by Keith Short
‘There are going to be substantial costs associated with procurement and delivery. You do realise that? If my own people ever found out I was involved in this, I’d be dead within the day. They’d normally expect to be the benefactors of such industrial espionage and they don’t take kindly to traitors.’
‘Don’t worry, buddy. You’ll be well compensated.’
‘And you do realise there will be significant setting up costs. We’ve yet to find a way of accessing the stellerator data.’
‘Sure, sure. Don’t worry about the money. And I understand why there’s no point in us trying to intercept the manual data transfer from Greifswald. We’re putting a lot of faith in you, Rodin. I trust you’ll come up with a way to break through Goldhurst’s IT security screen. Let me know if you need any technical help.’
‘There will be obstacles to setting up the supply chain other than technical ones.’
‘Such as?’
‘I was thinking of Leon Dabrowski, the project’s scientific head. From what I hear, he’s extremely bright and focused on his work. If he decides to spend more of his time at Fusion’s London HQ, it’s not going to be easy to deceive him.’
‘I see what you mean. Have you any ideas how to deal with that?’
‘I have. I intend to make sure he has other matters to think about. He’s going to get one almighty shock when I completely disrupt his personal life. Believe me, within the month, Leon Dabrowski is going to have little interest in Fusion.’
‘OK, I’ll leave the details in your hands. Look forward to working with you, Rodin. Have a nice day.’
CHAPTER 12
‘Have a good day, Leon,’ said the Melomet. The screen went blank. Leon rubbed his tired eyes with cupped hands then collapsed back in his chair. The video conference with his London design office had been everything he’d hoped for. The latest results were consistent with their underpinning calculations; the data from Test 23 were already downloaded to portable memory, ready for Kaminsky to personally carry over to London, and they could press on with confidence in the detailed design of the reactor. Poor Kaminsky. He must already be sick of the sight of Chekhov’s private jet. But that didn’t matter to Chekhov, as long as the databanks were filling up at a rate that kept the design teams occupied around the clock. This was going to be one superb nuclear fusion reactor, with a power density beyond the wildest expectations of research scientists.
But there was a downside. Two years ago, after a meeting like today’s, his secretary would have already booked his flights and hotel for the next international conference on nuclear fusion. Back in those days, they could look forward to announcing their results to the world. But all that changed after the summer’s stellerator runs; he now worked for a commercial behemoth whose technology was top secret. And the Greifswald site wasn’t the same anymore. With the tightened security, it took him fifteen minutes to get from the gatehouse to his office even though he was Fusion’s chief scientist, known to every security officer on the site. There were armed guards around the perimeter, security barriers everywhere, even the cleaning staff must feel as if they were being scanned to death every day.
At this stage of the programme, it seemed strange that Gunther Schroeder spent all his time in London, headhunting for the new design team. Why Slavic wanted him on recruitment rather than working on the experimental programme was beyond Leon. He never seemed to overlap with his right-hand man nowadays. And that didn’t feel right. ‘I don’t know what you’re up to in England,’ he said to his good friend during one of their rare informal chats. ‘I can never get hold of you outside our formal video conferencing. Are you sure you haven’t got a girlfriend tucked away somewhere?’
‘I don’t need one,’ Gunther replied. ‘I’ve already got one back in Germany – she’s called Wendelstein. Just make sure you look after the old girl while I’m away and let me know how she is at our next video meeting.’
Leon was used to working long hours as a research scientist, yet he was struggling to get to grips with this punishing new regime. He and his team were living and eating on the hoof and late-night video conferencing was the norm. Today’s intense technical meeting on plasma physics had left his exhausted brain spinning with vivid images. Helium nuclei drifting in a molten sea at the centre of a new-born star. Huge gravitational forces fusing them together. Enormous binding energy releases. Starlight. He needed a break soon or he’d crack.
He saw little of Magda these days. But this weekend would be different. He’d cut himself off from Fusion and spend the whole weekend with her, back in Poland. She’s more precious to me than any of this. The images of the burning sun gave way to thoughts of Magda and he drifted back to their halcyon days as undergraduates in Krakow.
