“You have been out of communication for over two months. Was there some difficulty to report?”
Tyrenkov’s questions seemed to be more than they were on the surface, at least to Fedorov. He realized that this man may have been well aware of the ship’s presence here, and for some time. If he was sent by Sergei Kirov, then he would certainly know a good deal, and Moscow had to know that they had also been reported missing the previous May. Was he merely trying to fill in that gap, or was there some darker agenda? He had to think quickly, knowing that Volsky might stumble here, and inadvertently reveal something that would best be kept secret.
“There was an accident,” said Volsky.
His heart beating faster, Fedorov gave the Admiral’s foot a firm nudge under the table, and he cleared his throat. “If I may, sir. You asked me to remind you of standing order 21.”
“Order 21?” said Volsky.
“Yes sir, concerning operational security protocols. We are not permitted to disclose details of present or past operations, unless specifically directed to do so by you, and then only after properly vetting the recipient of that intelligence.”
“Ah yes,” said Volsky, quick enough to realize Fedorov was intervening here to try and control what information they might disclose to this man, and he was very deft, his old humor coming immediately to the rescue. “Forgive me, Mister Tyrenkov, I give so many orders these days, that I have had to number them to keep track at times. Yet now I, myself, forget which order goes with which number. Of course, Mister Fedorov, you are very correct.”
He turned to Tyrenkov now. “Meaning no disrespect, I have determined that operational secrecy is paramount at the moment, and can therefore only report details of our recent activities directly to the General Secretary. I am told you bear a message from him. May I see it please?” Two could be blunt and direct, thought Volsky, instinctively feeling a need for caution here, and glad that Fedorov had given him a nudge to make certain he listened to that hunch.
Tyrenkov showed no emotion, cool and calculating, his dark eyes motionless, yet intense, like some bird of prey fixated upon its intended target.
“I do not carry this message,” he said quietly. “It will be delivered shortly. Admiral, Lieutenant, if you will kindly excuse me for a moment, I will see to the matter now.”
“Very well,” said Volsky. “The tea is still warm, and the lemon cakes are quite good.”
Tyrenkov smiled, standing slowly and then walking quickly to the door. He was not gone long, and a few minutes later the door opened again. In walked three men, each holding a submachine gun, the handpicked guard of the Siberian Security Service. Tyrenkov followed them, and a fifth man came after, the collar of his heavy grey overcoat pulled up, the bill of his cap low on his forehead, obscuring his face as he entered.
The others parted to make way for the man, who walked slowly toward the table as Volsky and Fedorov stood to receive him. Then the man reached up, removed his cap, and Volsky’s eyes widened when he finally saw who it was.
“Captain? “ he said, and he was standing too far from Fedorov to be kicked on the foot again. “What are you doing here?”
It was the second time Fedorov’s mind would reel with disbelief and shock, though he struggled to contain his emotion and mask his reaction. It was yet one more impossible thing, rising from the whirlwind of chaos that had defined his life these last days. It was danger, an air of menace so palpable that it seemed a strange dark aura surrounded the man, and he realized that this meeting had been arranged all along—by this man, peril in a dark trench coat the like of which they could not yet measure.
It was Karpov.
He was standing there in a long dark trench coat, just like the other man, and now he saw that his face had a small gauze patch applied to the cheek, masking some minor injury.
“Let me guess,” said the Captain. “You believed I was dead. No, that isn’t likely, because you see I have made quite a time of things here since I was pulled out of the sea like a half dead fish. Yet that was why you came for me in the first place. Yes? You wanted to put an end to me, and by God, you were willing to kill the entire ship and crew to do that, weren’t you, old man.”
He looked at them, his eyes cold and hard, and now Fedorov noticed the drawn cheeks, shadows under the eyes, and the weathering of years on Karpov’s forehead. Power had a way of extracting a price from any man who tried to master it. He knew instinctively that this was not the Captain they had left on the bridge, and that opening salvo by Karpov had certainly proved that. In that wild moment, Fedorov wondered what Karpov knew about them, and he saw now that the first man, Tyrenkov, had been sent in merely to try and ascertain one thing—were they the same Fedorov and Volsky that Karpov had struggled with, or were they newly arrived here, unknowing, innocent of the many crimes he might lay at their feet, and here in this world only a very few days?
