Hammer of God (Kirov Series Book 14) (28 page)

Part X

Petrov’s
Defense

“
If you're completely off your
rocker and have delusions of grandeur in which your personal existence is of
special significance to the rest of the world, all hope is not lost. Mix in
enough charisma and you have what it takes to start a religion... or become a
serial killer.”

―
Edward M. Wolfe

Chapter 28

It
was a long flight back
to Russia, over a continent of Europe that seemed strangely dark and quiet. No
planes moved in the skies, and
Tunguska
was one of the only airships in
the world at that time that was serviceable. Neither Bogrov, nor any of the
senior officers, knew exactly what had happened. They had departed Moscow and
made that daring overflight of Nazi Germany, dueling with the Luftwaffe’s
highest flying aircraft at the dizzy altitude of 15,000 meters. They had the
audacity to actually bomb Berlin, and then snooped impudently over the German
ports at Kiel and Bremerhaven before encountering that powerful storm over the
North Sea en-route to London. They never got there, alighting on the coast of
England to bemuse and startle the local residents, one of many sightings of
strange craft in the skies that came to be known as the ”Scareships” of 1909.
Tyrenkov’s men rounded up a stray traveler bearing an old newspaper, and it
seemed to set Admiral Karpov off like a bomb. He immediately ordered all the
men aboard the airship, and set course for home.

Karpov had locked himself away in
his heated cabin, giving orders that he was not to be disturbed, while the new
Captain and remaining senior officers fidgeted on the bridge, growing more and
more perplexed when they could not pick up any of their normal radio traffic. The
airwaves seemed lightly traveled, with the dot-dash signals of old Morse Code,
but little radio traffic. It was bad enough when they found Konev dead on the
ship, and the other two men, probably victims of that terrible storm. Now the
odd silence, and the strange sense that something was wrong, had begun to
permeate the young crew.

“What is going on Tyrenkov?”
asked Bogrov when the Admiral’s intelligence Chief was passing through the
bridge.

“What do you mean, Air
Commandant?”

“What do I mean? We fly all the
way across Europe to England, only to make a twenty minute stop on a vacant
field, and now we go home? What was all that business with the newspaper?”

“Don’t worry about it, Bogrov.
The Admiral just changed his mind, that is all. We have urgent business back
home.”

“Yes? Well kindly tell me why we
cannot pick up any of our radio signals traffic?”

“Don’t worry about that either.
The Admiral wishes to maintain radio silence, particularly over the continent.
You may have noticed there was a war on. Just get us back to Russia, but I have
a new destination for you, direct from Karpov.”

“New destination?” Bogrov rolled
his eyes. “Where this time? Are we off to China?”

“Calm down, Bogrov. No, we will
be stopping off at Saratov on the way home to Ilanskiy.”

“Saratov? But there is fighting
there. The Federation may have a full squadron of airships assigned to that
sector.”

“Forget about the Orenburg
Federation. Just get us to Saratov.”

Bogrov shook his head. “One
minute you remind me of the war, the next you tell me to forget about it. Which
is it, Tyrenkov? After Saratov I will have to follow the Volga all the way
north to Perm before turning east again. Am I to forget that there is tension
all along that border as well?”

“To be blunt about it, yes. Do
not concern yourself with security, Air Commandant. That is my job. You just
navigate the ship and, at the moment, our destination is Saratov—by the most
direct route possible. After that you will get new instructions. Now, if you’ll
excuse me, the Admiral wishes to see me at once.”

“Very well, Tyrenkov. I should
have known better than to complain to the Intelligence Chief, but I foolishly
thought that if anyone might know what is going on here, it might be you.”

“In that you are correct, Bogrov.
And when it comes time for
you
to be briefed, the Admiral will speak
with you. Until then, simply do your job—and one other thing. The Admiral
wishes you to steer wide of any electrical storm we may encounter. Coordinate
closely with our weather man. He wants no more wild rides like the one over the
Channel.”

“In that we finally find
agreement,” said Bogrov. Then he turned to his navigator and gave him orders to
plot a course to Saratov.

