Dance of Death

by John Case

  “Wow,” Burke said. “Were you in New York then?”

  Ceplak scoffed at the idea. “No. I wasn’t even born.” He paused, and posed, raising his chin in a noble profile. “How old you think I am?”

  Burke shrugged. “Eighty?”

  Ceplak’s face fell. “Yes, this is amazing guess! I am eighty.”

  “So your father –”

  “He stops working for Tesla in 1915. Bad time. No money. Tesla, by then he’s moving from hotel to hotel. Always he’s feeding pigeons in his room, always he’s being thrown out. My father has job now at Con Edison, okay? And he gives Tesla little salary – just to live on.” He paused. “Imagine, this great man! He invents everything – alternating current, radio, a hundred patents, plus! He’s on cover of Time magazine – and he cannot pay hotel bill!” Ceplak shook his head and chuckled to himself. “Ten years later, I am big surprise to my parents. We come back to Slovenia. End of story.” The old man topped off his vodka. “Now,” he said, “these notebooks – where do you want to begin?”

  “Actually, I’m not here to see the notebooks,” Burke told him. “I’m not a scientist. I probably wouldn’t understand them.” He paused and corrected himself. “I mean, I definitely wouldn’t understand them.”

  Ceplak rubbed his chin between his thumb and forefinger, peered narrowly at Burke. “Youuuuu … are a journalist … or a writer. Perhaps, you are writing a book about the maestro, am I right?”

  “No,” Burke said, his voice regretful. “I came to ask you about someone else who was here, someone who did come to look at the notebooks. An American – maybe you remember him. A guy named Jack Wilson.”

  A look crossed the old man’s face, and Burke tried to read it: distaste or apprehension. Maybe both. “Yes, he’s here,” Ceplak said. “Long time. He sits where you’re sitting. And he’s reading. For days, he’s reading reading reading. And he’s making calculations.”

  The old man got to his feet, and walked to the window. Lifting a pair of binoculars to his eyes, he gazed at the lake, and then began to chortle. “Look at this!” he insisted, handing the binoculars to Burke. “On the steps, up to the church. For newlyweds, if the husband carries the wife to the top, it’s good luck for the marriage. But this poor fellow, he’s smaller than me! Better she should carry him.”

  Burke got the couple in view. The man was hunched over, dragging his bride up the steps in a sort of fireman’s carry.

  Ceplak refilled their glasses. “Now that,” he said, “is love!” He handed a glass to Burke, clinked it with his own, then downed his portion in a gulp.

  Burke sipped his vodka as Ceplak went to the fire, and added a log. “You know where Wilson went?” Burke asked.

  Ceplak shrugged. “He says he’s going home. So, I guess he goes back to the States.”

  “Any idea where?”

  The old man shook his head. “Tell me something,” he said. “Why you are so interested in this man?”

  Burke had a story ready – he’d thought it up on the plane. But he decided it would be simpler to tell the truth. “We had a business arrangement. It didn’t work out.”

  The old man nodded, knowingly. “He owes you money.”

  Burke shook his head. “No,” he said, “it’s worse than that. There’s trouble with the police.”

  “Police?” The old man’s face creased with worry. “He’s criminal?”

  Burke made a gesture. “According to the FBI, he’s a terrorist.”

  Ceplak closed his eyes, put his head in his hand, and massaged his temples. “You’re sure?”

  Burke reached for the vodka. “I’m not sure of anything. All I know is, they shut down my business because of him.”

  “And if you can’t find him, what happens then?”

  “I’ll tell the FBI what I did find. Then it’s up to them.”

  Ceplak nodded thoughtfully. After a moment, he said, “No good.”

  Burke looked at him.

  “Your FBI,” Ceplak muttered, “they know Tesla. When he dies, they take his papers.”

  “I know,” Burke said. “I read about that.”

  “They come here, it’s not good,” Ceplak said.

  Burke tried to reassure him. “You haven’t done anything wrong.”

  Ceplak looked worried. “I think, these FBI, maybe they don’t just read. Maybe they take the notebooks.” It could have been the light, but it seemed to Burke that the old man’s eyes were wet with tears. “Better they don’t come here,” Ceplak announced. “Better, you find him.”