That was all he was trying to discern, he thought, and when I intervened with Order 21, Tyrenkov knew he could do nothing more than report this to Karpov. This was a trap. It was all carefully arranged. My hunch was correct, for Karpov was the only man who could have possibly formatted that recall order, but how could he have survived the paradox that took the entire ship and crew? They are all gone, save one. Time devoured them all, sparing only my own wretched soul, and this man, the nemesis of everything we have been trying to accomplish in our long alliance with Admiral Tovey.
“And Fedorov,” said Karpov with a wry grin. “I thought you were a Captain. What happened here, Admiral? Has your right hand man disappointed you?”
Volsky gave Fedorov a wide eyed look, speechless.
Part VII
Day of Reckoning
“Methinks King Richard and myself should meet
With no less terror than the elements
Of fire and water, when their thundering shock
At meeting tears the cloudy cheeks of heaven”
― William Shakespeare: Richard II, Act II, Scene 3
Chapter 19
Karpov slowly reached into his jacket and produced an envelope, which he handed solemnly to Admiral Volsky. “Your message from Moscow,” he said. “Direct from the General Secretary.”
Volsky took it, and yet left it on the table, still perplexed by everything. “What? We’ve just received another signal? Why didn’t you simply radio Troyak on the launch. And what has happened to you?” he said. “Your face…”
“The scars of war,” said Karpov. “One cannot gain a victory without also suffering a defeat. This one was regrettable, and it could have been avoided altogether if you had come to your senses and seen the world through my eyes.”
“What do you mean?” said Volsky. “What are you saying about dead fish? What are you doing here in that uniform, and how were you injured? I left you just a brief hour ago on the ship. And what do you mean calling Fedorov a Captain? You have been railing that Fedorov here was talking crazy, but now you are the one spouting nonsense. Explain yourself, Captain, and watch your mouth while you’re at it. Who are you calling an old man?”
Karpov heard only one thing in what Volsky had just said. “You left me an hour ago? You mean to say…” Now it was his turn to be dumbstruck with the shock of what may have happened, yet he recovered quickly. In fact, Fedorov’s hunch was correct, and he had used Tyrenkov to screen these men to try and ascertain their true identities. Was this Volsky and Fedorov who had harried him in 1908, hunting him down in an attack submarine and intervening at the worst possible moment to disrupt all his well crafted plans? Or would these men be fresh off the proverbial boat, oblivious to all of that, and unaware of everything that had happened after that first coming of Kirov to these waters.
“Did you hear that?” Karpov looked at Tyrenkov now, astonished.
“Well I did invite you to join us here,” said Volsky, “but you declined. It seems you have changed your mind, and your uniform along with it! What is going on here, Captain? And you men,” Volsky waved at the thre
e guards. “Kindly take those weapons elsewhere.”
Karpov narrowed his eyes, studying the Admiral for a moment, and coming to some inner conclusion. He passed a moment, looking suspiciously from the Admiral to Fedorov, as if trying to read them and determine who they really were. Then he snapped his fingers, and the three guards saluted crisply and withdrew to the room behind the door.
“There now,” said Karpov. “One big happy family again.” He looked around the room. “You may have noticed that Severomorsk is not what it was when we left it,” he said, taking the assumption that Volsky’s confusion was genuine. “No doubt you have more than a few questions concerning that.”
“Quite an understatement,” said Volsky. “Everything we have seen since that accident with Orel has raised one mystery after another. It was here we thought to find our answers, particularly since the recall order we received was properly formatted and coded. But my god, yes, this is not the world we left just days ago.
Karpov said nothing, thinking, considering, trying to assess, even as Tyrenkov had, whether Volsky was being genuine or duplicitous here. He had goaded them both, with statements obviously referencing events they had lived out together, but the men seemed oblivious.
