The NASA Conspiracy

By Evalyn Anderson

When her oldest friend, Vidal Noyes, a brilliant scientist and inventor at NASA, goes missing, Gale Blackburn suspects that he's been kidnapped by a conspiracy headed by his supervisor, Stan Fredericks, whose unusual interest as to when Vidal would finish up his report on

• Language: English
• Publisher: Authors' Tranquility Press
• Release date: Sep 30, 2022
• ISBN: 9781958554197

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

Gale! Derek’s cry of distress sent me running for the bedroom. I found him sitting on the floor in his underwear, his shapely legs extended in front of him, bundles of bills spilled all around him.

His handsome face wearing a scowl, he asked, Can you please tell me why the devil I just tripped over a garbage bag full of money?

Are you hurt? When I returned at four o’clock in the morning, I’d been in such a hurry to undress and get back into bed before Derek realized I’d been gone that I’d shoved the bag into my extra closet, forgetting that he kept his dress clothes there.

I’m not hurt, he said, curtly, getting up from the floor.

Looking at the bag of money made me realize the distance that separated Derek’s world from mine. In the world in which I grew up, the adopted child of Chinese refugees poised always on the edge of flight, a garbage bag of money ready for emergencies made total sense. Derek had probably never even heard of anyone who kept a garbage bag, or even a briefcase, of cash in their closet.

I’ll explain over breakfast, I replied, wondering how I’d tell him that I must begin an urgent search and rescue mission for my friend Vidal, who’d disappeared last night.

I certainly hope you can, he said, reaching for a white shirt.

I’ve got to check the eggs; they’re on the stove, I said, returning to the kitchen. Though Derek is usually accepting of my activities, I felt that there might be a limit to what he’d accept, especially where Vidal is concerned. He’d met him once and didn’t like him.

Derek appeared in a few minutes, dressed in his suit pants and white shirt. Though I’m prejudiced, being deeply in love with him, I think every woman would consider him gorgeous with his black, wavy hair, handsome face and perfect figure from working out. As a lawyer, I can’t be in the same room with illegal cash, he said. Fortunately, I’m going home today after lunch; I have work to do. He sat down at the kitchen table in a resigned way.

That was good news; I wouldn’t need to figure out how to get him to go home early so I could begin the search. It’s not illegal cash, I protested. It’s Vidal’s stash.

He stared at me. Finally, he said, What on earth are you doing with your nerdy friend Vidal’s stash, number one, and number two, why are you keeping that kind of money in your apartment in an unlocked closet?

A brilliant physicist and electronics expert, Vidal was anything but ‘nerdy.’ This didn’t seem the right moment for me to challenge Derek’s ideas about him though, so I asked, Do you remember the loud beep we heard from the phone last night?

He looked surprised. What’s that got to do with anything?

That was a distress signal from Vidal’s phone. I didn’t tell you at the time because I thought I’d better investigate first.

Investigate what? he asked in a puzzled voice.

Whether he’s been kidnapped or taken prisoner in his own house, I explained. There was no way to lead up to this story gradually.

Why you? he asked. That’s what the police are for.

I didn’t want to involve them if he was just so sick with the flu or something he couldn’t get out of bed. He doesn’t have anybody else to call for an emergency like that.

He doesn’t? he asked, alarmed. Surely, he must have more friends than you. I’d once told Derek that Vidal is my oldest friend, though I didn’t tell him how we’d met. Being raised as I was, moving frequently, unable to talk about my family, I hadn’t made any friends until a terrible tragedy brought me and Vidal together.

I’m the only one he trusts with a control device to the force field around his house, I explained. He might have turned it on before going to bed, then was too sick to get out of bed later to turn it off.

Derek looked at me with interest and chagrin. Force fields? Garbage bags of money? I thought the guy worked for NASA.

He does, I replied, then admitted, I guess he is a tad paranoid.

A tad! he exclaimed. Keeping his money at home in a garbage bag and putting a force field around his house makes him a galloping paranoid in my book.