It was the summer of 2010 and today was finals day. They walked slowly along the side of the river and stopped under the shade of the old tree. As one of the most gifted mathematicians to pass through the Jagiellonian University, Magda would no doubt sail through her final paper this afternoon. He couldn’t even be bothered to think about his own exam on a warm day like today.
‘What are you going to do after you get your double first, my clever Leon Dabrowski?’
‘Oh, I already have that planned, my equally clever Magda Tomala. I’m starting a doctorate in nuclear fusion theory at the Krakow Institute of Nuclear Physics. How about you?’
‘Well, I think there has to be a more elegant solution to Fermat’s Last Theorem than the one Andrew Wiles produced. I may just have a go at that,’ she said, laughing.
‘Trouble with that is, if I’m successful in my research, I’ll earn a googolplex of money. Whereas, if you crack Fermat, the world won’t give a plink.’
‘Won’t give a plink!’ she screamed, raising her eyebrows. ‘You’ve been reading Abramov’s latest papers on group theory, have you? Should stick to your own field, physics boy.’ She knelt beside him on the grass. ‘So, when you’ve earned all the euros in the universe, what are you going to do?’ she asked with a mocking grin.
‘I’ll use the money to fund my next brilliant project,’ he replied, pushing his tongue into his cheek. ‘You see, it’s like this, Magda Tomala. When I look into your eyes, I imagine those billions of neurons moving around that network in your head. And if your brain can decipher their tiny electrical signals, then so can mine. I’d like to develop a way of reading your thoughts − that’s what I’m going to do.’
‘Ah, well I have you there, Leon Dabrowski. You see, when I look into your eyes, I can already read your mind. And I see that you love me every bit as much as I love you.’
They stared at each other in silence. She was a burning sun whose crushing pressure he could no longer resist – he held her in his arms, fusing with its brilliance. They kissed for the first time as lovers.
If only Magda could work alongside him, they’d make a great team. But their objectives differed, driven by their respective missions in life. One day they would marry – he was sure of that. But in the meantime, while they were at the peak of their intellectual powers, they were compelled to seek their own destinies apart from one another. The excitement from the project was his adrenalin – it drove him on relentlessly. But the weekend couldn’t come soon enough.
CHAPTER 13
Magda quietly closed the bedroom door behind her.
‘It’s good of you to do this for us, Magda. I know how busy you are,’ said Szymon Dabrowski as he got out of his chair on the upper landing. She was a smart girl and he valued her opinion.
‘I do worry about her, Szymon. Is she always like this lately?’
He couldn’t prevent the tears from streaming down his cheeks. ‘Yes, and I don’t know what to do about it. She sometimes doesn’t even know who I am. But it’s not so much what she’s forgotten. It’s her obsession with two children who don’t exist.’
‘I’m as confused as you are. She claims Leon has an o
lder brother and sister and they’re both dead. Worse than that, she insists she’s at fault over their deaths. She has to be hallucinating.’
He took a deep breath and pulled himself together. ‘I’ve looked up the symptoms of dementia and there is one form that can cause the victim to hallucinate. They see people who aren’t there. It’s called Lewy Body Dementia. But LBD affects the ability to move, a bit like Parkinson’s disease, whereas Lynne is perfectly mobile. Leon was three when I first met her and there can’t have been any other kin. She would have registered them when she became a Polish citizen. Come on, let’s go downstairs.’
Magda ran her hand down his arm. ‘Listen, Szymon. She’s getting close to the point where she has to be moved into a home. She needs to be looked after by professional care-workers and you need to return to your job at the bank. There, I’ve said it. Leon was going to discuss this with you. He’s accepted that he’s losing her and you have to do the same. I’m so sorry.’
Szymon dropped his head. He was already in mourning. He’d been with Lynne for twenty-five years and loved her from the day they met.
