“We agree, Chad. INCO will have his finger on the switch to stop comms at any moment. We recommend you do the same.”
Chad looked at the switches on his comm panel. “Yeah, I’m gonna pull the plug on her the second I don’t like what I hear.”
“Sounds about right,” Kaz said. “Mid-course burn is in three minutes, and we’ll have someone from their Mission Control tied in shortly after that.”
Chad glanced at Svetlana, who had turned to face him. “Copy.”
When the KGB interpreter standing next to him relayed what Chad had just said, Chelomei grunted.
Eavesdropping on transmissions from the Apollo craft was nothing new. Since the start of the Apollo Moon landings, Russia had been listening in. The Soviet Central Committee had ordered Moscow Scientific Research Institute No. 885 to build the huge, 32-meter-wide TNA-400 satellite dish that towered over the Simferopol complex. It had required some clever reverse engineering; the Soviet technicians had experimented with the signals from the early Apollo flights, carefully demodulating the carrier and subcarrier frequencies until they could pick out voice and data, and even watch the fuzzy television images sent from the distant craft. They couldn’t hear the trans-missions going up to Apollo, but during the eight hours each day when the Russian side of the Earth was facing the Moon, they received everything the spaceship sent back.
It wasn’t a total secret. The CIA had learned about the new antenna when an SR-71 spy plane had taken high-altitude photographs of it. The top-secret report summarized: A 105-foot dish antenna such as this one would permit communications and telemetry reception at lunar distances. The antenna is operational.
But Director Chelomei had just added a capability that no one at NASA or the CIA knew about. For it to work, he needed to discern some specific details during today’s hastily arranged telephone link. And if both Houston and the crew were ready to pull the plug at the sound of anything they didn’t like, he’d have to be subtle. He impatiently waited as they did their course correction burn.
Kaz said, “Looks like a good burn, Apollo. You’re on your way.”
Michael agreed as he safed the engine systems. “Copy, Kaz, thanks. And we’ve got all three of us on headsets now, whenever you’re ready. The Commander’s standing by at Panel 6.”
Chad’s finger and thumb were gripping the S-band transmit/receive switch.
Kaz glanced at Gene Kranz, who nodded.
“Moscow, this is Houston Mission Control, comm check.”
The interpreter repeated what Kaz had said, in Russian.
An unfamiliar male voice crackled into Kaz’s headset. “ Zdyess Moskva, kak shlooshetye nas?”
The interpreter translated. “Moscow here, how do you hear us?”
Kaz realized he’d been holding his breath, and exhaled. “We have you loud and clear, Moscow. Stand by to speak with Apollo 18.” He looked across at INCO, nodding, and got a thumbs-up.
“Apollo 18, this is Houston. Mission Control Moscow is on comms with us. Go ahead, Moscow.”
Gene Kranz shook his head slowly. Bloody Commies talking to his spaceship.
The interpreter translated the first burst of Russian: “Senior Lieuten-ant Gromova, this is TsUP, how do you hear?”
Svetlana responded. “TsUP, I hear you well.”
Chelomei, sitting at the flight director console in Moscow, held the phone receiver firmly. “Svetlana Yevgenyevna, this is Director Chelomei. We are very glad to hear your voice. How is your health?”
She began to respond immediately, but Chad slammed the transmit switch to receive only, holding up a hand. “You need to wait for trans-lation.” They listened as the interpreter repeated what Chelomei had said.
Chad looked hard at her. “Okay?” he queried.
“Da, okay.”
He selected the switch back to transmit/receive.
“Tovarisch Director, it’s an honor to speak with you. My health is fine, thank you.”
The pauses for translation made the conversation awkward.
“They have found you a place to sleep on board the small vessel?” An innocuous question.
“Da. There is room in the capsule for two, comfortable, with one of them sleeping in the lander.”
Come on, woman, give me more details! Chelomei urged silently.
“They alternate, and considerately leave me my own lounge chair in the capsule.” She added a personal note. “I’m adjusting to the Houston time zone.”
Chelomei nodded his head. Excellent. She was getting it.
He expressed his deep condolences on the death of her commander, Mitkov, and congratulated her on her resourcefulness and strength in getting aboard the Apollo ship.