For his part, the Admiral had come to an almost immediate conclusion that something utterly fantastic may have happened. If he took everything Fedorov told him as true, then clearly this man could only be the Karpov from that long sad tale, and not the man he stood with on the weather deck off the bridge an hour ago. Beyond the gauze on the man’s cheek, there were subtle physical differences that he immediately noticed. The thought that he was an imposter briefly crossed his mind, a body double of some kind? He quickly discarded that, for he could see no way it could have been arranged.
Yet Fedorov’s story was even more fantastic! The man’s strange uniform, and those dour looking guardsmen, all reinforced that impossible notion. This was the man from Siberia Fedorov had told him about, the man who vanished in 1908, pulled forward with the ship, and the man who then wormed his way into the power structure of the Free Siberian State. It was all too much for him to imagine, but, behind the confusion and shock, another part of his brain screamed of danger here, just as it had with Fedorov when he first set eyes on Karpov. He instinctively perceived that this meeting had been carefully arranged, and that this man was here for a reason much more sinister than the delivery of an envelope from Moscow.
Now Karpov looked at Fedorov. “Done chasing Orlov about, Fedorov?” He goaded him one last time, looking for a reaction.
“Sir? I told Orlov that I would not tolerate his bullying, and I was within my rights to do so. That is all. I was just trying to present and interpret the evidence we uncovered, nothing more.”
Karpov nodded slowly.
“That quicksilver mind of yours,” he said. “Admittedly, you were correct in the beginning, and after my fall from grace you had the good nature to extend me a second chance, but after that, you went sadly astray. Was it you who convinced the Admiral that consorting with our enemies was the only way to insure the future of our nation?” He was still testing, probing, making statements that only his old nemesis might comprehend.
Fedorov knew just how perilous this moment was. Volsky had led the way, also perceiving the danger, and reflexively taking a line that would convince Karpov he knew nothing of events before this. The fact that was actually so made the Admiral’s response seem quite authentic. Yet now he would have to act out his part in that play, become the man he was when the ship first arrived, the man he sent to oblivion when he appeared here after that last shift. He had to think quickly, and there would be no margin for error.
“I’m sorry sir. I have told you before, I am part of no conspiracy. I merely tried to identify those contacts to the best of my ability. Yes, it seemed impossible that they would be British ships. But how does that suddenly become a betrayal of our mission when I simply use my knowledge of the history to try and understand what is happening to us? I showed you the reference material. You could see for yourself those ships were a direct match for the video feed we received from the KA-226. If I have done wrong in coming forward with this assessment, then let the Admiral here discipline me. After all, he is our commanding officer.”
He thought he did that very well, putting himself in the mindset of the days they had just lived, and hoping he could also convince Karpov that he knew nothing of what had happened, nothing of the long tale he had tried to relate to Admiral Volsky.
Karpov took a long breath. “What do you think, Tyrenkov?”
“Hard to say.”
“I’m not convinced… Fedorov, tell me what day and year you think this is. Clearly the condition of this harbor and the almost complete absence of the city must be quite shocking. Yes?”
“Certainly! It’s just as I was trying to tell you before, and trying to tell the Admiral here. The sun and moon data is wrong, and for me that was not something I could dismiss. So I suggested we investigate the facilities at Jan Mayen, but you heard the report on that. They are gone, and now the same thing seems to have happened here. Everything has changed, impossibly so, but if our eyes do not lie to us now, then this is not 2021. I believe we are in another year, and my sun and moon data suggests it is 1941. How that happened escapes me, and this is what we hoped to learn in coming home again.”
“But all we get here are more questions,” said Volsky, quickly reinforcing Fedorov’s performance. “And the least of those is how I suddenly find you here, out of uniform, apparently injured. What happened to you, Captain? How did you come by this message from Moscow?”
Karpov thought. If these men were as they seemed, oblivious of all that had happened, they would react exactly this way to see him here. Then it is true, he thought. I was on that ship when it appeared here—but as the man I was before all this started! And that man also survived the paradox. We both survived! There are two of us!
