Tag: Fantasy Baseball

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THE ANTARES SECRET – CHAPTER 1: Moonbeam

Full Moon over the ocean

Lucas Aldrich was already sipping his margarita at the Mexican restaurant when his daughter arrived.

“Hey Dad! Sorry I’m late. Clients sometimes forget that one needs to have lunch.”

“Don’t worry about it Moonbeam.”

Moonbeam was Lucas’ nickname for his daughter Vega. The moniker’s inspiration was a TV interview he had seen of Astronaut Gene Cernan’s daughter in the early 70’s in which she claimed her father had promised to bring her a moonbeam from his trip to the Moon. One day, many years ago, while playing with her daughter, Lucas tied a beach towel around his neck and called himself Rocket Man. Little Vega wanted to be a superhero too, and he suggested the name so they could become the space adventurers Rocket Man and Moonbeam. She loved it and the nicknames evolved into terms of endearment between them. The fact that Vega developed a keen interest in her father’s two favorite hobbies – baseball and the 1960’s space race, helped perpetuate their special sobriquets.

But that was a long time ago and now she was a very busy professional woman so a while ago they had started a tradition of having lunch together, just the two of them every Wednesday rain or shine. Nice father/daughter quality time. This time it was at their favorite Mexican restaurant.

“Hey Rocket Man, easy on the tequila, you’re not so young anymore.”

“Thanks for reminding me,” he said.

“I didn’t say old, I said not so young.”

“Leave it to lawyers to nitpick about the language.”

“Hey you’re in communications. You’re the one who taught me to be meticulous about the words I choose to express an idea.”

A waiter briefly interrupted the conversation to ask Vega what she wanted to drink. She ordered a frozen margarita and asked for a minute to decide on an appetizer. They went with their usual chihuahuas with jalapeños.

“So, how’s everything? How did it go with Dalia’s aunt?” Vega asked her father.

A couple of weeks ago Vega had introduced Lucas to her colleague Dalia’s aunt, a pretty attractive divorcée that she thought would be a good match for her widowed father. They seemed to hit it off, and during their last lunch together Lucas mentioned they were going out on a date that following Friday.

“It was OK,” said Lucas matter-of-factly, “she’s a very smart woman…”

“Buuuuut…” said Vega waiting for the perennial ‘but’ that her father had her accustomed to.

“I don’t know, it’s hard to describe. I just couldn’t find a meaningful connection.”

“Dad, Mom died ten years ago.  I know her absence still hurts but It’s time to move on. No one will be like her, but you must give yourself a chance to experience a meaningful relationship with someone different.”

“I guess I’m just not ready yet Moonbeam. Not ready,” said Lucas looking at his margarita.

“Sorry Dad, I didn’t mean… I just want you to be happy.”

Vega’s frozen margarita arrived with the spicy chihuahuas and before they both dug in they ordered lunch. Again, no surprises there, a Swiss burrito for Lucas and chicken fajitas for Vega.

“Did you watch the game last night?” she asked changing the topic.

“You bet I did, the Indians came from behind in the ninth inning. Sorry about your Yankees,” said Lucas.

“This is the year… right,” said Vega smiling.

Lucas was a Cleveland Indians fan, a major league franchise that hadn’t won a championship since 1948. But being a fan of such a hard luck team wasn’t always the case for him. In the 70’s Lucas was a hardcore fan of the Cincinnati Reds – the fabled Big Red Machine. And in his hometown he cheered for a local team called the Lions. Both enjoyed several championship runs when he was a kid. Then in the 1990’s he saw a movie called Major League and he became infatuated with the then hapless Indians.

“This is the year,” said Lucas smiling and winking at his daughter.

“Are you playing fantasy baseball this year?” asked Vega.

“Oh yeah, the Red Lions are at it again and we are off to a good start. We play the Kitty Hawks tonight.”

“Kitty Hawks as in the Wright Brothers’ Kitty Hawk?”

“Yeah, why?”

“Oh nothing, just found it curious. The manager must be either an aviation enthusiast or a space race buff like you.”

Vega, like her father, knew that Neil Armstrong, the man famous for being the first man to step on the Moon, had carried during his Apollo 11 mission, a piece of fabric and a piece of wood from the flyer the Wright brothers had successfully tested at Kitty Hawk, North Carolina in 1903.

“Yeah, he must be…” said Lucas suddenly deep in thought.