* * *

“Bogrov is none too happy over
recent developments,” said Tyrenkov. He had come up from the bridge to the
upper cabin level where the executive quarters were, and was now meeting with
Karpov in his private ready room. The Admiral had been musing over a game of
chess, though Tyrenkov could not imagine who he might have been playing with.
No one had been in or out of the Admiral’s quarters, except for the orderlies
bringing meals or tea. Yet something about that chess game had given the Admiral
an idea, and now he would find out what it was.

“Strange the things that come to
mind over a good game of chess,” said Karpov. “This one certainly set me off in
an unexpected direction, but I don’t think you realize where I am going just
yet, or why.”

“We seem to be cruising at 5000
meters above Poland. A remarkably easy trip thus far. There hasn’t been so much
as a whisper of news concerning the war, which has Bogrov somewhat spooked.
He’s been asking a lot of questions.”

Karpov smiled. “A curious man, Bogrov.
But for the moment we will keep things the way they are. You are the only one I
have fully briefed, Tyrenkov. No one else knows this is actually 1909, and
quite frankly, you took the matter rather well, considering you have little
more than my assertion this is so.”

“You are not a man to trifle with
nonsense, sir,” said Tyrenkov. “If you tell me this, then I must assume you
have given it careful thought and analysis. So of course, I accept your word on
the matter, though I must admit it was somewhat alarming.”

He was a quiet, careful man, with
dark hair and eyes that seemed to smolder when he looked at you. Karpov
appreciated his methodical nature, and calm temperament, and the seeming way he
went about his job as Intelligence Master with no qualms. Tyrenkov was a man
who would get things done, and not one to equivocate over useless things like
morality, or consequences, and he made no excuses. He was just efficient, and
somewhat ruthless when he needed to be, and this was a mindset that Karpov inherently
understood, and respected. Tyrenkov didn’t fully grasp the why or how of their
present position, but he accepted it when Karpov first briefed him on the
situation, and he immediately began to determine what he needed to do now if
this were true.

Yes, if this were true then there
was no war to be jangling on the airwaves with the codes and radio calls of
generals on every side. If it was 1909, then the revolution had not even
happened yet! Ivan Volkov would not have risen to power, or started his breakaway
war with the Bolsheviks. Russia was still whole, the single domain of the Czar,
and the Romanovs held sway from the gilded palaces in Moscow and Saint
Petersburg. Sergei Kirov did not even go by that name yet, and was a young revolutionary
in the making. In short, it was an entirely different world, and Tyrenkov
realized that, his present title aside, he was really master of nothing now.

His entire intelligence apparatus
back in Siberia, all the agents he had posted throughout the world, had not yet
come into being—
he
had not even come into being. Tyrenkov was a man of
28 years, and would not be born until 1913. The same could be said for every
man on the crew, most still in their twenties, some even in their teens—except
those three men they had found, Konev, Symkovich, Lavrov, all older men, in the
service for many long years. Konev was fifty two, a surly Chief who ran the
upper rigging crews. But he was dead now, and Karpov seemed to know why, though
he had said nothing about the incident, until now.

“You want to know why Konev
died,” said Karpov matter of factly, “and the other two? It is easy if you
think about it—and no, it wasn’t their bad health or frailty. Konev was a hardy
man, was he not? I checked the records on the others, and they were both in
good shape. Well, I will tell you why they died now—simply because of their
age.”

“Their age?” Tyrenkov took that
in. “Konev was older, but the other two were only in their thirties, sir, and
you just said they were also in good health.”

“They were in their later
thirties, and that was their undoing,” said Karpov, holding up a finger. “Think,
Tyrenkov. Konev was 52. That means he was born in the year 1889, and this year,
1909, he would be a young man of twenty years. The other two men were 38 and 39
respectively, born in the years 1902 and 1903. They would be young children
now…” Karpov gave Tyrenkov a penetrating look. “In fact, they most likely
are
young children, and Konev is probably out there somewhere as that 20 year old
man. You see? When Tunguska moved in that storm—to this year—those three men
were already here. They already existed, so they could not survive the journey
here. There cannot be two Konevs alive at the same moment in time, one a young
man of 20, the other a grizzled Chief of 52 years. Understand?”

