Authors: Tom Grace
Quantum (8 page)
Moscow, Russia
Irena Cherny placed the handset back in the cradle of the multiline phone on her desk and sighed. She took a deep breath, attempting to stave off the anger that threatened to disrupt her normally poised demeanor.
‘
Yop t’voi yo mat!
’ she growled, cursing the man with an expression suggesting an incestuous relationship between the bureaucrat and his mother.
She glanced down at the slip of paper containing the flight and cargo identification numbers for the materials acquired by Dmitri Leskov’s team in the United States. Orlov had handed it to her more than two hours ago, requesting that she locate the shipment and arrange for it to be retrieved.
Cherny stood, brushed at a crease in her skirt, and calmly walked to her employer’s office. She knocked, and Victor Orlov waved her in.
‘Did you talk with the people at Sheremetyevo?’ Orlov asked.
‘
Da
, Victor Ivanovich, I most certainly did.’
‘And?’
‘And I have been able to confirm that the aircraft has indeed arrived and been unloaded.’
‘Good, then we can send a truck down to retrieve our shipment.’
‘Not yet,’ Cherny said.
‘Why?’
‘As you requested, I called Customs using only the name on the cargo manifest and made no mention of you or the company.’
Orlov nodded.
‘After wasting a great deal of my time, they finally connected me with someone who allegedly has enough blood flowing between his ears to generate a spark of intelligence. This individual informed me that the aircraft that arrived from Chicago had no cargo on board that matches our number or description.’
‘How can this be? Voronin faxed us all the paperwork. The shipment should have been on that plane.’
‘I understand, but according to the people who unloaded the aircraft, it was not on board. Since the manifest that arrived with the aircraft also did not indicate that our property was on board, the man I spoke with suggested that there may have been a clerical error in Chicago.’
Orlov was on his feet, pacing in front of the tall windows that faced the Moskva River.
‘Get Voronin on the phone.’
Cherny did a mental calculation of the time difference. ‘It’s four in the morning there.’
‘I don’t care if I have to wake that fat slob up. I want to know where my property is.’
Cherny nodded and returned to her desk. In five minutes she connected Orlov with Voronin.
‘Victor Ivanovich,’ Voronin said groggily, still trying to shake the sleep from his head. ‘What can I do for you?’
‘You can answer a question, Pyotr Yefimovich. Where is my property?’
‘It left Chicago yesterday. It should be in Moscow by now.’
‘According to Russian Customs, no cargo containers bearing the numbers that you faxed me were on the plane. Again, I ask, Where is my property?’
Voronin was now fully awake, fear for his life causing an adrenaline-fueled rise in both his heart rate and blood pressure. ‘Could the Customs people be fucking around with you?’
‘I don’t think so, because they didn’t try to extort any money from me. They say that there was no cargo on the plane matching the information you sent me.’
‘I swear to God, Victor, I wouldn’t do this to you.’
Orlov could hear the fear in Voronin’s voice, a fear that the man was perfectly justified in feeling. Even halfway around the world, Voronin knew that Victor Orlov could make his life a living hell or, worse, take his life. Orlov did what his business required, and ordering a man’s death was no different from cashing a check.
‘I know, Pyotr. And you know that I don’t like excuses. I want results; I want my property. Find it today.’
‘
Da
, Victor Ivanovich. I’ll call you as soon as I know anything.’
Ann Arbor, Michigan
Nolan walked down East University, or what used to be East University until the dead-end road that defined the eastern edge of the original campus had been closed off and terraformed into a lush pedestrian walkway. To his left was West Engineering, a long three-story Romanesque building topped with a red tile roof and a pair of cupolas.
He smiled as he passed by a series of glass-block windows that punctured the building’s thick masonry base. Hidden behind the translucent blocks was the Naval Architecture wave tank and the carpentry shop where his grandfather, Martin Kilkenny, had worked for so many years building large model ships.
Beyond West Engineering, Nolan clambered up the worn granite steps of the Randall Physics Laboratory.
Turning left out of the stairwell, Nolan headed for the office of Kelsey Newton, Associate Professor of Physics.
‘Knock, knock,’ he said through the partially open doorway.
Kelsey turned away from her computer and smiled. ‘What took you so long? You called almost an hour ago.’
‘Same old, same old. Just as I was walking out of my office, I got sandbagged by a couple of calls. I picked up some bagels on the way, and an espresso.’
‘Oh, thank you.’ Kelsey gratefully accepted the tall, Styrofoam cup.
‘How’s the search for Wolff?’
Kelsey swallowed a tentative sip of the strong brew. ‘I asked a couple of the older professors but struck out. Seems Wolff was gone before any of them arrived for postgraduate work. I also checked the library network. I found quite a few books authored by people named Wolff, on subjects ranging from philosophy to chemistry. I even found a couple of mystery novels, but nothing by a Johann Wolff. There’s also no mention of Wolff in the physics journals dating back well before the war.’
‘How about departmental records?’ Nolan asked as he took a bite of a sesame-seed bagel.
‘I was just getting to that. I have no idea how far back the on-line stuff goes.’
Kelsey swiveled her chair back to face her computer. She navigated through the Physics Department Web site, bypassed the public-relations material, and keyed in her ID number and password to log on to the department’s restricted server.