 

 

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THE ANTARES SECRET – CHAPTER 3: The Old Man and the Moon

,Full moon rising on the countryside behind the silhouettes of two wine glasses

The man was too old to deal with gratuitously stressful situations. Thankfully, he could identify from a mile away a situation with the potential of getting him into deep waters fast. Throughout most of his life he had had to deal with the nuances of being a reluctant celebrity and had become familiar with most of the back doors fans tended to use to access him. Above all he treasured his privacy and just wanted to live the few remaining years of his life peacefully away from the limelight. Nevertheless, it was 2008, he was approaching his 78th birthday and a feeling of remorse was creeping in, not for what he had done but for what he hadn’t.

Some days he found himself entertaining the idea of telling the whole world everything and the hell with it. He thought that, maybe for such a venture he would be willing to leave the peace and quite of his self-imposed exile. Before long, his musings were interrupted by his wife’s voice…

“Hey honey, cutting down a cherry tree?”

“Just some fantasy baseball stuff… and building up an appetite. What’s for dinner?”

“One of your favorites, roasted squab with potatoes and gravy.”

“It smells delicious.”

Carol was his second wife. He looked at her with loving eyes as he remembered the day they met at a golf tournament sixteen years ago. She was a widow at the time, and he was trying to rebuild his life after a heart-wrenching divorce. The seating arrangements placed them side by side at the breakfast table but, she said very little to him. The woman felt overwhelmed by the celebrity status of the man next to her.  Nevertheless, two weeks later he called and asked her what she was doing. She replied she was cutting down a cherry tree with her son, and half and hour later he was knocking on her door, chainsaw in hand, to help out. They married two years later.

“The weather is really nice today,” he said, “what do you say we open a bottle of Cabernet and eat at the veranda while the Moon rises over the tree tops.”

“Sounds lovely, I’ll set the table outside,” she said while giving him a peck on the cheek.

They lived in the countryside and their house had a spectacular view that always looked even better during the lengthening days of spring. They sat on the table and clinked their wine glasses.

“Cheers,” he said. “Carol, I was thinking… what if I told someone the truth?”

“What do you mean the truth?”

He just looked at the rising Moon in the darkening blue sky.

“Are you serious? You can’t just go out there and tell the world what you know. Besides, there would be serious consequences. Your reputation will be reduced to ashes, plus who knows what the government will put you through. Listen, you weren’t even supposed to tell me. Why are you bringing this up now?”

“I’m tired Carol. They say that on the deathbed one regrets not what one did but what one didn’t. And what I didn’t do was stand for the truth. You’ve made me feel young again, but I don’t know how many more years I have left, and I really don’t want any regrets when the time comes. Not to mention that a man died 10 years ago without the world knowing what he had truly done, without getting the credit he truly deserved. I think the time has come.”

“What about your aversion to the media? You would have to relive all the media frenzy you endured almost 40 years ago… but on steroids.”

“This is just preliminary, but my plan doesn’t include the media. It doesn’t even involve a big splash. Let me refill the wine glasses and I’ll tell you what I have in mind…”

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THE ANTARES SECRET – CHAPTER 6: Houston, Do You Copy?

Montage of Houston Astros Logo over LBJ Spece Center display and old photo of the Wright Brothers Kitty Hawk flight

The night before, the Indians lost to the Yankees in extra innings with the Bronx Bombers coming from behind, and over in the fantasy league Lucas’ Red Lions lost to the Kitty Hawks by a run. Nevertheless, in that particular morning those results felt perfect for they gave Lucas a good excuse to contact the Hawks’ manager again.

He sat down on his computer and wrote the man a message while sipping his first cup of morning coffee.

“Congratulations on the win. Looking forward to our next match. By the way, I’ll be in Houston on a business trip next week, and I see you chose the Astros’ logo for your Kitty Hawks. Are you familiar with the city? Any recommendations as to where to go for a good dinner?” he wrote.

The Houston trip was a lie but it was the only thing he could think of to get the man back on the topic which could lead to the information he was interested in. He had been to the city once for the wedding of a college friend hence he felt confident he could answer with credibility any questions regarding the fake trip. He looked once more at the written message to make sure it was perfect, and then clicked on the send button.

After showering he started his day’s work. An hour or so later he got a call from Vega.

“Hey Sweetie, good morning! What’s up?”

“Well, Mr. Dashing you,” she said in a sassy tone, “I just talked to Dalia and she told me that in her aunt’s opinion you were a real life Prince Charming during last Friday’s date(1). Not bad for a man who’s not interested.”

“Well, you know me, I always try to make the other person feel comfortable.”

“Oh come on, you’re not a sofa. You were enjoying her company and couldn’t help being your adorable and fascinating self.”

“It wasn’t on purpose Moonbeam.”