He wanted, more than ever now, to conclude this business and get aboard that ship. But he might need this man, Volsky, for he had seen all too well how the men would follow him, and how that unflagging loyalty would be his undoing. If Volsky was harmed, the crew could simply refuse to follow his lead, just as they did off Oki island in that last desperate engagement. He had to find a way to prevent that, and to win the crew over to his side, just as they voted to stay with him once before, until these two men came hounding his shadow, and ruined everything he had planned.
So Karpov decided to take the cards Volsky and Fedorov were playing here at face value, and play in kind.
“Admiral, you came here for answers, and I’m afraid that it may not be easy for you to hear them. I was summoned shortly after you left. The message was delayed, but when I arrived, I was handed that envelope and told to give it to you. As for this,” he gestured to the gauze on his face. “A little fall in the rush to get over here. It’s just a scratch. I think you had better read that now.”
Volsky gave him an puzzled look, and his reaction was so sincere that Karpov was slowly coming to believe his assessment was correct. These men knew nothing, he thought, and in many ways that would make them so much easier to manage now.
“Seeing this harbor was… quite a shock,” said Karpov. “I finally realize that Fedorov’s story must be true, no matter how fantastic it may sound. Apparently we are not the only ones who have come to this realization, and that message will prove it.”
“Yes,” said Volsky, a look of real confusion on his face. “The world has gone crazy, and me along with it!”
It was very convincing, and Karpov looked at Tyrenkov, looking for the signal they had arranged to indicate he perceived duplicity here. Yet Tyrenkov remained calm and silent, and so now it was time for the closing act in this little drama.
“Admiral, you are understandably confused and shocked by what you have now discovered—that your Navigator here was correct, and this is not the port you sailed from for those live fire exercises. I looked at that message, an
d found it quite surprising, but I could reach only one conclusion. Suffice it to say that Moscow—the government here in this time, is aware of our predicament, and they have apparently come to a decision. It is right there in that envelope you were asking for. Why don’t you open it?”
Volsky looked at the envelope, frowning. “Very well,” he said. “Let me see if this will help make any sense of this nightmare.” He slowly opened the envelope, and as he did so Karpov thought he might smooth the way.
“Your guess was correct, Admiral. That accident with Orel somehow caused the ship to move in time. It’s the only explanation. We are lost in time. It is 1941, just like Fedorov claimed. Only this world is more than a little different than the one in Fedorov’s history books. I learned that on the way over as I was briefed. I cannot tell you why just yet, but one thing I learned is that Josef Stalin died in 1908. He no longer rules the Soviet Union.”
Volsky’s thumb working under the flap of the envelope stopped in another well played moment of surprise. Fedorov had told him this, but he knew he had to pretend he was hearing it now for the very first time. “Stalin died in 1908? What are you talking about?”
“Yes, quite shocking, but it happened, at least in this world, and in his place another man you will be familiar with in our history took control of the Bolshevik movement, Sergei Kirov, the man our ship is named for.”
“You were told this on the way over here from the ship? Admiral Golovko said nothing of this to me.”
“His mind was elsewhere,” said Karpov quickly. “But this is true, Admiral—all true. We are here in 1941, and Sergei Kirov is presently the General Secretary of the Soviet State. As I said, Moscow knows we are here, which is why they formatted that recall order to bring us home. Sergei Kirov sends you that message, and a formal request. Why don’t you have a look at it now.”
Fedorov’s heart quickened as Volsky slowly opened the envelope. Of course, he knew who this man really was, but could not let on that he was aware of the Siberian Karpov’s existence. The Admiral was making a masterful play here, and he had to follow suit. It was now clear to him why Karpov was chosen as the messenger, for he must have struck some accord with Sergei Kirov concerning the ship. He realized how desperate the situation was now, and how the General Secretary would be reaching for any support he could find in the face of the terrible onslaught of the German army. The support and alliance of the Free Siberian State was essential. Without it the Soviet State could simply not survive. Siberia provided resources, endless terrain to fall back upon, a place to relocate industry and factories, and tough, hardened manpower.
Nemesis Page 16
