Page 13

Arvin North stands up and starts to pace his own office, looking agitated. He puffs his cigarette a few times, exhaling up at the ceiling tiles, which are already taking on a slightly yellowish hue from all the cigarette smoke they absorb on a daily basis.

“If word gets out that you wanted to call off the mission and that you had misgivings, and that I refused to listen…it looks bad for us. The optics are not good, Booker. I don’t want the entire program to be jeopardized over one mistake.”

Realization dawns on Bill as he listens: Arvin North is afraid. He’s afraid he botched this mission, and he’s afraid that he’s going to be called on the carpet for it. Bill is not used to seeing North in any light other than as a completely capable and calm leader. The man makes informed decisions, holds people accountable, and tackles huge things every day of his life, and now here he is, just like any other man, sweating as he imagines that he’s done something terribly wrong.

“I understand that, sir. I don’t want us to be under a microscope any more than you do, and I don’t like the thought of us being grilled by the legal department—or anyone else.” Bill nearly takes a breath here; this is more than he usually says to Arvin North in one go. “I’m worried for all of us. Every one of us. And for the program.”

North stops pacing and lets the hand holding the cigarette dangle at his side as he looks right at Bill with a burning, inquisitive gaze. “I need your help, Booker.”

Bill understands immediately. It’s possible his own career hinges on this moment. “Okay.”

“Did you tell anyone else about your concerns? Write them down? Share them with anyone—even your wife?”

A lump the size of Jupiter starts to form in Bill’s throat. He knows exactly who he shared his concerns with, and the ramifications of that conversation are ones he feels every single day.

“Derek Trager, sir. I talked to Trager.”

Arvin North puts a hand to the back of his neck and rubs it as he begins to pace again. He looks pensive. Nods once, then again. “You spoke to Trager about this? Out at The Black Hole over beers, or in private?” North waves a hand around to show Bill that he needs more detail.

After a deep, fortifying breath, Bill tells him. “I cornered him on launch day in the prep room. We talked alone. There was no one nearby.”

The calculations and configurations going on in North’s mind are written all over his face, and he sucks hard on the nearly burned-down cigarette butt, exhaling sharply. “Voices echo in the prep room. It’s concrete with ceilings that are hundreds of feet high.” He sounds desperate. “Think. Try to recall. Was anyone at all within earshot?”

Bill rubs his lips together and focuses his gaze on the window behind North’s desk. It looks out on a launch pad, though they’re several stories up in the air. “No,” he finally says. “I can’t think of anyone who was around us. Could our words have echoed? Maybe. But we were talking to one another in close range. I was intentionally trying to keep our conversation between us.”

North walks over to the same window that Bill is looking out of and turns to face the outside world. He puts a hand on his hip, and his shoulders have a slight hunch to them. All along, Bill had pegged his boss at about fifty, maybe fifty-two, but this conversation has changed that assessment: North looks at least sixty-five as he stands there, staring out at the land around them like a king taking in his beloved kingdom. When he turns back to face Bill, it is with resignation.

“Trager knew,” he says simply. “And yet he got into that capsule.”

The nodding of Bill’s head is so slow and slight that it’s almost imperceptible. “I think a part of him thought I might be inflating my concerns to get in the way of his chance at a mission.”

Arvin North grits his teeth and his cheek muscles flex. He stubs out what’s left of his cigarette in the heavy glass ashtray on his desk and then puts both hands on his hips.

“Dammit,” North says. He looks like the weight of the world is on his shoulders. “His poor wife and children.”

It’s unspoken between them, but it’s clear that North agrees with Bill’s assessment, and that it’s entirely possible that Derek Trager thought Bill might be trying to interfere with the mission due to a bruised ego.

“Okay,” North says with a deep sigh. “We’ve got work to do. This is a huge mess, and obviously an enormous tragedy for us all on both a personal and professional level. No question about that. For now, I’m going to ask you to close ranks. And by that, I mean the ranks are you and me, and no one else.” He lowers his chin and looks right at Bill. “Am I clear?”

“Yes, sir.”

“We don’t discuss this with anyone else, and when we’re at home with our wives and kids, we’re at home with our wives and kids. Got it? None of this is pillow talk to share with the wives, and if we can avoid it, we don’t eventhinkabout this unless we’re alone.”

“Understood, sir.”

North gives him one final nod and then glances at the door, dismissing him.

Bill reaches for the doorknob and is more than ready to get the hell out of there when North stops him.

“Bill,” North says, just before the door opens. “You were right,” he says in a hoarse whisper that’s tinged with regret and sadness. “I’ll be goddamned, but you were right all along.”

CHAPTER5

Jude

“The girls seemto have enjoyed their party,” Vance says to his wife mildly one evening as they’re sitting in the den. “Think you’ll get together with all the wives and kids again soon?” He is sifting through a stack of mail as he sits at the desk in the den, putting bills to be paid in one pile, and correspondence in another.

Jude, who is folding laundry on the couch, glances in his direction. Vance has always been her comfort, her happy place. They’d met one evening in Los Angeles at a bar in Hollywood, and the moment she’d seen him across the room, she’d been smitten.