Chapter 27
Ten. Nine. Eight … Friday morning, a little after seven A .M ., and Thad was moving quickly down the central hallway that bisected the fourth floor of Building 31, counting under his breath as he kept one eye on the deserted territory up ahead and the other pinned to the rotating security camera jutting from a storklike metal strut embedded next to one of the ceiling’s fluorescent lighting panels. As he had predicted, so far his progress through the life sciences complex had been uninterrupted; any selfrespecting scientist who would show up to work this early in the laidback atmosphere that dominated life sciences at NASA would either be too new to think twice about seeing a co-op wandering the halls or so caught up in a brain-consuming project, he wouldn’t notice Thad at all. And even if someone cognizant did happen across Thad—in his blue NASA polo shirt and khaki pants—the only unusual thing about his demeanor was that his gait seemed a little off center; in fact, if anyone looked closely, they might have noticed that he was moving so near to one side of the hallway that his right shoulder brushed against the concrete. His face, however, was perfectly calm, his expression muted —even as he suddenly shifted to the other side of the hallway, his left shoulder now kissing concrete. Another flick of his eyes confirmed what he already knew: he’d now moved out of range of the first rotating ceiling camera and only had to avoid the final one, planted all the way at the far end of the hallway. It, too, had begun its own innocuous arc—filming the area where Thad had just been. As easy as that, Thad thought to himself. A little dance step, a shuffle to the left, and he was a ghost. Of course, for the moment it was easy to play calm; he wasn’t doing anything wrong. He was just walking
undetected through the building where he had worked for two semesters as a co-op. If, by some odd twist of fate, he did run into someone he knew, there were a dozen explanations for why he might be there on an early Friday morning. The only people in the world who knew the real reason he was back in Building 31 were his two pretty accomplices, his new girlfriend and his confidante—neither one a hundred pounds soaking wet. Fighting back a smile as he pictured Rebecca and Sandra, both waiting in his apartment for the phone call that would let them know that Phase One was complete, he slowed his pace, finally stopping as he reached a closed door located near the center of the long hallway. Bare inches away, midway up the door’s frame, was one of the electronic cipher locks Thad had grown so accustomed to in his years at the JSC. In fact, he had even watched this particular cipher lock be opened a handful of times. He had never gotten close enough to look over anyone’s shoulder to even attempt to guess at the five-number combination—but that would have made what he was planning to do way too simple, and now that he was determined to see it through, he relished the idea that nothing was going to be easy. As it was for any good scientist, it was the complicated, sophisticated projects that got his juices flowing. Maybe even more than the money, this was now about the thrill of doing the impossible. Thad pressed his back against the concrete wall, checking the long hallway again to make sure no one was nearby. Then he quickly reached into his left pocket and retrieved a small plastic makeup compact; originally, it had been Rebecca’s, a shade of blush that really brought out the contrast between her porcelain cheeks and her bright blue eyes. The thing no longer contained blush. When he opened the compact with a flick of his left thumb, the powder inside—a unique concoction of his own creation—glistened a bit in the high fluorescent lighting, and Thad wondered for a moment if he’d gotten the concentration wrong. But when he gently shook the compact, evening the powder out, the glistening abated, and he exhaled. This would work. This had to work. Carefully, he removed a small brush from his other pocket and dabbed it into the powder. Then he began to apply the brush to the
keypad of the cipher lock, making sure to completely cover each numbered key with the powdery substance. Leaning close, he blew off the excess powder—then stepped back a few inches to survey his work. Even from just a few feet away, there was no real visible trace of what he had just done. Satisfied, he closed the compact and jammed it back into his pocket, along with the little brush. Then he calmly continued down the hallway. As he reached the next corner—passing right beneath the rotating security camera—he fought the urge to glance back one last time at his handiwork. Under his breath, he was no longer counting off the seconds; instead, he was humming to himself—the theme from the movie Mission: Impossible. Earlier, when he’d been alone in his old lab a few floors away, it had been the music from the James Bond franchise that rumbled out of his throat as he carefully mixed the compound—equal parts fluorite, gypsum, and talcum. All had been easy to find in the chemical cabinets at NASA, but even so, he couldn’t help but feel like a spy or an action hero as he’d prepared the ingenious concoction. Even the name he and the girls had given this portion of their preparation—Phase One—made Thad feel like he was part of something epic, an adventure he’d one day tell his grandchildren about. Powder in a keypad, Phase One—it really was James Bond kind of shit. But still, he knew that he hadn’t yet crossed any real line; he hadn’t yet done anything that he couldn’t turn back from. Powder on a keypad, a dozen e-mails with a potential buyer—it was still little more than a mental game. But Thad also knew that within forty-eight hours, this would all change. Because he was determined now; the plan was in motion. Phase One was complete. Which meant it was time for Phase Two. Seven. Six. Five … … Orb, I’ll handle this for Axel. He’s explained to me a good bit about what we’re doing and the need for caution and discretion. It seems to me that you and I are going to have to make
arrangements to meet somewhere to make sure we’re getting what we think we are. This is a rare opportunity and calls for us to be very careful. When and where are we going to be able to get together? I travel a good bit but will certainly make arrangements to see the merchandise wherever it might be necessary. I understand you are in Tampa, Florida. I certainly wouldn’t mind taking a trip to Florida. I look forward to hearing from you. Lynn. A throbbing burst of high-octane Christian rock exploded out of the dashboard speakers of Thad’s dilapidated, bright green Toyota as he navigated through the South Houston rush-hour traffic. He had one hand on the wheel while the other leafed through the stack of printedout e-mails that took up much of the empty passenger seat next to him. The Christian rock was more than a little annoying—and by no means his first choice—but the Toyota had made the acoustic decision for him, as its pathetic excuse for a radio had frozen on the one channel Thad would have eagerly tried to avoid. But at the moment, stuck as he was in traffic on his way to Phase Two of the Plan in Motion, anything was preferable to silence. Silent, Thad couldn’t think past the bolts of nervous energy that were playing havoc with his internal organs—and at this stage of the game, he needed to be able to focus entirely on the preparation at hand. At the next red light, he used the few seconds of nonmotion to leaf past the top e-mail on the pile—which happened to be the first real message he’d gotten from the sister-in-law of the Belgian rock collector, Lynn Briley—to the more recent e-mail he’d received from Gordon. Just as Thad had done with Emmermann, he’d asked his Utah buddy—he wondered if the word accomplice was now more fitting—to check out the Belgian’s American relative, to make sure she was who she said she was. Gordon hadn’t found much, but there was at least evidence that the woman existed—and confirmation of a few details of her story: Hey, Orb. Here is the only thing I found on Lynn Briley. She is a publisher
in Glenside, Pennsylvania, it seems, and then there’s the Web site address. Nothing else for now. Fractal. Thad found it slightly amusing that Gordon had begun referring to him by the nickname Gordon himself had created—Orb. Thad thought Gordon’s own handle was much more indicative of his pothead friend’s disjointed character: Fractal. But it was certainly better and safer to use the nicknames than to use their real names—Thad just wished he could have devised the handles on his own. He didn’t like that any element of the scheme—even something as simple as code names—was not of his making. Even worse, the face-to-face meeting with this Lynn Briley—and the exchange of money for moon rocks— was now going to have to take place in Florida, because for some inexplicable reason that’s where Gordon had set his fictitious Orb Robinson. Then again, Florida wasn’t the worst choice in the world—it was far enough away from Houston to allay some of Thad’s fears, but it was still reachable by car. Thad had no intention of trying to get on an airplane carrying the contraband that he’d soon have in his possession. Contraband. It was still hard to think of it that way, such a loaded term, like he was going to be dealing in drugs or some other dirty, underworld substance. He knew that the thing he was after was much more precious—even if NASA had labeled it trash. It was the most valuable thing in the world, actually, and even if he was only going to get $100,000 from the woman, it was going to be a heist of historic proportions. And as he engaged in Phase Two of the preparation, Thad had every right to think of himself in historic terms. Restacking the e-mails on the passenger seat, he took a right at the next intersection, then navigated his way through a patchwork of suburban streets until he came to a driveway he recognized from a handful of previous visits. As he had arranged, the purpose of his visit was parked right next to the curb, leaving just enough room for him to get by; a moment later, he’d parked his Toyota halfway down the driveway. He retrieved the e-mails, shuffling them into a manila folder
that was wedged between the two front seats. Taking the folder with him, he stepped out of the Toyota just in time to see Chip come out the front door of the small suburban house. Chip gave the Toyota one look, then rolled his eyes. “Oh, yeah, this is a great deal. No wonder you couldn’t find anyone closer to campus to help you out.” Thad laughed as he tossed Chip his car keys. Then he started toward the Jeep Cherokee that was parked along the curb. It was just as Thad remembered it from the Galveston ferry: almost as scuffed and aged as the Toyota, with mud etched into the tires and a spiderweb of tiny cracks in a corner of the front windshield. But the thing was almost twice as big as the Toyota, and with the backseat down, it was going to be perfect for what he had in mind. Even more important, Thad could easily make out the NASA parking sticker affixed to one of the side windows. “I promise to return it in just as good condition as it is right now. And it’s only for the weekend. We should have my friend moved into her place by Sunday night, at the latest.” “Take as long as you need,” Chip said as he turned back toward his house. “The keys are in the ignition. But I want dibs on the skydiving excursion you’ve got planned for next month.” “I promise, you’ll be the first one out of the plane. Heck, I’ll pack your parachute myself.” Thad slid into the front seat of the Jeep, twisted the key, and grinned as the ignition turned over. Again, this felt almost too easy. Chip hadn’t suspected anything at all—and why should he? Helping a friend move apartments was a perfectly good reason to need a car as big as the Cherokee. There was only one more component to Phase Two—and then Thad would be able to call the girls to let them know he was moving on to the final phase of the preparation. It took about ten minutes of driving for Thad to find what he needed next. As he pulled a sharp left into a strip-mall parking lot, he glanced about to make sure there weren’t any signs of security or parking-lot cameras. Then he pulled the Jeep to a stop between a pair of American-made cars, near the very back of the lot. He got out of the Jeep, then quickly crossed to the back of the closer
