Splashdown

Chapter 14

The cylinder stood less than two feet high, a proliferation of colored wires spewing from each end.

“Please, be seated,” the captain said, extending an arm to two open seats closest to him on either side of the table. Clearly it wasn’t an invitation but a command, as Dane felt the barrel of their escort’s weapon at the small of his back. He hadn’t meant to stall. He was simply taking in the incongruous centerpiece, twisted variations on the infamous game of Russian roulette running through his head.

He and Bones took their respective seats. Their plates were already fixed with heaping piles of steaming fish and what looked like fresh salads. A bowl of chowder completed the offering as did a robust glass of white wine.

Bones simply started eating.

The captain chuckled in his direction. “Yes, let us dispense with formalities, shall we?” He himself put his fork to his plate and then the rest of the men around the table seemed to relax and follow suit. The sound of silverware and muted conversation filled the room and soon Dane was able to ignore the nuclear device at the center of the table and eat. He found the food to be delicious and of high quality.

Finally, the captain spoke.

“I assume you have questions.”

Dane straightened. “I have several, and you can probably guess what they are: Who are you? What is this place? You know — the obvious ones.”

“And what’s your chowder recipe?” Bones asked. “I’m seriously considering licking the bowl."

Their host dabbed at his mouth with a cloth napkin before responding. “I am Captain Stanislav Ivkin. We are on my private island retreat in the Bahamas. I bought it years ago for a reasonable sum because it is far from the main islands of commerce and has no water or infrastructure of any kind other than what I myself provided. On the maps it is known as ‘Caye Desolation,’ but I call it simply, Mestom Mechty, which loosely translates in your language to Place of Dreams.”

Bones made a choking noise mid-sip in his wine.

Ivkin raised an eyebrow. “You disapprove?”

Bones made a dismissive flick with his forefinger. “Don’t get me wrong. It’s a good-looking chunk of land and I think you and Gilligan would be very happy here, but my dream island would have a few more chicks on it.”

Ivkin’s expression remained blank.

“And we are here in your dream world because…?” Dane asked. Ivkin's eyes shifted to the nuke on the table.

“I bought this isle personally, not for Russia, a few years ago so that I may have a place to rest while on long voyages to this part of the world. I do not bring the submarine here often, but I think you will agree that it's quite a bit more comfortable here than on board.”

“Captain, we noticed a large pile of rocks on the path to the house. We think we’ve seen their like before. They look like…”

“Like the rocks you saw on the Spanish shipwreck. The ones you so admirably deceived us with?” Ivkin smiled deviously. “We were tracking your submersible on sonar while you visited the wreck.”

Dane didn’t let this revelation jar him. “Yes. They reminded me of those same rocks. Are they?”

“They are. You see, I located the shipwreck a year before the American television expedition did. I was looking for the space capsule, but became fascinated by the wreck. You know, the crew members are still inside.”

Neither Dane nor Bones had a reply for this. They continued to eat until most of the plates were empty or nearly so. The galley crew appeared, clearing the dishes and refilling the wine. When they departed, Ivkin spoke to Dane and Bones.

“Gentlemen, I trust your meal was satisfying?”

Dane and Bones nodded their agreement.

“It's about the only thing that's been satisfying since we've met,” Bones said flatly.

“Very well, then. Let us talk about what you Americans would call the proverbial elephant in the room, shall we?”

All eyes went to the nuke.

“What was it doing aboard the space capsule?”

Bones shrugged. “We don’t know. We’re both a little young to have been involved in that mission.”

Ivkin’s wolflike grin caused Dane to tense.

“You mean to suggest that you planned a dive on the capsule without knowing of the bomb’s existence?” His inflection imparted an air of incredulity to the question.

Bones sipped his wine.

Dane took a moment to make sure that his words would come across not as defensive but matter-of-fact.

“Like my partner said, we weren’t even born when the capsule went to space. It’s been down there on the bottom for almost forty years. We really had no idea what to expect, and, I suspect, neither does the U.S. government. I think you give them too much credit if you think their record keeping capabilities are that good. If they did have a bomb they probably forgot all about it.”

At the other end of the table, one of the Russians who knew English translated for the other men, who erupted in laughter at Dane’s remark.

Ivkin tented his hands and looked at Dane while he spoke. “They just forgot all about a nuclear weapon aboard a spaceship, is that it?” An uncomfortable silence befell the table. At length Ivkin asked, “Would you like to hear my interpretation of what happened?” He went on without waiting for a reply.

“I believe that there was another, unpublicized objective for the flight of so-called Liberty Bell 7. Did you know that in 1961, in the midst of the Cold War, the U.S. government — your government — had a plan to explode a bomb on the moon as some sort of perverted and vulgar display of space power?”

Recalling Jimmy Letson's words, Dane feigned a look of disbelief, which Ivkin ignored.