I laughed. I was brought up in a shadowy world where paranoia is the norm. Papa and Mama were the targets of a relentless search which wouldn’t end until they were found. Their paranoia when anything unusual occurred had affected me, as well.

Derek’s eyes narrowed. That explains why I kept waking up and finding you gone. I thought you’d slipped into your office to work on a transcript. Thank God, I didn’t know you’d actually left the house! It would have worried me to death.

I’m sorry, sweetheart, I said, sincerely. I wouldn’t have gone out if it hadn’t been an emergency. I did leave you a note so you wouldn’t worry; I threw it into the wastebasket when I returned home.

You still haven’t explained why you have the money, he said, after he’d devoured his omelet and waffles.

Vidal keeps lots of different currencies on hand, in case of a hurricane or terrorist attack on the Cape. I took a bag full to have plenty available for this emergency.

I hate to criticize your friends, Gale, he said, hesitantly, but the guy sounds like a nut. Why don’t you drop him?

Drop a friend! I exclaimed, indignantly. One of my core values in life is loyalty to friends; it had been drilled into me by Papa and Mama. I never abandon my friends, I said, trying to keep my voice calm, especially not when they’re in danger.

What makes you think he’s in danger?

The distress signal, for starters, I explained. Second, when I got to his house last night, pieces of a vase he kept on his desk were scattered all over the room. He told me he’d do that, if he was able, to tell me he was in danger. Third, his house had been ransacked. I think that’s pretty good evidence that he’s been kidnapped.

Derek poured himself another cup of coffee and sat back in my kitchen chair. After swallowing a few sips, he asked, sarcastically, Why would someone kidnap him? What’s so special about him?

He’s a genius in electronics; he’s always inventing something, either on the job or on his own. About a month ago, he told me he was nearly finished with one project that would have tremendous commercial and military value. He was afraid somebody might try to steal it.

But why kidnap him? he asked, sounding puzzled. Why wouldn’t they just steal his computer discs and notebooks? He surely doesn’t keep it all in his head. Even if he could, NASA wouldn’t let him, in case he dropped dead suddenly, or went off the deep end, which he seems pretty close to doing right now.

I ignored his comment about Vidal’s mental status. Vidal doesn’t keep his notes on the computer at work; he doesn’t trust its security. He puts them on discs and takes them home every day. He puts his paper notes on small tear-off pads and doodles around them so nobody realizes they’re equations, formulae, or designs.

That proves he’s a galloping paranoid nut! Derek concluded. Was he working on this invention on the job, or was it personal?

It was for NASA.

Then, I suggest that you tell NASA, and let them look for him.

Vidal told me recently that his supervisor had shown an unnatural interest in when he’d have his project report finished; the very people I might talk to could be the ones who kidnapped him.

That sounds like the imaginings of a paranoid nut; I would think you’d be too smart to buy into his beliefs. Anyway, that’s his problem, not yours, he said, sharply.

But he’s relying on me to help him! I protested. That’s why he put the special signal on my phone, so I would know if he was in trouble.

I never realized that you were that close. If I weren’t suspicious of his sexual orientation, I might get a little worried. I’m curious to know why you’re such close friends, assuming there’s nothing romantic involved.

Of course, there’s nothing romantic involved, I said, reassuringly. You can blame it on my upbringing. Mama and Papa, being Chinese, taught me that if you save a person’s life, you’re responsible for him for the rest of his life.

Well, you’re not Chinese even though they raised you like their own daughter. Your genetic background isn’t even close, my Viking Goddess. Derek usually called me ‘Viking Goddess’ when he was displeased with what I was doing. I knew then that I had to tread carefully.

I’ll probably never know my background, having been found by my Chinese parents on a dirty street, dying from a massive head wound, the memory of my entire life wiped out and never recovered, but platinum blonde hair and blue eyes suggest Scandinavia. It’s not a matter of genes, I protested, but upbringing.

How did you save his nerdy life? Derek asked, curiously, then looked at his watch.

Never mind. We don’t have time to discuss all this now. I suppose you’re planning to do something foolish, such as looking for him yourself?

I was considering it, I admitted, reluctantly, not wanting to jeopardize our so far harmonious relationship.

