The stadium crowd started heading for the exits, but the old astronaut remained seated with an expression in his face which denoted the cogs in his brilliant mind were turning like crazy. “You must be wondering why I’ve told you all this,” he said.
“I was about to ask you what is it that you want from me?” said Lucas. “I’m an advertising man not a historian.”
“Precisely. You’re an experienced advertising professional, but are not employed by the big-time media players. That makes it easier for you to sound honest and not like a hired gun or a PR person. See, what I want you to do is come up with an off-the-record way to let people know the truth.”
“You want me to become another conspiracy loon?”
“Now you know the truth. It’s up to you to do whatever you feel is right with such information. Whether you come out sounding like a loony will depend on your approach to the facts I’ve revealed to you. I chose you because I trust you have the mind to create a communication strategy that would minimize the possibility of this becoming another crazy conspiracy theory. Although I must warn you that the forces who want to keep this secret will do anything in their power to discredit the story.”
“I figured that much already.”
“Listen, why don’t you think about it on your way back home and we’ll talk in a couple of days. While you’re considering your options give some thought too to how much the endeavor will cost and prepare me an estimate.”
“Further conversations can be problematic with the authorities already on our case. Who knows what’s waiting for me with the agents outside.”
“We’ll figure something out,” said the old man with a smile on his face. “Come on, let’s go. It’ll be better if we don’t give the agents an opportunity to be alone with either one of us. The crowd of departing fans will give us cover.”
The two men left the stadium suite and joined the still sizeable throng of fans heading for the parking lot. Neither one was able to identify an agent in the crowd. Lucas felt relieved when he finally reached his rental car and was on his way back to Chicago.
The four-and-a-half-hour drive was uneventful. Once back in the hotel, he got a message from the concierge that his daughter was waiting for him in the bar. Lucas approached the hotel’s lounge cautiously since he knew that his daughter Vega was back home.
It was around 9:30 PM on a Sunday night so the bar was relatively deserted. A woman in a business suit waved at him and Lucas assumed her to be his phony “daughter”. An agent for sure. He scanned the place and saw what seemed like two other agents in the bar pretending not to notice him.
He walked slowly towards the woman, and she stood up to meet him.
“You’re not my daughter,” said Lucas.
“And you’re definitely not my father Mr. Aldrich,” said the woman. “Sorry for the weak ass story with the concierge, I’m agent Rittenhouse of the NSA, please have a seat.”
“What for?”
“Relax, we just want to have a nice chat about your little day trip to Cincinnati.”
Lucas noticed that the other two agent-looking fellows had moved from the bar to a table near the entrance.
“Is it now illegal to watch a baseball game in this country?”
“Mr. Aldrich, the NSA wants to talk to you about the Antares Secret,” said agent Rittenhouse while gesturing with her hand for Lucas to sit.
Lucas took a seat facing the lounge’s entrance so he could keep watch on the other two agents.
“I’m not alone Mr. Aldrich but those two clowns are not with me. Now let’s get down to business.”
In front of the hotel a black car opened its doors and a woman with three men stepped out. They hurried to the concierge desk at the lobby and the attendant directed them to the hotel’s lounge.
Lucas was listening to agent Rittenhouse when he saw Vega enter the bar with three men he couldn’t recognize. He stood up and started to go to her when agent Rittenhouse pulled out her gun and ordered him to stay put.
“Agent Whitaker please escort these people out of the premises,” said Rittenhouse. The bartender, who was the second agent on site, left his position and approached the group.
“You can holster back your gun agent, we have a message from your boss,” said Vega handing the bartending agent an official looking envelope.
Agent Whitaker took the envelope to Rittenhouse who read its contents and proceeded to make a phone call.
“Lion Tamer,” Lucas heard her say to whoever was on the other end of the line.
Rittenhouse listened silently for a few seconds and signed off with a curt “Yes, sir.”
“We’re out of here agent Whitaker,” she told her partner and then looked fiercely into Lucas eyes. “We’ll be watching Mr. Aldrich.”
The NSA agents stormed out of the bar, and Lucas went over to embrace Vega.
“What are you doing here? What was that all about?”
“That was Oliver, Martin & Simon Law Firm in action. Please meet David Roman, my boss and one of the firm’s junior partners. He helped engineer this little operation,” said Vega. “Before anything else, what did you say to the agent?”
“Nothing, she was just in the initial process of advising me about being a patriot and protecting the legacy of those who gave so much of them in the pursuit of something of utmost importance for the nation. Of course, there was the expected veiled threat of destroying my reputation if I went public… plus enhanced interest in my affairs by the IRS,” said Lucas.
“Mr. Aldrich you’ve been in the NSA radar for some time now regarding your contact with an important asset for them,” said David. “We became aware of the situation because our firm has done some work for their branch of government in the past and they approached us to interfere with your endeavor. Vega here told me about your trip to meet this asset and I got worried our friends at the NSA might get really antsy about you. I talked to our senior partner Mr. Martin and he worked the phones to avoid a troublesome situation.”
“There’s a catch Dad,” interjected Vega. “You must sign a legal binding document that states you won’t reveal a single thing you found out from the asset. The firm is working on the final draft for you to sign it ASAP. The NSA gave us 48 hours to comply.”
“That’s it?” asked Lucas. “It’s funny because on the drive back from Cincinnati I had already decided that I wasn’t going to tell anybody. Too many people gave their lives to make a dream come true. To achieve what was once deemed impossible. No way I’m going to throw dirt on that.”
“I’m glad you think that way. What do you think we go home now Rocketman?”
“Sure. By the way, who are the other two guys in your little entourage?”
“Oh, they are part of the firm’s security detail. David and I thought we should show a little muscle when crashing the party the NSA had planned for you.”
“Nice touch. Let’s go home Moonbeam.”
THE END
EPILOGUE
Neil Armstrong died in 2012 due to complications following a cardiovascular procedure. Two years later, the hospital secretly paid his family $6 million as a part of a wrongful-death-and-survivor claim. His remains were cremated and buried at sea making an autopsy impossible. Furthermore, the burial location has been kept secret.
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