car—a Buick that looked to be at least fifteen years old. Thad bent down behind the rear bumper like he was about to tie his shoe—and then, in one quick motion, slid a small screwdriver out from where it was taped within his sock. Of course, he could have carried the screwdriver in his pocket—but that would have felt much less James Bond. He rapidly went to work on the Buick’s license plate. The first screw gave him a little bit of trouble, and he was sweating by the time he got it free—but the other screws went much easier. Within a few minutes, he had the license plate off and moved back behind the Cherokee. Another five minutes, and he’d removed the Jeep’s license plate and replaced it with the Buick’s. He tossed Chip’s license plate into the rear of the Jeep, then jumped back into the driver’s seat. As he reentered traffic, he realized that his heart was beating fast. He still hadn’t crossed any real lines—but now he was driving the getaway vehicle. A Jeep that wasn’t associated with him, that had a NASA sticker affixed to a window and a stranger’s license plate above its rear bumper. Four. Three. Two. One … … Almost five hours later, Thad was really breathing hard, putting all of his weight into his shoulders, straining the muscles in both legs as he shoved the motel bed, inch by inch, across the vomit-colored carpet. He hadn’t expected the damned thing to be so heavy; everything else in the pathetic little motel bedroom looked flimsy as hell, from the color TV bolted to the fake-wood bureau by the door to the light fixtures that hung from the chipped plaster walls. Rebecca had picked the motel, and it was obvious she had chosen it right out of the yellow pages. But despite the horrid decor—of which the vomit rug was only the centerpiece, highlighted by a pair of cheap-looking paintings of hunting dogs above where the bed used to be—the motel was ideal for a couple of reasons. First, it was right off the highway, which meant it wasn’t too close to the JSC campus, but it wasn’t so far away that they would have to spend hours in transit. And second, the place looked nearly vacant; Thad had counted only three other cars in the parking
lot, and he had made sure to pick a room on the first floor, surrounded on one side by the ice machine and on the other by what appeared to be a janitor’s closet. With any luck, there would be nobody nearby when they arrived after the heist. Thad felt a thrill move through him, even as he continued to struggle with the unusually heavy bed, as he repeated the word under his breath. Heist. It sounded so cool in his ears. The heist of the century. The heist of the millennium. The great moon rock heist. He laughed out loud, and with a final burst of energy managed to shove the bed the last few feet so that it was finally right up against the wall. Then he stepped back, working the cricks out of his shoulders as he surveyed the room. Now there was plenty of space for what might be necessary. He crossed to the bureau and retrieved the oversized duffel bag that he’d placed next to the TV. He unzipped the duffel, and first pulled out a pair of folded-up tarplike sheets, which he spread out over the nausea-inducing carpet. Then he returned to the duffel and, one by one, laid out the tools he’d purchased from Home Depot along with the tarp—a pretty wide variety, because he wasn’t certain what he was going to need. After the tools, he retrieved a large fishing-tackle box, three pairs of rubber gloves, a notebook, and a folded-up mailing box. After he’d laid everything out, he stood back, smiling. It was a nicelooking staging area. The tools themselves weren’t exactly high-tech; the most sophisticated of them were basically a saw and a handful of industrial-strength blades. But he had been working off a limited budget. And he was proud that he was planning to do this with such meager supplies. It was one thing to pull off a heist like this with the best supplies that money could buy. But to succeed the way Thad intended to succeed—that was going to be something truly amazing. He grabbed the duffel, which was still fairly heavy, then pulled out his cell phone and dialed Rebecca’s number. She answered on the first ring. “Is it as bad as it looked in the yellow pages?” she asked, by way of a greeting. Thad glanced back over his shoulder as he reached the door. Bed up against the wall, tarp laid out across the floor, bristling with shiny
new tools. “Actually, Rebecca, it looks fucking beautiful.” Phase Three was complete. Houston, we have liftoff …
sex on the moon - the amazing true story
Re: sex on the moon - the amazing true story
Chapter 28
“I don’t think anyone else is going to show up.” Thad drummed his fingers against the steering wheel as he peered up through the windshield. Even with the wipers at full blast, he couldn’t see much through the swirl of fierce rain that enveloped the entire parking area. The tiny cone of orange light from the Jeep Cherokee’s headlights was no match for what had now become a torrential downpour. “Of course nobody is going to show up. It’s a goddamn hurricane out there.” He turned to look at Rebecca, who was sitting in the passenger seat next to him. She was hunched forward over the dash, rubbing a hand against the condensation that was slowly spreading across the inside of the windshield. He could see that her pale hand was trembling and there was a little bit of sweat forming on her upper lip. “It’s freaking tropical, that’s for sure,” Sandra butted in from over Thad’s shoulder. “I mean if anyone else was going to show up, they’d turn right around as soon as we got to the observatory. Superman couldn’t see the stars through this mess.” Thad exhaled, adding to the condensation on the window, then gave Sandra a look in the rearview mirror. She was right up against the back of his seat, sitting Indian style on the flat surface they had created in the back of the Cherokee by lowering the second row of seats. She looked almost as nervous as Rebecca, though her voice didn’t betray nearly as much tension. Behind her, Thad could make out the bulky form of the duffel, and the jutting metallic shape of a much larger object, which they had picked up on the way to the rendezvous point. The heavy metal thing had cost more than all the other tools combined —and the funny thing was, Thad was actually hoping they wouldn’t ever need to use it. But as always, he lived for the details, and at this point,
he wasn’t taking any chances. Like the staging area in the cheap motel, preparation was all about planning for the things you didn’t see coming. Like an unexpected tropical storm, exploding out of nowhere, screw ing up their carefully planned alibi. It was Rebecca who had come up with the idea of putting together the observatory run the night before they planned to pull off the heist. And Thad had easily gotten more than a dozen commitments from people—mostly co-ops and interns, but even a few older scientists who had heard him talk about his popular Utah Star Parties—who were excited by the idea of spending Saturday night gazing at the stars. Thad and the girls had loaded up the Jeep Cherokee, bought the final piece of equipment at a specialty store Thad had found online in downtown Houston, and then headed over to the meeting point, arriving a little early so they could be there when the other cars arrived. When, by nine-thirty, it had begun to drizzle, none of them had been all that concerned. In Houston, the weather came and went so quickly the meteorologists were basically throwing darts at a map. But by nine forty-five, the drizzle had become a storm, drops the size of lizard eggs crashing against the windshield and the fiberglass top of the Jeep like they were sitting in the midst of a goddamn meteor shower. The tension inside the Jeep seemed even more explosive. Even though the heist itself wasn’t going to take place until tomorrow, they had all agreed that the Saturday-night excursion was going to make for a perfect beginning to their alibi. The alibi was ruined, but Thad didn’t feel discouraged at all; in fact, the rain splattering against the windshield, as well as the obvious tension taking hold of his two young and pretty accomplices, was giving him a palpable thrill. Even the word alibi excited him as he added it to the list. Alibi, accomplices, heist. As the excitement reached a peak—the rain slamming down above his head, the perfumes of his two accomplices mixing with the scent of adrenaline—Thad had a sudden thought, which he immediately put into words. “Why don’t we do it now?” The question echoed through the interior of the Jeep, for a brief
moment drowning out the sound of the rain. Thad glanced over at Rebecca. She was staring at him, her hands clenched against the dashboard in front of her. God, she was beautiful. Even in the dark, broken only by the dim light from the headlights and the few blinking diodes from the dashboard—she was truly beautiful. The wash of love he felt when he looked at her filled him with strength, tripled his determination. Sure, he had only known her a few weeks, but she was giving him an almost inhuman power, pushing him to do the impossible. But it wasn’t Rebecca who broke the silence; it was Sandra. “You’re kidding, right?” “Think about it,” Thad said, his voice now a whisper. “We’ve got all the equipment with us. We’ve got the hotel room. And it’s almost ten o’clock on a Saturday night. That’s even better than a Sunday. Nobody’s going to be there.” He was still looking at Rebecca—and then he saw a flash of brightness form behind her eyes. “The rain is a perfect cover,” she whispered. “Nobody can get a good look at the Jeep. The exterior cameras will be pretty much useless. It’s kind of perfect.” Thad reached out and put his hand on top of hers. He could feel that her entire body was trembling. He started to tremble too, but not because he was afraid. He looked into the rearview mirror, matching Sandra’s gaze. Slowly, she nodded. “Holy shit,” Thad said. “We’re really going to do this, aren’t we?” And then he reached for the ignition. … Rebecca was right; the rain was a perfect cover. Thad’s heart was beating in tune with the oversized drops as he pulled the Jeep to a stop in front of the security kiosk at the outer gate of the JSC campus —but almost immediately, he realized that neither of the two burly guards inside was going to stick even a limb out of their warm, cozy nest. They certainly weren’t going to come outside in the downpour to inspect a vehicle with a NASA sticker emblazoned on the side
window. In fact, the closest guard didn’t even shine his flashlight in Thad’s direction as Thad dutifully held his ID card out his half-open car window. Thad knew from experience that the guards never really looked at the pictures on the IDs, but the rain was added security. There was no way anyone inside the kiosk would be able to tell that there were three people in the Jeep; nor would they notice the large, bulky metal object in the back. And even if one of the cameras affixed to the kiosk roof, or the camera attached to the gate—which was already in the process of swinging up to let them through—managed to get a shot of the Jeep’s license plate, it wouldn’t make any difference. The plate wouldn’t match anyone who worked at NASA, and if the authorities one day questioned the poor dude who had parked in the back corner of a strip mall the day before, they’d never connect him to Thad or his accomplices. Once through the gate, Thad carefully pushed the Jeep to the 5 mph speed limit and began the long, crisscrossing ride to their destination. He’d always found the JSC campus speed limit annoying, but tonight, with his nerves jumping off and his stomach churning, it was almost unbearable. But the last thing he needed was a security guard pulling him over for speeding. He had a dozen stories ready in case they did run into someone—but once he’d been identified, the entire heist would be off. They were still in a place where they could turn back at any moment—they still hadn’t yet crossed that invisible line that separated thought from action. But the line was getting closer by the second. None of them uttered a word until Thad finally pulled the Jeep around to the back parking area behind Building 31, finding a spot right up in front of the mechanical bay door that was used to bring heavy lab equipment in and out. Thad had never parked this close to the building before, and it looked twice as large from where he was sitting, its rectangular frame rising up into the heavy gray rain. He turned off the ignition, shut the lights, then listened for a moment to the rain pelting off the roof and windshield. He could hear Rebecca breathing hard next to him. “Okay,” he finally said, pulling a small wrench out of the glove
