by Darcy Fray
With the addition of an equally brilliant counterpart to help elucidate his many theories, Dmitry’s Dusha studies progressed rapidly. The comparatively rudimentary Kirlian photography and EEGs were surpassed and replaced by theoretical work in quantum physics and Dusha traps. Their early experimentation suggested that Dusha might possess similar energy potential to and characteristics of anti-matter, but anti-matter was little understood and posed unique challenges itself.
When the electrons, protons and neutrons of which our universe is composed were created, many of their anti-twins, or positrons, antiprotons and antineutrons, were also made. In theory, a galaxy like ours -- but composed entirely of anti-matter -- could have evolved elsewhere in our vast universe. Our anti-twin. But when matter and anti-matter meet, they completely destroy each other, leaving behind the pure energy they were composed of. Physicists refer to this as “annihilation.” The reaction of just half a gram of antimatter with half a gram of matter would produce a level of destruction equal to the Hiroshima bomb. But unlike anti-matter, Dusha did not react with other matter. Dmitry and Belikov believed that Dusha was self-reactive. Dmitry estimated the amount of Dusha released by a single person upon death was approximately one-tenth of a gram, far less than the Hiroshima bomb, but enough to power a thousand Russian homes for an entire year. A solution to Russia’s looming energy crisis.
Dmitry designed a quantum trap or “bottle” in which the subjects could be encased just before their death, the theory being that the field within the “bottle” would isolate the elusive Dusha and allow for its containment.
Belikov and Dmitry’s experiments continued. Dozens of men passed through the “bottle,” with no success.
One evening, volunteer 134 was injected with the usual dosage of sodium pentobarbital. The typical time of death always rested somewhere between five to ten minutes, but volunteer 134 kept hanging on. The procedure for powering up the “bottle” was complicated and time-consuming, so rather than removing volunteer 134 and injecting him with a higher dose, Dmitry and Belikov decided to wait it out. After all, volunteer 134’s vital signs were diminishing and in theory it shouldn’t have taken much longer. Yet one hour later, volunteer 134’s heart was still beating.
Dmitry had plans to take Sarah out that evening for a special dinner to celebrate the publication of her second novel, Gossamer Threads. Belikov had a stack of paperwork to attend to, so he ordered Dmitry to go home and enjoy the evening with his beautiful wife. Dmitry left at 7:15. At 7:36, in a series of ear-deafening blasts accompanied by a blinding blue light, the Institute blew up, leaving thirty-eight presumed dead and an entire block of Saint Petersburg cratered. One might even describe the scene as a complete annihilation. Of the thirty-eight missing people, not a single body was found.
With the recent disaster at Chernobyl, the Soviets could not weather the kind of scrutiny this incident was sure to bring. The KGB research program at the Institute was terminated the following morning.
•••
Fatino, Russia - Farmhouse
Gordon looked up from the last page of the translated printout of Dmitry’s journal, which ended abruptly with the Saint Petersburg explosion. It was hardly a smoking gun.
Instinctively, Gordon wondered if Dmitry knew something about volunteer 134 that he hadn’t documented. Had the trap worked on volunteer #134? Had his Dusha leveled an entire city block? It was a possibility, but Gordon was a scientist and science required definitive proof.
Gordon set the printout down on the small side table next to the threadbare armchair. He sat back and allowed his eyes to shut for a moment. In one short week, his life had turned upside down. It was a lot to take in for a guy who liked to wear the same tie, shirt, jacket and pants every day. He had narrowly escaped an assassination by the FSB and was now entrenched in no man’s land between the U.S. government and an intellectual truth movement. Gordon longed to sit behind his desk at Caltech where answers always came easily -- but it was too late for all that now.
He rose from the armchair and returned to the kitchen table where he found his father, still drinking.
“Don’t you think you’ve had enough?” Gordon took the liter of vodka from his Father’s hands. It’s an odd feeling, parenting one’s parent.
