“As disappointed as I am, I admire that,” replied Bucky.

“So is that what this call is all about?”

“No, though of course I’d be thrilled if you came over to our side.”

“Are we on different sides, Bucky?” asked Jerry.

“I hope not.”

“Everyone at NASA is rooting for you to accomplish all your goals in space and hopefully awaken enough interest that we can get sufficient funding to get back in the race,” said Jerry. “You’re our best hope, so why should you be on the opposite side?”

“Because you may know something that we need to know,” replied Bucky.

“Oh?” Jerry arched an eyebrow. “What?”

“I don’t know,” admitted Bucky. “But I have a feeling that Aaron Walker could answer that, and maybe Ralph D’Angelo, too.”

Jerry tensed visibly. “Why do you think I know anything about it?”

“I said Aaron Walker knew,” said Bucky. “Do you know anything about it?”

Jerry exhaled deeply. “I wish I did.”

“I believe you. For now.”

“I haven’t been told not to dig,” said Jerry. “There’s no place I can’t go, no file I can’t see, no one I can’t talk to. But . . .”

“But if it’s hidden well enough, what they let you do makes no difference.”

“What the hell could it be?” said Jerry, forcing a shrug. “We landed. We came back. All but one mission went like clockwork—and when Apollo XIII screwed up, nobody made any attempt to hide it.”

“Can you take a word of advice from someone who’s older and been around a lot longer than you, Jerry?”

“I’m all ears,” replied Jerry sincerely.

“Protect your ass. When whatever it is comes out, they’re going to hang you out to dry.”

“Me? I’m the most loyal employee they’ve got.”

“You’re the most visible employee they’ve got.”

“Look,” said Jerry, “whatever happened or failed to happen, I’m sure it was decidedly minor. Probably just a lousy turn of phrase when you come right down to it.”

There was a long, uncomfortable pause.

“But?” said Bucky. “I sense an unspoken ‘but’ at the end of that sentence.”

“But this is my organization and my country, and while I may be as curious as you, if they want it kept secret, I’m ethically compelled to keep it secret.”

“If they’re lying to the American public, of which you were a member last time I looked,” said Bucky, “I think you’re ethically compelled to find it and bring it out in the open, whatever it is.”

Jerry shook his head. “We’re on opposite sides on this one, Bucky. My best advice to you is to leave it alone.”

“And my best advice to you is that the last person you ever want to lie to is—”

“You?” interrupted Jerry.

“Yourself,” said Bucky, breaking the connection. He turned to face Gloria and Brent. “He’ll come over when the time is right.”

“If someone lets the cat out of the bag, who cares if he comes over?” said Brent. “And if they don’t, he won’t.”

“He’s a moral man,” replied Bucky. “They’re few and far between in this business, but they’re always predictable. The bigger the secret, the more he’s going to feel betrayed and ill-used.”

“Let’s see if it is a big secret,” said Gloria.

Bucky grimaced. “You haven’t been listening to me. It’s big.”

“How big?”

“You know what I think?” said Bucky. “I think some member of Myshko’s team died when they were orbiting the Moon and NASA kept it quiet until they could find out what caused it. Remember, we were racing against the Russians, and that would have been a huge blow to our prestige.”

“You really think so?” asked Brent.

“It makes sense. Obviously, it was either from natural causes or some problem they could pinpoint and fix, because the other Apollo missions all took off on schedule. But by then, they’d lied for a couple of months about the death, and they didn’t want the publicity that would accrue if it came out.”

“Why don’t you call the White House and ask?” asked Brent. “I know you’re on speaking terms with the president.”

“All billionaires and religious leaders are always on speaking terms with any president,” said Bucky. “But what can I do? Get him on Skype or the vidphone and ask him why he’s lying to the American public? Besides, he may not even know about this. As far as I can tell, it’s pretty well confined to NASA.”

“If it’s anything affecting future Moon flights, he must know about it, or why aren’t we going back?” asked Gloria. “Hell, they all knew about it—Carter, Reagan, Clinton, the Bushes, Obama, all of them. They all gave lip service to the space program, then did everything they could to emasculate it.”

Bucky shook his head. “You’re looking at it the wrong way. They were politicians, not scientists—even Carter. The only thing the Moon meant to them was the prestige of reaching it before Russia did. Well, we reached it—and then the only thing it meant to them was billions of dollars that they’d rather spend on their own programs. They were probably thrilled when private industry started doing suborbital flights a decade ago. It meant the last pressure was off them to do it. NASA’s moribund; it just doesn’t know it yet.”

“Then why are we going into space?” asked Brent.

“Because we don’t give any more of a damn about science than they did. They went for prestige; we’re going for profit.”

“From the Moon?” asked Brent, frowning.

“From the Moon, and the asteroids, and the moons of Jupiter and Saturn. It won’t happen this year, or this decade, but we can see the money in orbit up there, so we won’t pack up and stay at home the way the government did after it beat the Russians.”

Suddenly Brent grinned. “You think there are any Moon men up there?”

“Not yet,” said Bucky. “Ask me again in a few months.” He got to his feet. “Is anyone hungry?”

“It’s awfully early,” said Gloria.

“That isn’t what I asked.”

“If you want to wait for Ed to contact you, we can have room service feed us right here,” suggested Gloria. “They have a splendid menu.”

“It’ll take him at least another ninety minutes to get to Baltimore, even on my private jet. and he’ll probably have to negotiate the bribe for another half hour, maybe more. I could do with a walk, and a nice Greek meal—saganaki, dolmades, pastitsio, and top it off with some baklava for dessert.”

“I could go for that,” acknowledged Gloria.

“Let’s choose a joint with belly dancers,” suggested Brent.

“Let’s choose one with the best menu, and if they have belly dancers, so much the better for you,” said Gloria.

“Fair enough.” Brent turned to Bucky. “Boss, if we’re gonna walk, or even take a cab . . .”

“I know,” said Bucky with an unhappy sigh. “The shaggy black wig, the shades, and the cane.”

“Why let ’em know that they’re looking at a billion dollars on the hoof?”

“It’s been a dozen years since I was worth a billion,” said Bucky, heading off to the closet and bringing out his wig, his sunglasses, his hat, his light overcoat, and his cane. “Am I properly generic now?” he asked a moment later.

“You look like the local dope peddler and his muscle,” said Gloria, as he walked over and stood next to Brent.

“Okay, let’s go sell some crack and have dinner,” said Bucky, leading them to the door.

It was a sumptuous meal, and there were belly dancers. They spent two hours in the restaurant and, against Brent’s wishes, walked back to the hotel rather than take a cab.

When they got there, they found an urgent message to contact Ed Camden. A moment later, his image was on the screen, staring at his employer.

“What’s up?” asked Bucky.

“You’re not going to believe this,” said Camden, a troubled expression on his face.

“Try me.”

Camden held a battered leather book up to the camera. “This is Aaron Walker’s diary. It cost you $300,000.”

“I assume from your urgent message that it was worth it?”