  Burke looked skeptical.

  “Maybe I can help,” the old man said.

  Twenty-eight

  Lake Bled, Slovenia | April 14, 2005

  “HOW MUCH DO you know about Tesla?” Ceplak asked. They were sitting at the kitchen table, drinking coffee.

  “The basic stuff,” Burke told him. “Croatia, New York, Edison –”

  “Yes, yes, of course! But what about his physics? You understand resonant frequencies? Scalar waves?”

  Burke chuckled. “No.”

  “The Tunguska incident,” Ceplak said. “You know what this is, right?”

  The word was familiar, but … Burke shook his head.

  Ceplak took a deep breath. “Okay,” he said. “Resonance. You know word,” Ceplak insisted. “It’s an English word. Please, to tell me what it means.”

  Burke thought about it. “It has to do with sound. The way things vibrate.”

  Ceplak squeezed his eyes shut and looked pained. “This is true, but … not just sound. Energy.” Across the lake, the bell began to ring. Ceplak turned toward it. “I guess he made it!” Then he turned back to Burke, and sighed. “You didn’t study physics?”

  Burke shook his head. “Science wasn’t my thing.”

  “But mathematics?”

  Burke nodded. “A little.”

  “How little?”

  “Math for Poets.”

  Ceplak stared at him.

  Burke looked sheepish. “It was a class for kids who were not so good at math,” he explained.

  Ceplak filled his cheeks with air, then released it in a rush. Leaning forward, he placed his elbows on the table and put the palms of his hands together, as if he were going to pray. “To find Wilson, you need to understand Tesla, okay?”

  Burke hoped not.

  “Because Wilson, he’s doing something with Tesla,” Ceplak said. “I don’t know what. But until you know what he’s doing, you won’t be able to find him. So, first I’m telling you Tesla is about resonance. This is key to all Tesla’s work, okay?”

  Burke looked uncertain.

  “Don’t worry!” Ceplak told him. “I promise: Physics for Poets!”

  “Okay.”

  “So here we are: Tesla is manipulating electromagnetic energy – using resonance. Now, I ask again, what is this ‘resonance’? You guessed it has to do with sound.” Ceplak sighed. “And you’re right, it does, but not only sound. Sound is what? A kind of ‘wave.’ Correct? Correct! But what is a ‘wave’?”

  Burke shook his head.

  “Think of stone in pond,” Ceplak told him. “Throw stone in pond, what happens? Waves move out in every direction. What are these waves?”

  “I –”

  “Energy,” Ceplak said. “In the case of stone, impact creates kinetic energy, yes? And we can see this. Water was flat, stone hits, the energy radiates out from center, eventually dissipates on shore, yes?”

  Burke nodded.

  “Now I am telling you that electromagnetic spectrum – this is all waves. Twenty-four/seven, it’s waves! X-rays, gamma rays, microwaves, radio waves, infrared waves, light waves – all forms of energy. Yes?”

  Burke nodded.

  “Now, pay attention, Mr. Math for Poets! Now I’m reminding you of quantum theory.”

  Burke looked aghast.

  “Don’t worry,” Ceplak interjected. “I give you one highlight. That’s it. In quantum theory, everything is waves. Energy? Of course: is waves.
But matter, too. Matter is waves.” He squeezed his face into a wince of a smile. “Well, not ‘waves,’ exactly. Waves and particles – we might say ‘wavicles.’”

  Burke reached for the vodka.

  Ceplak gave him an approving look. “Alcohol can help. This table,” he continued, “it looks solid.” He thumped his hands on the table, so hard that his coffee cup jumped. “It is solid. But inside the molecules of the table, electrons are in motion – so we know table has resonant frequency.”

  “Now you’ve lost me,” Burke declared.

  Ceplak pressed his hands together. “Just to listen, please. Will become clear.” He took a deep breath. “Every object has special ‘resonant frequency.’ Excite object, and object vibrates at that frequency.”

  “Like a tuning fork,” Burke said. “You hit it and –”

  “Yes! This, exactly. Also a rock, a bridge, a glass, a wall. I don’t care what! You give it the right push – maybe you hit it with a bat – it begins to vibrate. Put another way, we say it ‘oscillates at its own frequency.’”

