Ghost of the White Nights

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  Terese inclined her head, but the tzar had already turned to Llysette, as the functionary extended the larger lacquer box to her.

  “This was painted by the younger Golovin, years ago. He did not paint many. Our other gifts are inside. For both of you.” The tzar smiled, and so did the tzarina. “You were even more magnificent tonight than the other night. Your power is evident at the Mariinsky, but here your warmth is more obvious. The children will remember this for many years.”

  Even from where I sat, the nod made it clear that Llysette was dismissed. She curtsied, as did Terese, and then they bowed and moved sideways, off the dais and back before their seats next to me. There was the faintest sigh of relief from somewhere, as though someone had worried the two women might turn their backs on the tzar.

  The tzar stood, as did the tzarina, and, after a moment, everyone else, as the immediate ruling family stepped toward the doors through which they had entered.

  Llysette eased to my shoulder.

  “Minister Eschbach?” The angular face of Pyotr Romanov was above my shoulder.

  “I'll only be a few minutes.” That was what I hoped, and what I told Llysette. “You stay with the ladies, Commander.”

  Commander Madley frowned momentarily, then nodded.

  “Yes, sir.”

  I followed the prince—but not all that far—only a few yards through a foyer and into another room. On the way, I palmed the pen projector.

  “This is the Malachite Room,” explained the angular Romanov. “It used to be a favorite of the tzarinas, years ago, but has fallen into less favor as being too ornate.”

  I glanced around, noting the elaborate opulence, with the carvings that festooned every molding, and vases and paintings, and the malachite green that seemed everywhere. A thinshouldered but tall man rose from one of the settees as we neared. His pale face showed every sign of his not wishing to be there, and his eyes burned.

  I just smiled.

  “Viktor . . . this is Minister Eschbach. He very much wanted a few words with you.” Pyotr Romanov bowed. “I will rejoin you both in a few minutes.”

  I knew Yelensov had to speak English, however badly, and it might make matters easier, but I didn't say anything until the prince vanished. “Good evening, Director Yelensov. I did want to meet you face-to-face.”

  “You have. Now I will go.” His English was heavily accented but understandable.

  “I don't think so.”

  “This is outrageous. I have work to do.”

  “I'm sure you do, but not on a Saturday night. How close are you to using a fusion reaction to powering a one-time zombification projection?”

  Yelensov stared at me. “Prince Romanov said you were an environmental minister.”

  “What you're trying to do has environmental impacts, don't you think? People are part of the environment.”

  “You Columbians. Why are you here?”

  “Isn't it obvious? Colonel Sudwerth is worried you won't be able to complete the job. They're putting pressure on him for results, and if anyone in Congress finds out . . .” I shrugged.

  “You won't leave St. Petersburg.” His voice almost hissed.

  “Why don't we worry about that later?”

  Yelensov laughed, very softly, menacingly.

  I was glad I'd already palmed the pen projector. I just hoped I'd read the man right. “So you've actually tried combining de-ghosting boosted by an atomic device, and it didn't work. What makes you think it ever will?” I asked conversationally.

  Yelensov's face narrowed.

  “It's an interesting proposition,” I said carefully. “But conceiving of it and putting it into practice are two different matters.”

  “Anything that can be conceived can be developed. Is that not the goal of science?”

  Even through the heavy accent, I could hear the archness of his tone of voice.

  “And you and your team need to put science in the service of the motherland to keep Ferdinand at bay?” I asked.

  “I need no team.”

  “You need no team, for what, boosting the effect across twenty versts? When all you can do is twenty yards?”

  “Twenty versts?”

  He still hadn't said anything. So I prodded again. “What good will that do with an impact of only twenty versts across? You couldn't build enough rockets, and Ferdinand has all his headquarters shielded. Anything that will block nuclear radiation will be more than enough to block your little gadget—if you can even build it.”