compartment. “Wait here.” Now that it was after ten, the air had become remarkably cool for the middle of July, even in the midst of an intense rainstorm. Thad quietly shut the Jeep’s door behind him and hurried to the side of the building, pressing himself tightly against the wall so that he was partially covered by the slight overhang that extended out from the building’s roof. First, he sidestepped his way to the enormous bay door that was directly behind where they had parked the Jeep. He could tell by looking at the electronic controls on the door that it was fully functional, though locked from the inside. Satisfied, he sidestepped back the way he came, then went another ten feet to a small alcove built into the wall. Within the alcove was another steel-framed door, much smaller than the cargo bay, but just as locked. Thad passed the wrench to his left hand, then dried his right palm and fingers against his slacks. Then he reached for the electronic keypad next to the door. From memory, he entered five numbers—and smiled as the lock clicked open. So far, so good. Getting the combo for the rear door to Building 31 had been ridiculously easy. If this had taken place a year ago, he would have known the combination himself —because often, the scientists who worked in 31 used the rear entrance to get in and out of the building after hours. It was especially convenient because it was located close to the astrophotography printer room; if you needed to run off a dozen pictures of the dark side of the moon, this was where you went. Thad had simply called one of his old acquaintances from the Monday lunch meetings a few days earlier and explained that he needed to get some pictures printed up. The man had been happy to give him the code—and had probably promptly forgotten about the call. Even if he did remember that Thad had asked for the number, it was going to be scant evidence of any wrongdoing. Dozens of people would have used that door over the past few days. Thad bent low, placing the wrench in between the door and the frame, propping it open a few inches. Then he quickly returned to the Jeep, leaning in through the driver’s-side door. “Okay,” he said, sounding much calmer than he felt. “This is going to take me about ten minutes. If you see anyone—anyone at all—just take
off. If alarms go off or you hear shouts or see lights—just go. Don’t wait around for me. I’ll be fine.” Rebecca’s eyes narrowed, and she quickly shook her head. “No way. I’m coming with you. That was the plan.” Thad looked from her to Sandra. Yes, that had been the plan, but now that they were actually there—about to cross that line for real—he wasn’t sure he wanted either of them to leave the Jeep. Even if he were caught, Rebecca and Sandra couldn’t possibly get into huge trouble just for waiting outside in a Jeep. At worst, it was like a college prank gone bad, a couple of coeds cheering on an adventurous kid. Rebecca was his catalyst and his heart, but she didn’t need to be his cell mate if this all went wrong. “Thad,” she said. “I want to do this with you.” He stood there, the rain pelting his shoulders and back. He was caught between the fantasy of the moment and the real-world thoughts running through his head. She wanted to do this with him. But he shouldn’t let her. He knew that he shouldn’t let her. But the thing was, if she did this with him, he also knew that it would bind them together in a very real way, for the rest of their lives. When two people survived something crazy—and had a secret this big to keep for the rest of their lives—it connected them in a way that nothing else could. The money was one thing: it would change their lives, it would give them the opportunity to do many wonderful things, to be scientists, to go to Africa, to be happy. But beyond the money, the experience would change them. He already knew that he loved her, totally and intensely, but if she accompanied him on this dangerous mission, she would be just as in love with him. He was sure of it. They would have this forever, no matter what else happened in their lives. They would have this. “Okay,” he suddenly said, shocking himself—and she was already sliding across the front seat of the Jeep to join him out on the pavement. “And, Sandra—” “Uh, I’m happy to wait in the car.” Thad smiled at her over the backseat. He turned to face his girlfriend, and squeezed her hand. Then he led her to the back of the Jeep and opened the rear door. While she stood and watched he
reached inside with both hands and hefted the oblong, oddly shaped metal object and lowered it onto the pavement. Then he went for the duffel, slinging it over his shoulder. He paused a moment, ignoring the rain that was pouring down over them, going through it all in his head. Everything seemed in order. He turned to Rebecca and gave her a confident grin. “Time to cross that line.” A second later, they were inside Building 31. … There he was. Up on the big screen. Twenty feet tall in all his cinematic glory. Garbed in blue-gray overalls, his face mostly covered by a thin white surgical mask, his damp, curly hair hidden beneath a latex hospital cap, his hands gloved, even his shoes covered by white cloth booties. He was moving like a cat down one side of the never-ending hallway, his knees slightly bent to conceal his vertical motion, his bright green eyes keeping track of the revolving security cameras, making sure he was out of sight, again a ghost, a breeze, as invisible as air. His girl was right behind him, following his every move, mimicking his gait, dressed just like him, helping him drag the metal thing along the wall—its clinking, creaking wheels the only sound beyond their stifled breaths, the patter of their covered shoes against the cement floor. A flurry of choreographed motion as they suddenly shifted to the other side of the hallway, passing from one security camera to the next, never slowing, never hesitating, moving like trained dancers across a Broadway stage. And then, in front of them, the door with the cipher lock. Without pause, Thad reached into the duffel and retrieved a small, handheld black light that he had bought at Home Depot along with the tools. With a flick of his thumb, he engaged the light and shined it on the keypad. Rebecca gasped behind him as five of the keys lit up, bright as the moon on a cloudless night. Except, when she looked closer, she could see that the brightness was different with each key; a cascading scale of light, from the brightest number to the dimmest. Thad winked back
at her, his green eyes the only part of his face visible above the surgical mask. His magic powder—the combination of fluorite, gypsum, and talcum—had worked. He had powdered all the keys—but only five numbers on the pad had been pressed within the past twentyfour hours, because the person who had pressed the pad had known the password, hadn’t been guessing in the dark. And with each key he had pressed, the oils on his fingertips had absorbed a little bit of the talcum, taking a little bit less of the fluorite along with it. Thad didn’t even have to guess the sequence of the five numbers—he could read it with the ease of reading five letters on a page. One at a time, he pressed the keys in order of brightness. There was a buzz, the whir of mechanical gears—and the door clicked open. “Okay,” he whispered through the surgical mask. “Wait here.” This time, Rebecca didn’t complain. Thad could see, from the look in her eyes, from the sweat that was dampening her surgical mask, that she was now terrified. Her breathing was becoming short and fast, and there was the real chance that she was going to hyperventilate if she kept it up. He leaned close to her, so close that his forehead touched hers, and stared straight into her eyes. “This is it. This is happening. And you’re going to be just fine. Stay right here; I’m going to take care of everything.” Her breathing eased, and she nodded. She was scared, but she was going to make it. She trusted him. She had reason to trust him. In her eyes, he was James Bond, the guy who could do anything, who got her to jump off cliffs and dive out of airplanes. He spoke multiple languages, swam with astronauts, and might one day walk on Mars. He was going to give her the moon. He turned and, alone, headed through the door. … And into the Lunar Lab. Past the Plexiglas nitrogen cabinets with the attached bristle of rubber gloves, whirling, twirling, right up to the massive steel door with the immense wheel lock, spinning, spiraling, through the steel door and into the vault, careening, teetering, past the skyscraper-like steel cabinets with the aluminum drawers, staggering, tottering, through the miniature door to the safe marked trash,
kneeling, keeling, fingers on the electronic lock, hitting the numbers one after another after another after another, and— Nothing. Reset. Resume. Hitting the numbers one after another after another, and— Again, nothing. Thad jerked back from the safe, and suddenly reality hit him like a Saturn V rocket to the face. He wasn’t in the lunar vault at all. He hadn’t gone through the miniature door, or past the steel cabinets. He hadn’t opened the massive, unopenable, impossible wheeled vault door. He wasn’t in the lunar vault. He was in a lab. Specifically, he was in Everett Gibson’s lab, the same lab he had once visited with his wife, Sonya, so she could see a moon rock for herself. And he was standing in front of Everett Gibson’s safe, staring at a combination lock that would not open. He blinked, hard. He truly wasn’t certain when the plan had changed —when, exactly, he had shifted from the mental game of breaking into the lunar vault to the much more practical, much more doable puzzle of breaking into Gibson’s lab, to get to his safe. But somewhere along the way, just enough reality had broken into Thad’s fantasy to push him to this place, to this crime. In his mind, standing there staring at the shoulder-high safe, which he knew contained five drawers filled with specimens that Gibson had been collecting, experimenting on, for more than thirty years—in his mind, it was morally equivalent to robbing the trash safe in the lunar vault. These were used moon rocks, stored away in this safe in a corner of a sixteen-by-twenty-foot lab, trotted out now and again for a lecture, maybe carted around to a high school or a college or a private NASA function—but they were essentially still considered NASA’s trash. Gibson had had thirty years with them; it was now Thad’s turn to put them to use. And what of Gibson, what of the kindly, professorial man who had been a part of NASA’s history, who had personally handled and held these moon rocks from the moment they had been brought back from the Apollo missions, who had been there when the moon landings actually took place? Well, Gibson had already lived through that experience; he’d have that glory and that moment within him for the
rest of his life. Now it was Thad’s turn. Thad blinked. His mind whirled back to Rebecca, still standing out in the hallway, probably terrified, trembling, nearing her breaking point. His jaw stiffened as he tried the combination one more time. Again, nothing. He took a deep breath, then sized up the safe with his eyes. Yes, it was big, and he knew that it was heavy. Between five and six hundred pounds. It wasn’t a guess, it was something he had researched, something he had hoped he wouldn’t need to know—but then, again, preparation was all about the details. The things you didn’t expect to need to know. Plans within plans. Thad had expected to be able to open the safe—but he had planned for the chance that he couldn’t. He spun on his heels and rushed back out through the lab, now seeing it for what it was, a somewhat cluttered place of test tubes, steel sinks, and chrome shelves. Much like the lab he had worked in for two wonderful tours. He reached the door and stuck his head out into the hallway, catching Rebecca by surprise. She jumped back, nearly tripping over her covered shoes. Thankfully, she caught herself before she toppled into the range of one of the security cameras. “I need your help,” Thad hissed. His calm demeanor was cracking, but he didn’t have time to polish the rough edges. They had to move fast. “What? Why? What’s wrong?” “Nothing’s wrong. I just can’t get the safe open.” Rebecca’s eyes became saucers. “You can’t get the safe open? Christ, what are we going to do?” Thad pointed past her, to the metal thing they had carted along with them from the Jeep. “That’s why we brought the dolly.” Rebecca exhaled into her surgical mask. Of course that was why they had brought the damn thing—heavy and unwieldy, but rated to six hundred pounds with a mechanical crank lift and heavy-duty straps— really, Thad had hoped they wouldn’t need it. He had thought he was going to be able to open the safe right there in the lab. In fact, that was the main reason he had focused on Gibson’s lab when, even in fantasy, he’d realized that the lunar vault was impregnable.
