Chapter 36

CHAPTER 36

I n his thirties, I’m guessing, the man has a heavy Japanese accent and a crew cut, the backs of his hands tattooed.

“We’re here about Sal Giordano.” I come right out and say it.

“Is there someone in particular you’re meeting?” The man smokes the cigarette, leaning against a pillar supporting the entrance’s overhang.

“How about we start with you,” Marino suggests, and the man shrugs, a shadow of uneasiness touching his face.

“It’s awful what happened to him.” He squints at us through cigarette smoke.

“How well did you know him?” Marino asks.

“I’d see him when he’d stop by. It wasn’t all that often. Who am I talking to?”

Digging out his wallet, Marino flashes his bright gold badge, and I do the same, playing the role of his partner like I did long years ago. We introduce ourselves, and the man’s first name is Daku. He almost seems relieved to see us while at the same time visibly nervous.

“We’re investigating Sal Giordano’s death,” Marino explains before I get the chance, reverting back to lead detective mode as if he never left it.

“Like I said, it’s horrible,” Daku replies. “But I don’t know anything about it except what’s been in the news.”

“But you know something, don’t you,” Marino states rather than asks. “I mean, you know why he’d been coming here since last summer. Let’s hear your version instead of somebody else’s. Or you can wait until the feds are crawling all over the place.”

“I know that Doctor Giordano was fired up about what he was doing.” Daku begins to talk as if he needs to get it out. “It was his life’s passion, and I felt kind of bad for him, truth is. I didn’t want to discourage him, though.”

“About what?” I ask.

“He was well aware how many patents out there never see the light of day,” Daku replies. “I’m assuming that’s what you’re curious about. What he was doing here right before he died.”

“It was one of the last places he stopped before being abducted and killed,” Marino says.

“When I heard about it I was shocked.” Daku takes another hit on the cigarette.

“What patent are we talking about?” I ask him.

“Let me guess,” Marino says. “Something to do with fake moon dust.”

“We don’t use the word fake around here.” Daku taps an ash. “Obviously, you know about Doctor Giordano’s research and what a cool idea it is even if it never comes to anything.”

“What patent are you talking about?” I again ask.

“Well, he has more than one filed. But the point is to make concrete from a simulant of lunar regolith,” Daku explains.

“Huh?” Marino scowls.

“He’d stop in and buy some of the stuff to experiment with in his cellar,” Daku goes on. “Small amounts, and then he’d drop by to discuss his progress, bringing samples. And he’d call from time to time. We were working on his idea together, sort of on the side, you know.”

“What you’re saying is he was paying you under the table to assist in his research,” Marino replies. “Sounds like a sweet deal. Do your employers know about that?”

“It would be most appreciated if the details of our transactions remain private.” Tension touches his face again.

“I can’t make any promises, and we’re not who you need to worry about.” Marino turns up the investigative heat, talking the talk. “This is just the start, and the more truthful you are, the easier it will be for you later.”

“Making concrete to build structures on the moon?” I ask. “Is that why Sal Giordano was experimenting with moon dust simulants?”

“We manufacture them here. Also, Martian and other simulants, shipping tons of them to Japan and elsewhere,” Daku says.

The entire building we’re in front of makes nothing but regolith simulants. There’s other research going on with solar cells because of the perovskite mined. He explains that’s the reason Bando Solutions decided to locate here, staring off at the quarries gouged into the mountainside.

“That and the deal they made with Briley Enterprises, which owns True North Industries,” he adds.

“Well, isn’t that something,” Marino says nonchalantly, both of us masking our shock. “You know what’s happened to the Brileys, right?”

“I saw it on the news. I didn’t know them.” The way Daku says it, I believe him.

“I’m assuming you’re making simulants of perovskite as well?” I ask.

“Yes. Doping it with the real thing.”

“Was Sal Giordano involved with perovskite research?” I imagine he’d be intensely curious.

“He was quite familiar.”

“When he was here this past Monday afternoon, did he do anything involving perovskite?” I think of the nanograins Sal had under his fingernails.

“He was always interested in whatever’s going on,” Daku says. “And on Monday, I showed him some of the newest solar cell panels we’re making to generate our own power. He was thinking about installing panels on his property in Alexandria.”

But that’s not why Sal was visiting Bando Solutions, Daku goes on to say. His focus was the lunar dust simulant, and his patent has nothing to do with building habitats on the moon or Mars. NASA and other space agencies are already working on those sorts of things.

“His dream was to build the first telescope on the moon,” Daku explains.

“Out of fucking cement?” Marino blurts out.

“Absolutely.” He lights another cigarette, and I can see Marino looking at it lustfully.

“You mind?”

“Sure.” Daku taps a cigarette out of the pack, offering it to him, flicking the Bic lighter, and I can’t believe it.

Marino is cheating right in front of me. He doesn’t look at me or give it a thought, and we’re back to the old days just like that. He’s the big tough detective blowing smoke, swearing, flaunting himself like a peacock.

“What you’d do is fabricate a humongous dish by filling a crater with cement made from lunar dust.” Daku is telling us the gist of Sal’s patents. “Find a way to heat it up enough that the material turns to glass, and you’d have one hell of a stationary radio telescope up there. It would be the most powerful one ever because there’s no atmosphere on the moon to distort everything.”

