were too late—he’d already relayed the photos home.

A nudge broke Peter’s concentration. Anya was offering him a cold bottle of beer. He happily grabbed the opened brew before leaning back in his chair, taking a big swig. Though the voyage to the moon had had its share of surprises, the biggest was learning that Anya was pregnant with his child. The unexpected news caused Peter to regret his decision to accept the dead-end trip. Watching his daughter having fun in the sand, Peter did an imaginary toast in her direction. Thank God I grabbed that antenna and saved my ass.

Suddenly, an angry man on a towel next to him began yelling into his cell phone in Chinese. It was as if the man had come out of nowhere. The beach was practically empty. Why the hell did this guy have to sit right next to us? Anya reached for Peter’s hand and squeezed, signaling him to let it go. But Peter couldn’t take the disruption anymore and let go of her hand. Before he could confront the man, a white Frisbee conked him squarely on the head. He reached for his forehead and rubbed it, then lowered his head, momentarily closing his eyes. As he slowly straightened up and reopened his eyes, everything changed.

Peter was no longer on a beautiful beach, but strapped in a sleeping bag on the wall in the small confines of the Shenzhou spacecraft. The rough stubble on his face confirmed he had been dreaming. He was still in the Chinese spacecraft headed for Earth. Damn. He slowly woke and focused on his tight surroundings as he heard the commander, Tang Liwei, yelling in Chinese. He turned his head and rubbed his eyes as he looked through the small hatch into the connecting Descent Module where the two taikonauts sat. Tang, sitting in the center seat, stopped yelling and yanked off his snoopy cap in disgust.

“What was all that about?” Peter groggily asked as he stretched out his arms, still amazed at how real his dream had seemed.

“Sie Wang be arrested. He gave false orders to save you. They not okay by CNSA.” For the first time Peter saw anger in Tang’s eyes as he spoke in his accented English. Peter had assumed CNSA, China’s space agency, saved him as a goodwill gesture after being caught lying to the world. Apparently acting alone, Sie Wang, their manager of space operations, had changed everything.

Having dealt with CNSA while working undercover for SID, Peter had met Tang a few times. Peter knew the Chinese man was dedicated to his country. He was a strong military man who sternly followed orders. Tang was clearly troubled as he stared right past Peter, in deep thought. What is he going to do? Peter didn’t know what to say. Nei Zango, sitting in the pilot’s seat next to Tang, stayed quiet. Finally Peter broke the awkward silence, “Does that mean you have to drop me off at the nearest gas station?”

Tang didn’t smile. He put his hand to his cheek and caressed it before his dark brown eyes locked onto Peter’s. “You now be prisoner of China. When we land, you be taken to Jiuquan and question. Then be pass to military.”

Peter automatically looked at the gun stowed next to the commander’s seat. Its triple barrel design indicated it was similar to Russia’s survival pistol, capable of firing flares, shotgun shells, or rifle bullets. Tang caught Peter’s look and put his hand on the gun, assuring its strap was secure before lightly patting it.