Ghost Dancer

by John Case

  “The walls came tumbling down.”

  “But why?”

  “Joshua—,” Burke began.

  “—blows trumpet!” Ceplak said with an air of triumph. “Blows horn. Walls of Jericho crashing down because of sound. Destructive power of resonance!”

  “Right.”

  “Okay, so back to Wardenclyffe. Early 1900s. Tesla makes partnership with J. P. Morgan—maybe richest man in world at time. Morgan thinks Wardenclyffe is radio tower, that this is what Tesla is building. Because Tesla, he’s inventing radio, too.”

  Burke laughed. “I thought Marconi invented the radio.”

  Ceplak wagged his head. “Marconi gets Nobel Prize, but patents are Tesla’s. Supreme Court decision in Tesla’s favor.”

  “Really?”

  “Is true. Look it up! Anyway, Morgan gives Tesla money to build tower on Long Island.”

  “And what does Morgan get?” Burke asked.

  “Big share in Tesla’s wireless patents. For Tesla, he hates to do this, but what choice? Maestro is needing money to build tower. Is big project. One hundred eighty feet tall, big metal bolt one hundred twenty feet into ground. But three years later, Morgan pulls plug because he is finding out this tower it’s not for radio waves. Tesla plans to transmit power that he gets from earth. And he want to send it everywhere without wires.”

  “But that would be great.”

  “For mankind, yes. For Morgan, no. Morgan has big investments in Westinghouse and General Electric. He spends fortune building electric grid—wires, meters, poles. Tesla is telling him we don’t need any of this. We get power directly from earth, amplify it, and beam it everywhere. Peoples just need a cheap receiver to…download the energy.”

  “Like radio antennas.”

  “Exactly! But for Morgan”—Ceplak tapped his head—“this new wireless energy is competition to existing business. And he’s got big money still to pay off on infrastructure he’s built, money that will come from electric bills.” Ceplak inclined his head. “Business decision. Morgan cuts off further money to maestro.”

  “What happened then?” Burke asked.

  “Tesla has bright idea. If he can interest new investors, he doesn’t need Morgan. So…he makes publicity stunt.”

  “What kind of stunt?”

  “First I’m remembering you that, at turn of century, world is crazy about Arctic exploration,” Ceplak said. “You can’t imagine! These explorers, they are like rock-and-roll astronauts. Famous, glamorous, always in big danger, exciting. They’re big celebrities. And when they come back—if they come back—books, lectures, interviews. So anyway, Tesla has idea, goes to see his friend Admiral Peary.”

  “The explorer?”

  “Tesla knew everyone! Edison, Morgan, Peary, Twain. So, it’s 1908. Already Peary has tried for the pole twice. He’s getting ready for a third attempt, but Tesla can’t wait. Maestro needs someone in the Arctic now, to witness publicity stunt. So Peary puts Tesla in touch with another explorer, Windjammer Steffannson.”

  “Never heard of him.”

  “Very, very famous at time. Exclusive deal with New York Tribune to follow his travels. Colorful character! He lives four and a half years as an Eskimo! Amazing story. And for maestro, happy coincidence! Windjammer leaving New York soon to start his adventure. So Peary introduces Tesla to Windjammer. And Windjammer agrees—he will be witness to maestro’s publicity stunt. On June 30, Windjammer will visit Peary’s old camp on Ellesmere Island. And he will watch sky for fantastic demonstration of Tesla’s new invention.”

  “And what’s that?”

  Ceplak leaned toward him. “Fireworks.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Before Ceplak could answer, they arrived at the steps to the hotel’s terrace. Standing at the top, the maître d’ greeted them as if they were prodigal kin, then guided them to a table overlooking the lake.

  Leather-bound menus were brought, along with a silver bucket of shaved ice from which a bottle of Moët et Chandon leaned at an angle. A red-jacketed waiter filled two crystal flutes, then backed away. Ceplak raised his glass. “To maestro!” They clinked.

  Burke did his best not to look horrified, realizing the obvious: Lunch was going to be very expensive.

  For a small and elderly man, Ceplak had a surprisingly large appetite. Burke ordered lakefish and a salad, but the octogenarian required four courses, not counting a pink sorbet and an amuse-bouche.