As an attorney, I’m advising you to call NASA immediately and report him missing, he said, sternly. I’m obligated under the Bar rules to counsel the person knowing about a possible crime to report it to the authorities.

I’ve been thinking about what action to take ever since last night, I replied. That statement was true; I had thought about it all night and had ruled out notifying NASA.

Okay, he said, heavily. I guess you think you’re Superwoman since you were able to find and shoot the guy who was after me. Derek was referring to an incident where a vengeful man, who’d learned Derek’s deeply held secret, that he suffers from a rare blood disorder sometimes called ‘vampire disease,’ had tried to frame him for a vampire-type murder. With the help of three friends who own the garage where I take Tank, my 1970 Cadillac de Ville, I’d managed to solve the murder.

Not really, Sweetheart, I protested.

Don’t let one success like that go to your head. Vidal’s situation seems a lot more complicated.

I’m sure it is. I looked at my watch. It’s time for me to get dressed for church, I announced, relieved. I hurried to the bedroom, leaving him looking disturbed.

My bedroom is quite Spartan; besides my bed, it contains a dresser, chair and wall mirror. Only the mattresses were bought new. I always buy my furniture at auctions or thrift shops in case I have to move suddenly and leave it behind. So far, the bureaucrats who’d pursued Papa had never got close to me, the obvious heir to his knowledge, but I’d found it convenient to call in a local charity and donate everything to them whenever I moved.

I don’t have any special clothes for church since, as a court reporter, I have to dress up every day for work. I put on my favorite red paisley dress and jacket and stepped into matching red pumps. All my shoes are alike, except for color. To save time and shopping, which I hate, I send a message to my shoemaker in Turkey, who has my last on file, giving him the color or colors, I need. I still have to shop for other clothing, unfortunately.

To save time, I keep my hair cut short and styled; all I have to do is shampoo it in the shower and let it dry. My cheeks are naturally pink, so, after applying sunscreen, I needed just a touch of eye liner and lipstick to be ready for church.

I looked at myself briefly in the mirror. I’m over forty, but I don’t look like I’m more than in my early thirties. I’ve concluded that daily exercise, good diet, nutritional supplements and an occasional brush with danger keep me looking young.

Though Derek and I both attended the Episcopal Cathedral Church of St. Luke in downtown Orlando, we’d never sat together or gone to lunch together afterward until he started spending weekends with me. Our first Sunday together gave all the evidence necessary for rampant gossip to spread throughout our church and local legal community. I hated that, since I value privacy, but I’ve finally gotten used to it, I think.

I took it as a good omen after we’d had coffee and socialized a bit in the church garden following the service that Derek suggested lunch at a Chinese restaurant on International Drive, not far from the Peabody Hotel. Brent, whom I’d called early that morning, had agreed to meet me there any time after two that afternoon. Though Brent, whom I met during his trial in Federal court for smuggling huge quantities of cocaine and heroin, is probably still on the shady side of the law, I needed his help; he is the only person I know who has extensive contacts in the Caribbean.

Derek didn’t return to the issue of Vidal over lunch, though he gave me occasional speculative looks. I definitely wasn’t going to open the subject up myself. I’ll never love anybody but Derek; it would be the worst dilemma of my life if he should ask me to choose between him and my friend Vidal.

I almost laughed out loud when I thought of how melodramatic such an idea would seem to others, but I sobered at the realization that it was anything but melodramatic to me. I thought I’d considered all the ramifications of a permanent relationship with Derek, but perhaps I hadn’t paid enough attention to the unconscious influence of Derek’s conventional upbringing.

I don’t really understand people who’ve been raised in a conventional way. At school, college, and work, I’d kept up surface relationships with conventional people, but none of these relationships had ever gone deep. It was a matter of how I viewed the world, which had been far from conventional almost all my life that mattered now.

That particular problem, how to understand Derek better, paled before my image of Vidal kidnapped, and probably undergoing torture at that very moment. I shifted my thoughts back to what I’d need to do in the next few hours.

