Sex on the Moon (17 page)
Authors: Ben Mezrich
Tags: #Biography & Autobiography, #Criminals & Outlaws, #Science & Technology, #True Crime, #Hoaxes & Deceptions, #Science, #Space Science, #History, #United States, #State & Local, #Southwest (AZ; NM; OK; TX), #General, #Nature, #Sky Observation
25
Rebecca ricocheted through the compact, galley-style kitchen, first tossing her purse on top of a pile of unopened mail, then grabbing a tied-off plastic bag full of recyclables with one hand while opening the refrigerator and retrieving a pair of long-neck bottles of root beer from the fridge door with the other. Still moving—hell, the girl never stopped moving—she offered one of the bottles to Thad, who was half skipping behind her, trying desperately to keep up. Then she yanked open the sliding-glass door that led to the small balcony where she kept her garbage. The bag of recyclables landed with a clunk next to an overstuffed garbage can, and Thad had the feeling that his girlfriend was taking care of the recycling for her entire building.
“It’s just so crazy what this place used to be like,” she gushed as she spun back through the kitchen, using her arms to hoist herself onto the edge of the counter, her slim bare legs crossed at the ankle. “I mean, it’s still cool now—but back then it was just insane. These guys, these cowboys—they were basically strapping themselves onto the tips of missiles. Blasting off into space, trying to get one foot onto the surface of the moon—actually competing for the opportunity to go on what was basically a suicide mission—and all of it taking place in a time when their biggest supercomputers were less sophisticated than my cell phone.”
Thad laughed, but he was no less awed by the thought than she was. He guessed that conversations like this were taking place all over the JSC; tonight had been the annual co-op ritual where everyone gathered together to watch the movie
Apollo 13
—the story of one of the ill-fated attempts to duplicate Neil Armstrong’s walk on the moon.
Having spent time in the old Mission Control room, where the events documented in the movie had taken place, Thad had seen for himself how rudimentary some of the technology had been during the Apollo era. He’d sat in the actual flight director’s chair, his fingers touching the very consoles that had been used in those missions. But nothing about seeing the original Mission Control made him feel superior—quite the opposite, seeing what those men had to work with, the truly historic level of bravery—it only made him feel utterly small.
“Mars isn’t going to be all that different,” Thad responded, putting his hands on her bare knees as he leaned in, planting a kiss on her lips. “We’re still going to be strapping ourselves into a tin can attached to a missile. The toy’s a lot shinier—but the project is going to be just as dangerous. It’s going to take a special type of person to embark on what might end up a suicide mission. Someone willing to take a chance, to make a leap of faith.”
Rebecca put her hands on his shoulders, feeling his muscles through his shirt.
“A leap of faith; I like that. Like, maybe, finding yourself madly in love with someone you’ve only known for ten days.”
She was grinning, but Thad couldn’t really read her expression. He wasn’t sure whether she was talking about herself or about him. They had been using words like
love
and
forever
since their very first evening together, but it was hard to know whether those sentiments were just symptoms of her youth, or symbols of his passion; Thad only knew for sure what he was feeling. Which was beyond anything he could remember ever feeling before. He’d always loved Sonya, but he didn’t remember it ever being this all-encompassing, mind-bending thing.
He realized that he had once again slipped into that other place, going silent as he stared right through her. Her grin had turned down at the corners as she watched him, her hands going limp against his chest.
“There it is again,” she said. “That thing you do, sometimes right in the middle of a sentence. Sometimes even when we’re making love. I know there’s something you’re keeping from me.”
Thad stepped back, taking his hands off her knees. It wasn’t the first time they’d had this conversation. He’d explained again and again that it wasn’t some other woman, some relationship, or anything to do with Sonya. But now they were at a point where she was asking about his secret almost every time they were together.
“It’s not that I don’t want to tell you. It’s just that, well—I’m thinking about doing something that’s technically illegal. I mean I’m pretty sure I’m not going to do it, but even talking about it feels like it could be dangerous.”
He felt his adrenaline rising, because this was the closest he had come to telling her. And he knew he was standing on the top of a slippery slope. Telling Sandra hadn’t made the secret any easier to keep; in fact, he’d gotten such a rush out of talking through his plan with her, he was having a hard time not shouting it from the rooftops. And he could see by the way Rebecca’s eyes had gone really intense that she wasn’t going to be content with another excuse.