  Ceplak wet the tip of his finger with champagne, then trailed it around the rim of his glass. The glass began to sing. “E,” Ceplak said with a chuckle.

  “What was Tesla going to do with this Windjammer guy?”

  “Maestro plans to make most spectacular display of northern lights ever seen. You ever seeing aurora?”

  “No.”

  “One time only I see,” Ceplak said. “Is so beautiful.” He touched his chest. “Makes you believe in God—even though we know the cause.”

  “Which is what?”

  “Solar wind. When it penetrates magnetosphere, charged particles collide with particles in atmosphere.” He clapped his hands together. “Negative particle meets positive particle. Discharge of energy! Light!” He sipped his champagne. “Multiply by billions? This is northern lights.”

  “But this Arctic stunt…what was Tesla going to do?”

  “He was going to bombard ionosphere with charged particles. Billions and billions of them. Make fantastic display—like a god.”

  “And he knew how to do this?” Burke asked.

  “Of course. What is Tesla working on at this time? Wireless transmission of energy.”

  “Yeah. So…”

  “So he’s finding way to transmit energy without conductive wire. How does he do this?” Ceplak raised his eyebrows. “Beam. Maestro creates beam of energy, beam of photons. From Wardenclyffe, Tesla targets beam for massive release of energy above Ellesmere. Particles hit particles—boom boom boom. Big light show for Windjammer, who will say Wow! Amazing! Windjammer will tell New York Tribune and investors will come running to maestro’s door….”

  “And it worked?”

  Ceplak bobbed his head and shoulders, left to right, as if to say, Yes and no. Sipped his champagne. Then wagged a finger. “First you must see that to create such beam is big accomplishment. Think of flashlight, searchlight, headlight. I’m reminding you that all light is same—stream of photons traveling at speed of light. But shine flashlight through dark and it’s going only so far and then beam falls apart. We say ‘beam loses coherence.’ It loses energy to friction. For beam to reach distant point and retain coherence is almost impossible.”

  “But Tesla did it.”

  “He finds way to send beam of energy as paired waves in plasmoid sheath. Maestro eliminate friction. This allow beam to reach target with all energy intact.” Ceplak chuckled. “If I can tell you how he does this, I’m winning Nobel Prize in physics.”

  “Really?”

  “Oh yes. Early days, in New York lab, maestro makes ball lightning many many times. Plenty of peoples witness. Maestro creates to amaze Mark Twain and others—like parlor trick.” Ceplak shook his head ruefully. “They should have been more amazed.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Ceplak was effervescent with excitement. “Because: This is Holy Grail in plasma physics! To contain energy within stable form! Like ball lightning! Like sheathed beam from Wardenclyffe! This is key to fusion energy—because why?”

  Burke shook his head.

  “Think, Mr. Math for Poets! Energy escape, you cannot have fusion. Find way to keeping energy in…?” Ceplak smiled. “Nobel Prize. Hundred percent.”

  “So Tesla didn’t leave notes about this?”

  Ceplak shrugged. “FBI confiscates most of maestro’s papers and put where? Los Alamos! I am sure scientists study maestro’s notes. But no one figuring out how to do what he did with ball lightning or energy beam. Not yet.”

  “I still don’t understand the publicity stunt,” Bur
ke confessed. “Why would setting off a big display of northern lights in the Arctic interest anyone? What would it mean?”

  Ceplak tapped his fingers on the table. “Would mean that maestro could send and release a huge burst of energy—without wire. Peoples would understand that fireworks in sky were big discharge of power. If that power can be downloaded…” The old man’s hands opened wide, like a magician presenting an amazing trick.

  Burke nodded. “So this publicity stunt—it must have been huge…”

  Ceplak shook his head. He looked somber. “No! Stunt does not work. Is disaster.”

  Burke blinked. After all that…? “It failed?”

  “Not just fail.” A sigh. “Please to listen, yes? I tell you what happened when maestro fires his beam. This is what your friend is interested in.”

  “My ‘friend’…”

  “Yes. Wilson. He’s interested in Tunguska.”

  There it was again.