Even though Gibson had made him stay outside the lab when he had retrieved those moon rocks for Sonya a year ago, Thad had been able to see the numbers affixed to the top of the safe. He had assumed they were the safe’s combination; obviously, he had been wrong. In retrospect, it was foolish to have thought that a man as smart as Gibson would have the combo right there in the lab. No doubt the numbers were actually a memory tool—maybe some sort of algorithm that helped the man calculate the combination each time he opened it. It would be easy enough to devise an algorithm that could be changed every few weeks without much effort, and you wouldn’t have to memorize anything other than the process for using the algorithm— multiplication, subtraction, whatever that might be. Given enough time, Thad knew he could probably break the sequence—but he certainly didn’t have that time here and now. What he had was a dolly that was rated to six hundred pounds, an extra pair of hands—be they little, porcelain, and trembling—and a Jeep Cherokee waiting outside. He stepped past Rebecca and grabbed the dolly, then pointed her ahead of him, into the lab. A minute later, he was back in front of the safe, Rebecca next to him. Carefully, he moved the dolly into position, then shifted so that he could put his full weight against the safe. Straining every muscle in his body, he tried to tilt it off the ground just enough to get the edge of the dolly beneath it. No dice; even with all of his weight, the damn thing wouldn’t budge. “You’re going to have to help.” Rebecca quickly put her hands next to his, and together they tried again. Thad’s face turned bright red, his arms and thighs becoming taut, his back crying out with the effort. Slowly, the thing creaked forward—and then it was up, just an inch, maybe two. Thad used a leg to get the dolly underneath—and then the safe crashed back down. But it had worked, the dolly was beneath the edge, and with him using both shoulders, it was only another minute before Thad had the thing where it needed to be. Quickly, he fastened the heavy-duty straps around the corners of the safe, and it was ready to go. Grinning as he breathed hard, he tilted the dolly so that its weight was on its wheels, and slowly began dragging it back through the lab.
Rebecca followed him, making sure the safe didn’t tilt or twist. Every now and then, she glanced up into his eyes—and Thad could see that she, too, was grinning beneath her surgical mask.
“I don’t think anyone else is going to show up.” Thad drummed his fingers against the steering wheel as he peered up through the windshield. Even with the wipers at full blast, he couldn’t see much through the swirl of fierce rain that enveloped the entire parking area. The tiny cone of orange light from the Jeep Cherokee’s headlights was no match for what had now become a torrential downpour. “Of course nobody is going to show up. It’s a goddamn hurricane out there.” He turned to look at Rebecca, who was sitting in the passenger seat next to him. She was hunched forward over the dash, rubbing a hand against the condensation that was slowly spreading across the inside of the windshield. He could see that her pale hand was trembling and there was a little bit of sweat forming on her upper lip. “It’s freaking tropical, that’s for sure,” Sandra butted in from over Thad’s shoulder. “I mean if anyone else was going to show up, they’d turn right around as soon as we got to the observatory. Superman couldn’t see the stars through this mess.” Thad exhaled, adding to the condensation on the window, then gave Sandra a look in the rearview mirror. She was right up against the back of his seat, sitting Indian style on the flat surface they had created in the back of the Cherokee by lowering the second row of seats. She looked almost as nervous as Rebecca, though her voice didn’t betray nearly as much tension. Behind her, Thad could make out the bulky form of the duffel, and the jutting metallic shape of a much larger object, which they had picked up on the way to the rendezvous point. The heavy metal thing had cost more than all the other tools combined —and the funny thing was, Thad was actually hoping they wouldn’t ever need to use it. But as always, he lived for the details, and at this point,
he wasn’t taking any chances. Like the staging area in the cheap motel, preparation was all about planning for the things you didn’t see coming. Like an unexpected tropical storm, exploding out of nowhere, screw ing up their carefully planned alibi. It was Rebecca who had come up with the idea of putting together the observatory run the night before they planned to pull off the heist. And Thad had easily gotten more than a dozen commitments from people—mostly co-ops and interns, but even a few older scientists who had heard him talk about his popular Utah Star Parties—who were excited by the idea of spending Saturday night gazing at the stars. Thad and the girls had loaded up the Jeep Cherokee, bought the final piece of equipment at a specialty store Thad had found online in downtown Houston, and then headed over to the meeting point, arriving a little early so they could be there when the other cars arrived. When, by nine-thirty, it had begun to drizzle, none of them had been all that concerned. In Houston, the weather came and went so quickly the meteorologists were basically throwing darts at a map. But by nine forty-five, the drizzle had become a storm, drops the size of lizard eggs crashing against the windshield and the fiberglass top of the Jeep like they were sitting in the midst of a goddamn meteor shower. The tension inside the Jeep seemed even more explosive. Even though the heist itself wasn’t going to take place until tomorrow, they had all agreed that the Saturday-night excursion was going to make for a perfect beginning to their alibi. The alibi was ruined, but Thad didn’t feel discouraged at all; in fact, the rain splattering against the windshield, as well as the obvious tension taking hold of his two young and pretty accomplices, was giving him a palpable thrill. Even the word alibi excited him as he added it to the list. Alibi, accomplices, heist. As the excitement reached a peak—the rain slamming down above his head, the perfumes of his two accomplices mixing with the scent of adrenaline—Thad had a sudden thought, which he immediately put into words. “Why don’t we do it now?” The question echoed through the interior of the Jeep, for a brief
moment drowning out the sound of the rain. Thad glanced over at Rebecca. She was staring at him, her hands clenched against the dashboard in front of her. God, she was beautiful. Even in the dark, broken only by the dim light from the headlights and the few blinking diodes from the dashboard—she was truly beautiful. The wash of love he felt when he looked at her filled him with strength, tripled his determination. Sure, he had only known her a few weeks, but she was giving him an almost inhuman power, pushing him to do the impossible. But it wasn’t Rebecca who broke the silence; it was Sandra. “You’re kidding, right?” “Think about it,” Thad said, his voice now a whisper. “We’ve got all the equipment with us. We’ve got the hotel room. And it’s almost ten o’clock on a Saturday night. That’s even better than a Sunday. Nobody’s going to be there.” He was still looking at Rebecca—and then he saw a flash of brightness form behind her eyes. “The rain is a perfect cover,” she whispered. “Nobody can get a good look at the Jeep. The exterior cameras will be pretty much useless. It’s kind of perfect.” Thad reached out and put his hand on top of hers. He could feel that her entire body was trembling. He started to tremble too, but not because he was afraid. He looked into the rearview mirror, matching Sandra’s gaze. Slowly, she nodded. “Holy shit,” Thad said. “We’re really going to do this, aren’t we?” And then he reached for the ignition. … Rebecca was right; the rain was a perfect cover. Thad’s heart was beating in tune with the oversized drops as he pulled the Jeep to a stop in front of the security kiosk at the outer gate of the JSC campus —but almost immediately, he realized that neither of the two burly guards inside was going to stick even a limb out of their warm, cozy nest. They certainly weren’t going to come outside in the downpour to inspect a vehicle with a NASA sticker emblazoned on the side
window. In fact, the closest guard didn’t even shine his flashlight in Thad’s direction as Thad dutifully held his ID card out his half-open car window. Thad knew from experience that the guards never really looked at the pictures on the IDs, but the rain was added security. There was no way anyone inside the kiosk would be able to tell that there were three people in the Jeep; nor would they notice the large, bulky metal object in the back. And even if one of the cameras affixed to the kiosk roof, or the camera attached to the gate—which was already in the process of swinging up to let them through—managed to get a shot of the Jeep’s license plate, it wouldn’t make any difference. The plate wouldn’t match anyone who worked at NASA, and if the authorities one day questioned the poor dude who had parked in the back corner of a strip mall the day before, they’d never connect him to Thad or his accomplices. Once through the gate, Thad carefully pushed the Jeep to the 5 mph speed limit and began the long, crisscrossing ride to their destination. He’d always found the JSC campus speed limit annoying, but tonight, with his nerves jumping off and his stomach churning, it was almost unbearable. But the last thing he needed was a security guard pulling him over for speeding. He had a dozen stories ready in case they did run into someone—but once he’d been identified, the entire heist would be off. They were still in a place where they could turn back at any moment—they still hadn’t yet crossed that invisible line that separated thought from action. But the line was getting closer by the second. None of them uttered a word until Thad finally pulled the Jeep around to the back parking area behind Building 31, finding a spot right up in front of the mechanical bay door that was used to bring heavy lab equipment in and out. Thad had never parked this close to the building before, and it looked twice as large from where he was sitting, its rectangular frame rising up into the heavy gray rain. He turned off the ignition, shut the lights, then listened for a moment to the rain pelting off the roof and windshield. He could hear Rebecca breathing hard next to him. “Okay,” he finally said, pulling a small wrench out of the glove
compartment. “Wait here.” Now that it was after ten, the air had become remarkably cool for the middle of July, even in the midst of an intense rainstorm. Thad quietly shut the Jeep’s door behind him and hurried to the side of the building, pressing himself tightly against the wall so that he was partially covered by the slight overhang that extended out from the building’s roof. First, he sidestepped his way to the enormous bay door that was directly behind where they had parked the Jeep. He could tell by looking at the electronic controls on the door that it was fully functional, though locked from the inside. Satisfied, he sidestepped back the way he came, then went another ten feet to a small alcove built into the wall. Within the alcove was another steel-framed door, much smaller than the cargo bay, but just as locked. Thad passed the wrench to his left hand, then dried his right palm and fingers against his slacks. Then he reached for the electronic keypad next to the door. From memory, he entered five numbers—and smiled as the lock clicked open. So far, so good. Getting the combo for the rear door to Building 31 had been ridiculously easy. If this had taken place a year ago, he would have known the combination himself —because often, the scientists who worked in 31 used the rear entrance to get in and out of the building after hours. It was especially convenient because it was located close to the astrophotography printer room; if you needed to run off a dozen pictures of the dark side of the moon, this was where you went. Thad had simply called one of his old acquaintances from the Monday lunch meetings a few days earlier and explained that he needed to get some pictures printed up. The man had been happy to give him the code—and had probably promptly forgotten about the call. Even if he did remember that Thad had asked for the number, it was going to be scant evidence of any wrongdoing. Dozens of people would have used that door over the past few days. Thad bent low, placing the wrench in between the door and the frame, propping it open a few inches. Then he quickly returned to the Jeep, leaning in through the driver’s-side door. “Okay,” he said, sounding much calmer than he felt. “This is going to take me about ten minutes. If you see anyone—anyone at all—just take