  “Twenty versts? One can do that from a tower. Why not two hundred versts?” His hand slipped toward the slit pocket in his jacket and the bulge beneath.

  Two hundred versts? I tried not to wince, even as I unpalmed the pen and triggered it.

  Yelensov just looked at me blankly as I rummaged through his coat pockets. I was right, except his gadget looked more like a miniature pistol with twin antennas. I pointed it at the floor and discharged it—for a long time—then bent one of the projection antennas.

  “Hold this . . . it discharged accidentally when you tried to point it at me.”

  I put a fresh battery in my own pen, thought about replacing it in my pocket, but instead slipped it up inside my shirt cuff, where I could let it slide into my hand quickly.

  I backed away.

  Of course, there were guards at the door to the Malachite Room, in the foyer between the room and the concert hall, which although yards away might as well have been versts. Military guards, and they had pistols pointed at me. Beside them was a broad-shouldered and smiling officer, wearing the insignia of the Imperial Rocket Corps.

  “You were waiting for me, Major?”

  “Colonel . . . Colonel Kerachev . . .”

  “I beg your pardon.” I turned over my open hands to suggest I wasn't carrying anything in them.

  “It's almost a pity you carry no weapons,” the colonel said. “That would have made it far easier.”

  They'd obviously seen Yelensov still standing when I'd opened the door, and hadn't drawn the right conclusion—yet. But it might not be long.

  “If I ran, it might be hard to explain shooting me in the back, especially since I was invited to the Winter Palace, and especially with the concert hall not that far away.”

  “Those few left would not dare move if they heard shots from here. Not with the tzar already safe in his private quarters. Why, his private musicians are probably already playing military marches, or he is listening to a disk of them. The tzar likes his music very loud.”

  I was far from an expert on Russian physiognomy, but I didn't believe him. Not totally.

  “Where are we going?”

  “Does it matter?”

  “I suppose your friends don't speak English.”

  “How perceptive of you.”

  I triggered the pen, keeping it half palmed. His face blanked, and then he crumpled. I still didn't understand why some people went down, and others just stood there blankly. Strength or weakness of soul and spirit?

  The soldiers looked at him, and I swept them with the last fragments of the charge.

  They shook their heads, blinking, as if they couldn't see. I probably fumbled, but I managed to open the pen and put in another battery before giving them another jolt. One stood, and one went down.

  There I was, just outside the Malachite Room, once a favorite of one of the earlier tzarinas, with three bodies who would wake up zombies, and two standing around. I hoped I didn't have to explain too much or too long, but even if I didn't make it out of the palace, I'd done Harlaan's dirty work and at least delayed a military and ecological nightmare.

  I pointed to the door to the Malachite Room. The soldier began to walk.

  In the end, I left four zombies in the Malachite Room and walked back through the foyer to the concert hall, nodding at the guards by the door as I stepped back inside. I had one of the military side arms in the inside pocket of my formal vest. That was a risk, but not great compared to the ones I'd already taken.


  The room was almost empty, although Llysette was talking to a girl who appeared to be about ten.

  Pyotr Romanov eased toward me. “Are you satisfied?”

  I motioned for him to follow me a bit away into a corner of the almost-deserted concert hall. “Yelensov is a zombie, a soulless man. He was carrying some sort of device. Some soldiers followed us into the room. He told me to get away. I did. He did something, and four of them are without spirits.”

  Romanov started to flush. “You . . .”

  I glared at him. “Yelensov was going to double-cross you. He wanted the oil concession to go to AmeriSun. He was getting solid rocket propellant formulas from them through the Putilov connection. They wanted the oil concession.” I held up a hand. “The Imperial Rocket Corps has those formulae already. What's done is done. You'll get the oil concession, and a lot more in royalties from Columbian Dutch. No one from Columbia will say a thing.”

  The anger in his face was slowly replaced by a combination of relief and amusement. “What was the device that turned men into zombies?”