“I guess that’s pretty cool,” Marino says, enjoying his bummed cigarette while I stay upwind. “But I’m not understanding how something like that could work.”

“Without question, what he designed would have. It’s a shame he’s not here to see that happen.” Daku seems deeply disappointed. “He promised me that if it did, he’d bring me into the project.”

“Obviously, you’re a scientist,” I say to him.

“A geologist.”

“How long have you been working out here?”

“Two years.”

“Do you remember the first time you met Sal Giordano?” I ask.

“Last June. He got word of what we were making here, and paid us a visit. It was quite the big moment for a Nobel laureate to show up, as you might imagine. We sat down and talked about the project he had in mind. He didn’t want anyone knowing what he was doing.”

“Why not?” Marino asks.

“Mostly he was worried about the government taking his idea for its own use,” Daku explains with a flash of resentment. “He said he’d pay cash for the bags of simulant necessary for the research. And he’d compensate us for our time.”

“ Us or just you?”

“Well…”

“Hey, Daku?” Marino blows a perfect smoke ring. “Ask if we give a shit about that.”

“It was just me. And it was important that there’d be no electronic or paper trail.”

“Isn’t that something?” Marino looks at me. “He just happens to walk out on a smoke break when we pull up.”

“We have security monitors everywhere,” Daku says. “I saw you pull up and knew you didn’t work here. Nobody drives anything black around here. It was only a matter of time before someone showed up asking questions.”

“Better to cut it off at the pass, right?” Marino says.

“Yes. Doctor Giordano was a brilliant scientist and a good person. He shouldn’t have his ideas stolen from him by the government or anyone else.”

“And his actual research was done here,” I make sure. “That’s what the purchased simulant was for?”

“Nothing left this facility except the small amounts he’d take home to experiment with,” Daku says, and I envision the residue that sparkled cobalt blue under UV light.

There were traces of it inside Sal’s pickup truck. That makes sense if on occasion he visited the facility and hauled some of the simulated moon dust home. As fastidious as he was, I have no doubt he wore face masks while working with it. But it wouldn’t have been possible to get rid of it. You might not see the residue with the unaided eye, but it would still fluoresce.

“It would be helpful to take a look around inside, and then we’ll get out of your way,” Marino says as if it’s our right. “Maybe you can show us what you’re talking about. And where Sal Giordano would hang out when he’d visit.”

Zipping up his coveralls, the geologist puts on his hair cover, his goggles. He punches in a code to unlock the door he stepped out of earlier. We’re shown inside a vast work area divided into different stations, everybody covered from head to toe by white Tyvek.

In an anteroom are shelves of PPE, and Daku hands us coveralls to wear over our clothing. We put on booties, face masks and goggles. The noise of grinders and other machinery is loud, and we’re given earplugs should we want them. Putting on hard hats, we follow Daku across the dust-covered floor, and I can’t imagine working in such an environment without a respirator or at least a surgical mask.

Against a far wall are pallets of lunar regolith simulants in fifty-pound bags for shipping, the writing in Japanese. Daku walks us into another room with a ball mill that finely grinds the necessary minerals. Workers are driving forklifts and utility terrain vehicles (UTVs), nobody paying us much mind as we’re given a tour.

Our geologist guide goes into detail about the process of extracting ore and reducing it and other minerals into a fine dust. The individual grains are too small to see without magnification. He complains about how tenacious the dust is.

“Sticking to everything like Velcro,” he says.

The next connected building produces solar cells and panels. From there we pass through a vehicle bay where trucks are loaded with pallets of lunar, Martian and perovskite simulants. We pass through a series of doors leading to a small windowless office with two desks, a copying machine, a coffeemaker, a water cooler.

“This is where I would talk with Doctor Giordano,” Daku says.

But I’m distracted by the radio tuned in to a talk show, the host ranting about political conspiracies. I feel a chill touch the back of my neck.

“ … The reason is to keep you in the dark. To control your every thought and feeling…! ” the host declares.

I’m reminded of what I heard in the background when I got the hang-ups in the morgue and on my cell phone. The air is dusty in here, and I notice cobwebs and dead bugs. Pink fiberglass insulation protrudes from a damaged wall.

And detritus such as bug pieces and parts, insulation, cobwebs and such, Lee Fishburne said.

I think of the trace evidence I collected from Sal’s body. Lee also mentioned cat dander, and I ask Daku if anyone might bring a pet to work.

“No animals except what’s in the caves. Bats, an occasional rat snake. Spiders, salamanders, millipedes.” He indicates the far side of the room.

Through an open doorway I can see the interior of a gloomy cavern, the rough stone walls unevenly lighted. I remember what Lee told me about volcanic activity forming igneous rocks that are necessary for the fabrication of moon dust and also perovskite.

“ … They want us to be their slaves, brainwashing us into believing it’s for our own good… ” The talk show host continues spewing his venom.

“Sorry about that.” Daku finds the radio, turning down the volume. “One of the security guys listens to it nonstop. Me, I can’t stomach any more politics.”