“Sure Dad, whatever you say. It’s just nice to hear about you having a good time on a date. It makes me happy. Anyway, I thought about you a lot last night.”

“Oh really! What about?”

“I was going through the old patch collection.”

“No kidding? The Apollo mission patches?”

“Yep, I could hear you explaining them to me like it was yesterday. It was a nice trip down memory lane.”

“Funny you mention that because last night I was poring over my old Space Race notebook. Weird, don’t you think?”

“We’ve always been connected. Listen, I’ve been wondering…” said Vega, “is there any way you could find out the real name of the Kitty Hawks’ manager?”

“Already on it.  I’ve had a couple of exchanges with him through the fantasy league’s messaging system.”

“Oh really? Anything interesting?”

“Well, for starters, he told me he grew up near Dayton, Ohio. Do you know who  else was born an hour away from Dayton?”

“Well, John Glenn, Neil Armstrong and Jim Lovell were born in Ohio…”

Yes, but only Armstrong grew up near Dayton.”

“Hmm, don’t jump to conclusions just yet Rocket Man. Keep talking to him. My advice is, don’t be direct. Try to make the man paint himself into a corner by asking innocent sounding questions that allow you to discard other identity options. Oh, and don’t forget, if he is who you think he is, you’re dealing with a very smart person. Don’t try to reel him in with transparent stuff. Listen, I got  to get ready for a deposition, but keep me posted. Ok?”

“Sure Moonbeam, have a great day.”

It wasn’t until after lunch that Lucas got an answer from the Kitty Hawks’ manager.

“A close one,  but I’ll take it any day :-)”, he wrote. “If you like the classic steakhouse menu your best bet is Brenner’s. It’s been there forever and for good reason.”

Lucas didn’t want to waste time in idle chat so he went straight to the point.

“What about the Kennedy Space Center? Is it worth a visit?”

“I’m guessing you mean the Lyndon B. Johnson Space Center, right?”

“Yep, sorry about that. The ‘Houston we have a problem’ one.”

“Don’t worry about it, it’s a very common mistake. The LBJ Space Center is a nice visit if you’re into that sort of stuff.”

Lucas decided to go for all the marbles.

“The Space Race has always been one of my favorite topics. As a matter of fact, Apollo 14’s lunar module was called Kitty Hawk,” he wrote. “Funny that you chose the Houston Astros H logo for your Kitty Hawks. Where you aware of the connection?”

Lucas waited for an answer but the minutes passed and nothing came back. Should he interpret that as good or bad news?

Over in southwestern Ohio an old man stared at his computer pondering his next move.

 

(1)Vega talked to Lucas about this date in Chapter 1: Moonbeam.

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THE ANTARES SECRET – CHAPTER 7: The Chat Check

Concept art of two persons chatting about baseball and the Moon

Before carrying on his chat with the Red Lions’ manager, the old man thought it would be a good idea to show it to his wife.

“Hey Carol, take a look at this.”

She put on her reading glasses and read the brief conversation.

“Do you think he smells a rat regarding your choice of name? ” she asked.

“I don’t know. But a little voice tells me that the question about the Apollo 14/Kitty Hawk connection is not an innocent one. He’s fishing for something.”

“So, are you going to answer him?”

“Still thinking it over… You know,  the fact that he made the association makes me wonder if he might be the person for my plan. What do you think?”

“Honey, you don’t even know what this man, or woman for that matter, does for a living. Much less whether he or she has the interest or the capabilities to come through with it. What you want done requires a very specific skill set.”

The old man pondered his wife’s statement and started typing on his computer.

“Wow, that’s a connection few people could make nowadays,” he wrote to the Red Lions’ manager. “What do you do for a living? Are you in any way related to the aerospace industry?”

The answer came fast.

“Hey, I thought I’d lost you there for a while.  I’m in advertising. The Space Race is just a hobby,” wrote the Red Lions’ manager.

The old man kept pushing the envelope.

“Are you one of those conspiracy theorists that believe the whole thing was a hoax?”

“No those are just a bunch of lunatics with too much time on their hands and and even more free space in their brain cavities,” read the answer.

The old man liked what he was reading so far and decided to probe the other end of the spectrum.

“So you’re a NASA fan huh.”

“Not exactly. I’m a fan of the astronauts and the engineers that sacrificed everything to accomplish the seemingly impossible. With regards to NASA I think the bigwigs there in the Sixties were not as truthful as they should have been with the American public and the world audience.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, that the Apollo program was successful in taking mankind to the Moon but the landings didn’t take place the way NASA wanted us to believe.”

“So… you are a conspiracy theorist?”