  “Okay,” Burke told him. “I get it.”

  “Frequency in physics is number of waves per second, right?”

  Burke nodded.

  “Now ‘resonant frequency.’” Ceplak cleared his throat. “For this, I give you classic example. Kid’s swing. This is a system with single resonant frequency.”

  Before Burke could say anything, Ceplak held up a hand. “I explain! Swing is pendulum, yes?”

  Burke nodded.

  “Okay, suppose man gives swing big push. Swing goes up. Comes back. Goes up again – but not so high. Comes back – but not so far. Goes up … You see what’s happening. Swing oscillates slower and slower as energy from push dissipates. Okay?”

  Burke nodded.

  “Now! Suppose man leaves, and swing is pushed by kid’s sister. This sister, she’s not so strong, she can’t push swing so hard. Little person, okay? But even so, if she push swing at right time, swing goes higher and higher. Higher than man with big push, even. Because each little push adds to energy already in system. We say, it ‘adds amplitude.’ In theory, swing could reach escape velocity, and bye-bye kid.”

  “‘In theory,’” Burke said, getting into the spirit of things. (The vodka was actually quite good.)

  “You understand? Little girl can push swing higher and higher, but only if she has perfect timing. She has to be in step with swing’s natural frequency. If she pushes when swing is only halfway back, she acts like brake, takes energy out of system, instead of adding to it.” Ceplak paused, and pursed his lips. “She push too soon, she push off-center, she disrupts swing’s natural frequency – and swing cannot oscillate smoothly. This is why we say swing is having only one resonant frequency.”

  “Got it.”

  “So! Each time, girl is adding a little bit of energy at just the right moment and in just the right spot. Okay?”

  Burke nodded.

  “Well, Tesla, too! He’s doing same thing – amplifying resonant frequency of oscillating system. Just like little girl with swing, he makes precise inputs of energy to system in oscillation. In his case, electromagnetic system, which after these inputs is much more powerful. More energy, yes?” Ceplak smiled. “Almost all maestro’s key inventions based on this.”

  Ceplak poured another vodka, and downed it. “Last half of Tesla’s life, he’s working on the wireless transmission of electricity. He thinks he finds way to get free energy, using resonant frequency of earth.”

  “The earth has a resonant frequency?”

  Ceplak nodded. “Think about it. Earth is a bundle of different energies.” He ticked them off on his fingers. “Thermal energy from core. Gravitation. Plus gravitational pull of moon. Geomagnetic forces. Solar energy from sun. Gamma rays from outer space. Kinetic energy – earth rotating around sun, rotating also on axis.”

  Burke nodded.

  “Point is, Mother Earth, she’s a ball of energy, yes? Tesla believed, and maybe proved, that earth has natural resonant frequency. That earth is producing ‘standing waves,’ waves that do not progress through space. Like all waves – these are form of energy, yes? And maestro believes that if you are driving blade of conductive metal down into earth, you can tap into that energy.”

  “Okay.”

  “Maestro thinks he can attract this energy and magnify or amplify it, then send it around globe to peoples everywhere, without power lines.”

  “And how was he going to do that?” Burke asked.

  Ceplak grinned like the Cheshire Cat. He gestured at the photograph of the strange tower. “The magnifying transmitter! He starts with the standing waves from the earth – and amplifies that energy by adding small bursts of energy at precise right time.”

  “But where are the ‘small bursts of energy’ coming from?”

  Ceplak shrugged. “Ordinary sources – generator using coal or hydropower. The point is, maestro knows how to tap into energy from earth and amplify it – exact same way as girl pushing swing!”

  Burke thought about this for a moment, then turned, and nodded toward the mantelpiece. “The Wardenclyffe Tower – that was to hold this transmitter?”

  “Exactly!” Ceplak beamed. “He builds tower after years of experimenting in Colorado, where he has much smaller, simpler tower. In Colorado Springs, he’s creating massive lightning bolts, he’s giving electric charge to area for miles around his tower. Lightbulbs glowing even when their switches are off! Sparks coming off metal shoes of horses! Butterflies going around in halos of St. Elmo’s fire!”

