Eagle Station

“That’s a mighty bold claim, General McLanahan,” Farrell said calmly.

“Yes, sir, it is,” Patrick agreed, with equal coolness. “But since just about everything Moscow and Beijing told us about their so-called Pilgrim 1 mission was a lie, I don’t think it’s really much of a stretch.”

“Go on.”

In answer, Patrick pulled up a set of images from his personal files and transferred them to the computer-controlled wall screen. As a security precaution, White House rules prohibited smartphones and personal laptops in the Situation Room. But those rules weren’t designed to cover someone with his peculiar abilities and equipment. His LEAF exoskeleton contained wireless links, a neural interface, and its own powerful computer — enabling him to access information from a vast array of databases around the globe anywhere and anytime.

Farrell and his top national security advisers stared at the same expanding cloud of radar reflective particles Brad and Nadia had spotted near the docked Federation 2 spacecraft and Chang’e-10 lunar lander. Patrick zoomed in on the computer-enhanced image. Seen close up, the cloud looked like a swirling, glittering mass of sharp-edged crystals.

“What you’re looking at was originally written off as evidence of a simulated waste or atmosphere dump… as just another test of normal spacecraft systems,” Patrick said quietly.

Farrell raised an eyebrow. “And that was wrong?”

“Dead wrong.” Patrick zoomed in even farther, isolating several of the brighter fragments. “Neither ice crystals nor frozen atmospheric gases reflect microwave energy efficiently — especially not radar pulses that have to travel 250,000 miles out and 250,000 miles back.” He pointed at the screen. “Whatever those fragments are, they sure as hell aren’t ice or clumps of frozen oxygen.”

“Then what are they?” the president asked.

“Well, sir, that took some serious figuring,” Patrick said with a hard-edged smile. “And a fair amount of supercomputer time.” He zoomed back out to show the whole cloud as it expanded. “Boiling it down, what I did was take the observed motion of every identifiable component of this debris field. Then I had the computer extrapolate backward through time, taking into account possible collisions between fragments and the effects of the moon’s gravitational field.”

Lawrence Dawson looked suddenly very interested and clearly impressed. “And you found an origin point?” he guessed.

“I did.” Patrick nodded. “Or, more accurately, multiple origin points… forming a distinct structure.” He sent the result of the supercomputer’s hellishly complex calculations to the screen.

For a few moments, everyone in the room just stared at the oddly irregular, almost amorphous, blob seeming to hover in space, not far from the docked Sino-Russian spaceships. “What in God’s name is that thing?” Taliaferro asked, breaking the uncomfortable silence.

“You’ll see, once the image is suitably enhanced,” Patrick said coolly. As he spoke, the blob sharpened up, taking on added structure and definition, until it bore a striking resemblance to China’s Chang’e-10 spacecraft.

“A second lunar lander?” Taliaferro said in surprise. “Where did that spacecraft come from? And why did it blow up?”

Patrick shook his head. “That wasn’t a real spacecraft, Mr. Secretary. It was a decoy, a mock-up of the real Chang’e-Ten. One the Russians and Chinese used to make us believe their moon lander stayed in orbit… while it was really down on the lunar surface.” Through the visor of his LEAF helmet, he looked grave. “One thing’s clear: Moscow and Beijing have beaten us back to the moon.”

Elizabeth Hildebrand frowned. “If that’s true, why would Leonov and Li Jun keep it secret?” the CIA director wondered. “After all, the first successful manned moon landing in more than fifty years would be a huge propaganda coup. Why wouldn’t they jump on the chance to rub that in our faces?”

“Right now, I don’t know the answer to that question,” Patrick admitted. His tone was somber. “But when we do find out what’s happening up on the moon, I’m damned sure we aren’t going to like it. Which means we can’t afford to screw around anymore. We need eyes on the situation, especially around the far side of the moon.”

Farrell nodded sharply. “You’ve got that right, General.” He looked around the table. “I’m going to direct NASA to drastically accelerate its plans for a manned mission to orbit the moon.”

“They’ll squawk,” Martindale cautioned. “Their SLS super heavy-lift rockets are still behind schedule and over budget.”

“NASA can squawk all it wants,” the president snapped. “But I’m going to give them a choice. They either figure out how to go and go soon using their own spacecraft… or they buy a ride on one of the private-sector rockets out there.”