Lt. Col.В K.M.В Litvinov
***
DECREE
Immediately start operat… actions, …clarifying… …details of the Baltim… Expe… t. Confirm… facts and agents at our disposal… …rmation associated with the activit… ola Tesla in the… …military …rces of the U.S. to the exper…
Report …personally, daily.
Ilichev
CHAPTERВ 5
45° 31» 48» N
9° 5» 37» E
Milan, Italy
MayВ 1991
The traffic jam seemed endless. Even considering that it was inВ one ofВ the most beautiful cities inВ Europe, inВ the capital ofВ Italian and world fashion, sitting inВ the car inВ this sticky, hot, polluted air did not bring much pleasure.
Soli
La pelle come un vestito
Soli
Mangiando un panino inВ due
Io eВ te
Soli
Le briciole nel letto
Soli
Ma stretti un po’ di più
Solo io soloВ tu
The melodic song playing from the broken car radio, performed byВ aВ hoarse-voiced man and aВ bevy ofВ beauties, did not brighten the trip either. Choking inВ the old Fiat ofВ God knows what colour and year, with coffee and red wine stains as well as something unknown and repulsive on the formerly-velvet backseat, Rodion Karlovich Teichrib concluded that he was going toВ be late for his flight. Even inВ the best-case scenario, if at the behest ofВ all the sleeping saints inВ Milan the highway toВ Malpensa Airport will immediately clear up, he still would not make it for Alitalia flight 560В toВ Moscow. This meant that his colleague, translator and assistant, Sergei Tikholapov, who had left toВ the airport two hours ago, will have toВ fly toВ Moscow alone.
The Twenty-Ninth Symposium ofВ the European Society ofВ Historians, held as always under the patronage ofВ the Royal Historical Society ofВ the United Kingdom, was traditionally held inВ the old European cities like London, Amsterdam, Brussels, and Lisbon. InВ late spring ofВ 1991, that city was Milan.
Not yet an old man at fifty-four years of age and part of the so-called «new wave» of the perestroika era, Professor Rodion Karlovich Teichrib had early-grizzled curly hair and large eyes under similarly large and thick horn-rimmed spectacles. Among the students of the Moscow State University’s Faculty of History he went by the respectable nickname of «Doctor Zhivago.» The Faculty of History of the Moscow State University was the leader of the subject area in the Soviet Union, known for exhaustingly covering both geographical and chronological historical reality, and in fact – all human history. A dozen departments and a few hundred faculty members, including Rodion Karlovich, taught history in a fundamental way, with its own school and traditions. Even the study of the history of the Communist Party introduced in the thirties did not affect the quality of education. Repression of the professorial staff in these years only partially affected the university. The school remained a School.
Rodion Karlovich taught in two departments – history and art of archeology and ethnology as well as ancient fine arts. His «Doctor Zhivago» persona was complemented by the fact that he carried all his documents, books, and notebooks in an old doctor’s bag, which he inherited from his grandfather through his father. Such was the professorial dynasty of the «bag-carriers.»
The «Vesnin Brothers,» responsible for producing this daily necessity of a doctor as well as other suitcases and attributes for wealthy travelers in the early nineteenth century, did not spare the finest pigskins in the creation of their products, being such a benign manufacturer. The brown sides of the bag, obliterated by a century of wear and tear, had about a dozen small holes covered by bronze studs. So, with tight enclosure and long-term storage, the contents of the travelling bag did not dampen or suffocate. The lock made by «Vesnin Brothers» was so strong and shrewd that it would be envied by any modern travel lock. However, its key came only in one copy. The professor once tried to order a duplicate – as if it were possible! Upon seeing the manufacturer brand, no master took the task. «Hold on to it like the apple of an eye, but if you lose it, the sides of the bag will have to be cut open, ruining such a fine product!» But even this would be hard to do because the sides of the doctor’s travelling bag were reinforced with whalebone. That’s why Rodion Karlovich only took the key with him when he went on business trips, which had been recently becoming more often. Even when handing his bag over at check-in counters, he did not bother to have it wrapped around by plastic to protect it from the baggage handlers of Sheremetyevo Airport that were known for their autopsies of expensive suitcases arriving from capitalist countries. Firstly, this type of travelling bag did not look as polished as most of his fellow travelers’, and secondly, breaking it open would need too much force. The rest of the time, during lectures and hours spent in the dilapidated Lenin library, the key awaited the professor in the bachelor two-bedroom apartment that he shared with his mother, not far from the Kropotkinskaya metro station.