“I’ve had enough for the past three years, but that hasn’t stopped me yet.” The General’s speech was slurred and his exaggerated arm movements looked like those of a mad conductor. It was another first for Gordon, seeing his father in this state. He had known the man to have an occasional scotch now and then, but it never seemed to affect him. This was ugly. In the past three hours, his father had become far too human and far too fallible.
“Believe me, Dad, I’d join you if I though we could drink this colossal mess under the table, but we’ve got some work to do if we’re going to win this truth war of yours.” Gordon walked over to the kitchen sink and filled a tall glass with water. “Drink this.”
The General emptied the glass and slammed it down on the table as if he had just completed some kind of juvenile drinking challenge.
“Dad, I could really use you right now. I feel a little lost in all this and I don’t really know where to begin,” Gordon pleaded as he took a seat next to his Father.
“You’re a better man than me, Gordon.”
“Dad-“
“No, it’s true. I’ve known it since you were a little boy. Your mom knew it too. She deserves all the credit; I was never there, and when I was, I didn’t give you what you needed.”
“Okay. Here’s the deal, Dad. We’re going to cut this pity party short, you’re going to take a cold shower and have a few cups of coffee before we get to work. Got it?” Gordon rose from the bench and pulled his father up with him. “Go hit the shower. I’ll have coffee waiting for you. Go.” Gordon gently shoved him in the direction of the bathroom. It felt good to be the one giving orders for a change.
Gordon rummaged through an old pine cupboard in the kitchen and found a couple of mugs. A dusty coffeemaker rested on the counter. Gordon removed the pot and gave it a quick rinse. He filled the reservoir and replaced the pot in the cradle. Coffee, where are you hiding? He found a tin of Maxwell House in the freezer. Seriously, Maxwell House? This is what we’re exporting to the Russians? No wonder they hate us. Gordon dumped half the tin in the top of the machine and flipped the switch.
The sound of the shower stopped after two short minutes. Navy shower. Once a soldier, always a soldier.
The General appeared back in the kitchen, looking better than when he left.
“Sorry, Gordon. Seeing you brings your mom back.”
“No apology necessary, Dad. Seeing you brings you back, and for that I am thankful.” Gordon poured his father a mug of coffee. He looked in the fridge for some milk or cream, but only found vodka, smoked salmon and caviar.
He handed his father the mug. “Looks like we need to do some grocery shopping.”
“I’ll pick up some things later. I’m afraid you won’t be going out to do much of anything.” The General opened his laptop and navigated to the Saint Petersburg Times website.
Gordon took a seat next to his father and looked at the screen. His Nobel Prize publicity photo stared back at him from the front page.
FOUR DIE IN TRAGIC HOTEL FIRE - US. NOBEL LAUREATE AMONG DEAD
By Alex Telkin
The Saint Petersburg Times
Published: November 6, 2015 (Issue # 1784)
U.S. Nobel Laureate wunderkind, Dr. Gordon B. Gray, 23, was one of four victims believed to have perished in a tragic fire late Thursday evening at the Grand Hotel Europe. The identities of the other three victims have not yet been released pending notification of the victims’ families. Dr. Gray was the youngest Nobel Laureate in the history of the award. The cause of the fire is yet unknown. This is a developing story, check back for updates.
“Guess we’re both dead now.” Gordon’s weak attempt at humor failed to disguise his concern. It was a message. He wouldn
’t be returning to the U.S. alive, at least if the Russians had any say in the matter.
“On the bright side, they aren’t framing you for the murders.” The General almost smiled.
“Yes, that is good news, I suppose.” Well, at least his father felt well enough to make light of the situation. Gordon rose to pour himself a cup of coffee. “Won’t John demand the body and an independent investigation?”
“John can demand the keys to the Winter Palace, but he’ll still get whatever the FSB wants to give him. It was a fire, so you’re just a pile of ashes. The Russians are brilliant with this sort of thing.”
“Creating dead bodies?”