“I have a theory of what really transpired and it differs significantly from the ones professed by the garden variety of conspiracy theorists. Those are full of crap. If my theory is correct, it would imply that some people over at NASA coordinated efforts to bring forth a plan with the intention of making the public believe something that was not true. I guess that would be tantamount to a conspiracy at NASA. Still, to answer your question: I have a theory yes, and it involves some sort of conspiracy yes, but I refuse to describe myself as a conspiracy theorist ;-)”

“You remind me of Richard Gere tap dancing in the musical Chicago while trying to sell a tricky legal argument,” said the old man.

“Yeah, sorry about that. My daughter’s a lawyer,” said the Red Lions’ manager before adding something that caught the old man off-guard. “By the way, call me Lucas.”

Nope, not yet Mr. Lucas, thought the old man, no name from my end today. But I’ll keep asking questions for as long as you keep answering them.

“Very well, nice talking to you Lucas. Good luck in tonight’s game,” he wrote before signing off.

Lucas felt confident he was on the right track regarding the man’s identity, especially after he avoided giving his name.

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THE ANTARES SECRET – CHAPTER 8: A Night at The Bar

Shadowy figure in front of bar

Vega’s deposition took almost all day. She was physically and emotionally drained. Most deposition witnesses are difficult, but this one knocked the ball out of the park. The man named Geoffrey Rousseau had obviously been advised by counsel to be as evasive and vague as possible thus making the discovery procedure an uphill battle for Vega’s team. Trying to get any meaningful information out of a witness who is combative, unresponsive, overly and conveniently forgetful, purposefully slow and generally intent in making the deposition go nowhere is always a draining challenge.

One of Vega’s most colorful characteristics was that she always kept a black baseball bat next to her desk. She had named it Betsy after the legendary Shoeless Joe Jackson’s bat Black Betsy. Well, that night, after struggling for eight hours with such an ass of a witness, she wanted Betsy to have a close encounter of the third kind with Geoffrey’s head.

When it was finally over, she needed a drink badly. The whole legal team did, so they went to their favorite watering hole. The place, named simply The Bar, was an establishment designed to cater to members of the legal profession. With cocktail names like Objection, Hung Jury and Guilty Verdict the joint was a favorite for barristers of all kinds – from the ambulance chaser to the mega firm junior partner.

“There was a moment when I thought you were going to introduce Geoffrey to Betsy,” said Dalia to Vega while nursing a specialty beer named Beyond a Reasonable Stout.

“You have no idea how close I was,” said Vega who didn’t go for any of the fancy named drinks and was enjoying the silky smoothness of a single malt on the rocks. “What an asshole.”

“Well, on that subject and on behalf of Oliver, Martin & Simon Law Offices, thanks for saving the firm some bail money today Vega,” said David Roman, Vega’s boss and one of the firm’s most promising junior partners.

“Yeah, anytime Dave. It takes a lot more than a Geoffrey Rousseau to make me lose it.”

“Switching to a more pleasant topic,” said Dalia, “did you tell your Dad what my aunt said about him after their date?”

“I did.”

“Aaaand…” said Dalia prompting Vega for more details.

Before Vega could say anything, Mr. Martin, one of the firm’s senior partners, entered The Bar and quickly approached the group, interrupting their conversation.

“Good evening ladies and gentlemen, can I steal Mr. Roman for a few minutes?” he said.

The junior partner got to his feet and followed Mr. Martin to a table where two other men waited. Vega and Dalia found the whole thing a bit odd and watched subtly from the distance.

The two unknown men seemed to have been there for a while and it was obvious they were the ones in charge of the conversation. Mr. Martin was taking care of the firm’s side of it while David remained mostly quiet.

After a few minutes, Mr. Martin accompanied David back to the firm team’s table.

“I hereby return your boss safe and in one piece,” he said to the group. “Sorry for the interruption. Dave please have the firm take care of the tab.”

“Will do Mr. Martin, and thanks.”

And just like that, the senior partner left The Bar.

“What was that all about?” Vega asked David.

“Oh nothing, just forerunners for a potential new client.”

“Must be a very important one to have Mr. Martin involved,” commented Dalia.

“One with very deep pockets,” said Oscar Levi the youngest member of their legal team.

David remained quiet throughout the speculation process. A smile here and there but not a single word. He couldn’t share anything with the group and besides, he was still processing the information he had been made privy to and wasn’t sure how to go about it. He needed time to think.

The task wasn’t hard, he just didn’t like what he had been asked to do to one of the members of his team.