Maybe it was time to tell her. Meeting her had pushed him forward in the mental game; that very morning, he’d sent another e-mail to Gordon, asking him to research the sister-in-law of the Belgian rock hound, the woman named Lynn Briley, because, at least via e-mail, they were coming close to actually setting up a face-to-face meeting. Not just any meeting—an exchange, goods for cash—as if it were really that simple, as if there weren’t a step in between the e-mails and handing over the parcel in exchange for a hundred thousand dollars in a suitcase. A step that was still entirely fantasy, entirely impossible.
Thad breathed deeply—and then, he just let it out. It was like he was back on that cliff, heels hanging out over the drop—but this time, it was he who was going to jump first.
“I have this idea. It’s completely insane. And it’s also impossible. I’m thinking about stealing a safe full of moon rocks. It’s in an impenetrable lab, protected by the highest level of NASA security. The samples are considered trash because they’ve already been worked with and experimented on—but they’re incredibly valuable. I’ve already got someone who wants to pay me a hundred thousand dollars for a little piece of the moon.”
Rebecca was still staring at him, her eyes wide and her lips parted so that he could see just the tips of her teeth. Even as he was talking, he was thinking it through, not just how elaborate and ridiculous and impossible the actual heist would be, but internally, he was asking himself why he was even still playing this game, why he didn’t just erase all the e-mails, lose the contact info for the woman in Philadelphia, maybe even throw out Gordon’s phone number—just forget about the whole stupid thing. And yet he kept talking.
“I mean, a hundred thousand dollars, it’s a hell of a lot of money. The things you and I could do with that money—we could go to Africa, and you could study the plant life there. We could put the money toward starting our own lab, so we wouldn’t need to compete for a grant or wait until we were old enough. We could start right away, doing all the things that we’ve talked about doing. But the money, it’s only part of it.”
He kept expecting her to interrupt. He fully expected her to shake her head, glare at him like he was crazy, talk him out of it. He expected her to tell him that it sounded exciting, but of course he shouldn’t do it, that he would be risking everything, that he would get in huge trouble, that it was a really bad idea. But still she remained silent, letting him finish the thought that had been building since the moment he’d first laid eyes on her.
“Rebecca, I want to give you the moon. I mean, a piece of the moon. Like the astronauts we just watched in that movie, the cowboys who took that crazy chance, all to set foot where only a couple of people have ever been—I want to give you that. I want to give you the moon.”
Thad realized that his eyes were watering. It sounded so crazy, so stupid, and—well, he didn’t really know how it sounded. But he did know that he actually meant it.
The kitchen was dead silent, the scene frozen like a photo in an album. Then Rebecca’s eyes lit up, and she was grinning.
“That sounds so romantic. Let’s do it.”
And in that instant, Thad knew that he’d been correct; Rebecca was his catalyst. His instant, passionate, consuming love for her had shattered the glass wall in his mind that separated fantasy from reality. The fracturing that had begun long ago was now complete, and the mental game he had been playing had gone from a thought experiment to a project, no different from any of the projects he had worked on at NASA, no less real than the Space Shuttle Simulator or the space station that was sunk into that six-million-gallon pool.
Without another word, Thad leaned forward and pressed his lips against hers. Slowly at first, then gaining in intensity. To Rebecca, he was everything he’d ever wanted to be: exciting, adventurous, James Bond. He didn’t know if anyone had ever promised her the moon before—but he was the one guy who was going to deliver.
She was his catalyst.
And now it was only a matter of time.
26
Nothing got the old heart pumping like the shrill, piercing wail of a telephone cutting through the dead, still heat of a summer morning. It wasn’t particularly early, but Axel had been dozing pretty deeply, his rounded form splayed out comfortably across the small couch that ran along one wall of his living room. The TV was still on a few feet away, tuned to the French murder mystery he had been watching when he’d first closed his eyes for a moment—but one more metallic ring reverberating through his head, and he knew for sure that the sound wasn’t coming from some faraway sound studio in Paris. It was echoing off the walls of his own home in a quiet corner of Antwerp.
It had been a perfect weekend morning before the sound of the ringer had ruined it; perfect, because the kids were locked up in the kitchen frantically studying for their exams, and because Christel was out having breakfast with a friend. Which meant that Axel was able to enjoy some quality time with his favorite couch cushions. Since he still hadn’t been sleeping that well at night—his mind locked into the drama he imagined was unfolding far across the ocean—the minutes alone with the couch were as valuable as polished topaz.