Finally, after an excellent gourmet meal, Derek got up, without mentioning Vidal. Perhaps he might have been as anxious as I to avoid jeopardizing our close, loving relationship. I’ve got to run; I have to put the finishing touches on a brief due tomorrow morning, he explained, calmly.

I rose from the table, and walked to the hotel door with him. Drive carefully, I admonished, I have to make a trip to the ladies room before I leave.

I will drive carefully; you be careful of a whole lot more things than just driving, he replied, earnestly.

I will, sweetheart, glad I could make that promise without a qualm. I intended to mount my rescue mission with great care.

I watched Derek’s Mercedes disappear so Derek wouldn’t see me drive in the opposite direction from my office, where I spend Sunday afternoons, unless Derek is free, working on invoices and catching up on transcript. I’ve been a court reporter for nearly seven years and I love my job. It’s very demanding, but I hadn’t minded the unpredictable schedule and challenge of nearly impossible deadlines before Derek came into my life. Now, I often wished I had more time to spend with him.

Of course, Derek, being a lawyer, has an unpredictable schedule, too, but because he has to protect his health, he’s developed a practice of complex business cases, taking an occasional medical malpractice case, so that he can limit the number of cases he takes and still have a good income.

My first destination as I got into Tank was a cell phone store in a nearby mall where I bought fifteen cell phones that could be networked, and a lot of time. While driving to my second destination, the Peabody Hotel coffee shop, I was mulling over how I’d come up with the men I needed for a land search. A survivalist militia would be ideal for the job, but Papa, Mama and I had never trained with any Florida survivalist militias. After a summer with a Georgia group in the Okefenokee swamp and nearby areas, we’d decided we wouldn’t find much unknown terrain in Florida, and had passed up the pleasure of eating more armadillo, snakes, gator tails and the odd fish. Our main training objective in those days was to live off the land in every kind of terrain in the United States.

I was worried that the telephone number I still had for the leader of that particular Georgia militia wasn’t valid anymore. If it wasn’t, I didn’t know how to make contact with any local group. I’d been out of touch with that hidden world too long to easily find it again. I shrugged as I pulled into the garage and parked Tank in a convenient spot. For Vidal’s sake, I had to remain positive that I could find the men I needed.

Resplendent in a silk navy blue suit and striped shirt, his wavy blonde hair just long enough to show he wasn’t totally conservative, Brent was sitting at a table in the back of the coffee shop. The waitress was sneaking looks at him; most women did. With his handsome, mobile face, he could have been a movie star.

He rose and held out his hand. The mysterious Ms. Blackburn! he exclaimed, smiling.

Mysterious? I asked, puzzled, sitting down opposite him, after shaking hands.

Why the upright Ms. Blackburn would wish to see me, a big, bad dope dealer, about an important and confidential matter is definitely a mystery.

I laughed. You make it sound like one, anyway, I replied. Besides, you convinced the jury that you aren’t a big, bad dope dealer.

The only customers in the shop, we were giving each other a knowing smile when the waitress arrived and took Brent’s orders for two coffees. She was all smiles with Brent, but barely civil to me, which usually happens when I’m in a restaurant with a man. Waitresses in Florida seem stuck in their mother’s era when men had the money for tips and women didn’t.

Is this confidential enough? he asked. I usually stay at this hotel when I’m in Orlando, and I’ve noticed that this shop is usually deserted, or nearly so, from two till about five. I’d take you to my room, but I don’t think your mother would approve of your going into a hotel room with a strange man.

I laughed again. Let’s start here. We can always move later, if need be.

The waitress, who’d nullified the purpose of her professional uniform by wearing her hair in a frizzy mess, placed our coffee carafe and cups in front of us, asking Brent if he needed anything else before she went off duty. Brent looked at me, and I shook my head. We’re fine, he replied. I’ll pay you now. Her eyes got big when he handed her two ten dollar bills, saying keep the change.

There was a suggestion of tears in her eyes when she said, Thank you, sir! It was probably seldom that anyone gave her such a large tip.

When she was out of hearing, Brent turned to me. What can I do for the lovely Ms. Blackburn?