“Creating stories around dead bodies.” The General walked back to the bathroom and re-emerged carrying a Panadol pill pack. He popped three capsules through the foil, tossed them in his mouth and chased them down with a slug of coffee.
“So what’s next?”
“We find Dmitry.”
“Does Veritas have any leads?”
“I just learned that we have an object retrieved from the site of the disappearance in West Virginia.”
“The pyramid?”
“Yes, how did you know?” the General inquired, surprised.
“We uncovered it in a grid search in the woods surrounding the trailer. Well, actually, we uncovered the location it was in before it was stolen from the crime scene. I believe it acts as a window or perhaps targeting device for whatever weapon caused the dematerialization. Where is it?”
“It was with an associate of yours at Caltech, but it’s in a lab in Houston right now.”
“Caltech? You have someone at Caltech?”
“Technically, I’m not supposed to know this, but yes, we have a young woman there who is something of a computer whiz. Her father is the one who found the pyramid. He’s Ex-SAS.”
“And you trust these people.”
“With my life.”
“Who’s the woman at Caltech?” Gordon mentally reviewed the names of the computer department faculty, but drew a blank.
“We make it a point not to know each other’s names. I know them as Veritas 103 and Veritas 213.”
“What’s your number?”
“151.”
“Is 007 available?”
The General laughed. It felt like the first time in a long while. “I thought you’d be more the ‘pi with a repeating decimal’ type.”
“It’s actually an infinite decimal, Dad, but I appreciate the reference.”
“You’re the expert. It always mystified your mother and me...your command of math. She barely got through algebra and I can just about count all my fingers and toes.”
“I’ve often wondered, too.” Gordon said as he walked over to the kitchen window. He felt an eerie stillness in the air as he gazed at the untouched snow that surrounded them. “Are we okay here, Dad?”
“Well, this is a Veritas safe house, but as you know, safety is relative. You’re certainly safer than you were. The next house is two miles away, and people mind their own business down here.”
“Do you know of any trips Dmitry and Sarah took right before their disappearance? An associate of mine in Saint Petersburg mentioned something about a trip to the U.S.?”
“Dr. Pyotr Sidorov?”
“How long have you been following me?”
“I never stopped. Pyotr has friends in the FSB. I can’t be sure, but I think he’s the one who sold you out.”
“I’ve known him since I was a kid, Dad. I find it hard to believe. He knows Dmitry well.”
“Maybe a little too well?”
“They were friends. He had dinner with Dmitry a week before he disappeared.” Gordon sighed with frustration. “It must be tough not trusting anyone. Hell of a way to live.” Gordon grabbed his coat from over the back of the armchair. “I need some fresh air.”
“Don’t go far.”
The old door rattled as it slammed shut behind Gordon.
•••
Houston, Texas - Sidewalk Cafe
Veritas 22 sat outside a nondescript sidewalk cafe nursing a soy latte. Nothing about her appearance particularly stood out, other than the oversized Jackie O sunglasses that seemed to cover half of her petite face. She glanced down at her watch impatiently.
An anxious looking man approached her table, cradling a messenger bag in his arms. Bill Gates looked dangerous, compared to this guy.
“The rain in Spain...” The man’s voice crackled with nervous energy, almost collapsing in on itself.
Veritas 22 looked up from her latte and completed his phrase: “Tastes better than champagne.” She gestured for him to take the empty seat opposite her.
“Phew, I was worried you weren’t the right person and I was going to look like a total jackass. I’ve never even seen My Fair Lady,” he said, settling in.
“A fine film.” Veritas 22 sensed the man’s anxiety and extended a warm smile to calm him.
“So, do you just want me to tell you what I know? How does this work?” Clearly not a conversationalist.
“Yes, that would be great.”
“The nanomesh is mine...well, in the sense that it bears the signature of my research. My work is in cloaking. This particular nanomesh disguises whatever’s beneath the coating from x-ray. I’m working on a variant that will also be invisible to the human eye. We’ve had some success testing in water, but I still have --“
Veritas 22 interrupted him mid-sentence. “That sounds fascinating. Do you mind if I ask you a few questions?”