  “This is what Jack Wilson studies,” Ceplak said. “Tunguska, the beam, the publicity stunt.” Ceplak patted his lips with his napkin and leaned toward Burke. “It’s June 30, 1908. Nine thirty p.m., Eastern Standard Time. Tesla is at Wardenclyffe with my father. By now, maestro is broke. Money from Morgan all gone. Maestro having to borrow coal to start generator—this is how bad things are. The two of them climb tower. Maestro activates transmitter, aims beam at upper atmosphere, for release point west of Ellesmere Island. Same time, Windjammer is outside his igloo, looking at sky, waiting and watching.”

  Ceplak took a long sip of water, and continued: “My father’s notebooks say at first they are not even sure beam is working. He and maestro, all they see is dim light. Then, there is owl flying into path of beam and…pooof… owl is gone. According to my father’s notes, bird vanishes. After that, they switch beam off. So, this is big disappointment. They see nothing. They hear nothing. Just…they are missing one owl.”

  “And that’s it?”

  “At first. Tesla watches newspapers, because this light show should be big phenomenon in Europe. Windjammer is just special witness, yes? Windjammer has best view, and he knows in advance—so he can attest that this is caused by Tesla, that at nine thirty p.m., Eastern Standard Time, exactly comes promised show in sky.” He shook his head. “But…nothing in papers. Then coming word from Windjammer—this takes few days—also sees nothing.”

  “Nothing. So it—”

  With a stern expression, Ceplak held up his hand like a traffic cop’s. “Couple days later, maestro happen to read about Tunguska.” The old man shook his head, knowingly.

  “Which is what?” Burke asked.

  Ceplak frowned. “Tunguska is place in Siberia!” A little mirthless laugh. “Was a place. June 30, 1908, nine thirty p.m., Eastern Standard Time, explosion in Tunguska destroy half a million acres of pine forest. Everything leveled! Power of event is equal to fifteen megatons of TNT!” Ceplak peered at Burke, waiting for a reaction.

  Finally, Burke said, “Which is a lot. Especially back then.”

  “Back then?!” the little man roared. “A lot? This is stronger than Hiroshima! This is strongest explosion in history—to this day.”

  “You’re telling me this actually happened?”

  Ceplak smiled. “Google it.”

  Ceplak delicately removed bones from his fish, forking morsels into his mouth. He patted his lips. “So, maestro intends to create spectacular display of northern lights. Instead, he blows up big patch of Siberia. Reindeer, voles, birds, so on, trees—and also some people, nomadic herders living there.” He shook his head. “Gone from face of earth.”

  Burke said nothing.

  Across from him, the old man sighed. “So we are talking about big problems. One, power of beam in excess of maestro’s prediction. Plus two, targeting.” He wagged his head. “Targeting needs major work. Maestro is off by two thousand miles.”

  “I can’t believe I’ve never heard of this,” Burke said.

  Ceplak shook his head. “Is hundred years ago! Middle of nowhere! Much, much speculation about event at time. What was it? People hear explosion hundreds—maybe even thousand—miles away. Reporters from Tomsk go to see what happened. Is complete destruction! No one ever seeing anything like this. Is huge area. Trees, grass, animals—all gone. Evaporated.”

  “And did people connect it to Tesla?” Burke asked.

  “No,” Ceplak replied. “He is by then marginal figure, eccentric, maybe a little crazy. And he does not step forward to take credit. He is horrified.”

  “So how did they explain it?” Burke asked. “The reporters.”

  Ceplak shrugged. “Scientists say maybe meteorite is hitting earth.”

  “That’s what I’d say.”

  “Yes, except no impact crater. And core samples down to forty meters show zero nickel, iron, stone. These are components of all meteorites, so…theory number one goes out window and we get new one.”

  “Which is what?”

  “Since it can’t be meteorite, scientists decide it must be part of comet.”

  Burke nodded.

  Ceplak shook his head. “Can’t be comet.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because astronomers don’t have comet in vicinity. Plus, no one seeing it. No fiery mass falling from sky. Many many many…hundreds of witnesses report hearing explosion—but no one sees fireball? This is…not reasonable.” Ceplak shook his head and smiled. “So! When all reasonable explanations fail, we are left with Tesla! June 30, 1908, nine thirty p.m., Eastern Standard Time, he launches his beam and at this exact time—because beam is traveling at speed of light, yes? At this exact time, on other side of the world, destruction of Tunguska.”

