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"Not allowing the nation's Chief Executive to share in the project is an insult to the office."
Joe's dark blue eyes deepened even more. He stared at the President with stern malice. "Presidents are political animals. Votes become more precious than treasure. Nixon might have used the Jersey Colony as a smokescreen to bail himself out of Watergate. Same with Carter and the Iranian hostage fiasco. Reagan to enhance his image while lording it over the Russians. What's even more deplorable is the thought of what Congress would do with the project, the partisan politics that would come into play as debate raged to no good purpose over whether the money would be better spent on defense or feeding the poor. I love my country, Mr. President, and consider myself a better patriot than most, but I no longer have any faith in the government."
"You took the people's tax dollars."
"Which will be repaid with interest from scientific benefits. But do not forget, private individuals and their corporations contributed half the money, and, I might add, without any thought of profit or personal gain. Defense and space contractors cannot make that claim."
The President did not argue. He quietly set his ball on a tee and socked the ball toward the eighteenth green.
"If you distrust Presidents so much," he said bitterly, "why did you drop out of the heavens to tell me all this?"
"We may have a problem." Joe slipped a photograph from the back of the folder and held it up.
"Through our connections I've obtained a picture taken from an Air Force stealth aircraft making surveillance flights over Cuba."
The President knew better than to ask how it came to be in Joe's hands. "So what am I looking for?"
"Please study the area above the northern coast of the island and below the Florida Keys."
The President took a pair of glasses from his shirt pocket and peered at the image in the photo.
"Looks like the Goodyear blimp."
"No, it's the Prosperteer, an old airship belonging to Raymond LeBaron."
"I thought he was lost over the Caribbean two weeks ago."
"Ten days to be exact, along with the blimp and two crewmen."
"Then this photo was taken before he disappeared."
"No, the film came off the aircraft only eight hours ago."
"Then LeBaron must be alive."
"I'd like to think so, but all attempts to raise the Prosperteer by radio have gone unanswered."
"What's LeBaron's connection with the Jersey Colony?"
"He was a member of the ìnner core.' "
The President leaned close. "And you, Joe, are you one of the original nine men who conceived the project?"
Joe didn't answer. He didn't have to. The President, staring at him, knew without a doubt.
Satisfied, he sat back and relaxed. "Okay, so what's your problem?"
"In ten days the Soviets will take their newest heavy-lift launch vehicle out of the barn and send it into space with a manned lunar lander that's six times the size and weight of the module used by our astronauts during the Apollo program. You know the details from CIA intelligence reports."
"I've been briefed on their lunar mission," the President agreed.
"And you're also aware that over the past two years they've sent three unmanned probes in orbit around the moon to survey and photograph landing sites. The third and last crashed onto the moon's surface. The second had an engine malfunction and its fuel exploded. The first probe, however, performed successfully, at least in the beginning. It circled the moon twelve times. Then something went wrong. After returning to earth orbit prior to reentry it suddenly refused all commands from the ground.
For the next eighteen months, Soviet space controllers worked at bringing the craft down intact. Whether or not they were able to retrieve its visual data, we have no way of knowing. Finally, they managed to fire the retro-rockets. But instead of Siberia, their lunar probe, Selenos 4, landed in the Caribbean Sea."
"What has this to do with LeBaron?"
"He went searching for the Soviet moon probe."