off. If alarms go off or you hear shouts or see lights—just go. Don’t wait around for me. I’ll be fine.” Rebecca’s eyes narrowed, and she quickly shook her head. “No way. I’m coming with you. That was the plan.” Thad looked from her to Sandra. Yes, that had been the plan, but now that they were actually there—about to cross that line for real—he wasn’t sure he wanted either of them to leave the Jeep. Even if he were caught, Rebecca and Sandra couldn’t possibly get into huge trouble just for waiting outside in a Jeep. At worst, it was like a college prank gone bad, a couple of coeds cheering on an adventurous kid. Rebecca was his catalyst and his heart, but she didn’t need to be his cell mate if this all went wrong. “Thad,” she said. “I want to do this with you.” He stood there, the rain pelting his shoulders and back. He was caught between the fantasy of the moment and the real-world thoughts running through his head. She wanted to do this with him. But he shouldn’t let her. He knew that he shouldn’t let her. But the thing was, if she did this with him, he also knew that it would bind them together in a very real way, for the rest of their lives. When two people survived something crazy—and had a secret this big to keep for the rest of their lives—it connected them in a way that nothing else could. The money was one thing: it would change their lives, it would give them the opportunity to do many wonderful things, to be scientists, to go to Africa, to be happy. But beyond the money, the experience would change them. He already knew that he loved her, totally and intensely, but if she accompanied him on this dangerous mission, she would be just as in love with him. He was sure of it. They would have this forever, no matter what else happened in their lives. They would have this. “Okay,” he suddenly said, shocking himself—and she was already sliding across the front seat of the Jeep to join him out on the pavement. “And, Sandra—” “Uh, I’m happy to wait in the car.” Thad smiled at her over the backseat. He turned to face his girlfriend, and squeezed her hand. Then he led her to the back of the Jeep and opened the rear door. While she stood and watched he
reached inside with both hands and hefted the oblong, oddly shaped metal object and lowered it onto the pavement. Then he went for the duffel, slinging it over his shoulder. He paused a moment, ignoring the rain that was pouring down over them, going through it all in his head. Everything seemed in order. He turned to Rebecca and gave her a confident grin. “Time to cross that line.” A second later, they were inside Building 31. … There he was. Up on the big screen. Twenty feet tall in all his cinematic glory. Garbed in blue-gray overalls, his face mostly covered by a thin white surgical mask, his damp, curly hair hidden beneath a latex hospital cap, his hands gloved, even his shoes covered by white cloth booties. He was moving like a cat down one side of the never-ending hallway, his knees slightly bent to conceal his vertical motion, his bright green eyes keeping track of the revolving security cameras, making sure he was out of sight, again a ghost, a breeze, as invisible as air. His girl was right behind him, following his every move, mimicking his gait, dressed just like him, helping him drag the metal thing along the wall—its clinking, creaking wheels the only sound beyond their stifled breaths, the patter of their covered shoes against the cement floor. A flurry of choreographed motion as they suddenly shifted to the other side of the hallway, passing from one security camera to the next, never slowing, never hesitating, moving like trained dancers across a Broadway stage. And then, in front of them, the door with the cipher lock. Without pause, Thad reached into the duffel and retrieved a small, handheld black light that he had bought at Home Depot along with the tools. With a flick of his thumb, he engaged the light and shined it on the keypad. Rebecca gasped behind him as five of the keys lit up, bright as the moon on a cloudless night. Except, when she looked closer, she could see that the brightness was different with each key; a cascading scale of light, from the brightest number to the dimmest. Thad winked back
at her, his green eyes the only part of his face visible above the surgical mask. His magic powder—the combination of fluorite, gypsum, and talcum—had worked. He had powdered all the keys—but only five numbers on the pad had been pressed within the past twentyfour hours, because the person who had pressed the pad had known the password, hadn’t been guessing in the dark. And with each key he had pressed, the oils on his fingertips had absorbed a little bit of the talcum, taking a little bit less of the fluorite along with it. Thad didn’t even have to guess the sequence of the five numbers—he could read it with the ease of reading five letters on a page. One at a time, he pressed the keys in order of brightness. There was a buzz, the whir of mechanical gears—and the door clicked open. “Okay,” he whispered through the surgical mask. “Wait here.” This time, Rebecca didn’t complain. Thad could see, from the look in her eyes, from the sweat that was dampening her surgical mask, that she was now terrified. Her breathing was becoming short and fast, and there was the real chance that she was going to hyperventilate if she kept it up. He leaned close to her, so close that his forehead touched hers, and stared straight into her eyes. “This is it. This is happening. And you’re going to be just fine. Stay right here; I’m going to take care of everything.” Her breathing eased, and she nodded. She was scared, but she was going to make it. She trusted him. She had reason to trust him. In her eyes, he was James Bond, the guy who could do anything, who got her to jump off cliffs and dive out of airplanes. He spoke multiple languages, swam with astronauts, and might one day walk on Mars. He was going to give her the moon. He turned and, alone, headed through the door. … And into the Lunar Lab. Past the Plexiglas nitrogen cabinets with the attached bristle of rubber gloves, whirling, twirling, right up to the massive steel door with the immense wheel lock, spinning, spiraling, through the steel door and into the vault, careening, teetering, past the skyscraper-like steel cabinets with the aluminum drawers, staggering, tottering, through the miniature door to the safe marked trash,
kneeling, keeling, fingers on the electronic lock, hitting the numbers one after another after another after another, and— Nothing. Reset. Resume. Hitting the numbers one after another after another, and— Again, nothing. Thad jerked back from the safe, and suddenly reality hit him like a Saturn V rocket to the face. He wasn’t in the lunar vault at all. He hadn’t gone through the miniature door, or past the steel cabinets. He hadn’t opened the massive, unopenable, impossible wheeled vault door. He wasn’t in the lunar vault. He was in a lab. Specifically, he was in Everett Gibson’s lab, the same lab he had once visited with his wife, Sonya, so she could see a moon rock for herself. And he was standing in front of Everett Gibson’s safe, staring at a combination lock that would not open. He blinked, hard. He truly wasn’t certain when the plan had changed —when, exactly, he had shifted from the mental game of breaking into the lunar vault to the much more practical, much more doable puzzle of breaking into Gibson’s lab, to get to his safe. But somewhere along the way, just enough reality had broken into Thad’s fantasy to push him to this place, to this crime. In his mind, standing there staring at the shoulder-high safe, which he knew contained five drawers filled with specimens that Gibson had been collecting, experimenting on, for more than thirty years—in his mind, it was morally equivalent to robbing the trash safe in the lunar vault. These were used moon rocks, stored away in this safe in a corner of a sixteen-by-twenty-foot lab, trotted out now and again for a lecture, maybe carted around to a high school or a college or a private NASA function—but they were essentially still considered NASA’s trash. Gibson had had thirty years with them; it was now Thad’s turn to put them to use. And what of Gibson, what of the kindly, professorial man who had been a part of NASA’s history, who had personally handled and held these moon rocks from the moment they had been brought back from the Apollo missions, who had been there when the moon landings actually took place? Well, Gibson had already lived through that experience; he’d have that glory and that moment within him for the
rest of his life. Now it was Thad’s turn. Thad blinked. His mind whirled back to Rebecca, still standing out in the hallway, probably terrified, trembling, nearing her breaking point. His jaw stiffened as he tried the combination one more time. Again, nothing. He took a deep breath, then sized up the safe with his eyes. Yes, it was big, and he knew that it was heavy. Between five and six hundred pounds. It wasn’t a guess, it was something he had researched, something he had hoped he wouldn’t need to know—but then, again, preparation was all about the details. The things you didn’t expect to need to know. Plans within plans. Thad had expected to be able to open the safe—but he had planned for the chance that he couldn’t. He spun on his heels and rushed back out through the lab, now seeing it for what it was, a somewhat cluttered place of test tubes, steel sinks, and chrome shelves. Much like the lab he had worked in for two wonderful tours. He reached the door and stuck his head out into the hallway, catching Rebecca by surprise. She jumped back, nearly tripping over her covered shoes. Thankfully, she caught herself before she toppled into the range of one of the security cameras. “I need your help,” Thad hissed. His calm demeanor was cracking, but he didn’t have time to polish the rough edges. They had to move fast. “What? Why? What’s wrong?” “Nothing’s wrong. I just can’t get the safe open.” Rebecca’s eyes became saucers. “You can’t get the safe open? Christ, what are we going to do?” Thad pointed past her, to the metal thing they had carted along with them from the Jeep. “That’s why we brought the dolly.” Rebecca exhaled into her surgical mask. Of course that was why they had brought the damn thing—heavy and unwieldy, but rated to six hundred pounds with a mechanical crank lift and heavy-duty straps— really, Thad had hoped they wouldn’t need it. He had thought he was going to be able to open the safe right there in the lab. In fact, that was the main reason he had focused on Gibson’s lab when, even in fantasy, he’d realized that the lunar vault was impregnable.