  “I don't know how he got it.” That was technically true. I had my ideas, but I didn't know. “I do know that Ferdinand is supposed to have something like that. It might have some military use, and I'd guess that Yelensov's staff knows all about it, but you'd know how to handle that far better than I. Yelensov was still holding it when I left. I didn't want anything to do with it.”

  “I should explain this?”

  “Don't explain anything. Say that Yelensov wanted to double-cross you, and that Russia would have suffered because AmeriSun can't pay the same amount of royalties.” I smiled. “Unless I've read things very wrong, you need both that technology and that hard currency far more than you need a superweapon that will only result in more disaster to Russia than anyone else.”

  He started to protest, studied my face, and gave me a resigned look. “You will ensure all goes as you said.”

  “I will.”

  “You and your diva had best leave with your ambassador, now. I would also recommend that you not leave the embassy until your aircraft takes you back to Columbia.”

  As Prince Romanov and Commander Madley escorted us back to the courtyard and the waiting embassy limousine, I knew I'd be more than happy to get aboard the big Curtiss, but that wasn't until Monday, at the earliest, or so I'd been told—if I could survive until Monday.

  I watched closely as the driver guided the limousine back though the iron gates, but they didn't close, and no one came running after us or started shooting. I took a slow and silent deep breath.

  After that, I didn't say all that much in the limousine, except to keep congratulating Terese and Llysette.

  “You see . . . the tzar was pleased. You could tell it from his face, and even the tzarina smiled.” I paused. “Who was the girl you were talking to?”

  “She was the daughter of one of the grand dukes,” explained Commander Madley.

  “She wanted to know if she was too old to begin to sing.” Llysette laughed. “I asked her if she could play the piano.” She adjusted the metallic black purse that seemed heavier than it looked.

  “She sat down and played part of a concerto some of my college students have trouble with,” added Terese.

  “At her age, if she has the voice . . .” I began.

  Llysette nodded. “Mais, the voice . . . who can tell?”

  At that point, the limousine swung past the sentries and into the courtyard of the embassy. I struggled out and held the door for the ladies.

  “Will you be needing me more tonight, sir?” asked the commander.

  “Not that I know of.”

  “Tomorrow?”

  “I'd doubt it,” I answered. “I expect I won't hear from PetroRus or the Ministry of Interior until Monday. If you're not tied up sightseeing, you might check tomorrow afternoon. I think Llysette and I will try to unwind.”

  At that point, I really wished we had a bottle of wine, and I know Llysette did, but I hadn't thought about that. Again, I'd been too wrapped up in my project to think about her need to unwind. She'd had some time to do that at the reception after the concert, but the private recital at the Winter Palace had been strange, to say the least. In a way, I'd expected a reception—or something—but maybe there had been, and we were the hired help and not invited into such exalted circles.

  The commander did escort us all up to our rooms, then bowed and departed. I checked the quarters quickly before he left, but no one was there. Then Llysette and I stood by the piano where she'd set the black lacquer box.

  I wondered about opening the box, but somehow, with the exquisite scene upon it, and the tzar's reference to Golovin, I doubted that it would be explosive. Still, since it had no lock, I found a coat hanger and made a hook and padded it.

  “Johan . . . this, it is necessary?”

  “Probably not . . .” I grunted as I eased up the cover, which was no chore, so easily did it open. The grunts were partly for effect, and partly because I was doing it in a way so as not to scratch the finish.

  There were two items in the box—an envelope and a narrow velvet box. Llysette opened the velvet box first. It contained a heart-shaped emerald pendant on what seemed to be a platinum rope-style chain. The emerald was easily ten carats in size.

  We both swallowed, looking at a jewel that was probably worth more than all we owned and might ever own.

  There was a click from the foyer, and we both turned as Colonel Sudwerth appeared, wearing not his undress uniform but a black flight suit.

  “Greetings, most honored Minister Eschbach.” Sudwerth's voice was jovial as he walked through the small entry foyer and into the salon. “Pardon my walking in, but I knocked, and the door was ajar.”