Ten days without any contact from either the FBI or Orb Robinson had certainly taken its toll on Axel’s psyche. It was kind of like watching the French murder mystery, but with the sound off. He could only fantasize about what was really going on. For all he knew, the whole thing had fizzled and disappeared. The hoaxer might have finally grown bored with the game, moved on to something else. Maybe he was now sending out e-mails, posing as a Nigerian banker, or the cousin of a deposed prince.
Just send a cashier’s check, and my fortune will be yours
.
But as soon as Axel heard his son, Sven, answer the phone through the door that separated his living room from the kitchen, as soon as he registered the shocked tone of the fifteen-year-old’s voice, he had a feeling that his wait was suddenly over. He sat straight up, shaking the last vestiges of sleep out of his eyes, just in time to see his son stick his head out through the kitchen door, the phone cupped against his chest.
“Dad, I think it’s for you. It’s an American.”
Sven looked like he had seen a monster, and that got Axel’s heart pumping even faster. He indicated with his hand that he was going to pick up the receiver in the living room, and that his son should hang up once he was on the line. Then he rose, flattening the wrinkles out of his slacks with his palms, and crossed to the computer desk in the corner of the room. He didn’t know why, but for some reason he wanted to look presentable—even though he was only going to be talking over the phone. It wasn’t often that he got calls from America. Actually, it wasn’t ever.
He cleared his throat, then picked up the receiver.
“This is Axel Emmermann.”
The American on the other end of the line quickly introduced himself as Special Agent Nick Nance of the FBI. Axel felt his shoulders pulling back, his chest sticking out as he heard the words. E-mails were one thing, but now he was talking to a real-life FBI agent. His superhero status was quickly rising.
Very rapidly, the official-sounding man on the other end of the line brought him up-to-date. Even though Axel hadn’t heard anything for the past week and a half, it turned out that the FBI had been quite busy. Agents posing as Axel’s brother and sister-in-law had continued to lead Orb Robinson along, getting him to the point where they seemed actually ready to enact an exchange. They were in the process of setting up a face-to-face meeting. Robinson still didn’t seem to have the actual items in his possession, but he was moving forward as if he could get them at any moment.
Agent Nance explained that “Lynn and Kurt” had confirmed receipt of the hundred thousand dollars, and had e-mailed Robinson, telling him that they trusted him, that they believed his claims were truthful and were ready to buy what he was selling.
Axel had to fight the urge to start jumping around the living room. The French murder movie seemed like such a trifle now, compared with the real mystery that he was an integral part of. He was actually talking to the FBI, and they were going to meet with this hoaxer. He couldn’t wait until his wife got home so he could tell her what was about to happen. And then Nance added something to the conversation—something Christel wouldn’t find quite as enthralling.
“Now, there’s a chance this Robinson might try and call you directly. I don’t think it would be that hard for him to find out where you live, and get your phone number. So we’re thinking about installing a recording device so if this happens, we can listen in.”
Axel swallowed, focusing on the comment that Robinson wouldn’t have much trouble figuring out where he lived. He immediately pictured his kids in the kitchen, huddled over their schoolbooks. It was a terrifying thought. Certainly, this bit of information he would leave out of the upcoming conversation with Christel.
“And if this actually goes down,” Agent Nance continued, “if we do arrest this Orb Robinson—we need to ask—would you be willing to testify? We’d bring you here to the U.S. and put you up in a hotel for the length of the trial, if we deemed it was necessary. Is this something that you would be willing to do?”
Hearing this, Axel had to sit down in the chair in front of his computer. That he could be asked to take part in bringing this criminal to justice—not just being the middleman in an e-mail investigation, but actually taking physical part, becoming a player in the drama—wow.
“I would be honored to take part in your judicial system.”
Axel Emmermann the superhero, becoming Emmermann the star witness. It certainly would beat an afternoon at the popinjay field.
But sitting in the chair—looking at the computer where this had all started—Axel began to have a thought. The way Nance was talking, it was beginning to sound like this might somehow be a little more than a hoax. If they were thinking of bringing Axel all the way to America … well, it wouldn’t be because someone was trying simply to make money on the Internet.