Tyrenkov raised an eyebrow,
finally realizing what the Admiral was telling him. Yes, he thought, it was a
grim logic, but it made sense. Everyone else on the crew was just like him,
unborn in this year of 1909. No one else on the ship was over 30, except Karpov
himself, which prompted him to question the Admiral about that.

“What about you, sir? Surely you
are more than 32 years, a well seasoned man in the prime of life.”

“Yes, but I’m creeping up on 40,
Tyrenkov.”

“Then how is it you have survived?
Is there not another young man out there—your very self?”

Now Karpov smiled, walking slowly
over to the wetbar where he pour two snifters of brandy, handing one to
Tyrenkov and gesturing that he should have a seat on the comfortable sofa.

“If you thought I was going to
say I was an exception, you are wrong,” said Karpov. “I may be an exceptional
man, but I am mortal like everyone else, and subject to the same laws of time
and fate. No, if I had been born before this year, like those others, then I would
be dead as well.” He gave Tyrenkov a wry smile.

“Excuse me, sir… You are saying
you were not born before 1909? A moment ago you just said you were creeping up
on 40 years of age…” Now Tyrenkov’s eyes widened, suddenly alight, and then he
fixed his smoldering gaze on Karpov, the realization evident on his face. “Then
you were born
later
… You were born in the future!”

“Excellent, Tyrenkov. I knew you
would surmise the truth. Yes, either I was born, and died, well before this
year, a lifetime earlier, or well after this time. Either case would allow me
to survive here in this moment. In this case, however, the latter is true. If
you want to know the truth, I was born in the late 20th Century, and now your
next question is an obvious one. If that is so, then how did I come to be found
in the middle of that century, in 1938 when I first came to Siberia? Well that,
my friend, is a very long story.”

“The late twentieth century? Well
after the conclusion of the war? Why, that would mean you know how it ended.”

“Correct. I know all the
victories and defeats, and the course of days following that war.”

“Then you came here deliberately?
But why?”

“I would think
how
would
still be the main question on your mind. We will get to that soon, but as to
why
,
the truth is, my arrival here was completely unintentional. It was an accident,
and one I do not yet completely understand, but here I am. And finding myself
here, I have made the most of the knowledge I have to achieve this position—and
this is only the beginning, Tyrenkov. There is so much more to be done. I do
not yet know why time seems to favor me, but this is not the first time I have
been here in these years before the revolution. I came from a distant year, all
the way back to 1908. I was Captain of a powerful ship—in the future—with an
advanced propulsion system. We believed some aberration in that engine was
causing a rift in time, and the ship, and the entire crew, were sent to the
past—to 1941 in fact—but our position there was very unstable. We kept moving
back and forth and, the last time the ship moved, I was thrown free, arriving
alone, in the year 1938. This time I seemed to stay put, for I was never able
to remain in the past more than a few weeks before this occurrence. Yet here we
have slipped again—not only me, but the
Tunguska
itself, and the entire
crew, except for those three unfortunate men. It’s a game of musical chairs,
Tyrenkov. When an incident occurs, and the music stops, leaving you in another
time, there had better be an open chair there for you. Those men died because
their younger selves were already sitting in those chairs. I survived here
because I have never lived in this year before, in 1909.”

It was all very confusing, the
how and why of it all still looming as huge unanswered questions in Tyrenkov’s
mind. Yet he intrinsically understood the advantages in Karpov’s position, and
the power he could wield given his knowledge of future days to come. “Then you
have more in mind than simply power, Admiral. You have been using your position
here to change things—change the history?”

“Quite so. In fact, it was all
the previous blundering about that caused much of the dilemma we now face. I
have tried to use the power I had many times to brighten Russia’s future, but I
was always opposed, by officers on my own ship, and by men like Ivan Volkov.”

“Volkov? You mean the fighting
over Omsk?”

“More than that. You see, Volkov
is not a man from this time either. He was a petty Intelligence officer in my
day, sent to inspect my ship when we finally made it home. Then something
happened to him, and he slipped through one of the holes we must have poked in
the history.”