Ignoring his flirtatious remark, I got down to business. I called you because you’re the only person I know who has contacts with people familiar with the people, boats and islands between here and the Bahamas.

You may be overestimating me. Perhaps you should modify ‘people’ with the word ‘shady.’

I smiled. I was trying to be polite. But I really do need your help in a search for a kidnap victim.

He studied me for a moment, an ironic smile on his handsome face, before saying, So, the upright Ms. Blackburn has fallen for a lowlife drug dealer who’s gotten himself kidnapped?

Of course not! I snapped, then laughed. I guess that’s a logical deduction, since I’m asking you to help me find him. But, no; he’s a scientist and inventor. He’s a friend but we’re not romantically involved.

He snapped his fingers. How could I have forgotten? Your boyfriend is that legal vampire that almost got caught for murder.

He didn’t do it, I corrected, curtly. And he’s not a vampire. My face flushed with anger for Derek, who has hidden his ‘vampire disease’ ever since he was diagnosed at the age of sixteen. The ‘vampire murderer’ had tried to brand Derek as a vampire. Though the truth about his disease had never come out, people still remembered the episode sometimes, and teased him about being a vampire.

Brent smiled, cynically. Whatever. Well! Well! You’ve a tendency to get caught up in odd scenarios. I wouldn’t have expected it. But I guess ‘still water runs deep,’ as my Pappy used to say.

I refused to be drawn into his attempt to tease me. I’d remained friendly but distant with Brent during his long trial, which had allowed him, his attorney and myself to spend a lot of time together, waiting while the judge read briefs or witnesses were rounded up. Though a complete rogue, Brent, the black sheep of a prominent Bermuda family, has charm. He’s also very intelligent. Using those two assets, and the skills of an excellent attorney, he’d managed to slide out from under a serious drug smuggling charge.

To get back to the subject, the victim was grabbed sometime last night, I explained. It’s possible they have him on a yacht or stashed on one of the offshore islands, or maybe in Key West or the Bahamas.

Lots and lots of territory, he commented, dryly.

I know. But I thought you could quietly put the word out to your waterborne friends. I’m sure they’re aware of any new boats in their area or any visitors to islands along the route.

Before we go any further, I need to know what this mystery man was involved in to get kidnapped. After all, I did promise the Feds I’d be a good boy.

It was my turn for an ironic smile. My instinct told me that Brent would never be a ‘good boy.’ He’s an electronics genius who works at NASA. He’s just finished up an invention with a lot of commercial and military value, I explained. He told me about a month ago that his supervisor was taking an unusual interest in when he’d have his project completed. He was suspicious because his supervisor had never done that before.

He looked at me skeptically. Finally, he said, Why would they kidnap him? Wouldn’t they just need his computer notes and drawings?

He doesn’t trust the security of his computer; he puts his notes on discs and takes them home every night, and hides them in a secret safe. When I’d rushed to his house, I’d found stacks of discs and notes, which I’d taken with me, along with the cash. They now rested in the hidden safe that Vidal had constructed for me at the back of my bedroom closet.

I see. They had to kidnap him to get the information. But why don’t you call the Feds? Kidnapping is their bailiwick.

NASA is a federal agency. If the FBI or Homeland Security start to investigate, the people involved will know about it, and either mislead them, or do away with Vidal to escape being caught.

He wrinkled his forehead. Is there any particular reason they’ve kidnapped him now?

Vidal hasn’t reached the prototype stage yet; he was just finishing up all the equations, formulae, and designs. This would be the ideal point for somebody to steal the invention, before he makes his official report. Nobody was supposed to know what he was doing, except a couple of higher-ups. If they know he’s disappeared, the higher-ups might search for him, but they could also be the ones involved in a conspiracy to steal his invention. They could always say later that Vidal’s materials had fallen short, and the successful invention had been completed by somebody else in a private capacity.

Brent whistled. I see it now. Those higher-ups would have contacts with defense contractors; and we both know how honest those guys are.

Exactly. They won’t hesitate to kill Vidal if they can’t get the information they want; that’s why it’s urgent to find him soon. I knew