Hammer of God (Kirov Series Book 14) (35 page)

“And
how does that relate to this place, Admiral? How does it relate to that back
stairway? Was that component brought here?”

“No,
but this associate I speak of was a member of my crew, a junior officer in
fact. When we unraveled the mystery of that missing man, Makarov, we got the
idea that we might send men back the same way, to retrieve the other missing
crewman, a man named Orlov. We knew where he was, but I won’t get into that
now. Suffice it to say that this junior officer, Fedorov, led a team back to
1942, and they traveled along this rail line heading west to find Orlov. In
fact, he stopped at this very inn, in September of 1942.”

“And
he came down that stairway?”

“This
is what I now believe. Otherwise how could he have met this man—Sergei
Mironovich Kostrikov—the man who called himself Mironov at that time.”

“But
how, Admiral? If he did not have that component from your ship’s engines, how
did he move in time to 1908?”

“This
we do not exactly know, but I believe it nonetheless, and it has something to
do with that stairway, that hole in the history I told you about. It is
obviously here, right on the other side of that door. Fedorov used it to get
all the way back to 1908. Sergei Kirov told me so when I met with him, so that
confirms it.”

Karpov
smiled, pleased with his deductive reasoning on the matter, and continued. “Now
then, you recall I went up those stairs myself when we first got to Ilanskiy
after the Omsk accord was signed? At that time I was already beginning to
suspect something about this place. So I took a little stroll myself—up that
back stairway. Yes! I vanished for a time, didn’t I? And when I returned I did
not seem quite myself, and now I will tell you why.”

Chapter 35

“The
hole in time goes
both directions, Tyrenkov.” Karpov finished his stew and took a long sip of his
wine. “Just as that stairway goes both directions. I know this because Fedorov
came down those stairs from September of 1942 and ended up on June 30, 1908.
And I, myself, went up those stairs just after the Omsk accords, and ended up
in a most alarming place. When I got to the top, half the upper floor was blown
away, and in the distance I saw the telltale signs of a massive weapon—the
terrible bombs we use in our time, and it was clear to me that another great
war had begun—World War Three.”

“The
second one we were fighting was not enough?”

“Apparently
not. Each time we end these conflicts, we leave things unsettled. One side or
another harbors grievances. Mistrust grows in the space between nations, and
old enmities arise. You have seen only a little of the second war. It gets much
worse. The Germans will soon invade our homeland. This time I believe they will
attack through the Ukraine, as Ivan Volkov has sold out and thrown in with Hitler.
But it all amounts to the same thing. Russia will be ravaged by war, her cities
destroyed, farms bombed and burned, millions killed by the Nazi war machine. We
get our vengeance, but it takes long years of bitter fighting, and millions
more dead before that second war ends. Who knows if we will even survive this
time. We were one nation in the history of the world I came from—not the three
warring states we have here now. It took the united Soviet Union to eventually
defeat Hitler’s armies. Whether that can happen again in the world you come
from, the world we just left, remains to be seen, and believe me, I have my
doubts.”

“We
must believe it is possible, sir.”

“It
will take more than belief. I tried to mend fences with Volkov, but we have
seen the result of that. So instead I went to Sergei Kirov, and we reached an
understanding. But our two states may not be enough. Volkov sits on all the
oil, which is what the Germans really want. The situation we face is very
difficult now.”

“I
see…” Tyrenkov waited, seeing that Karpov was thinking about something. “Then
you want me to go
up
those stairs this time?”

“I
see no point in going
down
them from here,” said Karpov. “Even if they
did lead us somewhere, the years before this time get somewhat tedious. Who knows
where we would end up? So of course, from here our reconnaissance will be into
some potential future. I need to know two things. First, does the effect still
work from here. I know it worked from 1908, because my man Fedorov proved that.
But we do not know if we can get anywhere from here.”

“We
will find out soon enough,” said Tyrenkov. “I am ready any time you order it.”

“I
would go myself, but what you said to me earlier has given me pause.” Karpov
folded his hands.

“You
mean my question about what might happen to you at the time your ship first
appeared here?”

