The

MELODY
of

SECRETS

t
Jeff rey St e pak off

Thomas Dunne Books St. Martins Press New York

This is a work of ction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the authors imagination or are used ctitiously.

thomas dunne books.

An imprint of St. Martins Press.

the melody of secrets. Copyright 2013 by Jeffrey Stepakoff. All rights reserved. Printed in the United States of America. For information, address St. Martins Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.

www.thomasdunnebooks.com www.stmartins.com

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Stepakoff, Jeffrey. The melody of secrets : a novel / Jeffrey Stepakoff. Ist. Ed. p. cm. ISBN 978-1-250- 00109-2 (hardcover) ISBN 978-1-250-02271-4 (e-book) 1. AstronautsFiction. 2. SecretsFiction. 3. AstronauticsUnited States History20th centuryFiction. PS3619.T47649M45 2013 813'.6dc23 2013020534 I. Title.

First Edition: October 2013

10 9 8 7 6 5 4

t
PROLOGUE

ou tsk ir ts of n or d h au sen, g ermany, l a te m a r c h 1945

aria sat in front of the mirror slowly buttoning up her light blue sleeveless linen dress when she heard the bombs falling in the distance. She paused for a moment, turned her head, listening as the explosions came closer, and then continued dressing. There was a time not too long ago when this sound would have sent her running, but not anymore. Though she was hardly eighteen years old and knew that the war would be over in a matter of weeks, inside, Maria felt dead already. She thought about dashing out the door of her little cottage and sprinting through the forest to the old house and grabbing the childrenher music students throughout the warand running off with them in the night. But with the Russians coming in from the east, and the Americans from the south and west, where was there left for a German girl and half a dozen orphans to run? The air-raid sirens in town wailed from afar. A pitcher of water

J effr ey S t epa koff

rattled on her dressing table. Picking up a wide-tooth ivory comb, Maria ran it through her damp honey-blond hair. She could smell the lilac that had been in the bathwater. Who was this person looking back at her? She didnt even recognize herself anymore. No bath in the world would ever wash away what she had seen. A nearby explosion rocked the cottage, causing Maria to jump. These bombing raids were getting closer every time now. Drawn by bright ashes of tracer light and the distinctive staccato popping sound of antiaircraft re, Maria went to the windows. She pulled the lacy curtains away to see a sky lled with re and smoke and what looked like a sea of aircraft, a few falling from formation in trails of orange ames but most moving relentlessly forward, dropping their fat bombs in steady cadence as they ew over. Boom! Another percussive blast shook the ground, rattling the cottage windows. A plate fell from a cupboard in the kitchen, hit the oor, and shattered. Maria gasped. It was no longer just the fuel depots in town they were after. They knew about the camp, and the underground rocket factory, and the ofcers quarters in the houses all around the outskirts of townshe was in the target zone now. There truly was nowhere left to run. Barefoot, as though in a trance, Maria walked into the living area, reached into a recessed shelf, and removed a violin case and bow. She popped the latches on the sturdy old case, expertly removed the violin, thrust it atop her shoulder, pressed her face to the chin rest, and pulled the bow across the strings. A beautiful melodious sound, steady and true, resonated throughout the room. Maria closed her eyes, shutting out the world, focus-

T he Me l o dy o f Secret s

ing intensely on the long soothing tone. Then with a quick breath she shot the bow upward hard across the strings and, her ngers on the other hand working along the neckoutside the bombs falling all aroundMaria stood in the middle of the room, lithe and shapely in her thin A-line dress, and played her violin. She played Sibelius, the Concerto in D minor, powerful and poignant and mournful. And as though she stood before an audience of ten thousand giving the nal performance of her life, she played with absolute conviction and precision, the instruments pitch always perfect. Back and forth, Maria pulled the bow across the strings in varied pace and angle, chin parallel to the oor, ngers coursing over the strings, as the bombs fell closer and louderbut she could no longer hear them. Everything she felt, everything she had seen over these last few years, it all came pouring out through the violin, the music speaking volumes more than any words ever could. Her hair ying as she moved her head in the building rhythm of the concerto, a few snapped strands of the bows horsehair whipping around as well, tears began to pool in the lower lids of Marias big wide-set eyes and then to stream down her soft high cheeks, conjured not by fear of re or jagged metal or demise but by all that had happened, all that she knew. The music brought it out, as it always did, and she was lost in it now, protected by it, enchanted, and carried away to some place safe by it. The world had gone mad and she was ready now for the end. Ready for death. In fact, she welcomed it. The door of the cottage ew open. Maria looked up from her dreamlike state and saw a man with a gun rush insidea soldier, his face smudged with grease and soil, close-cut dark hair lled with leaves and small twigs, hands and

J effr ey S t epa koff

forearms and neck bleeding from innumerable cuts. From a patch on his leather jacket, she could see that he was an American. She yanked the bow rigidly, producing a discordant screech, and then stopped playing. Empty and spent, she just stared at him. And he stared back. Then, in an instant, he ran his eyes all across the room, nally coming back to hers. Dont scream, he said, aiming his handgun directly at her chest. Screaming had not occurred to her, for there was no one near to hear her. Dress uttering against her skin as the wind blew in, she did start to think about ghting. Without moving his gaze or gun, he reached behind his back and slammed the door shut. Are you alone? he asked. Violin hanging from one hand, bow from the other, she continued staring at him, speechless, as though he were some illusory creature. Several bombs exploded off in the distance, the planes dropping their payload on the factory. Wincing in pain, he took a determined step forward, extending the large-frame pistol even closer to her. Are you alone? She could hear the volatility in his voice but still said nothing as her mind raced, studying him. Broad-shouldered and rock-hard t, he looked like he was barely a year or two older than her, and she could tell from the bars on the shoulders of his jacket that he was an ofcer. On the front, above a patch with silver wings, COOPER was sewn in dark threading. He had fallen from the sky. Sprechen Sie englisch ? His accent was terrible but comprehensible. Yet, still nothing from her.