 

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THE ANTARES SECRET – CHAPTER 9: On the Down Low

Dark at night in the street a man looks at government's car approaching

David stayed up late that night trying to figure out how to go about his assignment. The people at The Bar were government agents and not forerunners for a new client as he told the group. To organize his ideas he went through the conversation with them in his mind:

“We need your firm to handle this with extreme discretion.” said one of the agents.

“Mr. Roman here, is Ms. Aldrich’s immediate superior and has developed a good personal relationship with her,” said Mr. Martin. “We believe he has earned a high level of trust from her and that the assignment wouldn’t need any other firm asset. That should take care of the discreet aspect.”

“Vega Aldrich should never know she’s being asked to do something for someone else,” said the second agent. “The trick is to make her do our bidding while believing it’s all her idea.”

“We’ve been closely monitoring our man since his first contact with Mr. Aldrich popped up in our surveillance systems,” added the first agent, “and we are very concerned with the direction the conversation is taking. Mr. Martin, it is of utmost importance that, for his own good, Lucas Aldrich stops this before it goes any further.”

The “for his own good” part left David with a bad taste in his mouth.

Mr. Martin asked for information regarding the identity of the man Lucas Aldrich was contacting, but the answer to most of the questions was always the same: “That’s classified.”

In that respect, the only thing the lawyers got from the government agents was that their man was the manager of a fantasy baseball team called the Kitty Hawks. A piece of information David found laughable given the supposed seriousness of the situation. Apparently his face betrayed him with an unconscious expression that prompted one of the agents to ask him if there was anything wrong.

“No, nothing, it’s just that I once had a terrible experience in one of those fantasy leagues,” he said. “They are definitely not my cup of tea.”

“Well’ gentlemen, time for us to start doing our job,” said Mr. Martin after a few more frustrating minutes of unsuccessfully trying to fish out some meaningful information.

Both attorneys got up and left the agents’ table. “Please give me a call tonight once you’re in a place where you can talk privately. Oh, and in case they ask, just tell your team that these guys were forerunners for a potential new client,” Mr. Martin told David as they walked back to Vega’s table.

He called as soon as he got home, and they discussed strategy. During the conversation he could tell that this wasn’t the first time the firm was involved in this type of operation for the government.

David was now going through his mind’s archives of conversations and interactions with Vega trying to find a subtle way to seamlessly talk to her about her dad’s fantasy baseball hobby. In the process he recalled something Dalia said at The Bar just before Mr. Martin pulled him out of the table. It was about Vega’s dad going out with her aunt.

Hmmm, maybe there’s a way there, he thought.

He spent some more time on that train of thought before calling it a night.

Over at Lucas’ place, that night’s game was over and he remembered he hadn’t taken out the trash earlier. As he was taking care of business, he noticed a dark car rolling slowly down his street. Nothing out of the ordinary, except the car looked like a caricature of a government-issued car. He half expected people in dark suits to step out of it. The thought made him chuckle until a yawn attested to his tiredness.

The next morning Lucas was leaving for an early meeting with a client and as he was going out the door he saw the dark car again. A disturbing thought crossed his head: They wanted me to see them.

While getting into his car he though about calling Vega but then decided otherwise. No reason to alarm her, he thought. What was going on? Why would a government-looking car be making the rounds in his street? He was a law-abiding citizen who hadn’t done anything wrong. What if it wasn’t the government? The license plates didn’t identify it as such. What was going on here? He breathed in deeply and tried to relax. The most probable explanation was that the car had nothing to do with him and that his mind was playing tricks with him.

He kept looking in his rear-view mirror all the way to his early morning meeting but the dark car was nowhere to be seen. The previous day optimism was nowhere to be found either. He couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something bad brewing under the surface.  

 

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THE ANTARES SECRET – CHAPTER 10: Click… click… click…

Edwin Moon and Moonbeam

Vega was going through her morning ritual of checking email when David knocked on her office door.

“Hey, how’re you doing?” he said.

“Hi Dave, glad you stopped by. I noticed you were pretty quiet after meeting the new prospects last night. I didn’t want to ask you in front of the others but, is everything okay?”

“Yeah, sure, just more stuff to do. Like I had a lot of spare time left. What did bother me was that I missed whatever juicy story was being told regarding your father going out with Dalia’s aunt.”

“Oh, nothing juicy about it. I think my father enjoys baseball more than dating.”

David couldn’t believe his good luck. Just like that Vega had taken him to the topic he wanted to get to.

“Big baseball fan, huh.”

“Oh my God, yes. Even Spring Training gets him excited.”

“Really? What’s his favorite team?”

