Nixon glanced at General Moorer, the Joint Chiefs Chairman, who nodded as Kaz continued.
“With the death of Captain Hemming, we lost the Lunar Module pilot, but Commander Miller can fly the LM to the surface and do a moonwalk solo, if needed. Lieutenant Esdale would operate the Command Module in orbit, as planned. The wild card is what to do with the cosmonaut. She apparently has no English, but the crew’s been using sign language.”
Kaz paused, thinking that was enough for the moment.
The men around the table were all looking in different directions, visualizing options. The CIA chief took his unlit pipe out of his mouth. “Lieutenant Commander Zemeckis, this is Jim Schlesinger. I want to hear your recommendation.”
This is unreal, Kaz thought. I’m just a frickin’ pilot! He took a breath.
“Sir, I think we should land and the cosmonaut should go to the surface too. We can store Captain Hemming’s corpse in the cosmonaut’s spacesuit like a body bag. The crew tells me she’s about the same size as Luke, so she can wear his suit. She’d be more useful in the LM than orbiting with Lieutenant Esdale.” He decided to be frank. “She’s an unknown and a threat to the mission, whether we land or not, but this way we stick to the plan as closely as possible, and have the best chance to accomplish our key objectives.”
Phillips turned to the President. “Sir, Kaz also pointed out to me that this would give us leverage to deal with the Russians. Trade their silence on what really happened at Almaz for a chance to have public American-Soviet cooperation.”
Kissinger slowly nodded, then haltingly spoke. “We have been planning your summit with Brezhnev in June on preventing nuclear war. This would give us a good advantage.”
Haldeman, the most political of Nixon’s trusted men, looked the President in the eye and chose his words carefully. “With you having signed Title IX against sex discrimination, and the Supreme Court’s Roe v. Wade decision, the women’s libbers would love you for being the president that put a woman on the Moon.” In front of this group, he didn’t mention the recent worrisome developments in the Watergate investigation, but both he and Nixon recognized the looming need for increased popular support.
Kissinger’s deep, reasoned voice cut in again. “I can call Dobrynin now to set up an urgent briefing with Brezhnev.” Anatoly Dobrynin had been the Soviet ambassador in Washington for over a decade, and he and Kissinger met often.
Nixon looked around the room, waiting to see if anyone had anything else to add, probing his own thoughts. This was a lousy situation, but if they played it right, he might gain the kind of support he’d once felt when he congratulated Armstrong and Aldrin, live on national TV, as they stood on the Moon. They could spin the astronaut’s death as something that had happened while rescuing a failing Russian spaceship; the man would be seen as a hero. They could use the fact that the Soviets had opened fire with Almaz, killing an astronaut who was merely taking pictures, as a key negotiating tool with the Politburo. And the world would know that the Russians couldn’t walk on the Moon without America’s help.
Win-win. He looked around to see all the men waiting for him to speak.
“Guys, let’s not screw this up. We need to control the information carefully, and get Russian buy-in ASAP. I want NASA to minimize our risk by keeping the mission as short as possible to meet the military needs. But let’s do it. Let’s land Apollo 18, with a cosmonaut aboard, on the Moon.”
That was nuts, Kaz thought, gathering his papers to walk back into Mission Control. Yawning and shaking his head to clear the exhaustion and adrenaline, he stopped to fill his coffee cup from the communal pot in the hallway, thinking about what steps this course of action required.
The crew needs an interpreter.
He climbed the steps to the Flight Director level, and walked over to Gene Kranz, catching the eye of Al Shepard behind the Flight Ops console. Kaz filled them both in on Nixon’s approval. When he mentioned the interpreter, Gene said, smiling, “I’m a step ahead of you.”
He raised his chin to point at the CAPCOM console, where a woman with long blond hair was standing, looking awkward. “That’s Galena Northcutt. She works in the Mission Planning back room, has a math background and spoke Russian at home growing up. I’ve asked her to fill in until we can get someone here from the State Department.”
The CAPCOM got Galena seated and showed her how to communicate with the crew. Kaz stepped around Gene’s console and down one level to stand behind her. He retrieved his headset and plugged in to listen to Gene’s updated briefing to the room.