The treaty had been signed in 2018, in Hiroshima. Remarkably, every nuclear-capable government on the planet had gotten on board. There’d been promises, some coercion, a lot of compromises. To make the system work, the United States, and everyone else, had granted unrestricted and unannounced access to I.A.E.A. inspectors. Passage had been branded a miracle, accomplished in the face of outrage around the world. He wished his father could have lived to see it.

—

Cunningham made it a point never to talk longer than twenty minutes. At fund-raisers, he’d found it best to cut off at about fifteen and turn the program over to the audience. So he assured everyone that, whatever it took, he would maintain a balanced budget. Then he asked for questions.

Clyde Thomason, a vice president at Paramount, wanted to know whether the president saw an economic turnaround coming. That led to a discussion about the administration’s efforts to get inflation under control.

How had he managed to get the Koreans to agree to a peace treaty?

Was the United States going to get involved in the effort to get global population under control?

Were we going to continue sending aid to Cuba?

What was his reaction to Morgan Blackstone’s comments?

That came from a guy near the front. Cunningham was pretty sure they’d been introduced at one time, and he seemed to recall he was a banker. But he couldn’t remember a name. “Blackstone?” he said, stalling for time. Merkusik, who’d taken a seat beside the lectern, wrote the questioner’s name on a slip of paper and placed it where the president could see it.

“To be honest, Michael,” he said, “I really don’t know how to respond to his comments. I think you’ll have to ask him to explain a bit more. While you’re at it, you might check with Mr. Blackstone to see if he knows what’s going on in the Bermuda Triangle.”

—

Bill Merkusik rode with him to the El Segundo Air Force Base. “Good show, Mr. President. You were great in there.” He was heavyset, had lost most of his hair, and had a face full of wrinkles. Still, when he laughed, an entire room could light up. He was a physician though he’d given up the practice long ago. He’d hated the health-care system. Cunningham had promised reform, but hadn’t gotten to it. It was complicated, and nobody really had a workable answer.

Without Merkusik, Cunningham knew, he would very likely not have taken California. And that would have cost him the race. “Thanks, Bill,” he said. “They were a good audience.”

“They believe in you.”

“What’s on your mind, Bill?” He’d seen a shadow in his eyes.

“Michael’s question. About Blackstone.”

“Yes?”

“Mr. President, it’s becoming an issue. Blackstone lit a fuse last week. You’re going to have to lay it to rest.”

“Lay what to rest, Bill? There’s nothing to tell.”

“You’re sure?”

“Of course I’m sure.”

“Okay. Just be aware that Bucky has some friends here. And they trust him. Word’s getting around that, well—”

“Look, Bill, I can’t shut down a nonstory. The more I talk about it, the more credence it will get. Just relax. It’ll go away on its own.”

16

Bucky Blackstone spent the night in his bedroom suite atop the office building, had some breakfast brought up from the cafeteria, considered lighting a cigar, decided against it, poured himself another cup of coffee, and carried it down the hall to his office.

“Have you heard the rumors?” asked Gloria excitedly as he opened the door.

“We’re at war with Latvia?”

“No, of course not.”

“The Cubs won the pennant?”

“Stop being silly.”

“You’re right,” said Bucky, sitting down at his desk. “It’s much easier to believe that Sidney Myshko turned cartwheels on the Moon. Now, I could guess all day, or you could enlighten me.”

“The word on the grapevine is that Jerry Culpepper resigned yesterday!” said Gloria.

“Have you tried to check it out?”

“Of course,” she replied.

“And?”

“The grapevine is always right,” said Gloria. Then she smiled. “You called that one, Boss.”

Bucky nodded. “He’s gone. He’s a moral man. He could put up with just so much lying and duplicity, and then he had to quit. He’ll find working conditions here much more to his liking.”

“You want me to try to get hold of him today?”

“No, that wouldn’t look good, not for either of us. I’d look like I was buying off NASA’s spokesman after starting all this controversy about the Myshko mission—”

“You didn’t start it,” interrupted Gloria.

“You and I know it, but most of the public never heard of it until I went on the air, and George Cunningham has the press in his back pocket. If he feels betrayed, and he will, that’s the way the story will be played.” He paused and looked out of the buildings that formed the bulk of his empire. “And Jerry won’t look any better, not if he comes to work for me the day after he quits. We’ll give him a couple of weeks, and then, to quote an Italian friend I never had, I’ll make him an offer he can’t refuse.”

“What if someone else offers him a job first?”

“Then I’ll outbid them.”

She smiled. “It must be nice to be able to say that and not have anyone tell you no.”

“People have been telling me no all my life,” answered Bucky. “I got rich by ignoring them.”

“So we just pretend Jerry doesn’t exist for a few weeks, and then you dangle so much money at him, he can’t say no?”

Bucky shut his eyes and sat stock-still for a moment. Gloria had worried the first few times she’d seen it years ago, certain he’d gone into an epileptic or catatonic trance, but by now she was used to it. It just meant her boss was getting an idea, and they usually worked out to his advantage.

“Let’s not ignore Jerry totally,” said Bucky. “See if you can get me a face-to-face connection with him.”

“The press hasn’t been able to get a statement out of him all day,” said Gloria. “My guess is that he’s not answering his landline or his cell phone.”

“You’re probably right,” agreed Bucky. “Tell you what: Let’s send him a video e-mail. Do we have his address?”

“Yes.”

“Good. This way he’ll read it when there’s no pressure on him to reply right away.”

“You don’t expect him to get right back to you?”

“Of course I do. I just don’t want him to feel pressure.”

“What do you want him to feel?”

Bucky smiled. “Curiosity. He didn’t quit NASA because of the truth. He quit because they’re hiding it from him.” He stared at his computer. “I never remember how to start the camera and microphone.”

“Some astronaut,” she said sardonically, walking over and activating the machine. “All right, just hit ENTER, look at the camera, and start talking.”

Bucky did as she instructed, and a tiny blue light went on above the camera lens, showing that it was operating.

“Hi, Jerry,” he said. “This is Bucky Blackstone. I’m not calling to offer you a job. That’ll come later if you’re interested.” Suddenly he smiled. “I’m calling to offer you a proposition.”

He paused for a moment to let that sink in. “One of the nice things about leaving this message rather than speaking face-to-face with you is that you don’t have to contradict me for form’s sake. I’ll just assume you’re issuing all the expected denials, okay?”

Bucky paused again, giving Jerry time to assimilate what he was saying.

“All right,” he said after a few seconds had passed. “You know and I know that Sidney Myshko landed on the Moon. What I don’t know is why, and I assume you don’t either. I also don’t know why the government and almost everyone connected with NASA feels obliged to lie about it, but that doesn’t matter. I’ve found some additional material in Aaron Walker’s diary, and one of my most brilliant and trusted assistants”—he frowned briefly, trying to remember her name—“Sabina Marinova, has interviewed Amos Bartlett. I’ve got a video of the complete interview.” Suddenly, he grinned. “I’ll bet you’d like to know what we’ve found in the diary. And I suspect you’ll be curious about the video. Admit it.”