T he Me l o dy o f Secret s

He raised the gun and his voice. Say something or I swear youll spend the rest of the three seconds of your life Yes, she nally said with only a faint hint of her German accent, eyes never leaving his, jaw set, shoulders square. I am alone. His gun pointed at her chest, violin and bow swaying from her limbs, as another distant explosion gently rocked the cottage, but still neither moved.

t
THE LAST OPTION

ca p e c a n a v e r a l , fl o rid a, 1957

e have sixty seconds to launch, sir, a nervous technician announced. Air force colonel Mike Adams, a big man with an executive presence, nodded as he leaned forward on the control panel, looking out the thick plateglass window at the launch site below. Satellite beacon is active and operating, another tech said, and the steady beep, beep, beep of a small satellitethe payload atop the slender rocket on the launch pad belowcould be heard transmitting over speakers in the control room. What makes you boys think this ones gonna y? Adams asked without bothering to look back at the half-dozen men in the small room. With his deep, low voice, at once folksy but commanding, Adams struck them as someone who in another life might have run a Nebraska cattle operation. My team has tested and retested every piece of hardware on that rocket, a navy lieutenant said.

T he Me l o dy o f Secret s

And thats in addition to the safeguards provided by each and every subcontractor, a white-coated scientist added. Colonel Adams scratched his belly, pressing it up against the control panel, eliciting a glance from the navy lieutenant. It was clear that the lieutenant didnt like his operations being second-guessed by some Pentagon administrator, no matter how superior, and he wasnt going to make a secret of itthis project warranted Washingtons full support. We have absolute condence in the Vanguard rocket, Colonel. You had absolute condence the last two times you tried to launch her, Adams said, nally turning to the men. Did we hit a few snags? the scientist asked. Sure. And we found them and xed them. Fifteen seconds! a tech called out. Colonel Adams, that rocket down there is the sum of Americas best minds, the navy lieutenant said, his tone deftly straddling reassurance and rebuke. Have some faith, sir. Beep, beep, beep, the satellites transmission reverberated throughout the room. It was a sound lled with the promise of technology, the expense of tens of millions of dollars in funding, the dreams of a nation, and the security of a way of life. I have plenty of faith. Adams looked back down at the slender Navy Vanguard TV3 rocket, seventy-two feet tall, steam rising from beneath her as the launch sequence continued. Its the people of this country that dont. They dont care about your snags and xes. They just want to know why the Russians beat America into space. They want to know why they have a Soviet satellite ying over their heads right now when Americas best minds cant seem to throw a grapefruit over a barn, let alone get our own satellite up there. Gentlemen, this bird had better y.

J effr ey S t epa koff

Five, four, three, two, booster is ignited, andliftoff! We have a liftoff! Vanguard TV3 is a go! All the men leaned toward the glass window, watching with rapt attention, the stakes of this mission apparent on their faces. All across America, people watched the launch on their television sets. In Sacramento, a family of ve gathered in their living room eating breakfast on standing metal trays, gripped by the images of the launch on their bulky black-and-white set. In Manhattan, a young man threw open the front door of his apartment, tossed his hat, and ran into the kitchen to join his pretty wife, an infant in her arms. Without turning her face from the television, she reached out and took his hand. In Wichita, a farmer in dusty coveralls stood on his front porch and peered in through a wide-open window at the television set in his living room, his family congregated around it. He wiped his brow, a look of wonder on his face. On an unfurling ball of golden ame, fueled by just the right mix of liquid oxygen and ethyl alcohol, the rocket began to defy gravity and rise, slowly, gracefully, like a ballerina going en pointe. It was a thing of grand beauty to behold. In the control room, the glass window vibrating with the steady rumbling of the ascending rocket, several of the men began to applaud. A couple cheered. About four feet over the launch pad, the pillow of roaring re and smoke expanding underneath it, the rocket hung in midair, levitating, and then abruptly lost thrust, dropping back down to the concrete launch pad, fuel tanks rupturing and bursting, caus-

T he Me l o dy o f Secret s

ing the entire rocket to explode and quickly burn up in its own ames. Propelled out of their stupor by the oncoming debris, the men quickly ducked down as shrapnel ew up toward the control room window. A toaster-sized chunk of blackened rocket engine slammed into the glass, cracking it from top to bottom, leaving a web of wavelike lines in its wake. Then there was silence, except for the beep, beep, beep. Tentatively, the men rose, looked out the damaged window, and saw lying below in a nearby patch of tall grass, the small aluminum sphere that was supposed to be in the heavens above them. Thrown from the top of the rocket, it was dented and charred but still transmitting what now seemed a wretched earthbound sound. Beep, beep, beep. It was mocking them. Stunned, the men silently watched the widening trail of black smoke oat out over the Atlantic in the distance. Finally, Adams picked up a phone. Get me the executive ofcer at Redstone. Youre going to the army? The navy lieutenant asked. Were done here. The scientists and technicians immediately exchanged worried looks. No one wanting to be the rst to objectit was common knowledge among them that former enemies were on staff at the highly classied Redstone army base. Sir The navy lieutenant raised his voice. You cant put the Germans on this. I dont have any other options. Adams turned away, phone to his ear, looking down through the shattered glass at the disaster below. Pushing aside the rolling chair separating their bodies, the navy

10

J effr ey S t epa koff

lieutenant got in his face. Colonel, with all due respectand interdepartmental politics entirely asidethis is a matter of national security. The highest kind. You cant put the Germans on this. Adams met his eyes and held them until it was very clear who had the power in this room. Actually, Lieutenant, I can.