USSR Hoax

32 LET SECRETS DIE

FORTY YEARS LATER

Anya slowly lifted her head, her eyes filled with shock. “Oh my God!”

Peter looked back down at his phone again, hoping to get a clue on what had just alarmed his wife, but was unable to come up with anything. Anya had obviously deciphered the mysterious Russian writing from the picture he took inside the F-1 engine. He did a quick scan of the Seven Seas deck to ensure no one had noticed his wife’s stunned reaction, then he leaned in and asked, “What does it say?”

Anya stood rooted to the deck. She started moving her mouth but nothing came out.

Peter nudged his wife lightly, curious what the fluorescent lettering said. “Come on, what is it?”

Finally, in a faint voice, Anya answered, “It says ‘Approved by V. Alexandrov.’”

Floored, Peter took a step back. He couldn’t believe what he just heard. He looked intently into Anya’s eyes. “What?

Your dad approved this part?”

Anya shrugged. “I think so.”

Peter moved in close to see the picture again, looking for any sign of Viktor’s name. “Really? What else does it say?”

Anya slowly read off the information. “It says USSR – OKB1 – 30NK15, then the same part number we saw on the other side followed by N1 Rocket. It then says, Property of Soviet Union, followed by Dad’s approval.”

Peter ran his fingers through his hair. “Those numbers signify it was designed for the first stage engine of the N1 Rocket.” He interlaced his fingers behind his head. “Wow. I can’t believe your dad approved this part.”

“I know.”

Looking out over the water, questions started circulating through Pater’s head. Why did the Soviets have a part on a Saturn V rocket? Why was florescent paint used? Was there some secret agreement between the two countries? Something definitely wasn’t right about all of this, and Peter had a sneaking suspicion their fathers were involved. He turned back to Anya. “Remember when I told you about the last night your dad and I circled the moon and he got a little tipsy?”

Anya nodded.

“When he was reminiscing about his relationship with dad…” Seeing a worker approaching, Peter stopped talking and moved Anya to the side so the man could pass. Once the worker was out of earshot, Peter resumed. “Your dad jokingly mentioned that my dad thought he was a KGB agent when they first met during a private, top-secret meeting in dad’s hotel room.”

“They had a top-secret meeting?”

“I know. Shocked me too, especially during the Cold War. When I tried to question your dad further, he skirted the issue. He started rambling about crazy stuff like your mom wearing a Pluto costume and my Dad saving your life.”

Anya put a hand on Peter. “Oh my gosh, I forgot about that. Is Pluto the dog?”

Peter looked at his wife curiously. “Yes, Pluto’s the dog.”

“I remember Mom telling me about wearing a dog outfit so she could sneak out of Disneyland.”

Peter shook his head, confused. “What?”

“That’s when I was born.”

“Really? Because your dad said something about me holding you after you were born.”

“You held me?”

“I guess. I don’t remember. Anyway, your dad finally answered me, denying he ever said top-secret, though I know he did. But since we believed we were soon going to die, I didn’t see any point in pressing him.”

“So you think this engine is related in some way?”

“I do, especially considering that the pictures Dad had appeared to be of the same part. Think about it—your dad’s name is on it. My dad had pictures of the part locked away in a safe. Mom told me Dad was involved in a covert operation and your dad said he met my dad in a private, top-secret meeting, during the Cold War! I think it’s not a question of if our fathers were involved. The question is, to what level were they involved? Somehow both our fathers had something to do with this part being on an F-1 engine. The fact that there is no public record of a Russian part ever being associated with a Saturn V rocket, well, it can’t be good. You know, if this gets out, it would surely lead to a major investigation, possibly damaging our fathers’ legacies.”

Kevin approached from the other side of the engine. He extended a small, white cloth toward Peter. “Sorry it took so long to find a clean rag.”

“No problem.” Peter grabbed the towel and wiped his hands as he stared at the engine. He couldn’t let this information get out. If he was going to make a move, he had to do it now. But he couldn’t do anything with Kevin there. Peter turned toward Anya and waggled his eyebrows once before looking back at Kevin. “Anya needs to go to the restroom. Could you please show her the way?”

Kevin started looking around for help.

Picking up on the cue, Anya took Kevin by the arm. She said in a flirtatious voice, “It would be wonderful if you could escort me.”

Peter whispered, “Yeah, she’s embarrassed with all the stares she’s been getting.”

Anya tugged Kevin away from the engine and she said softly, “I would just prefer someone to walk me over there.”

With a reluctant smile, Kevin got the hint and led Anya in the right direction. Peter knew his wife would keep the worker away for a while.

Scanning the ship’s deck, Peter tried to determine how he could erase the evidence. On the other side of the blue drum on the ship’s deck was a big red tool box. He first looked around to make sure no one was watching, then pawed through the box’s contents. He came across a small cordless grinder. Perfect.

Snagging the tool, Peter hustled over to the side of the engine where he could access the back end of the part. With the various noises of tools humming in the background, he hoped the sound from the grinder wouldn’t stand out. He double-checked again that he wasn’t being watched, and then turned the device on. Holding the tool securely in one hand, he grabbed a support with the other, and, with his arm fully extended, reached deep inside the dark crevice. Unable to see the markings, he went on his memory of its location and pressed the small spinning blade hard against the metal part. The sight of a shower of tiny sparks whipping off the blade along with the strong odor of burning metal verified he was doing some damage. Afraid the excessive noise might be heard and he might be stopped prematurely, he moved the grinder in a wide crisscrossing manner, hoping to get as much of the area as possible.

After about a minute’s work, the tool began to slip through Peter’s sweaty hand. He turned the grinder off, set it down, and wiped his hand on his jeans. No one seemed to have noticed what he’d been doing. He pulled out his phone from his pocket and shown the black light into the darkness to check out his handiwork. Though erratic scratches cut wildly through the florescent paint, a few letters could still be determined as Russian. He retrieved the grinder and finished the work. He briefly considered erasing the part number on the front side, but because it had been seen, he decided it was best to leave it alone. He was convinced nothing could be proven from the number anyway.

Shortly after placing the grinder back into the tool box, Peter saw Anya and Kevin returning. Peter innocently placed his hands in his pockets, giving the impression he had been inspecting the engine the whole time. As soon as the two walked up, Peter immediately grabbed his wife’s hand. “Sweetheart, we need to get going.”

While being pulled away, Anya called out to the bewildered worker, “Thanks, Kevin. Good luck with your wedding.”

Without telling Anya why they were rushing off, Peter led his wife through the maze of equipment littering the ship’s deck. Once they reached the gangplank, Peter swiftly helped Anya disembark, ignoring her questioning look. As they hustled down the metal footbridge, Peter heard his name being called out. Without breaking stride, he looked back to see Ted hanging over the railing.

The CEO had his hands cupped around his mouth. “Hey, Peter, where are you going?”

“I got an urgent call from Washington. There’s been an accident. Another agent will probably be back later.”

“Did the markings tell you anything?”

Peter yelled out as they continued down the gangplank, “Nothing.”

As they exited onto a walkway parallel to the ship, Anya nestled in close with a raised eyebrow, her hair brushing his cheek. “What did you just do?”

Peter wore a Cheshire cat grin. “I preserved our fathers’ good names.”

Suddenly, Ted called out for them to stop.

Peter took his wife’s hand. “Let’s get out of here.”

The two took off running, giggling like a couple of school children.