  “Jesus!” Burke exclaimed.

  “No! Tesla!” The old man was grinning from ear to ear as he contemplated this back-to-the-future scene in old Colorado. Then he cleared his throat and stretched. “You hungry? Maybe you’d like something to eat? I’m thinking: Grand Hotel Toplice. Your treat.”

  Twenty-nine

  AT CEPLAK’S SUGGESTION, they walked. “It’s only three kilometers, we’ll earn our lunch!”

  Burke nodded, his mind elsewhere. He was thinking that the restaurant would be expensive, that he needed to change his airline reservations, that the trip to Lake Bled was probably a waste of time and money. How could Ceplak’s physics and history lessons help him find Jack Wilson?

  He followed the old man along a steep path that cut back and forth on the side of a forested hill, his loafers skidding on the packed snow. Ceplak was as nimble and sure-footed as a goat, decked out in hiking boots and armed with a walking stick. The pines around them were flocked with snow, their spiky branches rustling in the wind. Overhead, a cloudless blue vault, the air cold and clean. Burke took it all in with a photographer’s eye.

  Ceplak paused, and turned. “I come back to Wardenclyffe,” he said, “but first, resonance or to use another word, vibration. This can be destructive, no?”

  “Well,” Burke said, “if there’s an earthquake –”

  “Yes. Big release of energy, just like rock in pond, seismic waves radiate from epicenter. You feel earthquake sometime?”

  “In California.”

  “Then you know – you feel the oscillation of the earth beneath you. The earth shudders, yes?”

  Burke nodded.

  “If shudder too strong, if oscillation too great, structures cannot tolerate. Buildings fall down. Rocks crack and crumble.” Ceplak stopped to toss aside a dead limb that lay in their way across the path. “The lesson is: Resonance can be destructive. Another example is opera singer with crystal glass. Everybody is knowing this one. Singer with big voice hits note, holds note – glass shatters. Why?”

  “Never understood it,” Burke said, hurrying to keep up with the geezer.

  “I’m telling you before, sound is wave, sound is energy. Maybe, sitting drunk sometime, you run wet finger around top of glass. And it sings to you – like Buddhist monk! Ommmmmmm.” Ceplak cackled. “Let’s say tone of glass, its natural resonant frequency is ‘F.’ Fat lady sings same note – and voice is big enough – glass begin to
vibrate. If sound is loud enough, if excitation strong enough – pow! Glass breaks.” Ceplak held up a finger. “Caruso does this many times. Also Birgit Nielsen – soprano. Recording studio, they’re telling her please to step back from microphone. Why? She’s breaking panes of glass. Even she shatters gemstone one time! Think emerald. So, why is glass breaking?”

  “Vibration,” Burke said.

  “Yes. When sound waves from voice create vibration that matches natural resonant frequency of glass, oscillation is amplified – yes? Already glass wants to vibrate at this frequency, it begins to vibrate, you give it push with more sound wave” – he clapped his hands together – “structure begins to come apart. It seem crazy that sound is breaking something as solid as glass, but always to remember, ‘solid’ is illusion. Glass is particles and waves like everything else. Move those waves too fast, excite too much, and glass shatters. Structure fails.”

  Burke nodded as Ceplak pushed aside some branches, giving them access to a narrow road. They were still a hundred feet above the lake. Burke could see a plume of smoke rising from the Grand Hotel Toplice.

  “Second example of destructive nature of resonance,” Ceplak said. “Soldiers don’t march on bridge. Why? If they march in time, bridge can collapse.”

  “I’ve heard that.”

  “Manchester, England, 1831,” Ceplak said. “Suspension bridge. Soldiers marching in step. Bridge starts to shake. Soldiers don’t take physics, they keep marching. Next thing” – his hands dropped in a gesture of collapse – “all fall down. After Manchester, knowledge comes into military textbooks, into general knowledge.” He tapped a finger to his head. “Destructive power of resonance. Since Manchester, military types know to teach: Soldiers must break step when they cross bridge. If not, they maybe not getting to other side.”