“The Cleveland Indians, a hard to understand fascination with a team that hasn’t won a World Series since 1948. It’s a sentimental thing that has to do with my Mom.”

“Sorry… I didn’t want to…” said David awkwardly.

“Don’t worry, it’s okay.”

“I’m more of a casual baseball fan,” said David trying to steer the conversation back to his topic of interest. “I once participated in one of those fantasy leagues but, not being a hardcore follower, I didn’t do too well. Which marked the beginning and end of my career as a fantasy baseball manager.

“Dad’s a veteran in those endeavors. Every year, since I don’t know when.”

Click. The door to talk about Lucas Aldrich’s involvement with fantasy baseball was now open. From that point on, what he needed to do was all about timing.

Lucas’ meeting was brief and to the point. Once back in his studio, he opened a message from the Kitty Hawks’ manager that had been waiting in his inbox since early that morning. It read:

“Good morning Lucas, sorry I didn’t give you my name yesterday when you asked me to call you Lucas. Just an oversight from an absent-minded person. Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Edwin Moon…”

Lucas felt his enthusiasm about the identity of this person die with that revelation, but he kept reading.

“…and I’m getting into a venture that requires professional communications efforts. Could you send me some information about your company or guide me to a website where I can find it? Also, the job might involve traveling to meet in person. Would that be okay with you?”

Click. This was the opportunity Lucas was looking for.

The man whose identity he wanted to corroborate had just opened the door to a face-to-face meeting, thought Lucas before the reality check dawned on him. Oh wait, his name is Edwin Moon.

Before answering that email Lucas googled the man’s name. As it’s usually the case, there were several persons with the same name, so he dug deeper to see if he could make an educated guess as to which Edwin Moon was talking to him. He wasn’t ready for the information he got. The search engine brought him to a page with a list of aviation pioneers. As he scrolled down the list he found an Edwin Moon entry.

Edwin Moon
June 8, 1886 – April 29, 1920
Country of birth: England
Achievements: Designed, constructed, and flew a monoplane named “Moonbeam” during early to mid 1910

Click. The search had taken him to an entry of a long dead aviation pioneer who named his plane with the same moniker he had chosen as nickname for his daughter.

Lucas took it as a sign and smiled.  

 

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THE ANTARES SECRET – CHAPTER 11: The life and death of Edwin Moon

Photomontage of Buzz Aldrin from Apollo 11 and Gene Cernan from Apollo 17 whose connection Carol questions

Carol wasn’t sure about her husband’s course of action.

“Edwin Moon? Really? You couldn’t find a more transparent pseudonym? The Red Lions’ manager will see right through it,” she said.

“Don’t worry Honey, I did my research. There are several persons named Edwin Moon in Ohio.”

“Yes, but why that particular name? Edwin is Buzz’s first name, and Moon, well that’s just… just… I don’t even know what to call that choice of last name… obvious, unimaginative, careless…”

“It’s just my way of telling him that’s he’s on the right track without telling him,” said the old man  with a smile. “If he’s in advertising as he claims to be, he’ll get it. Trust me Carol, he’ll google the name and very probably see that one of aviation’s pioneers was named Edwin Moon. There he’ll find out that the guy’s plane was named Moonbeam.”

“So?”

“Well, the guy also claims to be a Space Race buff. If that’s true, he’ll be familiar with Gene Cernan’s promise to bring his daughter a moonbeam. I know it sounds like a stretch but it’s the kind of diagonal thinking typical of creative advertising people. And if he makes the connections then he would have proven himself right for the job. Think of it as a final test.”

“I’d hate being a student of yours,” said Carol.

As Carol wondered about her husband’s tactics, far away, two government agents had been made privy of the communication and were moving quickly to address the situation.

Over at Oliver, Martin & Simon Law Offices David was reading an odd email that had just arrived. It was sent by an old acquaintance from his law school days. One he knew to be dead.

“Hey buddy how are you doing? I’m writing because I remember you being involved a while back with some baseball fantasy league and I just got an official message regarding some sort of investigation of a scam going on in those leagues. It seems there’s a person or a group of persons working in various leagues who get close to other players and lead them to join a new business venture where they are subsequently  fleeced. A typical con job. Be careful and keep your eyes open.”

For a few seconds he stared at the email not knowing what to do with it. His first instinct was to delete it but as he pondered his options Mr. Martin walked into his office.

“I can tell by the look in your face that you got the email,” he said.

“You know about it?”

“I got a blind copy. It was sent by our government friends. I just talked to them; they want you to show it to Ms. Aldrich. Can you do it without arising suspicions?”