Even though Gibson had made him stay outside the lab when he had retrieved those moon rocks for Sonya a year ago, Thad had been able to see the numbers affixed to the top of the safe. He had assumed they were the safe’s combination; obviously, he had been wrong. In retrospect, it was foolish to have thought that a man as smart as Gibson would have the combo right there in the lab. No doubt the numbers were actually a memory tool—maybe some sort of algorithm that helped the man calculate the combination each time he opened it. It would be easy enough to devise an algorithm that could be changed every few weeks without much effort, and you wouldn’t have to memorize anything other than the process for using the algorithm— multiplication, subtraction, whatever that might be. Given enough time, Thad knew he could probably break the sequence—but he certainly didn’t have that time here and now. What he had was a dolly that was rated to six hundred pounds, an extra pair of hands—be they little, porcelain, and trembling—and a Jeep Cherokee waiting outside. He stepped past Rebecca and grabbed the dolly, then pointed her ahead of him, into the lab. A minute later, he was back in front of the safe, Rebecca next to him. Carefully, he moved the dolly into position, then shifted so that he could put his full weight against the safe. Straining every muscle in his body, he tried to tilt it off the ground just enough to get the edge of the dolly beneath it. No dice; even with all of his weight, the damn thing wouldn’t budge. “You’re going to have to help.” Rebecca quickly put her hands next to his, and together they tried again. Thad’s face turned bright red, his arms and thighs becoming taut, his back crying out with the effort. Slowly, the thing creaked forward—and then it was up, just an inch, maybe two. Thad used a leg to get the dolly underneath—and then the safe crashed back down. But it had worked, the dolly was beneath the edge, and with him using both shoulders, it was only another minute before Thad had the thing where it needed to be. Quickly, he fastened the heavy-duty straps around the corners of the safe, and it was ready to go. Grinning as he breathed hard, he tilted the dolly so that its weight was on its wheels, and slowly began dragging it back through the lab.
Rebecca followed him, making sure the safe didn’t tilt or twist. Every now and then, she glanced up into his eyes—and Thad could see that she, too, was grinning beneath her surgical mask.
Re: sex on the moon - the amazing true story
Chapter 29
“One. Two. Three. Lift!” Teeth clenched, shoulders burning, Thad strained against the safe with all of his strength as the two girls leaned their combined weight against the handles of the dolly, and slowly the thing angled backward just enough to get it over the raised lip of the hotel doorway. A second later, they all let go at once, and the thing crashed back to the floor, rocking what felt like the entire room. Thad exhaled, shaking the sweat out of his hair. Then he went to work on the straps. Once the safe was untied, he motioned the girls out of the way and, using a back-and-forth motion, managed to rock the safe forward so that it slipped, inch by inch, off the dolly and onto the tarplike sheets he had laid out over the carpeted floor. Once it was safely on top of the sheets, he rolled the dolly out of the way, and the three of them stood in the doorway, looking at the steel monstrosity in the middle of the room. “Christ,” Thad said. “Yeah,” Sandra responded. “That’s probably not the appropriate word.” Thad smiled, putting a hand on her shoulder. “You can play lookout. Stand outside the door, keep an eye on all the other rooms and the parking lot outside. If you see something, shout.” Sandra seemed all too happy to step outside, shutting the door behind her. They were all on edge—a mixture of excitement, but also a little fear, because now it was here with them in this room, a great monolith that seemed to suck all the oxygen out of the air. Thad could only guess how long it had sat in that corner of Gibson’s lab. How many times the old man had opened that door, lovingly placing specimens inside. Well, Thad only intended to open that door once. He crossed to the tools laid out to the side of the safe and found
what he needed. A large, handheld Skil saw with a specialized blade. Looking at it, he knew immediately that the blade was too thick for what he intended to do—so it was going to take some time. Worse yet, it was also going to make some noise. A lot of noise. “Rebecca, the TV.” “You want to watch TV?” He shook his head. “Just make sure it’s something loud.” She blushed, understanding. She quickly rushed over to the set and turned it on, found some sitcom on one of the major stations. She turned the volume all the way up as Thad approached the safe. Carefully, Thad placed the saw blade against the crack at the edge of the locked safe door and began drawing it back and forth—first slowly, to make sure he didn’t slip, and then faster, each stroke grinding away at the blade, sending up little wisps of metal and smoke. Grinding, grinding, grinding, the sound of metal against metal a near screech in the small room, just barely covered by the inane babble from the television. He went for about fifteen minutes straight, then stopped, his arm burning, sweat running freely down his back. He signaled Rebecca, who muted the TV. Then he looked back over his shoulder toward the door. “Anything?” he called out, in a loud whisper. Sandra, who was standing right outside, called back. “Nope, keep going.” And then he was back at it. The TV up, the saw a blur of motion. Grinding, grinding, grinding. Another fifteen minutes, then pause. The TV down, the room gone silent. “Now? Still okay?” “Still good. This place is deserted. I don’t think anyone is on this floor.” Thad grinned through his growing exhaustion, then went back at the safe. Grinding, grinding, grinding. He could see that it was working, that the saw blade was slowly thinning—soon it would fit all the way into the crack, and then he’d be able to go to work on the pins that held the lock in place. Thad knew from research on the Internet that a safe this size would have four pins. He had no idea how hard it would be to get
through them—but he’d bought a good half-dozen different blades, just in case. Hopefully, they’d be done before dawn, when assuredly someone, maybe a maid or a hotel manager, might wander by. Until then, he assumed it was going to go like this for a while—fifteenminute intervals of work, a few minutes to pause and see if anyone had overheard, then back to work. But his assumption turned out to be incorrect; just one more break, and one minute into the back-and-forth with the saw, and there was a sudden, loud metallic pop. Thad froze, looking up at Rebecca. She quickly shut off the TV, and both of them moved close to the safe, peering into the crack. “Holy shit. The pin—it’s aluminum! It just popped like a fucking bottle cap!” Rebecca clapped her hands. Thad quickly motioned her back to the TV and switched position, moving the saw to where he assumed the next pin would be. And again—pop!—just like that, he was halfway done. Within another five minutes, he’d gotten all four pins. He carefully removed the saw and placed it on the sheet, next to the other tools he wouldn’t be needing. The safe hadn’t been anywhere near as difficult as he had expected. Rebecca turned off the television, and they called out to Sandra, inviting her back inside. After she’d locked the door behind her, they went to the duffel and grabbed the materials they would need. First, they all redonned their latex gloves. Then they positioned a tackle box next to the safe—oversized, metal, the kind of thing a professional fisherman might use—ready for the samples they were going to sell. Next to the tackle box they placed a small suitcase that Rebecca had brought over to the motel earlier in the day, which would be for the paperwork and anything else that might be needed to go along with the tackle box. And then next to the suitcase they unfolded the large packing box. The address was already written out on top of the box: it was a general NASA administration address, which meant it would take a few days for anyone there to process—but eventually, they would get the package and find whatever Thad and the girls sent back. Thad intended to return everything they weren’t going to sell, or anything that he didn’t consider trash—no matter what NASA or
Gibson might have labeled it. Finally, Rebecca retrieved a notepad and a pen. She was going to be the secretary of the event, logging and recording everything they found inside the safe, keeping everything cataloged exactly as they found it—weights, amounts, position in the safe—recording everything, just in case. They were, after all, scientists, and they were going to treat the samples with a scientist’s respect. In solemn fashion, Thad approached the safe door. He gave one last look at Rebecca, then reached for the edge and slowly pulled it open. As he remembered, there were five drawers inside, most of them containing small containers, capsules, and Teflon-sealed bags of material. Carefully, he reached for the closest drawer, and with his gloved hands picked up the nearest container. “Sample 167106.88. From Apollo 16. Light, clean. The lunar highlands.” He heard the sound of the pen scratching against the notepad. His mind was swirling. He was holding a vial that contained a tiny sample that had been retrieved by the astronauts of Apollo 16. It was almost unbelievable. He carefully placed the sample in the tackle box, then moved on to the next one. This was in a bag, dust with some pebblesized pieces mixed in. It had a reddish hue. “Vial 17422.20. Apollo 17. Brought back by astronaut Jack Schmitt —the only official geologist to ever step on the moon. The infamous orange soil. Volcanic in nature.” He placed the bag in its own compartment within the tackle box, then returned to the safe. His eyes immediately moved to one of the containers in the next drawer down, because the catalog number jumped out at him. He realized, as he read it to himself, that it was from the very first Apollo mission. It had been collected by Neil Armstrong— the first man on the moon. Thad lifted the little container out, but he couldn’t get the words to come out of his mouth. Rebecca and Sandra were both looking at him. Finally, he cleared his throat. “This one I’m keeping.” “Thad—” “We have more than enough to sell.”
And then he had an even better idea. He was going to keep a little bit from each sample—just some dust, a pebble or two. Even after selling what they sold, he’d have the best rock collection in the world. He placed the container with Neil Armstrong’s sample aside and went back to the safe. Painstakingly, over the next hour and a half, he went through the entire top four drawers. Slowly, as he went, it began to dawn on him— and by the time he finished, he knew for sure—that in that safe, they had samples from every single moon landing in human history. Some were tiny, little more than dust. Some were bigger, but none was particularly large. Altogether, in total, the weight of the samples added up to 101.5 grams. A little less than four ounces. It was far less than Thad had thought would be inside—but it was still an incredible haul. Although the deal he had made with the Belgian was for a hundred thousand dollars’ worth, if he actually wanted to calculate the full street value of what he had taken … well, it would have varied depending on what numbers he used—but he knew the range could be anywhere from $400,000 a gram to $5 million for the same amount. That put the value of 101.5 grams of the rocks at somewhere between $40 million … and half a billion. It took Thad another thirty minutes to carefully parcel out a little bit from each sample to a separate container, which he intended to keep. It really would be the ultimate rock collection—a sample from every single moon landing there ever was, and maybe ever would be. Whatever the street value, it was actually quite priceless. Then he turned back to the safe and reached for the bottom drawer. He recognized a few desiccators from his work back in the life sciences building, and knew from their appearance that they contained meteor fragments. Most of these, he had Rebecca put into the packing box, to send back to NASA. Toward the back of the drawer, he saw a desiccator that seemed slightly larger than the rest. Curious, he retrieved it, holding it close to his eyes as he read the label. To his utter shock, he recognized the call letters immediately. “ALH 84001.” He stood there, staring at the little fragment inside. “What’s that?” Sandra asked. “Another moon rock?”