Smiling and showing large teeth, the lenses ofВ his glasses gleaming, Rodion Karlovich talked inВ aВ quiet, but firm, tone ofВ voice, forcing the audience toВ stop whispering and carefully delve into his lectures. As aВ relatively young, extremely well-read, and В«newВ» -thinking teacher, he did not suffer from aВ lack ofВ attention from his students. Many ofВ them idolized him and sometimes even escaped from other classes toВ listen toВ the В«advancedВ» lectures ofВ Dr. Zhivago.
In the midst of perestroika, a new wave of contacts was made with foreign universities interested in promoting «progressive thinking» in the USSR, which became increasingly popular in the West (from matryoshka dolls and Paul McCartney’s «Back in the USSR» to nuclear technology), opening more doors to the young professors of the land of the Soviets. This allowed Rodion Karlovich to visit six countries in the past three years alone. Previously, one could only dream of such trips, not to mention the expenses covered by host nations.
And here he was, sitting inВ the Milanese taxi on the road toВ the airport, with aВ wandering smile, recalling aВ conversation about him inВ aВ small pizzeria on Via Cappellini with his young colleague and translator, Sergei Tikholapov. Rodion Karlovich caught himself thinking that he was continuing toВ test his knowledge ofВ the amazing object that he acquired for ten lire. Actually, it only cost him aВ payment for aВ bus ride with aВ half-blind Italian rag-picker, whom he named В«Giuseppe Blue-noseВ» inВ his mind.
Here is what happened. Having successfully broken away from the В«tourist groupВ» (or rather, from the delegation ofВ professors and lecturers from the countries ofВ the former socialist bloc and the elderly guide, aВ Jewish immigrant, who seemingly spoke inВ all the languages ofВ the world), and chuckling toВ himself that this whole episode crudely reminded him ofВ aВ scene from the 1960s Soviet comedy The Diamond Arm, professor Rodion Karlovich slipped into the shadows ofВ the small and prosperous Via Plinio. AВ couple ofВ times, he covered his tracks byВ entering small souvenir shops, sorting inВ his pockets for coins given toВ him as subsistence byВ the Committee ofВ Assistance toВ Eastern European Nations. Finally, he found himself at the corner ofВ that same Via Plinio and Piazza Lima.
It’d be nice to study the outskirts of Milan too, as not only do its palaces make Milan beautiful, but its people too, thought Rodion Karlovich, looking around and squinting at the bright sun-lit street, or else I might as well spend my whole trip in classrooms and at conferences. It was at this moment that he felt some sort of hollow ringing in his head, which after a moment turned into a dull ache in the left brow. He stopped and firmly pressed the palm of his hand to his brow, then rubbed his temple. However, the pain was not only not gone, but it intensified. He even put his head in his hands, remembering how Heinrich Muller taught Stirlitz[5 - A fictional Soviet spy operating undercover in Nazi Germany.] to deal with migraines in the classic film Seventeen Moments of Spring.
What the hell? Removing his glasses, he gave aВ tired and bewildered look at the suddenly deserted street. At aВ bus stop not far away, sat aВ lonely old man inВ aВ plaid flannel shirt, aВ blue velvet waistcoat and aВ worn-out cap, with his tanned hands peacefully resting on his knees.
Rodion Karlovich slowly approached this elderly man of small stature and a narrow face with a long, bluish nose, and without even thinking how to explain himself he knocked on his own forehead with two fingers and, wincing, asked: «Pharmacy, where is farmacia? Analgene… head – testa… testa boo-boo very much – testa malate! Devil may break a leg of this damn Italian!» The old man, as if expecting this question, got up from the plastic bench and promptly waved his dry blotchy hand, inviting Rodion Karlovich into a shabby, impossibly dusty city bus that pulled to the curb out of nowhere.
Ostensibly hypnotized, the professor entered the empty salon and collapsed next to the old man in the seat behind the driver. Bus no. 64W immediately started moving, grunting out exhaust with displeasure. The driver turned to the old man, looked into his eyes, and shook his head – «This one?» Blue-nose nodded his head.
CHAPTERВ 6
55° 45» 11» N
37° 38» 26» E
Moscow, Russian Federation
September 7,В 1994
В«This one?В»
В«What do IВ know?В»
«This guy isn’t quite dead yet…»
«Aha! They don’t want dead ones. Remember the last one? They finally let him go…»
«Yeah, let him go… into the Moscow River.»
