Maybury and his people knew Cunningham had limited control over the situation, but they needed to vent. So they brought it to him. One more advantage of divided government.

The president looked across the desk at Ray. “We’ll be okay,” he said. “Blackstone bought time on ABC tonight. So they’re obviously on board.”

“But he canceled.”

“He’s trying to make up his mind what he wants to say. Relax.”

“Not till I’m sure we’re clear of this.”

“Hey, Ray, take it easy. You know, you tend to be a bit pessimistic. You didn’t even think they’d bite.” They’d just finished watching security-camera images of Jerry and Blackstone going through the archives. Taking pictures of the Greek plate. It was perfect.

Ray had a worried look in his eyes. “I knew we’d be able to manage Jerry okay. He tends to think well of everybody. I just had my doubts about getting it past Blackstone. That son of a bitch trusts no one. And I’m still surprised they figured out the Holmes reference. I wouldn’t have had any idea what Lou was talking about.”

Lou, of course, was the staff member who’d made the call. And the president couldn’t resist gloating. “We couldn’t just phone and tell him where to look. Too simple. It would likely have aroused their suspicions. I wanted Blackstone to lock onto something else rather than asking himself whether the call was genuine.”

“I know all that, George. But what made you think he’d understand?”

“Bucky was once a member of the Tuscaloosa Baker Street Irregulars. No way he could miss it.”

Ray sighed. “Well, you were obviously right. I’ll tell you, I feel a lot better than I did this morning when we came in. I think we got lucky. I wasn’t sure what we’d have done if he hadn’t known what we were talking about. Or, worse, hadn’t bought the story. If he came after us.”

Cunningham didn’t even like to think about it. This was not a good time. He was surrounded by problems. The deteriorating state of public education. The blowback from shutting down large chunks of military spending. Global epidemics. Widespread hunger. Problems with fresh water. Continuing climate deterioration. Still, for one day, this day, he could celebrate.

He looked across the office at the ancient VHS unit that had been brought in to play the videotape. The tape itself was now locked in the bottom drawer of his desk, along with the second plate. “He’ll spread the story because he believed it. Because it’ll make him look good. Proves he was right, and we were wrong. That’s all he cares about. He doesn’t give a damn about collapsing civilizations, or whether that knowledge might have had a deleterious effect on the nation. Whether it might have discouraged people already struggling with an apparently endless war, or whether right now it will have a negative effect on a nation still trying to get clear of this god-awful economy.”

“Well, you were right, George. I just didn’t think they’d buy it. The average guy in the street hears that worlds are falling apart everywhere, and he says it’s a shame, but by the way, how’d the Giants make out last night? That’s the way we are. And that’s what I don’t understand. If Nixon was going to make up a story, why didn’t he do something that would shake everybody up? Like maybe a warning against an impending alien invasion?”

“Simple enough, Ray. He wanted to scare the Russians into keeping quiet. Alien invaders wouldn’t have accomplished that.”

“I still can’t believe he thought it would work. But I guess it did.”

“I doubt it would have worked with ordinary Russians, who would probably have responded the same way we would. But the leaders bought into it. Hell, Ray, Brezhnev and Kosygin were Communists. Materialists. Not politicians, like Tricky Dick. They’d come to power in a different way, and they apparently didn’t know their own people very well. Anyhow, they wouldn’t have liked the idea that we were on the Moon already, so sure, they had every reason to join in the cover-up. And nothing to lose.”

The president stared at the ancient VHS unit.

Nixon had been seated at a desk in front of an open window. Palm trees were visible, and birds sang. Despite the placid environment, he was clearly troubled.

“Mr. President,” he’d said, looking out of the screen, “I hope I haven’t caused any undue difficulty for you, but I was forced to take action.” He picked up a pen and put it back down. “As you may be aware, we learned from probes toward the end of the Johnson administration that there was a structure, a dome, on the far side of the Moon.

“I was informed by President Johnson during a conference in December 1968, during his final weeks in office. At that time, he indicated that he had been uncertain how to respond, that they knew there’d been no Soviet missions to the Moon, and that consequently there was only one explanation for the dome. We’d been visited.

“President Johnson had classified the information on the highest level and set in motion a secret lunar mission to determine the nature of the object. He did not know whether it could be made to work. And he was leaving office. Ultimately it would be my responsibility. Whatever my decision, whether I proceeded with it, or canceled it, he told me, I should feel free to consult with him. He said he would render any assistance he could. And he would support whatever decision I made.”

The former president sat quietly for a moment, looking back over that conversation. “I thought he was kidding. I really thought it was some kind of joke. And he got annoyed. We were alone in the Oval Office and he’d begun by congratulating me on my victory, and telling me how he hoped I’d have better luck than he did with the war. His voice shook when he mentioned that. ‘End it,’ he told me. ‘Doesn’t matter how you do it, but get out of that hellhole.’

“He told me he understood that our views of how the country should work were at odds, but that he hoped I would not oppose the Great Society measures he had taken. Then he told me about the dome.

“I gave the go-ahead order. On January 15, 1969, two of our astronauts landed near the Cassegrain Crater and approached the dome. It wasn’t especially big. About the size of a single-story house. The astronauts, Sidney Myshko and Brian Peters, walked right up to it. We have the videos from the landing stored at the museum, filed under riverboat KYB.

“The thing had a door. It looked as if one of them touched a doorbell. I couldn’t tell them apart in their space suits. But they touched something, and the door slid up. Into the dome.” He looked almost dazed.

“It was dark inside. They flashed lights around, and we saw a small table. Otherwise, the place was empty. Not a goddam thing. So they walked over to the table. There was a plaque on it. Silver-colored metal on a dark base. The lighting wasn’t good, and they were right on top of it before I realized there was a message on the plaque. In a strange language.

“And that was all there was. They brought the table and the plaque home. The table is located in a secure storage area at the Presidential Library in Yorba Linda. They don’t know they have it, but its numerical designator is AY775. You already have the plaque in your possession.

“Actually, there will be two plaques in the package. One is in Greek, the other in Aramaic. The Greek plaque was put together by us for the sole purpose of getting the Russians on board. In the end, we didn’t use it. I didn’t think it would work, and it seemed better to tell them the truth. So that’s what we did. When they learned what it was, they got seriously scared. They thought if the word got out, it might destabilize us. The last thing they needed was a destabilized United States. And in all these years, they’ve never said a word.

“The Aramaic plaque, of course, is the one we found. And the message is different.”