Sea of Crises Read Free

occur any time in the near future, this was one mystery that would remain unsolved.
    No, Nate reflected, there was nothing about that bit of old history that could possibly explain why his brother was so spooked. It had to be something else.
    At this late hour, with few vehicles on the road between Santa Monica and LAX, the drive didn’t take long. Nate quickly circumnavigated the airport, pulling up in front of Terminal 6 no more than twenty minutes after he’d hung up the phone.
    Peter stood out front, his already slight figure further diminished by a canvas suitcase slung over one shoulder and a computer bag over the other. To Nate, his brother’s anxiety was obvious. In place of his normal impish look, Peter’s jaw was clenched, lips tightly pursed, eyes darting about. As Nate eased the car to the curb, Peter opened the back door and tossed in his suitcase, then he slid into the front passenger seat.
    “Thanks. Sorry about the late hour.”
    Though it was a cool October evening, a sheen of sweat coated Peter’s broad forehead below his receding blond hairline. As Nate pulled back out into the light traffic, his brother craned his neck, scanning the sidewalk and roadway.
    “Want to tell me what’s going on?” Nate asked.
    Still looking about, Peter replied, “Let’s get out of here, first.”
    “Ok.”
    Nate took the ramp down to Sepulveda Boulevard and merged onto the wide thoroughfare, heading north. In the rear view mirror, he saw no other vehicles, either entering from the airport or on the street itself. They drove into Westchester, as near as Nate could tell, the only car on the road. The stores on either side were shut down, the sidewalks deserted.
    “Peter, unless they’re invisible, I don’t think anyone is following us.”
    For the first time since he’d gotten into the car, Peter turned to face forward and sat back in his seat. After a moment, he let out a deep breath and gave a rueful laugh. “You must think I’m nuts.”
    “You did have me going there.” Nate shrugged. “Now, do you want to tell me what’s up? Let’s start with why you were in Minneapolis.”
    “I flew out there to see Mason Gale’s sister and mother.”
    “For your research?”
    Peter nodded.
    “Gale’s mother is still alive? She must be ancient.”
    “She’s ninety-three, but she still gets around. Her daughter lives with her and helps take care of her.”
    “So, did you see them?”
    “I did,” Peter said. “But only for a couple of minutes.”
    “You flew all the way out there, and you only saw them for a couple of minutes? That seems a little silly.”
    “Yeah, well, I’ve been trying to talk to them for a few weeks now, and they’ve been giving me the cold shoulder. I figured, if I show up in person, what are they going to do? Tell me to get lost?”
    “So, what did they do?”
    “They told me to get lost.”
    “Seriously?”
    “In so many words, yes.” Peter turned to face him. “Nate, they’re afraid of something. They were afraid to talk to me.” Slowly, he said, “I have never in my entire life seen anyone as terrified as those two women. They couldn’t get me off their property fast enough. I thought they were going to come after me with brooms.”
    Nate thought about that. Finally, he asked, “Do you have any idea why?”
    “Not exactly,” Peter said. He slid his computer out of the case and turned it on. “But let me show you something. Maybe it has nothing to do with their reaction. Then again, maybe it does. I’ll let you be the judge. You need to see this anyway,” he added.
    Nate slowed the car and pulled into the deserted parking lot of a low-rise office complex. He parked and turned off the engine.
    “When I decided to write about Apollo 18,” Peter began, “the first thing I did was submit a Freedom of Information request. It took a while, but I got quite a bit of documentation, including a few things that were previously classified. There were some