Thad shook his head. Not a moon rock. It was even more valuable. It was the Mars sample—a fragment of the meteor that Everett Gibson had used to prove that there had once been life on Mars. The one that had been recovered from the ice in Antarctica in 1984. “This one is from Mars.” “Mars? You’re kidding.” He shook his head. Then he carefully placed it in the tackle box. “Why are you putting it there? Are we gonna sell it, too?” “Maybe,” he responded, though he didn’t think he ever could. But for some reason, he wanted to take it with them as well. God knew how much it was worth to a collector like the Belgian; truthfully, Thad didn’t know if any amount of money would persuade him to let that one go. The idea that he now owned a piece of Mars was hard to get past. “Okay, now for the paperwork.” Beneath the bottom drawer, Thad found the curatorial forms—the actual NASA log of all the samples they now had in the tackle box. It was the best receipt—and written proof of the samples’ authenticity— that they could ask for. Thad carefully placed the forms into the suitcase, along with everything else that looked important still within the safe—a few loose papers, a vial or two—and was about to go about the process of reorganizing the tackle box by mission, in sequential order, when he noticed that Rebecca was still focused on the bottom drawer of the safe. “Thad, what about that? That dust?” Thad peered into the safe and saw what she was pointing toward. In one corner of the bottom drawer, there was a tiny bit of reddish-white powder. He realized that sometime during the process of moving the safe on and off the dolly, one of the sample bags must have leaked a little bit. It was really just a tiny amount—less than a gram, a very fine layer in just one little corner of the safe—but it was still from the moon. Thad stood there, thinking about it for a few more seconds—and then he did the only thing that came to mind. He took his finger and slid it through the dust, then placed it into his mouth. Swallowing, he then grinned back at Rebecca. “Now I’ll have a bit of the moon inside me.” Without waiting for her reaction, he sealed the tackle box, closed the
suitcase, and began cleaning up the rest of their staging area. He loaded the tools into the now-empty safe and then retrieved the dolly from where they had left it, near the bureau with the TV. The exhaustion was really starting to hit him, but he knew they still had a lot of work to do before the night was done. As Sandra helped him work the safe back onto the dolly, Rebecca carefully folded up the sheets, then gathered the tackle box, suitcase, and the package addressed to NASA, and followed them toward the door. Thad and Sandra fought to work the still immensely heavy beast over the door frame. Meanwhile, Rebecca couldn’t help but ask the question that was on both girls’ minds. “So how did it taste?” Thad grunted as the safe lurched over the door frame, then inched its way outside. “Salty, actually.” He realized as he went that he was probably the only person on Earth who could say that with authority. … “I think I’ll have the Grand Slam Breakfast. In fact, we’ll all have the Grand Slam Breakfast. Grand Slam Breakfasts all around!” Thad knew he sounded ridiculous, but he couldn’t help himself. Besides, if you couldn’t sound ridiculous in a deserted Denny’s situated on a lonely stretch of highway somewhere in the middle of bum-fuck Texas, then where could a guy, his girlfriend, and his confidante go to let off steam? And besides, it was really late—he wasn’t even sure what time, just that it was really freaking late—and he was beyond tired, so punch-drunk from living off that adrenaline high for so long that for the first time that he could remember, he had limited control of his faculties. The girls didn’t seem much better off. Rebecca, for her part, had turned twice as bubbly as usual, and she was downing diet Coke after diet Coke as she counted—out loud—the rare headlights that flashed by on the highway outside the large picture window behind them. Sandra’s eyes were half shut, and she was slouched over at the banquette-style table, halfway between awake and asleep. Every now
and then, Rebecca kicked her under the table just to make sure she was still conscious. Hell, it had been a long night. But as far as Thad could see, they had done everything perfectly, and had taken every precaution. After leaving the hotel room, they had first taken to disposing of the safe. Driving to a small town called Alvin, Texas—a good forty minutes from the outskirts of Houston—they had wandered around until they’d found the perfect Dumpster, in a deserted alley next to an oversized car park. They’d chosen a separate Dumpster, another town away, for the rest of their trash, including the safe door, which they’d removed in the back of the car—since it had only been hanging on by one of the twisted pins by that point—just for good measure. Then they drove back to the old car that Thad had taken the license plate from, returning it to its rightful owner. And then they had done the only thing they could think of to cool down: they had gone for breakfast. Denny’s was the only restaurant open that late, so Grand Slams it would have to be. And as tired as they all were, they knew that things would be even rougher over the next twenty-four hours as they completed their plan. As the final part of their alibi, Thad had arranged to shepherd a group of co-ops to a famous Texan water park the next day. It was going to take a true force of will to make it through the excursion—not just because of their exhaustion, but because of the secret they now shared, the secret that was so fantastic, so unbelievable, it was going to be a real feat to keep inside. And after tomorrow, well, there would be an entire five days of business as usual, all of them back at their routines. Thad had made the final arrangements with Lynn Briley the day before via e-mail; he would be meeting the Belgian’s sister-in-law in Florida the following Saturday, five days away. Instead of Tampa, they had agreed on Orlando, because Briley had suggested it. Thad had never been to Orlando, but he didn’t think he’d have much trouble finding the meeting place—a restaurant on International Drive called Italliani. The drive down to Florida would be more of a strain; but at least then, he and the girls would be able to talk about what they had just done, as much as they wanted.
Although, to be truthful, Thad liked the fact that for the moment, in public, it had to remain unspoken, this incredible secret. Leaning back against the banquette, he smiled at Rebecca, who twirled her straw at him, smiling back. He knew the secret of the moon rocks would bond them forever. Long after they sold them, and mailed back the excess to NASA, they would have the experience they had just gone through— something they would cherish, remember, and dwell on forever. He loved her with all of his heart, and he felt certain she loved him back. In less than a week, they would have enough money to go away together, maybe to really start a life with each other. In his mind, Sonya was the past; Utah was the past; his family, Mormonism, even Everett Gibson—the past. Rebecca was his future. A hundred thousand dollars in a briefcase was his future. And a little fragment of the planet Mars. All of this was his future—and the future was fucking beautiful.
“One. Two. Three. Lift!” Teeth clenched, shoulders burning, Thad strained against the safe with all of his strength as the two girls leaned their combined weight against the handles of the dolly, and slowly the thing angled backward just enough to get it over the raised lip of the hotel doorway. A second later, they all let go at once, and the thing crashed back to the floor, rocking what felt like the entire room. Thad exhaled, shaking the sweat out of his hair. Then he went to work on the straps. Once the safe was untied, he motioned the girls out of the way and, using a back-and-forth motion, managed to rock the safe forward so that it slipped, inch by inch, off the dolly and onto the tarplike sheets he had laid out over the carpeted floor. Once it was safely on top of the sheets, he rolled the dolly out of the way, and the three of them stood in the doorway, looking at the steel monstrosity in the middle of the room. “Christ,” Thad said. “Yeah,” Sandra responded. “That’s probably not the appropriate word.” Thad smiled, putting a hand on her shoulder. “You can play lookout. Stand outside the door, keep an eye on all the other rooms and the parking lot outside. If you see something, shout.” Sandra seemed all too happy to step outside, shutting the door behind her. They were all on edge—a mixture of excitement, but also a little fear, because now it was here with them in this room, a great monolith that seemed to suck all the oxygen out of the air. Thad could only guess how long it had sat in that corner of Gibson’s lab. How many times the old man had opened that door, lovingly placing specimens inside. Well, Thad only intended to open that door once. He crossed to the tools laid out to the side of the safe and found
what he needed. A large, handheld Skil saw with a specialized blade. Looking at it, he knew immediately that the blade was too thick for what he intended to do—so it was going to take some time. Worse yet, it was also going to make some noise. A lot of noise. “Rebecca, the TV.” “You want to watch TV?” He shook his head. “Just make sure it’s something loud.” She blushed, understanding. She quickly rushed over to the set and turned it on, found some sitcom on one of the major stations. She turned the volume all the way up as Thad approached the safe. Carefully, Thad placed the saw blade against the crack at the edge of the locked safe door and began drawing it back and forth—first slowly, to make sure he didn’t slip, and then faster, each stroke grinding away at the blade, sending up little wisps of metal and smoke. Grinding, grinding, grinding, the sound of metal against metal a near screech in the small room, just barely covered by the inane babble from the television. He went for about fifteen minutes straight, then stopped, his arm burning, sweat running freely down his back. He signaled Rebecca, who muted the TV. Then he looked back over his shoulder toward the door. “Anything?” he called out, in a loud whisper. Sandra, who was standing right outside, called back. “Nope, keep going.” And then he was back at it. The TV up, the saw a blur of motion. Grinding, grinding, grinding. Another fifteen minutes, then pause. The TV down, the room gone silent. “Now? Still okay?” “Still good. This place is deserted. I don’t think anyone is on this floor.” Thad grinned through his growing exhaustion, then went back at the safe. Grinding, grinding, grinding. He could see that it was working, that the saw blade was slowly thinning—soon it would fit all the way into the crack, and then he’d be able to go to work on the pins that held the lock in place. Thad knew from research on the Internet that a safe this size would have four pins. He had no idea how hard it would be to get
through them—but he’d bought a good half-dozen different blades, just in case. Hopefully, they’d be done before dawn, when assuredly someone, maybe a maid or a hotel manager, might wander by. Until then, he assumed it was going to go like this for a while—fifteenminute intervals of work, a few minutes to pause and see if anyone had overheard, then back to work. But his assumption turned out to be incorrect; just one more break, and one minute into the back-and-forth with the saw, and there was a sudden, loud metallic pop. Thad froze, looking up at Rebecca. She quickly shut off the TV, and both of them moved close to the safe, peering into the crack. “Holy shit. The pin—it’s aluminum! It just popped like a fucking bottle cap!” Rebecca clapped her hands. Thad quickly motioned her back to the TV and switched position, moving the saw to where he assumed the next pin would be. And again—pop!—just like that, he was halfway done. Within another five minutes, he’d gotten all four pins. He carefully removed the saw and placed it on the sheet, next to the other tools he wouldn’t be needing. The safe hadn’t been anywhere near as difficult as he had expected. Rebecca turned off the television, and they called out to Sandra, inviting her back inside. After she’d locked the door behind her, they went to the duffel and grabbed the materials they would need. First, they all redonned their latex gloves. Then they positioned a tackle box next to the safe—oversized, metal, the kind of thing a professional fisherman might use—ready for the samples they were going to sell. Next to the tackle box they placed a small suitcase that Rebecca had brought over to the motel earlier in the day, which would be for the paperwork and anything else that might be needed to go along with the tackle box. And then next to the suitcase they unfolded the large packing box. The address was already written out on top of the box: it was a general NASA administration address, which meant it would take a few days for anyone there to process—but eventually, they would get the package and find whatever Thad and the girls sent back. Thad intended to return everything they weren’t going to sell, or anything that he didn’t consider trash—no matter what NASA or
Gibson might have labeled it. Finally, Rebecca retrieved a notepad and a pen. She was going to be the secretary of the event, logging and recording everything they found inside the safe, keeping everything cataloged exactly as they found it—weights, amounts, position in the safe—recording everything, just in case. They were, after all, scientists, and they were going to treat the samples with a scientist’s respect. In solemn fashion, Thad approached the safe door. He gave one last look at Rebecca, then reached for the edge and slowly pulled it open. As he remembered, there were five drawers inside, most of them containing small containers, capsules, and Teflon-sealed bags of material. Carefully, he reached for the closest drawer, and with his gloved hands picked up the nearest container. “Sample 167106.88. From Apollo 16. Light, clean. The lunar highlands.” He heard the sound of the pen scratching against the notepad. His mind was swirling. He was holding a vial that contained a tiny sample that had been retrieved by the astronauts of Apollo 16. It was almost unbelievable. He carefully placed the sample in the tackle box, then moved on to the next one. This was in a bag, dust with some pebblesized pieces mixed in. It had a reddish hue. “Vial 17422.20. Apollo 17. Brought back by astronaut Jack Schmitt —the only official geologist to ever step on the moon. The infamous orange soil. Volcanic in nature.” He placed the bag in its own compartment within the tackle box, then returned to the safe. His eyes immediately moved to one of the containers in the next drawer down, because the catalog number jumped out at him. He realized, as he read it to himself, that it was from the very first Apollo mission. It had been collected by Neil Armstrong— the first man on the moon. Thad lifted the little container out, but he couldn’t get the words to come out of his mouth. Rebecca and Sandra were both looking at him. Finally, he cleared his throat. “This one I’m keeping.” “Thad—” “We have more than enough to sell.”