“Correct.
What if we find those stairs do take us back to the 1940s? What day and year
would it lead us to? It was March of 1941 when we left for London and ran into
that storm. That was a freak incident, and one that may never repeat. So this
stairway was my only bet at moving forward again with any chance of success.
But I cannot take any unnecessary risk. Suppose this does lead to the 1940s? If
I were to find myself there any time close to the date of my first arrival, then
things could get difficult for me, as you suggested.”

“When
was that, sir?”

“July
28, 1941. That was when it all started. So believe me, the thought that I may
have only four months to live if I do return to March of 1941 is most
unnerving.”

“Have
you determined what would happen, Admiral?”

“Who
can say? For me to be here now, I
must
survive that first experience and
reach the past safely. Understand? So remember what I said about those musical
chairs. If I am alive there in 1941 come July 28th, I just may find that I become
my own assassin!”

“You
mean you would have to die to be certain that the Karpov arriving from the
future has a chair? Are there two of you?”

“No.
That is the point you tried to make to me. There can be only one Karpov alive
at any given point in time. And since I must arrive safely on July 28 1941 in
order to be here now, then that instance of my life would hold priority.”

“Very
strange, sir.”

“Indeed!
To think you would be your own angel of death is most frightening. Volkov did
not have to worry about this. He went down those stairs and got all the way to
1908—”

Karpov
stopped, his eyes suddenly registering some great discovery. “No!” he said. “That
isn’t true! He went down those stairs
twice
. I have only just remembered
what he told me when we met at Omsk and he realized who I really was. He had
been sent to look for that junior officer I told you about—Fedorov. He said he
went down the back stairway here and met several men in uniforms who claimed
they were NKVD!”

“Soviet
security forces?”

“Yes!
But from the 1940s, WWII! They were no longer called that in the future. Volkov
never gave me the details. In fact, he thought the men were playing a ruse…”
Karpov tried to remember what Volkov had told him, the other man’s voice
replaying in his head…

“The little railway inn just east of Kansk near the old naval munitions
center. That's when the madness started. I was searching the premises with my
guards, and thought I discovered a hidden stairway at the back of that inn. I
found someone was hiding there, and herded the rascal down to the dining hall.
The next thing I know
I
encountered men who seemed completely out of place… I was downstairs in the
lower lobby, the dining room, with a suspicious character by the ear, when I
ran into a group of men who held me at gunpoint and claimed they were members
of the NKVD! Imagine my surprise—no, imagine my anger—a pair of fools, or so I
believed. Well, I dealt with them easily enough. I thought they were just
stupid idiots playing with fire, but this fire burns. And yet… when I walked
out of that inn later, the rail yard looked strangely different, nothing like
the place I had come to. Beyond that, all of my guards had simply vanished. I
could not raise them on my jacket radio…”

“Yes,”
said Karpov. “If those were NKVD, then it certainly was not 1908—or any year
from the future he came from. This stairway seems to have some odd connection
to the 1940s. Fedorov came here from the year 1942, and returned. I clearly
remember Volkov telling me he arrived there by going
down
those stairs
from 2021. So he must have landed in the 1940s, which means he had to go down
those stairs a
second
time to get all the way back to 1908!”

“Sounds
logical, sir,” said Tyrenkov.

“All
the more reason for this reconnaissance,” said Karpov. “I need to determine
what year and day we can reach from here, and from this reasoning I must assume
it will be some time in the 1940s.”

“But
sir…” Tyrenkov had the odd look on his face now. “I was alive in 1941. How
could I go up those stairs now in that case? What if I appear in January,
before we even came here? Would I become my own angel of death, as you have
just put it?”

“Yes,
you were alive there until the day we ran into that storm. Then you vanished
and you now find yourself here, in 1908.”

“You
are assuming I will reach a day or time after that? After we hit the storm?”

“Correct.
This is what I must find out—whether time makes allowances for this sort of
thing or not. Whether it is all haphazard, a throw of the dice, or carefully
watched and managed.”

“You
speak of time as if it were a person—a god of some kind.” Tyrenkov folded his
arms, clearly troubled. “Yet now you will ask me to go up those stairs and find
out for you. You will order me to go.”

Karpov
took a deep breath. “I could send one of the other men,” he said calmly. “I
suppose I could tell him to just go up, and then turn right about and come back
down. After all, you are somewhat valuable to me at the moment. I would not
want to risk your life either. The only problem is that he might not know how
to handle himself if this works. I need a man who can use his head, and
determine clearly what time he reaches at the other end. This is why I have
told you all of this.”

