In our lunar branch, my bosses Colonel Bykovsky and Colonel Leonov were told that one of them would command a two-man L-1 crew on a flight around the Moon as soon as we demonstrated a controlled reentry. They complained that one more unmanned test would give America the first triumph. (Though NASA had not officially announced it, everyone knew that Apollo 8 would make such an attempt in late December.) Both cosmonauts claimed they could manually pilot a controlled landing, and failing that, were willing to risk a 16-G ballistic reentry.
But the State Commission, the Hammer, Ustinov, and even Kamanin, who usually sided with the pilots in matters like this, weren’t listening. There had been too many failures. No one wanted to kill two more cosmonauts on a risky flight around the Moon when there was no guarantee that Apollo 8, which would also be the first manned test of the giant Saturn V-5, would succeed.
It was exciting — almost frantic. It was also the time when my father finally returned to Moscow.
46
Zond 6
I managed to see Katya again on Saturday, November 1, on my last free weekend before returning to Baikonur for checkout on the tenth L-1, the one that would finally pave our path to and from the Moon.
There were no further explosive revelations regarding my parents’ lives, or mine, or Katya’s, just another shallow sexual evening that left me feeling drained yet energized, guilty and yet strangely happy. Strangely because weeks, now months, had passed, and I was no closer to proving that Uncle Vladimir had somehow killed Korolev, not one bit more knowledgeable about his plans and powers. And still, when I had the time to think of such things, wondering where and how he would take action against me.
Knowing that snow would soon cover the ground around Star Town, I dressed in a track suit and went for a run early the morning of Sunday, November 2. I didn’t particularly enjoy running — almost none of the cosmonauts did — but I had found that it made me feel more energetic, especially with a trip coming up that would require me to sit on my ass in a cramped, cold spacecraft for endless hours.
The building that was intended to be permanent housing for the Fourth Enrollment, among others, had been ninety percent complete in July. It was, I now judged, ninety-one percent complete. After my run, I returned to my lonely flat on its first floor to find my father sitting on a chair in a puddle of sunlight, wearing a civilian overcoat.
Getting over my initial shock and surprise, I greeted him. He seemed genuinely pleased to see me, though, as usual, he had to offer some criticism: “You should lock your door.”
“There’s nobody in this area but cosmonauts and their families,” I said. “Not on a Sunday morning.”
“I got in.”
“You’re an Air Force general.”
He flicked at the lapel of his coat, which opened to show that he was wearing civilian clothes. “Not today.”
“I don’t have anything worth stealing.” This was, more or less, true. I had splurged to buy a small television set, which I had used perhaps three times in the past six months. My possessions at that time were limited to military uniforms, athletic gear, my handwritten notes from training classes (there were no workbooks), and a few books. My furniture looked as though it had been salvaged or stolen in the first place.
“I’m not speaking about thieves. It’s your personal security.”
“Uncle Vladimir’s assassins?”
A look of genuine fright passed across my father’s face. Then, strangely, he forced himself to laugh. “You’ve been reading too many spy novels,” he said, holding up an index finger in the universal Russian symbol that says: We are under surveillance.
I thought the idea was ridiculous, but elected to play along. “Let me buy you breakfast,” I said.
Once we were outdoors, my father said, “I’ve already eaten.”
“Me, too. I just wanted the listeners to know we had a reason to leave.”
“This is not a joke, Yuri.”
“Sorry.” One of my many failings is that I sound as though I’m joking when I’m not. “How was Czechoslovakia?”
“Not as bloody as Hungary, from what they tell me. We didn’t have to hang traitors from the streetlights. But we managed to anger everyone in the international community, and most of our allies, too. They know that if the tanks can roll into Prague, they can roll into Warsaw or Bucharest, too. They’ll never allow this again.”
“Things change.”
“Some things.” He looked almost wistful. “Now, have you done what I said? Have you stayed away from Vladimir?”
“I haven’t spoken to him for months.”
“Have you been pressured in any way? Followed?”
“Not that I can tell. You would know better,” I said. “You insisted we come outside to talk.”
“Just a precaution.” He looked around at Star Town, the tall, gray apartment buildings among the birch and pine trees, the central commissary and market building in front of us, the cold-looking lake to our right, the half-finished structures by it. We were the only ones out on this dreary morning. “This place keeps getting bigger and bigger.”
“Kamanin is trying to make it bigger yet,” I said. “He wants the training center to become a scientific-research institute with twice the staff.”
“Yes, yes, and he wants the Air Force to become the Central Space Office, too. I know all about it. Everyone on the high command is sick to death of it.”
“They must be pleased by Zond 5.”
He grunted. “They think it’s a giant waste of money, Yuri. The Americans are going to beat us to the Moon. That’s been obvious since—”
“—since Korolev died?”
For an instant my father seemed to sag, but he quickly recovered, smiling. “It was obvious that day in 1961 when the Americans announced they were going to go to the Moon. They have too many resources. We never had a real program until 1964, and it still wasn’t on track when Korolev died. But that doesn’t concern us.”
“It may not concern you, but it sure concerns me! This is my life!”
“Beating the Americans to the Moon? You’ve never said a thing about that to me.”
“Well, there are many things I haven’t said to you. Or you to me, such as the truth about Mother’s death.” I don’t know why I chose that moment to raise that subject; the instant the words were said, I wanted to erase them.
My father turned and looked at me as though I were a stranger. “What are you talking about?”
“Your bomb test at Semipalatinsk in September 1956. It was called the A-2, wasn’t it? You dropped it from your plane?”
His face reddened, and I knew he was angry. “You lied to me. You said you hadn’t spoken to Vladimir.”
“I haven’t.”
Now he was confused. Among the many other things I had never mentioned to him was my relationship with Katya, so who could possibly have told me this terrible secret if not Vladimir? “I’ve made many mistakes in my life, Yuri. Some were my fault. Some were… bad luck. Following the wrong orders,” he said, obviously trying to control his voice. “But that day, with that plane, and what it did to your mother and those other people… that is the one I live with.”
“You never talked about it.”
“What should I have said?” he snapped. “ ‘Oh, by the way, Yuri, when your mother and I were in the desert, I managed to poison her’? It was bad enough watching her die, knowing it was my fault.” He started walking back toward my flat. “I need a drink.”