“Yes, just this morning I got Vega to talk to me about her father’s involvement with fantasy baseball. It would be a seamless expansion of our earlier conversation.”

“Perfect. Let’s make this happen today.”

“Just one question. Why use the name of a dead person I used to know?”

“I don’t know son, these spook types can be very weird at times. I’ve deal with them before; don’t read anything into it.”

Mr. Martin left and David wrote Vega a little message of his own acknowledging their earlier talk about her father’s involvement with fantasy baseball.

Oblivious to all that, Lucas was working on an answer to Edwin Moon’s message in the fantasy league chat room. He was usually aggressive in the pursuit of new clients, so even though he couldn’t pinpoint which Edwin Moon was contacting him he decided to take a swing at it to see if he could put the ball in play.

“Nice to meet you Edwin. Can I call you Ed? You’ll be able to see what I can do for you regarding communications at lucasaldrich.com. If you have specific questions please don’t hesitate to contact me through the website email. With regards to travel, it wouldn’t be a problem but, as is customary in the industry, your company would be responsible for all travel expenses. Looking forward to talking to you outside the fantasy league confines.”

Lucas then pressed the Send button and stared blankly at the screen for a while. Something was telling him that he was missing something about Mr. Moon.

Edwin Moon, he thought. Edwin. Buzz. Edwin ‘Buzz’ Aldrin. Apollo 11’s lunar module pilot. Armstrong’s wingman. Moon. Moonbeam. Gene Cernan. Apollo 17. Last man to walk on the Moon. From Purdue University. Same as Armstrong. Shit! It’s him! He’s using a fake name!  

 

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THE ANTARES SECRET – CHAPTER 12: Connecting the Dots

Image illustrating Vega calling her dad to tell him about the email and connecting the dots

Lucas couldn’t wait to share his excitement with Vega so he called her.

“Hey Moonbeam! Whatcha doing for lunch?”

“Hi Dad, it looks like I’ll be having a sandwich on my desk at some point ‘cause I’m knee-deep in stuff that can’t wait. Why?”

“I’ve got very exciting news from our Kitty Hawk,” said Lucas.

“Really? Well, I guess I can step out of the swamp for a coffee break now. Spit it out; I’m all ears.”

Lucas read her all the messages. From the moment he asked about the Apollo 14/Kitty Hawk connection to the Edwin Moon revelation. And finished with his rationale of why he strongly believed that the man was indeed who he thought he was.

“What do you think?”

“I don’t know Dad. I think you might be stretching the facts a little. Tell you what. Let me get through all the stuff I have on my desk and I’ll call you when I get out of here.”

“Sure, no problem. We’ll talk later.”

Not long after hanging up with her Dad, David came knocking on her door.

“Hey Vega, some of us are going to Beppe’s Deli for lunch,” he said. “Would you like to join us?”

“I’m up to my ears in paperwork regarding the Chronologix suit. Gotta work through lunch. But if you could bring me a Reuben sandwich, I’d be eternally grateful? Here let me give you the money,” she said while reaching for her purse.

“Don’t worry about it, my treat,” said David. “By the way, did you receive my email about the fantasy leagues?”

“I haven’t checked email in a couple of hours. What about the leagues?”

“Oh just something I got from a friend regarding a scam that’s going on. I thought you would like to put your Dad on notice.”

“Sure, thanks. I’ll take a look at it as soon as I finish drafting this motion.”

As soon as David left for Beppe’s, Vega looked up his email and immediately called her father. She got his voicemail:

“Hey Dad, it’s me again. I just got some information that I need to share with you. In the meantime, please hold off any contact with the Kitty Hawks’ manager.”

She hadn’t hung up yet when Lucas called her back.

“Hey Dad I just left you a message.”

“Sorry I couldn’t pick up, had to visit the little boys’ room. What’s up?”

She told him about the scam and found it odd that her father sounded unfazed.

“Hmm, that seems to tie in with the dark car,” he said.

“What dark car Dad?”

Lucas told his daughter about the mysterious dark car that had been doing the rounds in his neighborhood.

“They wanted me to see them. No doubt. And now you talk to your boss about my fantasy league hobby and all of a sudden you get an email about a supposed scam that sounds exactly like my communications with the Kitty Hawks manager. I’m too old to believe in coincidences.”

“I don’t understand. What do you mean coincidences?”

“Don’t you see it? They know about our communications but don’t want to acknowledge that I’m on to something, so they resort to what they do best, intimidation and disinformation. The dark car is intimidation while the email is disinformation. Both with the clear intention of making me stop all contact.”

“Dad, I think you’re not…”

“Sweetie,” he interrupted her, “when have you heard of FBI-like organizations in the United States warning about an investigation in progress?”