“But
sir… I would have to reach a time after we vanished in the storm, and we both
know that the stairway doesn’t exist. It was destroyed in August of 1940, and
we haven’t rebuilt it yet. So how can I get anywhere in those years where I do
not already exist. It seems I am doomed if I go. Where will I end up? Dead?”

“Perhaps
you will reach a time after the stairs have been rebuilt. In fact, that is what
I am counting on, so don’t be so gloomy, Tyrenkov.”

“But
consider what has happened, sir. Everyone in Siberia will have heard the news
that we have gone missing. That bombing of Berlin put us on the front page of
every newspaper in the world. It is very likely that the news of
Tunguska
vanishing in that storm will also have been reported. Days will pass. There
will be no sign of us—of you, sir. What will our people conclude—that we all
perished in that storm? Then who takes over on the eastern front as the new
operational commander? Will he have the same agenda as you? What if he orders
work on the inn at Ilanskiy stopped? In fact, no one else knows of the importance
of Ilanskiy. What if he moves the troops we have there, and Volkov sneaks in as
he did before and takes control of the place? Odds are that back stairway never
gets rebuilt, which means that neither you, or I, can ever reach a time in 1941
where we do not already exist, because those stairs won’t exist to hold us.”

“This
is all speculation, Tyrenkov. I must know to a certainty. Shall I send one of
the Corporals?”

Tyrenkov
sat in silence for a moment. Then he shrugged, taking a deep breath. “No sir.
Send me. I will handle the matter.”

“Very
well,” said Karpov flatly. “Then handle it. I hope you enjoyed your stew,
Tyrenkov, as I would hate to think of it as your last supper.”

* * *

They
found the door to the back stairway was locked, but told the innkeeper to fetch
the key. Now Tyrenkov stood before the door in the alcove next to the dining
room hearth, his forehead hot, but not from the heat of the fire. He took one
last look at the hearth, thinking how like a log of wood he was now, burning
for a time, to give light and warmth to someone else. Karpov had said it
himself. He said I was somewhat useful to him… for the moment. But look how he
chooses to use me! I will be thrown on the fire of time for Karpov’s pleasure,
and face the scalding light of eternity here, come what may. Yet he was
determined to carry on. He would show Karpov who he was, and what he was
capable of. He would lay down his life…

Tyrenkov
looked over his shoulder, giving Karpov one last look where he still sat at the
dining room table, then he slowly reached for the key in his pocket, inserting
it to unlock the door. His hand was cold on the door knob, turning it slowly,
firmly, with a certainty born of his inner resolution. Then he quietly pulled
the door open, feeling the cold waft out from the unheated space, with a dank,
musty smell.

There
was no light on the stairwell, but he would not need one. It was only seventeen
steps, or so Karpov had told him. He would simply count them, one by one, and
would reach the top in little time. Then it was only a matter of unlocking the
door at the top and stepping into the upper hall. What would be on the other
side of that door? Would there even be a second floor there, or merely empty
space for him to fall into. That might happen, but he could not know for sure.
He could not even know if he would survive that short walk up those stairs to
worry about it.

Yet
thinking and worry was one thing, doing quite another. He stepped forward into
the darkness, and immediately felt a heady feeling of terrible power. I am no
mere mortal now, he realized. I have already moved in time once, just like
Karpov himself, perhaps one of a small, select crew that has had that
experience. Everyone aboard
Tunguska
has done the same, though many do
not even know that yet. Now I make a willful journey to some other time if the
stories about this place are true, and god help me as I go…

Seventeen
steps. He counted them as the shadows enfolded him, hearing his boots hard on
the wood, the creak of the old stairway under his weight. Half way up he began
to feel strangely light headed. Was it the hand of death brushing his cheek?
What if this stairway led to a place in 1941, the week before they left for
Moscow. He could not go there, and also be tending to the business of the ship
and his intelligence duties. Would he simply collapse there on that stairway,
or vanish into oblivion?

No.
He could not go to a place where he already existed. So that impossibility was
not his enemy this day, but his friend. It would mean that his journey up these
steps was either doomed to fail, taking him only to the upper landing of the
year where he now found himself, or that it must take him somewhere else…
somewhere else…