It was Christmas 1994. The snow was falling and the Stare Miasto was busier than usual this Christmas Eve. Resplendent in their seasonal livery, the horse-driven carriages lined up one behind the other alongside the awnings − the glistening beasts, steam snorting from their noses, tapping the ice with their hooves as if keen to summon their next customers. Szymon Dabrowski disliked this time of year; it reminded him of the crash in which his wife died those many Christmases ago. But Christmas Eve was different. He would always show his Christian respect and, after mass at his local Catholic church, he’d walk the two kilometres to the city centre and join in the festivities with as much enthusiasm as he could muster. That perfect gift to mankind, two millennia ago, had left this part of the world devout. And free, despite the monstrous attempts of the Nazis during World War Two. For these reasons, he felt obliged to give thanks and come to Krakow’s main square to share in the traditional seasonal spirit.
From his seat in the warm little kiosk bar, he had a perfect view of the carriages, the impressive tower and the giant fir tree with its blazing white lights. The heavier-than-usual snowfalls seemed to have enhanced the square’s festive ambience and for the first time in as long as he could remember, his spirits started to rise. He’d try his utmost to enjoy Christmas this year, he decided.
As he sipped at his hot mulled wine, he couldn’t help but notice the lady with the small boy in the street outside. She was arguing with the carriage driver at the front of the rank. Or perhaps pleading with him. On impulse, he left his drink and the warmth of the heaters and, tightening his woollen scarf, he stepped out into the cold night air.
‘Can I be of assistance, madam?’
‘Oh, don’t worry yourself. I’m just trying to explain to my son how the inflated prices at this time of year are extortionate. At the age of three, he has no concept of money.’
Szymon looked at the carriage driver, who raised his eyebrows in return.
‘Maybe I can help. Why don’t we share a carriage and the costs become reasonable once more? In fact, I quite fancy a spin around the square myself.’ He looked down at the boy. ‘What do you say, young man?’
‘His name is Leon. If you’re sure you don’t mind, we’ll pay our way of course.’
‘Nice to meet you, Leon. My name is Szymon.’ Like a true little gentleman, the small child reached up and shook the hand on offer.
‘And I’m Lynne,’ she said, shaking his hand and presenting him with a warm smile.
Thick blankets wrapped over their knees, they pulled their scarves over their faces against the wind and tightened their hats to protect themselves from the falling snow − Lynne and Leon in their woollen bobbles and Szymon in his Cossack’s hat. ‘Yah!’ the driver shouted. The hooves clattered, the carriage pulled away to the jingling sound of bells and the wheels crunched over compacted ice. As they passed by the arches, the delicious smells of traditional Polish food wafted across from the Christmas market − it reminded Szymon of how he used to feel about Christmas when Naomi was alive. Three circuits they got for their money and as they started their second tour, he found himself willing the driver to slow down so he could savour it all for longer. He didn’t want the exhilaration to end.
Lynne was first to speak. ‘That’s a greatcoat you’re wearing. I didn’t realise people still wore them.’
‘They’re deceptively warm. Evidently there was a resurgence of the fashion in the nineteen seventies. But now it’s all these modern lightweight padded jackets.’ He nipped the sleeve of Lynne’s duvet coat and shook his head in mock derision.
She laughed.
‘You’re English?’ Szymon asked.
‘Yes. My accent must be so obvious. You live here?’
‘Have done for many years.’
At the end of the ride, Lynne shook his hand again. ‘Thank you, Szymon. I enjoyed that.’
‘I enjoyed it too, Mummy,’ Leon chipped in. ‘Can we go for some hot lemonade? Can Szymon join us?’
‘Oh, I don’t think—’
‘I think that’s a splendid idea, young man,’ Szymon interrupted, ‘and that’s an amazing command of Polish for a three-year-old.’
‘He’s actually three and a half. But I have to agree, he’s advanced for his age − except when it comes to the value of money.’ She gave Leon a wry smile and the boy looked up and chuckled at Szymon.