“Special Agent Nance, are you beginning to suspect that this Robinson might be trying to sell authentic moon rocks?”
There was a long pause. For a brief moment, Axel could hear the buzz of the international phone line.
And then: “It’s not impossible.”
With that, the FBI agent thanked him again for his time and then gratefully hung up. As Axel replaced the receiver, the words continued to reverberate through his mind.
It’s not impossible
.
Christ; what, exactly, had he stumbled into?
…
Axel was still sitting in front of the computer—mulling over what he had just learned, waiting for the sounds of his wife’s heels on the front steps so that he could relay the developments he’d just learned of, and sure, brag a little bit about the possibility that he could soon be racing halfway around the world to bring a master criminal to justice—when an icon appeared on his computer screen indicating that he had a new e-mail. One click later, and he saw that it was once again from the FBI, the same Special Agent Nance:
Mr. Emmermann.
It was nice to talk to you this morning. I neglected to ask you for your help in putting together some questions that should be asked by Lynn. Since my knowledge of lunar materials is limited at best, I was hoping you could provide questions to via e-mail that will lend to my/our credibility. Any help would be greatly appreciated …
At first, Axel was quite puzzled by this new e-mail, which was accompanied by an even longer explanation of what Nance was looking for. It seemed the FBI was asking for Axel’s help in explaining how their agent could best recognize real moon rocks—and furthermore, how she would be able to tell the difference between moon rocks that had actually come, by hand, from the moon, and ones that had fallen to Earth as meteorites. Wouldn’t the FBI have their own specialists who could assuredly do a better job of explaining this than an amateur rock collector such as himself?
But as Axel worked it out in his head, he realized that the FBI’s request made sense. Orb Robinson had written that the moon rocks were not currently in his possession—which meant that he intended to steal them.
There was only one place on Earth from which he would be able to steal the amount of moon rocks he was talking about: the Johnson Space Center in Houston. If the FBI had wanted to talk to specialists who could help identify real moon rocks … well, the place they would normally go was also where Robinson’s crime would take place—the JSC.
So obviously, the FBI couldn’t go there for information; they couldn’t yet know who Orb Robinson really was, and had to suspect anyone with access to the Apollo rocks. It was hard for Axel to believe that someone who worked at NASA was planning to steal moon rocks; not just because they were national treasures, but if you were lucky enough to work at NASA—in the same hallowed buildings where the Apollo program had taken place—how could you throw it all away for a hundred thousand dollars?
In any event, Axel was more than happy to continue to help the FBI. After his first contact with Robinson, he had done a fair amount of research into moon rocks. With the help of his notes, he began to compose his response to Agent Nance.
Moon rocks were usually light in weight and color, made up mostly of basalt, with a mix of pyroxene and feldspar within, easily recognizable by a geologist using a magnifying glass. But this information wasn’t going to be all that helpful to an agent during a sting operation. Especially an agent posing as a rock collector—and not a professional geologist.
But there was a much simpler way to recognize a moon rock—and especially to distinguish a moon rock that had actually been picked up by hand—by an astronaut on the moon—from a meteorite that might have been stolen from a museum.
As most people were aware, the moon had no atmosphere. Which meant that anything that hit the surface of the moon—from a giant asteroid to a tiny grain of sand—hit the ground somewhere between ten thousand and eight thousand kilometers per hour. On Earth, such objects burned up in the atmosphere because of air friction, but because the moon had no atmosphere, dust and sand were continually raining down to the surface, at these immense speeds.
So any rock from the moon would be covered in tiny impact craters. These craters were called “zap pits,” ranging from a few microns in size to as big as a few millimeters. They would be easily recognized, even without a microscope: a tiny black-glass center surrounded by a halo of concentric circles, much like the large craters you could see through a telescope when you looked at the surface of the moon.
As Axel sent the new e-mail off to Agent Nance, part of him wished he could follow that little electronic packet of information around the curve of the Earth. He wished that he could walk into that meeting place, with a suitcase full of cash, and sit down across from this master criminal, this person who would dare to steal a national treasure. He wished that he could look this man in the face and tell him, It was me who brought you down. It was Axel Emmermann who caught you.
And then he remembered how he had felt when Nance had told him that this Robinson could easily figure out where he lived. And he quickly changed his mind.
Axel was the kind of superhero who was happy to bring justice to the world, from the comfort and security of his cozy Antwerp lair.