  “Like the owl.”

  “Yes. I am sure, my father was sure, Tesla was sure! He was responsible for Tunguska. Destructive power of resonance! And maestro is obsessed with this for rest of life.”

  “Amazing.”

  “Amazing that he does not try to exploit it. You can imagine the military interest.”

  Burke nodded, but Ceplak knew that he didn’t really get it because the old man leaned forward and spoke in a voice full of intensity. “Not just destructive potential as weapon. Think, Mr. Math for Poets! Beam travels at speed of light, yes?”

  Burke nodded.

  “Powerful beam arrive to target at same time sent!” Ceplak said. “How do you stop? How do you intercept? You understand there is no defense against this.” The old man folded his hands together.

  “They would have thrown a fortune at him,” Burke said.

  Ceplak held up his finger. “Of course, Tesla is pacifist.”

  By now, Ceplak was devouring a crème brûlée. Burke stared out at the lake, distracted. A wind stirred the new-fallen snow into white dervishes. Burke was thinking that, as interesting as all this was, an explosion in the wilderness nearly a hundred years ago, some marginal notations in some dusty notebooks held hostage by a lonely old man…How was any of this going to help Tommy Aherne—his lonely old man?

  Across the lake, the wishing bell began to toll.

  “Anyway,” Ceplak said, “Tesla returned to this work for years, trying to find out where he goes wrong. He thinks he makes error in calculations of electrogravitational field. Many notations in my father’s notebooks.”

  “Did he ever test it again?”

  Ceplak shrugged. “I think he never has chance. After Tunguska, he dismantles transmitter. Works on equations, works on focusing mechanism in lab—but no money to rebuild. No money for anything. In 1917, tower at Wardenclyffe torn down for salvage.”

  Burke nodded distractedly. No more money for anything. He was thinking about the bill for lunch.

  “But your friend,” Ceplak said, his voice sharp and loud. “I think, maybe Jack Wilson figures it out.”

  “Figures what out?”

  Ceplak didn’t answer. “He’s here with me for twelve days. He studies notebooks in chronological order, starting in 1902. So he follows maestro’s thinking. But, mostl
y he’s looking at 1907, 1908, 1909, 1910. He reads other notebooks, yes, but these four are always in front of him on table. These four concern transmitter and corrections for targeting of beam.”

  “Okay.”

  Ceplak put down his spoon. “I think Jack Wilson wants to build transmitter. Not to give free power to peoples, no. To build as weapon. He looks through notebooks for some little piece of data he’s missing.”

  “You think he found what he was looking for?

  “Yes. On last day, he is so so happy. He hug me, for real—not his way at all. And he’s saying…‘it’s time to dance.’” Ceplak raised his eyebrows. “I ask what this means, but he doesn’t explain.”

  They were quiet for a moment.

  “You think he’s capable of building this thing?”

  Ceplak expelled a soft puff of air, then met Burke’s eyes. “I’m teacher, okay? My gifts?…they are limited. I can’t judge who is capable of doing what in physics. Wilson is smart? Yes. Hard worker? Yes. Spent lot of time on beam equations? Yes. Could Jack Wilson build?” A pause. “Maybe. But I tell myself—pffft—not to worry.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t think he has resources to do something! He…” Ceplak frowned, shrugged. “He brings me cheap bottle of wine! He’s not staying at Toplice. He stays at cheap hotel. He eats pizza pizza pizza. He’s not having funds, this is clear. So, I take him for just another Tesla junkie with big ideas. He will write article on Internet about Tesla beam weapon and that is it. But then you come, you tell me—Wilson, suddenly he’s rich person. And terrorist!”

  Burke shrugged. “That’s what the FBI said, but you have to wonder. It’s not like they really pursued this. I mean, Jesus, they didn’t even find you.”

  Ceplak leaned forward. “Yes, but…maybe you’re right. Maybe this is big exaggeration of your security services. Maybe they are playing game we don’t know, but…I think you better find him.”

  “Yeah, well, I’m doing my best,” Burke said, thinking This is insane.

  Once he told Kovalenko what he’d learned, that a crazy ex-con from Stanford was planning to do God knows what with a 100-year-old “invention” that never worked in the first place—or never worked properly—it was all over.