  It hadn't been.

  At the sound of Sudwerth's voice, Llysette set down the velvet jewel box on the Haaren and clutched the black metallic handbag that was both larger than the usual evening bag she carried for performances and also didn't quite match the black and silvered green performing gown.

  “Good evening, Colonel. How can we help you?”

  “You're a bungling idiot, Eschbach.”

  No fancy titles, now.

  “Oh?”

  “I could report you straight to the Okhrana . . . for murdering Yelensov.”

  “Murder? I'm not aware that I murdered anyone.”

  “You turned him into a zombie—like you did Corporal Bromwood.”

  “I don't recall seeing you at the Winter Palace, Colonel.”

  He just smirked before going on. “All you think about is how pure you can make things and how you can make money for the merchant bankers of Asten and New Amsterdam. The rest of us have more important things to worry about. Things like the survival of Columbia. . . .”

  “I worry about it, too, Colonel,” I pointed out. “And like you, I've fought for her.”

  “I don't understand you,” he said. “What did you do to Yelensov?”

  “I didn't do anything. Or rather, I stopped him from doing something to me. He pulled out a gadget, except I thought it was a gun. It went off, but it had antennas, and it stunned him. I decided to leave him with the gadget and slip away. But it was really a setup, because there were some elite Rocket Corps soldiers and a colonel waiting for me . . . but, then, you knew all about it. You helped set it up.”

  “Why would I do anything like that?”

  The question was a dead giveaway.

  “Because you're the conduit between the Columbian Air Corps zombie project, or whatever they call it, and the Imperial Rocket Corps.” I really didn't want to use the pen projector on Sudwerth. That would have been extremely hard to explain, even if I could have gotten it out of my pocket without his noticing it. Even if I could have, it was discharged, and I had no more batteries nearby.

  “You're both traitors.” The gun that appeared in his hand was on me, but his eyes darted back and forth between Llysette and me.

  “You're part of the conspir
acy that turned zombification and de-ghosting technology over to the Russians—not to mention the AmeriSun solid rocket fuel—and we're traitors? Could you explain that, Colonel?”

  “We can't stop Ferdinand by ourselves, Eschbach. Look at the failures, year after year. Time after time. You're here, practically begging the tzar for the right to purchase his oil. That's strength? That's a foreign policy?”

  “And you wanted to give the Russians rocket technology and spur them into developing a nuclear-powered zombiebomb? So that they could turn sections of Europe into lands populated only by zombies? And what would Ferdinand do then? He'd send his heavy bombers eastward and turn all of Russia east of the Urals into black glass. Is that the world you want to live in? Or leave to your children?”

  “Better that than the world you'd leave, with everything under Ferdinand's thumb, with work camps everywhere.”

  My zombie pen was discharged and out of batteries, even if I could have reached it, and the Russian side arm was inside my vest. In short . . . I was out of luck. I'd anticipated that Sudwerth would do something stupid, but I hadn't thought he'd actually break into our quarters in the embassy right after Llysette's performance in the Winter Palace. So he was smarter about that than I was, and I had just come up against the fact that I was getting too old for the game in which I'd once excelled.

  “Work camps . . .” Llysette swayed, and then crumpled.

  I started toward her.

  “Don't move, Eschbach. It's better this way. I'll get her next. You don't think Yelensov was the only one with a ‘gadget,’ did you. Poor woman, couldn't stand the shock of an Austrian assassin killing her husband.” He raised the side arm, and I realized that it wasn't any official Columbian issue, but smaller.

  That made sense, too.

  I waited until he started to squeeze, then lurched sideways, to his right.

  I didn't hear the first report, but I felt like a sledgehammer had smashed into my chest. The second shot ripped into my left arm, half spinning me.

  There was a third report, a sharper crack, followed by a fourth and a fifth, but they came nowhere near me.