“Not at all, go ahead,” he replied with a newfound confidence. Talking about his work instantly set him at ease. Bolstered, he eyed Veritas 22 like a side of beef in a butcher’s display. Not bad. Dinner, maybe?
“Do you have any idea what the object might be capable of?”
“No. It seems to have...well...gone quiet, if you will. I’m getting nothing from it. Perhaps a single-use application? The pyramid shell is made of lonsdaleite. Harder than diamonds and it comes from space...meteors. There’s a deposit at the Diablo Canyon Crater in Arizona, but the main haul of lonsdaleite came from Tunguska in Russia. You know, the Tunguska event?”
“Yes, I am quite familiar with it.”
In fact, it had been something of an obsession of Veritas 22’s in her younger days. She had always been intrigued by the mystery surrounding the Tunguska event. At 7:14 a.m. on June 30, 1908, an enormously powerful explosion occurred near the Podkamennaya Tunguska River in what is now Krasnoyarsk Krai, Russia. Russian settlers in the hills northwest of Lake Baikal described seeing a column of blueish light, nearly as bright as the sun, moving across the sky. About ten minutes later, there was a flash in the sky followed by sounds similar to artillery fire. The sounds were accompanied by a shock wave that knocked people off their feet and shattered windows hundreds of miles away -- the explosion typically referred to as the Tunguska event. Most scientists believe it was caused by an asteroid that entered Earth’s atmosphere at about 33,500 miles per hour. During its quick plunge, the 220-million-pound space rock heated the air surrounding it to 44,500 degrees Fahrenheit. At a height of about 28,000 feet, the combination of pressure and heat caused the asteroid to fragment and annihilate itself, producing a fireball and releasing energy equivalent to about one hundred and eighty-five Hiroshima bombs. Other theories suggested the involvement of aliens, anti-matter, black holes or Nikola Tesla, but carried little credence within the scientific community.
“Who would have access to your nanomesh research?”
“Anyone who subscribes to the Journal of Nano Letters. I published last year. They would need access to the proper facilities and equipment to produce the same results, of course.”
“Naturally. Okay, well, thank you for your time. You’ve been very helpful. You can leave the bag on your chair.”
The scientist had hoped to continue the conversation and perhaps inquire about Veritas 22’s dinner plans, but her premature dismissal caught him off-guard and he reverted back to
his initial nervous state. “Umm....yea, sure no problem. Okay...bye.” He made a swift exit.
Veritas 22 called after him, “The bag.”
The man returned and left the messenger bag sitting on the chair next to her.
“Sorry about that.” He waved awkwardly, and departed.
Veritas 22 picked up the bag from the chair and verified its contents.
The pyramid was right where it needed to be.
•••
Houston, Texas - Motel
Veritas 22 logged on to Blacknet and typed the following message to both General Thomas B. Gray and Fletcher Crisp:
t<
f<
m<< nanomesh is a dead end. pyramid is made of lonsdaleite. two main sources: tunguska event in krasnoyarsk krai, russia and diablo canyon crater in arizona. seeking info on collectors.>>
She read the message over once before pressing return. Veritas 22 rose from behind the motel desk and walked over to the king-size bed in the middle of the room. She lay back on the far left side of the bed and stared up at the whirring ceiling fan. Out of old habit, she reached her arm over to the right side of the bed, but there was no one there. She closed her eyes and dozed off.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Escape
Fatino, Russia - Farmhouse
THE GENERAL WAS concerned. He wanted to give his son space, but too much time had lapsed and he knew Gordon was ill-equipped for the sub-zero temperatures. He grabbed his anorak from the back bedroom and walked outside. The previous day’s snowstorm had left a perfect white canvas and the crisp air smelled as fresh as line dried sheets. The General wasn’t much for moments, but he appreciated the stark beauty of this one.