And then he had an even better idea. He was going to keep a little bit from each sample—just some dust, a pebble or two. Even after selling what they sold, he’d have the best rock collection in the world. He placed the container with Neil Armstrong’s sample aside and went back to the safe. Painstakingly, over the next hour and a half, he went through the entire top four drawers. Slowly, as he went, it began to dawn on him— and by the time he finished, he knew for sure—that in that safe, they had samples from every single moon landing in human history. Some were tiny, little more than dust. Some were bigger, but none was particularly large. Altogether, in total, the weight of the samples added up to 101.5 grams. A little less than four ounces. It was far less than Thad had thought would be inside—but it was still an incredible haul. Although the deal he had made with the Belgian was for a hundred thousand dollars’ worth, if he actually wanted to calculate the full street value of what he had taken … well, it would have varied depending on what numbers he used—but he knew the range could be anywhere from $400,000 a gram to $5 million for the same amount. That put the value of 101.5 grams of the rocks at somewhere between $40 million … and half a billion. It took Thad another thirty minutes to carefully parcel out a little bit from each sample to a separate container, which he intended to keep. It really would be the ultimate rock collection—a sample from every single moon landing there ever was, and maybe ever would be. Whatever the street value, it was actually quite priceless. Then he turned back to the safe and reached for the bottom drawer. He recognized a few desiccators from his work back in the life sciences building, and knew from their appearance that they contained meteor fragments. Most of these, he had Rebecca put into the packing box, to send back to NASA. Toward the back of the drawer, he saw a desiccator that seemed slightly larger than the rest. Curious, he retrieved it, holding it close to his eyes as he read the label. To his utter shock, he recognized the call letters immediately. “ALH 84001.” He stood there, staring at the little fragment inside. “What’s that?” Sandra asked. “Another moon rock?”
Thad shook his head. Not a moon rock. It was even more valuable. It was the Mars sample—a fragment of the meteor that Everett Gibson had used to prove that there had once been life on Mars. The one that had been recovered from the ice in Antarctica in 1984. “This one is from Mars.” “Mars? You’re kidding.” He shook his head. Then he carefully placed it in the tackle box. “Why are you putting it there? Are we gonna sell it, too?” “Maybe,” he responded, though he didn’t think he ever could. But for some reason, he wanted to take it with them as well. God knew how much it was worth to a collector like the Belgian; truthfully, Thad didn’t know if any amount of money would persuade him to let that one go. The idea that he now owned a piece of Mars was hard to get past. “Okay, now for the paperwork.” Beneath the bottom drawer, Thad found the curatorial forms—the actual NASA log of all the samples they now had in the tackle box. It was the best receipt—and written proof of the samples’ authenticity— that they could ask for. Thad carefully placed the forms into the suitcase, along with everything else that looked important still within the safe—a few loose papers, a vial or two—and was about to go about the process of reorganizing the tackle box by mission, in sequential order, when he noticed that Rebecca was still focused on the bottom drawer of the safe. “Thad, what about that? That dust?” Thad peered into the safe and saw what she was pointing toward. In one corner of the bottom drawer, there was a tiny bit of reddish-white powder. He realized that sometime during the process of moving the safe on and off the dolly, one of the sample bags must have leaked a little bit. It was really just a tiny amount—less than a gram, a very fine layer in just one little corner of the safe—but it was still from the moon. Thad stood there, thinking about it for a few more seconds—and then he did the only thing that came to mind. He took his finger and slid it through the dust, then placed it into his mouth. Swallowing, he then grinned back at Rebecca. “Now I’ll have a bit of the moon inside me.” Without waiting for her reaction, he sealed the tackle box, closed the
suitcase, and began cleaning up the rest of their staging area. He loaded the tools into the now-empty safe and then retrieved the dolly from where they had left it, near the bureau with the TV. The exhaustion was really starting to hit him, but he knew they still had a lot of work to do before the night was done. As Sandra helped him work the safe back onto the dolly, Rebecca carefully folded up the sheets, then gathered the tackle box, suitcase, and the package addressed to NASA, and followed them toward the door. Thad and Sandra fought to work the still immensely heavy beast over the door frame. Meanwhile, Rebecca couldn’t help but ask the question that was on both girls’ minds. “So how did it taste?” Thad grunted as the safe lurched over the door frame, then inched its way outside. “Salty, actually.” He realized as he went that he was probably the only person on Earth who could say that with authority. … “I think I’ll have the Grand Slam Breakfast. In fact, we’ll all have the Grand Slam Breakfast. Grand Slam Breakfasts all around!” Thad knew he sounded ridiculous, but he couldn’t help himself. Besides, if you couldn’t sound ridiculous in a deserted Denny’s situated on a lonely stretch of highway somewhere in the middle of bum-fuck Texas, then where could a guy, his girlfriend, and his confidante go to let off steam? And besides, it was really late—he wasn’t even sure what time, just that it was really freaking late—and he was beyond tired, so punch-drunk from living off that adrenaline high for so long that for the first time that he could remember, he had limited control of his faculties. The girls didn’t seem much better off. Rebecca, for her part, had turned twice as bubbly as usual, and she was downing diet Coke after diet Coke as she counted—out loud—the rare headlights that flashed by on the highway outside the large picture window behind them. Sandra’s eyes were half shut, and she was slouched over at the banquette-style table, halfway between awake and asleep. Every now
and then, Rebecca kicked her under the table just to make sure she was still conscious. Hell, it had been a long night. But as far as Thad could see, they had done everything perfectly, and had taken every precaution. After leaving the hotel room, they had first taken to disposing of the safe. Driving to a small town called Alvin, Texas—a good forty minutes from the outskirts of Houston—they had wandered around until they’d found the perfect Dumpster, in a deserted alley next to an oversized car park. They’d chosen a separate Dumpster, another town away, for the rest of their trash, including the safe door, which they’d removed in the back of the car—since it had only been hanging on by one of the twisted pins by that point—just for good measure. Then they drove back to the old car that Thad had taken the license plate from, returning it to its rightful owner. And then they had done the only thing they could think of to cool down: they had gone for breakfast. Denny’s was the only restaurant open that late, so Grand Slams it would have to be. And as tired as they all were, they knew that things would be even rougher over the next twenty-four hours as they completed their plan. As the final part of their alibi, Thad had arranged to shepherd a group of co-ops to a famous Texan water park the next day. It was going to take a true force of will to make it through the excursion—not just because of their exhaustion, but because of the secret they now shared, the secret that was so fantastic, so unbelievable, it was going to be a real feat to keep inside. And after tomorrow, well, there would be an entire five days of business as usual, all of them back at their routines. Thad had made the final arrangements with Lynn Briley the day before via e-mail; he would be meeting the Belgian’s sister-in-law in Florida the following Saturday, five days away. Instead of Tampa, they had agreed on Orlando, because Briley had suggested it. Thad had never been to Orlando, but he didn’t think he’d have much trouble finding the meeting place—a restaurant on International Drive called Italliani. The drive down to Florida would be more of a strain; but at least then, he and the girls would be able to talk about what they had just done, as much as they wanted.
Although, to be truthful, Thad liked the fact that for the moment, in public, it had to remain unspoken, this incredible secret. Leaning back against the banquette, he smiled at Rebecca, who twirled her straw at him, smiling back. He knew the secret of the moon rocks would bond them forever. Long after they sold them, and mailed back the excess to NASA, they would have the experience they had just gone through— something they would cherish, remember, and dwell on forever. He loved her with all of his heart, and he felt certain she loved him back. In less than a week, they would have enough money to go away together, maybe to really start a life with each other. In his mind, Sonya was the past; Utah was the past; his family, Mormonism, even Everett Gibson—the past. Rebecca was his future. A hundred thousand dollars in a briefcase was his future. And a little fragment of the planet Mars. All of this was his future—and the future was fucking beautiful.