“Tell me about it,” Marino says as we look around at wall-mounted video displays.

The livestreaming images are captured by the network of cameras throughout the True North plant, its quarries and mines, and also the operations going on at Bando Solutions. I’m not surprised to realize that Marino and I would have been spotted the moment we approached the plant’s entrance.

We’re being observed now, I suspect as I continue looking around. But it’s not Carrie Grethen or the Brileys spying on us. It can’t be Mira Tang either.

“What is this room we’re in?” Marino asks.

“Sort of mission control,” Daku says. “Where we make sure everything is as it should be.”

On monitors are live images of the grinders, the crushers, the kilns, the silos. I notice that a faux leather sofa opens into a bed, a corner of a wrinkled sheet hanging out from under a cushion. There’s a small refrigerator, a kitchen table, a sink with a dish rack, everything needed to camp out.

“So, I’m going to show you the most recent result from when Doctor Giordano was here last month,” Daku says. “This is very close if not exactly the right formula depending on how it would do in the extreme conditions of outer space. During solar flares and meteor strikes, for example. And gravity’s not the same on the moon, of course.”

He sits down at a desk that has a knapsack on top along with a SpaceX coffee mug and the photograph of a pretty young woman. Unlocking a drawer, he pulls out a blue cloth briefcase that has a black shoulder strap, and I’m startled as I recall what Gus Gutenberg said about a briefcase fitting that description.

“Did Sal Giordano bring this when he was here on Monday?” I ask.

“Yes.” Daku opens the briefcase, pulling out a cardboard box.

“When he gave the briefcase to you on Monday, it had your payment in it, I assume,” Marino says.

“And his latest sample.”

He proudly hands the box to me, and I remove the lid. Inside on a nest of cotton is a small pale gray block of what looks like everyday concrete. I feel its weight and smooth, polished texture, imagining how excited Sal must have been about a dream he didn’t divulge to NASA, the NSA, the CIA, the president of the United States or scarcely anyone, including me.

He was determined to invent a lunar telescope that would help us better understand how the universe was formed, and who we are. His invention would be built on the moon, leaving his legacy, and I’m pained he didn’t share this with me. I’m also not surprised in the least. Sal didn’t go into much detail about his work in general, and I understand why now better than ever.

He never mentioned his patents, and I was unaware that he’d filed any. But in the end, he wanted me to know about his dream and make sure it wasn’t forgotten. Or more likely stolen, the lunar telescope built by the Russians first. Now that Carrie’s been caught, hopefully that won’t happen as easily, if at all.

Whoever rules the moon, rules Earth, Sal used to say. It’s called King of the Hill, amore…

I envision the code in the microphotograph he must have taken recently:

TN-5L-7R-9L

Its childlike simplicity touches me. I’m reminded of a scavenger or treasure hunt, an innocent game. I hand Marino the concrete block made from simulated moon dust. He looks at it, returning it to the box with a shrug.

“I still don’t get how you turn something like that into a telescope any more than I could shoot somebody with a cinderblock,” he decides.

“Not an optical telescope. But a radio telescope,” Daku reiterates as if that settles the confusion.

“Then I guess you could turn a sidewalk or empty swimming pool into a telescope,” Marino says a touch snidely.

“Ummm… I don’t think so, but not sure.” Daku ponders this for a few seconds.

“Is there a way to get out of here without walking back through the entire fucking place with all this damn PPE on?” Marino the tough guy asks him.

“The next connecting building is the crop-dusting hangar. The door’s probably rolled up because the fumes are strong in there, especially now that it’s warmer. You can go out that way if you’d rather.”

“That would be better.” Marino is sweating in his coveralls, and I’m desperate for fresh air.

My eyes are watering and itching from the dust. Daku walks us through a storage area, past a bathroom that Marino decides to use. He takes off his PPE, and I do the same.

“To leave you go through the door right there.” Daku shows me. “Walk through the hangar, and you’ll be outside a couple streets away from where you’re parked. You’ll have to walk a little way. But not too bad.”

“Who does your crop dusting?” I ask him.

“This really amazing scientist from Poland who’s also a pilot. Zofia Puda,” he says, and there’s no question that Carrie was here.

“What type of aircraft does she fly?” I ask as if it’s no great matter.

“The Cessna that’s in the hangar. But she’s in the process of switching over to the chopper in there.”

“Where is she now?” I ask to hear what he says.

“She doesn’t work every day,” he replies. “I’ve not seen her in a few days.”

“Thank you very much,” I tell him. “You’ve been very helpful.”

He disappears through the office, returning to the first building where we met him, I presume. I text Benton the latest update as I hear the toilet flush inside the bathroom. Water runs in the sink, paper towels yanked out of the dispenser. Marino emerges, his eyes everywhere as I tell him about Zofia Puda a.k.a. Carrie. She held Sal hostage here all night long, pumping him full of drugs to keep him sedated.

“Probably nobody here has a clue who Zofia Puda really is,” Marino says. “I wonder if the Brileys even know her real name.”

“I’m sure not. This way.” I head to the door that Daku pointed out to me.