Back in the kiosk, they managed to find seats near one of the big gas heaters. After ordering their drinks, they took off the outer layers of their clothing and started to thaw out in front of the welcoming yellow glow.
‘Will you play me at Stone, Scissors and Paper, please?’ Leon asked.
‘Does the lad know this game?’
Lynne gave a knowing look and nodded. ‘He’s good at it.’
Over several rounds, Szymon won just two. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing. ‘One, two, three, go.’ He’d make a sudden scissors sign with two fingers and at the same time, Leon would pull out a fist representing stone. ‘Stone wins,’ Leon would say excitedly, ‘another point to me.’ They played on. It was a simple game but one of strategy and bluff. The youngster seemed to have an almost telepathic awareness. Statistically this was possible, but perhaps the boy was a child genius.
He turned to Lynne. ‘He’s so clever that he can even . . .’ Despite the drift of warm air from the nearby heater, Szymon froze. He could tell that all this time she’d been watching him and not the game. He sensed the admiration in her eyes. It was as vibrant as the butterflies he felt in his stomach. Szymon never stopped mourning following his tragic loss. He was resigned to being a widower for the rest of his life − until this magical moment on Christmas Eve.
Now, she’d been taken from him. He’d done nothing to deserve such a punishment. But Alzheimer’s disease doesn’t distinguish the good from the bad, the haves from the have-nots. It starts by taking one prisoner and gradually cripples until family and loved ones become victims themselves. This unstoppable disease destroys everything in its wake.
‘Szymon, are you all right?’ Magda said, snapping him out of his thoughts.
Szymon stirred the coffee. ‘So how is Leon’s big project?’ he asked, deliberately changing the subject.
‘He tells me it’s going well. But he’s often in Germany or England and with all that’s going on in my own research group, we have precious little time together. In fact, for the first time in months, we’re going to spend this coming weekend in Krakow. A whole weekend together, would you believe? If you can get someone to look after Lynne, perhaps you could join us for dinner down the square.’
‘I can’t, Magda. I have to stay here. Have a lovely weekend and make sure he comes to visit his mother.’
‘We’ll both come to see her, Szymon. I promise.’
CHAPTER 1
4
Converted from sixteenth-century stone catacombs, the Keller Klub off Krakow’s main square bustled with young people on a Saturday night. Leon and Magda arrived at the club’s subterranean bar as two women were leaving their barstools. ‘May we?’ Magda asked the trendy thirty-somethings, before they disappeared into the annexe where the band was just starting to play.
‘Timed to perfection,’ Leon quipped.
‘Perfection is what I’m about, my love.’
Leon sighed. ‘It’s so nice to relax. I can feel the batteries recharging already.’
They touched fingers and smiled into each other’s eyes. They talked of sweet nothings over a background of soft jazz and flickering candles. Magda took occasional sips through the ice and sliced orange at the top of her tall glass of Henry. Leon took his time over three small bottles of Tyskie beer.
The ambience in the bar was becoming more vibrant, the conversations growing louder and mirthful − a tangible vivacity filled the catacombs. Magda laughed. ‘You’re not getting a bit tipsy, are you?’
He loved it when Magda laughed like that. But he wasn’t drunk at all – euphoric, he would call it. He felt himself wobble on the stool. ‘Oops, not used to this,’ he joked as he excused himself.
When he returned to the bar, their stools were occupied by a well-dressed couple of about his own age. ‘I was sitting here with my girlfriend a few moments ago. Did you see where she went?’
The couple looked at each other in surprise. ‘Sorry, friend, there was nobody in the seats when we arrived. Would you like them back?’
‘Don’t worry,’ he said, looking around the room, ‘we’ll find somewhere else.’
The bar heaved and he could feel its humidity rising. Every seat was taken and new arrivals were pouring into the annexe. Perhaps Magda was in there − she loved her music. I’ll take a look. The jazz trio was in full swing with foot-tapping music. He leaned against the old stone archway and scrutinised the throng of young people who were crammed against the walls and jostling to get the best view. Where is she?
