“Kaz, when you say ‘Washington,’ who do you mean?” Tom asked. “It’s been—what, five years since your accident at Pax? Who exactly are you working for these days?”
“It’s complicated. Legally, I still belong to the Navy. They paid for my graduate work at MIT after I recovered. But during my time there, the Air Force started asking me to advise directly on MOL and SIGINT issues. I ended up talking with the NSA multiple times, and have been called to brief the White House and the CIA, assessing Soviet space assets. I report directly to the Vice Chief of Naval Ops and do my best to keep my one eye focused on the big picture for him, but I spend a lot of time farmed out to other organizations.”
Kaz made sure he had everyone’s attention, then said, “One more thing. The official briefings with the NASA folks start here tomorrow. What I’ve told you now is for your ears only. Don’t even tell your wives, please.” The men all nodded. Of them, Gene, Tom and Michael were married.
Kaz turned to erase the blackboard, rubbing to remove all traces. So far, so good, but he knew just how complicated it was going to get. He expected Washington hadn’t told them the half of it yet.
On the way out of the parking lot, Kaz realized there was nothing in the fridge back at Polly Ranch and started scouting around for restaurants. He spotted a low red building that was so ramshackle it looked like something that had been dropped there from The Wizard of Oz. The parking lot was just an open area of grass, though the early-evening clientele had lined their vehicles up neatly with whoever had parked first. One of the cars was a Corvette Stingray, gold with black trim. Kaz had seen one like it in LIFE magazine; ever since the Mercury program, a Chevy dealer had been giving Corvettes to astronauts for one dollar each, considering it free advertising. Must be an Apollo guy eating here. He pulled in.
As he got out of the car, he spotted the small hand-painted sign: The Universal Joint, it read, with Best TX BBQ Since 1965 underneath.
Perfect.
The entrance was guarded by hip-height swinging doors in the shape of cowgirls, upholstered in red Naugahyde with heavy thumbtacks as sequins. He pushed the girls open and stepped into the low-lit, rough-hewn room. He walked carefully across the uneven flooring and took a seat on a red Naugahyde stool at the long wooden bar. “Eli’s Coming” by Three Dog Night was playing loudly on the jukebox, just getting to the big choral crescendo. Kaz caught the eye of the ponytailed bartender, pointed at the Budweiser sign and held up a finger. She nodded, reached into a red cooler and pried off the cap as she brought it to him. She smiled briefly as she handed him a well-worn plasticized menu.
A door behind the bar opened directly to the outside, and Kaz realized the kitchen was just a charcoal barbecue on the back porch. He glanced at the menu and decided on the Universal TX BBQ Cheese-burger, with the works. Eat what they do best. He caught the waitress’s eye, held the menu up and pointed, just as the jukebox changed to “A Horse with No Name.” His order taken care of, Kaz took a long drink of the cold beer, happy for the quieter harmonies.
The wooden walls of the U-Joint were plastered with recent local history, a disordered collage of space mission pictures, astronaut crew photos, real estate advertising and Air Force recruiting signs from nearby Ellington Field. A helmeted mannequin in a Reno Air Races flight suit hung dustily from the ceiling. A group of after-work NASA engineers were playing pool at the lone table, lit by a low-hanging light promoting Coors beer. Small square-topped tables filled the place, four cheap chairs at each, almost all occupied. The Naugahyde cowgirls kept swinging. The working spaceman’s local, Kaz thought.
“Coffee, please, Janie.”
Kaz turned in the direction of the voice to find a short, black-haired man in black-framed glasses leaning on the bar on his blind side.
He noted that Ponytail’s name was Janie. Good to know.
“This seat taken?” the man asked.
“All yours.”
He nodded, and slid up onto the stool.
Janie set a steaming coffee in an enameled ivory mug in front of him. “Black, right, Doc?”
“You bet.” He took an appreciative sip, then joined Kaz in surveying the room.
“Quite the place,” Kaz offered.
The man looked at him closely for a moment. “You Kazimieras Zemeckis?”
Startled, Kaz nodded. “Have we met?”
The man’s face creased in an apologetic smile. “Sorry, I’m JW McKinley, one of the NASA flight docs here. HQ medical sent us your Navy file over the weekend, and when I noticed the glass eye, I just figured.”