Vega had to admit her father had a point.

“Please, just be careful Dad, and keep me posted,” she said.

After hanging up Vega connected some dots of her own. The government-looking characters talking to Mr. Martin and David at The Bar the night before; the email; fantasy baseball. Was David in on it? She thought.

She decided to play along just in case. So as soon as David came back with her lunch she thanked him for the information and told him that he had already advised her Dad to avoid any approach that sounded like that.

“Good advice counselor,” he told her and left her office satisfied that his job was done.  

 

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THE ANTARES SECRET – CHAPTER 13: Michael Collins

Michael Collins with the rest of the crew of Apollo 11 in 1969 and in 2004 during their visit to the White House

The old man had been staring at the curious email for a few minutes, trying to make some sense of it. He went over it one more time:

“Hey old man, how’re you doing? Listen, I’m writing because I remember you being involved with fantasy baseball and I just got an official message regarding some sort of investigation of a scam going on in those leagues. It seems there’s a person or a group of persons working in various leagues who get close to other players and lead them to join a new business venture where they are fleeced. A typical con job. Be careful and keep your eyes open. Don’t let them sell you a moonbeam. Give my regards to Carol, looking forward to seeing you both during next year’s 40th Anniversary ceremonies.”

It was from Michael Collins. He hadn’ seen him since their visit to George W. Bush’s White House for the Apollo 11 mission 35th anniversary in 2004, and he was sure he’d never shared his interest for fantasy baseball with his old colleague. But what intrigued him the most was that he was talking about something that eerily mirrored his contact with the Red Lions’ manager. Were those bastards monitoring his emails? He wondered.

Just in case, he decided to analyze the situation the old-fashioned way, without the computer. He took out an old notebook and a #2 pencil from the desk drawer and started going through the situation in his head. The email was obviously not from Michael Collins, but why choose him? He thought.

Did it have something to do with his missions? Michael’s missions included Gemini 10 which entailed a heavy load of experiments but was mostly about mastering orbital rendezvous. No connections there. Then came Apollo 8; he was grounded for that mission because of knee problems. Knees? Are they using Michael’s name to imply that if I talk they would hurt my knees Mafia-style? No, of course not. Keep thinking…

Michael was the one who came up with the idea for the Apollo 11 mission patch. The eagle landing with the olive branch symbolizing that we came in peace. Not much there either. What else? If he had stayed active he would have been back-up commander for Apollo 14 and mission commander of Apollo 17. Hmmm…

He drew three boxes in the notebook with the numbers 11, 14 and 17 inside them.

These mark the beginning, he thought as he circled the boxes with the 11 and the 14. And 17 is the end. Gene Cernan’s mission. The one with the moonbeam story.

He looked back at the email: “Don’t let them sell you a moonbeam.”

Ok, Michael is the only astronaut that can be linked to the two missions associated with the beginning of the moon landings and to the last one. But why say “Don’t let them sell you a moonbeam” in the email. It seems forced, like it was placed there for a reason… Oh my God… of course… Edwin Moon’s flying machine.

It’s them. They know I’ve been talking to the Red Lions manager and they have somehow sniffed my intentions. This is their way of letting me know that they are watching. Fuck. Time to go back to the drawing board.

His first task was to come up with a communications strategy that would allow him to maintain his contact with Mr. Lucas Aldrich without being monitored. No doubt he had received an email like mine to dissuade him from contacting me, he thought.

A ploy started to take shape in his mind, and the first step was to answer Michael Collins’ email.

“Thanks for the heads up Mike. I’ll keep my eyes open. Send our regards to Pat.”

Short, to the point and most importantly it read normal, like he didn’t suspect a thing, he thought as he pressed the Send button. He had just done so when his wife came in and caught him with a strange-looking smile on his face.

“What’s going on? You look like you’re up to something,” she said.

“Oh nothing, just emailing with Michael Collins,” he said as he scribbled something on the notebook for her to read. “It’s such a nice afternoon, why don’t we go out for a stroll?”

“What’s going on?” asked Carol once outside the house. “Why do I have to keep quiet and follow you outside? What do you mean they could be listening?”

“It seems my communication with the Red Lions’ manager has been monitored by people who want me to stay quiet. I don’t know for sure who they are, so for the moment we will assume our house is bugged. Although I’d like to think that’s unlikely. Anyway better safe than sorry. I have an idea on how to approach this and still carry on our original plan. It implies going low tech and I’m going to need your help.”

As the old man explained his idea, his wife understood that there was no turning back now.  

 

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