“And I can only surmise that something went wrong on that flight. Everyone knows, of course, that the capsule sank after a hatch exploded, but I also believe that something went wrong in space that prevented them from bringing the bomb to the moon. Or, perhaps they never attempted that mission, after all. But the bomb was not there for no reason.” He stared at the nuke.

Dane tried to look surprised. “This is also only your conjecture, though. How could you possibly know what happened?”

“You are correct in that I do not actually know. But our intelligence gathering arms run deep. We have long known of the existence of this bomb. In fact, one of NASA’s own astronauts was willing to share some information with us before he met a rather untimely end.”

Dane flashed on his conversation with Letson, his blood seeming to run as cold as that of the lizard he spotted on a high ceiling beam.

“But until now,” Ivkin continued, “no one was aware of the capsule’s final resting place. When the television expedition you claim to be a part of located it, my orders from Moscow came down: collect the atomic weapon and see if we can locate evidence aboard the capsule to show the world the monstrous plans of the congregation of liars known as the U.S. government.”

“I still don’t see how you can be so certain of what the bomb’s purpose was,” Dane said, nodding to the cynosure of the table. “How do you know it’s not a regular incendiary device that could be remotely detonated to create an underwater sonic signature to aid in recovery efforts should it sink?”

Ivkin laughed. “If that is the case, it did not work very well, did it?” The translator again elicited laughter from the group. Ivkin raised a hand for silence.

“But there is something that I confess I do not understand. Look at the bomb.” All eyes went to the cylindrical form.

“Clearly it is intended for dropping through the air. Note how it has the stabilizing fins common to airborne bombs. If it was meant to be deployed on the moon where there is no atmosphere, those fins would make no sense whatsoever. So why put them on?”

“So even you admit that this moon bomb theory makes no sense,” Dane said. “Where does that leave us?”

Ivkin shot him a hard stare. “Precisely. So let us try to make some more sense of this, shall we?” He called out in Russian and a crewman appeared at the table carrying the metal box they had retrieved from the capsule. He placed it in front of Ivkin and retreated. Ivkin picked up the box, turned it over in his hands once and then opened it.

Behind Ivkin, Bullet Man spoke up. “As I told you earlier, Captain, I did not inspect the box closely, but I did notice that it has engravings of some sort inside the lid.”

“That's the box we retrieved from the capsule. It contained some…” Dane paused. He was not sure what the ramifications of mentioning Roland Streib's involvement with the dimes might be. “…some coins.”

“Coins?” Ivkin looked interested. “What happened to them?” He waved a hand over the empty container.

“Ask baldy, there.” Bones inclined his head toward Bullet Man. “He’s probably been playing dime slots in your casino.”

Ivkin frowned and turned his gaze on Bullet Man.

“We did find coins but, because I did not notice anything unusual about them, I did not think them worthy of your attention. I shall have them brought here, though I do not expect you will find anything.” He barked a few words in Russian to one of his men, who snapped a salute and hurried away.

Ivkin had returned his attention to the box. “Did you know about the markings?” He turned the box around so that Dane and Bones could see the inside of the lid. They both shook their heads while they stared at a series of dashes and small circles.

“I wonder, could they have any meaning? Seems too orderly to be incidental scratches.” Two more of Ivkin's officers got up from their chairs to have a look at the box. They leaned over it, chattering excitedly in Russian for a few seconds until Ivkin spoke.

“Yes, I agree. If we think of the circles not as circles but as dots, then we have the classic pattern of dashes and dots, which, to a submariner is second nature.”

Dane's mind instantly clicked with recognition. Dashes and dots…Morse Code! Had he given it any thought at all, he’d have recognized the scratches for what they were.

The Russians examining the markings suddenly became excited, calling out for someone.

“My knowledge of Morse Code is, how do you say… rusty? I will have our communications officer examine it,” Ivkin said. A few seconds later a squat, black-haired man with beady eyes appeared at his side. Ivkin presented him with the box, pointed to the engravings and then sat back while his officer had a look. After three seconds, the man said something to Ivkin in Russian with an assertive nod.

“As I suspected, it is, in fact Morse Code,” Ivkin told Dane and Bones. “It appears that your Gus Grissom had something to say while aboard the spacecraft. Something secret.”

“How do we know it wasn't carved into the box before the mission, and he took it along?” Dane posited. “It could just say Semper Fi or something like that. Maybe carpe diem!”

“Or boo yah!” Bones added.

Ivkin gazed intently at the box as his communications officer produced a pencil and paper and began alternately looking at the box and writing.

“Perhaps. But we are about to find out.” Ivkin turned to his communications officer, who had stopped writing. “Golovkin, What does it say? Read it in English for the benefit of our guests.”

The officer set his pencil down and picked up the paper. An expression of puzzlement took over his features as he began to read.