The two square-headed and thick-necked thugs, dressed inВ expensive suits ofВ the latest fashion, stopped at the corner ofВ Podkolokolny and Malo Ivanovo alleys. With undisguised contempt, they were looking intensely at aВ dry, bony, dirty man. He sat with his back toВ aВ water pipe, pursing his thin legs. The tricot was torn at his knees. Dirty, swollen, dressed inВ rags, he was begging passersby for something inВ his incoherent, tongue-tied speech. But the passersby only hurriedly ran past him, some bouncing off toВ the side for fear ofВ catching some tuberculosis, pediculosis, or В«even something worse.В»
One of the suits drew a pair of white latex gloves from his pocket, busily pulled them on his hairy hands, and pushed the elbow of his associate, quietly muttering, «Alright, we take this one. We’ve been shaking down alleyways for two hours. And I’m hungry like a dog! If he won’t be the right one, then the hell with him – the river will wash him away like the others…»
«Wait, I’ll put a cover on the seat… God forbid that son a bitch will stink up my car.» He turned and quickly headed to the man standing not far from the black Jeep.
Meanwhile, the first suit sat down inВ front ofВ beggar and shook his bony shoulder. The hobo raised his eyelids heavily and with his bright blue, unreflective eyes looked at the stranger. He was not too old. Rather, it was impossible toВ tell his age without ridding his face ofВ the stubble he had grown over many days, washing the dirt off him, and feeding him properly. He was probably still inВ his thirties.
«I’m not well, brother,» he rasped through dry, parched, blue lips, «I can’t breathe… my pipes are burning!»
«Well, that’s fixable, chap. How do we call you, miserable?» asked the suit deliberately in a good-natured and merry tone.
«I’m Oleg. Oleg Pervushin.»
«Here’s what, Oleg Pervushin, look here, brother – I’m going to patch you up for a little case. At my cottage. It’s not for nothing, you hear! I’ll get your pipes cleaned and feed you and get you dressed, bro. The whole deal!» He smiled wryly and depicted a graceful movement with his white-gloved fingers. Then, still smiling, he pulled from his jacket pocket a 250-mL bottle of «Moskovskaya» vodka, pulled off the silver cap, and placed the warm bottle into the trembling hand of Oleg Pervushin. As if long expecting such a turn of events, Oleg took three big gulps in exactly three seconds, consuming the entire contents of the bottle, making his saviour whistle with admiration. Gently burping, Oleg again leaned back against the drainpipe. After a few long moments, his cheeks began to show colour, his breathing leveled off, and he opened his eyes to look at the stranger in full consciousness.
«Well, what do you want, dear,» said Oleg with a little drawl, «Take me, lock, stock and barrel. If you like, I’ll plow your land, and dig up a well, and cut down trees for a sauna, and…»
«No, no, Oleshka,» interrupted his companion, «I want you to, well, work as a watchman for me. You know how many scums there are around now, climbing in windows, stealing, and they can even burn you. Well, maybe, you can be a courier for our office. You know, bring this, take that…»
«What, the post doesn’t work?»
«Yes, it works. But we don’t need its services. I’m sure you know how they work… every second package, bye-bye. It’s not around Moscow you’ll have to deliver them, but to far away. To all, so to speak, corners of our great motherland. Well, that’s it – c’mon, let’s go. Details – later.»
В«Drugs or something?В»
«God forbid, who do you hold me for? I’m one of yours, I’m a bourgeois,» insisted the thug. The joke sounded out of place.
He helped the homeless man up. Only some of the very few passersby still out at this late evening hour paid any attention at how an expensively dressed man held a foul street beggar by the arm and seated him into an expensive foreign car. The right back door slammed, and Oleg fell on the soft leather seat, which was covered its entire length by a sheet of transparent plastic. The car pulled slowly away, sharply honking at clumsy, crooked Ladas, and with its tires squealing, raced up the Malo Ivanovo alley of Moscow. Eyeing the big city lights from a window of the expensive car, Oleg was sweetly falling asleep. At one turn, he even fell to the squeaky polyethylene, curled up and fell asleep, resting his unshaven cheek on his dirty fist. Meanwhile, the car’s stereo system blasted a Nautilus Pompilius rock hit at full bass:
If you’re drinking with thieves,
Be afraid for your wallet,
If you walk on muddy roads,
You can’t avoid soiling your feet…
В«Turn off that nonsense!В»
«What’s wrong? It’s their last album – it’s good stuff!
