John Schettler - 9 Days Falling, Volume I

“Of course. I can log in with my computer and access those records right now, if you wish.”

“Please be so kind as to do so. Find out anything you can on this rod—where it comes from, who built it, materials used.”

“Certainly.” Kapustin stooped to reach for his briefcase, producing a laptop to log on to the naval logistics network. “I’ll just be a few moments.”

“Very good,” said Kamenski. “Well, Admiral, it’s a pity we never met before this,” he said calmly. “I think we would have been good friends, you and I. What you have told me concerning this Rod-25, as you call it, is most enlightening. It changes everything, you know. Everything.”

“Yes,” said Volsky. “It literally changes everything, which is why it is so dangerous. I must tell you I had grave reservations when Fedorov proposed we use it again. I was thinking to take it out into the deep and cast the damn thing into the ocean so it would never plague us again.”

“But you could not do this,” Kamenski said quietly. “The temptation was too great, yes?”

“Perhaps…. In the end I reasoned that if Fedorov was correct, then we might use it to prevent this damn war.”

“A noble cause, Admiral. But you and I know that it would not stop there, even if your officer is correct on this. I’ve had my eye on this situation for some time; pondering these very same questions. I’ve made it my business to learn a good deal about you, Admiral, particularly when you assumed command of Kirov for those live fire exercises. I suspected something was going to happen to the ship, but the where and when of it escaped me.”

Volsky was somewhat surprised. “You mean to say you suspected something even then? Before Kirov disappeared? I don’t understand. How could you know this? The accident had not yet occurred. It would seem to me that you could know nothing whatsoever of Kirov’s little journey to the past until she actually departed! Only then could history harbor the clues you uncovered—those photographs, for instance.”

He pointed to the photograph Kapustin had given him, of Kirov sailing proudly out from the Straits of Gibraltar, ready to turn south for her visit to the Island of St. Helena in 1942.

“Sound reasoning,” said Kamenski with a smile. “I worked through all this myself once. Believe me, it took a great deal of thought, and more than a little time. I was never a rich man, Admiral, nor did I ever desire fame. But realize that a man in my position has one commodity in abundance—information. I was privy to things in my years that were at the highest security classification, and I learned things that would shock you, even after what you have experienced and seen with your own eyes.”

“Does this relate to Rod-25?”

“Some of it. That was actually a new twist on the whole matter—even for me. Quite astounding!”

“Quite impossible,” said Volsky. “And yet it happens. That’s how we sent Fedorov back again—from the Primorskiy Engineering Center in Vladivostok, and that’s what my Chief Engineer is doing in the Caspian now. He’s setting up a mission to act as a recovery team for Fedorov.”

“Very enterprising,” said Kamenski. “And quite ingenious.”

“Our Mister Fedorov is exactly that,” said Volsky. “He’s been the guiding light throughout this whole affair. He was the first to realize what had happened to the ship, and he managed to convince us all in those early days after the event—even Karpov. Ever since then I have come to accept the impossible as commonplace. But I have done things that amaze me every time I think of them. Do you know I shook the hand of a British Admiral in 1942!”

“Admiral John Tovey,” said Kamenski.

“You know of the man?”

“That I do. He’s was rather diligent in the years after you met with him, Admiral. It seems he set up a secret branch within British intelligence system, known only to a very few. Even the highest ranking members of the British government had no idea of its existence—not even Churchill.”

“How did you learn of this?”

“I’m afraid secrets are very hard things to keep over the years. You would be amazed at all the things the KGB has learned. In fact, we had a man in Gibraltar when they first brought this Orlov in—though it wasn’t called the KGB back then. That was all before my time, but I took an interest in the file some years ago.”

“You knew of Orlov that long ago?”

“I didn’t, but Russian intelligence did. Their man was instrumental in getting Orlov safely out of British hands in Gibraltar and on a steamer heading east. Their intention was to get him to the NKVD, though I don’t think they had any real idea who the man was at the time—only that he was possibly associated with a ship that was bedeviling the British in the Med.”

“Then you know how this all turns out! You must already know what happened to Orlov, yes?”

“I’m afraid not. A million, million things happen each and every minute, Admiral, and the combined knowledge of every intelligence service in the world knows only a tiny fraction of it all. Consider a man quietly reading in the evening, alone in his study, or in those soft moments before he sleeps in bed. He is the only sentient human beings who knows what is happening in that room! That little corner of the universe is entirely his domain, and he is the master of all fate there. No one else perceives or knows anything about it, and the fortunate writer of the book he is reading has no idea that his thoughts and words are living again, streaming through that quiet man’s mind. What a sublime mystery that is, eh? Well, most of human experience is that way, like a book read quietly in the night, and no one ever knows about it. So to answer your question, we never did know what happened to Orlov after that, but we may just find that out now that your Mister Fedorov has gone off on this mission.”

“What do you mean?”

“As you said, Admiral, things change. They change quite literally, sometimes in very subtle ways, other times quite dramatically.”

“Then you’ve known of Kirov all along as well?”

“Not exactly,” Kamenski explained. “Back then the GRU was mainly interested in finding out what was stiffening the hair on the back of the British necks in the game. Don’t think the Royal Navy can sortie its entire home fleet and not have it noticed! The Russian government got wind of something, heard of a code word the British used for it all—Geronimo.”

“Geronimo?”

“The name of a renegade Indian chief from the American West. I believe it was the name they gave to Kirov when the ship first appeared in 1941. The Japanese had another name for it in time. They called it Mizuchi, a sea devil of some kind.”

“I’m afraid we lived up to that handle,” said Volsky. “It was never our intention to intervene, though Karpov saw things differently in the beginning. But when you find yourself at sea in a fighting ship, perhaps one day you will understand why we fought as we did—not really for anything more than each other in the end.”

“I understand,” said Kamenski. “Yet now here we sit, with the power to use this mysterious Rod-25 to do some rather spectacular things.”

“You are talking about displacement in time?”

“Of course—what else? That’s our little dilemma now, is it not? For the first time we actually have control. We never dreamed it could be possible, but there it is—Rod-25.”

“What do you mean…for the first time? You make it sound as though this has happened before.”

“Deliberate displacement in time? No, you and your crew were the first to manage that, or so I now believe. But as you have been so gracious in inviting me here to discuss this matter, I will stir a little honey into your tea now, Admiral.” He smiled, leaning forward, his voice lowering. “I assume this room is secure? We’ve already said a great deal.”