«What’s so cool? If you drink with thieves – don’t be afraid for your wallet! Don’t be afraid! – you got it?»
CHAPTERВ 7
To: Head ofВ Intelligence Directorate,
General Staff ofВ the Red Army,
GeneralВ I.I.В Ilichev
December 4,В 1942
OPERATIONAL REPORT
Comrade General,
As part of Operation Trigger, I offer you the latest intelligence information, analysis, archival documents, and historical references. We also found that the OGPU[6 - The Joint State Political Directorate, the Soviet secret police from 1922 to 1934] organs, and in particular the Deputy Chairman of the OGPU – G.G. Yagoda, were already interested in the subject in 1931.
***
FROM THE INTELLIGENCE ARCHIVES OFВ THE 7th BRANCH OFВ THE GENERAL STAFF OFВ THE TSARISTВ ARMY
From: Ciphered reports ofВ the Russian Embassy resident inВ the U.S., Joseph Grabbe
To: Head ofВ the 7th Branch ofВ the General Staff, Gen.В V.A.В Tselebrovsky
Copy: Russian Ambassador toВ the United States, Mr.В R.R.В Rosen
July 27,В 1902
Your Excellency,
With the help ofВ our agent at the central post office inВ Colorado Springs, we have received aВ copy ofВ aВ letter from Mr. Tesla toВ Mr. Johansson inВ New York regarding our matter ofВ interest. IВ bring toВ your attention the translation ofВ the highlights ofВ this document:
Dear friend!
…in the sketches of the high electromagnetic discharge instrument made on the basis of a familiar object to you, «Trigger,» I came across a thought.
…dear Johansson, soon you will be able to read your poems to Homer himself! Meanwhile, I will be discussing my findings with the great Archimedes. Give me time, and I will send you a copy of my research diary, and you will see for yourself that I am not sick in the head, as many around me are already beginning to assume. Unfortunately, even Mr. Morgan, my good financial backer, is also beginning to lean towards this view. All that excited him was my successful experiment with the disappearance of the old power generator in Philadelphia, as well as the presence of my most important – his, Mr. Morgan’s – incredible object, a round catalyst (which he jokingly calls the «ball of Gods,» and I – «Trigger»). Some other time, I will write to you in detail how he jumped and slapped his thighs when I showed him the green electromagnetic waves which appeared during the disappearance in Philadelphia, unbelievably resembling a fog. I held the ball in my outstretched hand, and it lit up in my hands like a little sun of cold and lifeless plasma.
Your Excellency,
We have also found that after returning from Colorado Springs, Mr. Tesla informed journalists ofВ the Herald Tribune that he had established contact with extraterrestrial civilizations. Few took this statement seriously. However, there are indications that Mr. Tesla is continuing his investigation ofВ В«parallel worldsВ» byВ himself, with the help ofВ the object ofВ our interest, without publicizing any ofВ the results. He discusses all ofВ his experiments only personally with Mr. Morgan during garden walks or inВ aВ completely closed laboratory that does not give us the opportunity toВ listen and learn the contents ofВ their conversations. During their garden walks, Mr. Tesla and Mr. Morgan sometimes play with aВ ball (that is, the В«subjectВ» ofВ our interest). The dimensions ofВ this ball do not exceed 5В toВ 7В inches inВ diameter. They play the so-called English football, which is now becoming inВ vogue inВ Russia. At all other times while on the territory observed byВ us, Mr. Tesla did not part with the ball at any moment.
The report of our scientific consultants concludes that Mr. Tesla uses the subject known as «Trigger» to make machinery for altering the electromagnetic vibrations of his own brain. In other words, he uses the ball to control his mental activity, and thus he can communicate with time-shifted realities. I also report that the German intelligence is keenly interested in Mr. Tesla’s activities. In particular, a certain Mr. Krauser entered employ as a part-time assistant at Mr. Tesla’s laboratory; to our knowledge, Mr. Krauser is an agent of the German General Staff’s intelligence organ.
Mr. Tesla is decisively transferring his work to Long Island. Thus, in order to speed up our work, I am requesting your sanction for the possibility of extraction and subsequent copying of Mr. Tesla’s research records as well as the actual «Trigger» – by any means necessary, including extreme measures.