‘We want Faculty, Wolff, Johann,’ she said as she typed in the parameters for her search.
The mouse pointer on her screen changed from an arrow into a cluster of three spinning gears. Thirty seconds later a new screen of information began to load.
‘Johann Wolff, assistant professor of physics,’ Kelsey read aloud, ‘1946 to 1948. Received his doctorate from the Institute for Physics at the Kaiser Wilhelm Gessellschaft in Berlin, 1944. No picture available.’
‘He was studying physics in Berlin during the war?’ Nolan asked incredulously.
‘Apparently so. His doctoral work was in quantum mechanics. He got in on the ground floor.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘In 1944 the field of quantum physics was about twenty years old. Wolff was studying
the
cutting-edge science of his day.’
‘Anything else?’
Kelsey scanned the screen for linking sites but found nothing. ‘This is it on-line, so it looks like we’re taking a walk over to the archives.’
Kelsey shut down her computer and followed Nolan out of her office. They exited through the west side of Randall onto the Diag, cut through Angell Hall and crossed State Street to the LS&A Building.
They entered the building and descended a side stairway to the basement. After scanning the floor directory, they quickly located the room where faculty, staff, and student records were stored.
‘Oh,’ said the woman behind the reception counter as they opened the smooth wooden door. She held her hand to her chest reflexively. ‘You surprised me. I don’t get many visitors during the summer. How can I help you?’
Kelsey quickly glanced at the woman’s plastic ID badge.
‘Good morning, Mrs Greene,’ Kelsey said politely before introducing Nolan and herself. ‘We’re looking for some information about an instructor who taught physics here in the late 1940s.’
‘That’s going back quite a bit, but I’ll see what I can do. What’s the name?’
‘Johann Wolff,’ Nolan replied.
‘The department’s on-line records show that he was here from ’forty-six through ’forty-eight,’ Kelsey added.
‘Can I see your staff IDs?’ Mrs Greene asked.
‘Here,’ Kelsey replied, pulling it out of her purse.
Nolan unclipped his badge from the collar of his shirt and laid it on the counter. It was similar to the standard faculty picture ID but bore the imprint of MARC as well.
‘Always have to check,’ Mrs Greene said as she handed the badges back. ‘Faculty records, even old ones, are still considered restricted information.’
She keyed the information in to her computer, scribbled down a number on a piece of paper, and disappeared into the stacks of file drawers and shelving units that filled the basement level. Ten minutes later she returned.
‘Oh my, it took a little digging to find this one,’ she said as she placed a thin file folder on the counter.
The folder’s tab contained a bar code strip and the name
WOLFF
, J. Kelsey turned the folder and opened the cover. Inside she found an ancient university-employee-information sheet listing Wolff’s date of birth, citizenship, and other vital data.
‘Well, he definitely doesn’t live there anymore,’ Mrs Greene offered.
‘What?’ Nolan said, then he skipped down to the home address. ‘Oh, you’re right.’
‘Where is that?’ Kelsey asked, trying to get her bearings.
‘It was just off campus,’ Mrs Greene replied, ‘near the business school. It’s a parking lot now.’
The remaining pages contained course information, a few letters from the program chairman, and a black-and-white faculty photograph. The last sheet was an official letter terminating Wolff’s appointment to the university. The notice was dated January 1949.
‘That’s odd. The chairman was singing Wolff’s praises right up to this,’ Kelsey said, still studying the notice. ‘Why did they fire him?’
‘May I see that?’ Mrs Greene asked.
Kelsey handed over Wolff’s termination notice.
‘They didn’t fire him. If they had, this letter would have said so, and given the reasons why. Then, as now, dismissal of a faculty member is a serious matter. This letter is just a piece of paperwork terminating the university’s relationship with Wolff – a fancy way of saying he no longer works here.’
‘But where did he go?’ Nolan asked, knowing the answer wasn’t in the file.
‘Who knows?’ Mrs Greene replied. ‘This is all we have on your Professor Wolff. Sorry I can’t be of more help.’
‘Actually, you can do one more thing for us. Can we get a copy of this file?’
‘Sure, but I’ll have to charge you for it.’
‘Fine,’ Nolan replied. ‘Put it on my departmental account.’
Dexter, Michigan
‘I was beginning to wonder if you two would ever get here,’ Martin Kilkenny bellowed in a thick Irish brogue from the swinging bench on the broad covered porch of his farm-house. ‘I’ll bet it was that no-account grandson of mine making you both miss the fine supper my wife cooked tonight.’
‘Nolan and I were up at the hospital visiting Ted Sandstrom, Martin,’ Kelsey replied just before kissing him on the cheek.
‘A likely excuse.’
‘Would either of you like some pie?’ Audrey Kilkenny, Nolan’s grandmother, chimed through the kitchen window. ‘It’s raspberry.’
‘You bet,’ Kelsey replied.
‘Let me give you a hand, Grandma,’ Nolan offered.
A moment later Nolan followed Audrey back onto the porch carrying a large wooden tray covered with five servings of pie and five cups of tea.
‘Ah, that’s a good lad,’ Audrey said as Nolan served her. ‘He’ll make a fine husband, Kelsey. These Kilkenny men all do.’
‘I’ll keep that in mind.’
‘So how is Sandstrom doing?’ Sean Kilkenny asked, joining them on the porch.
‘Good as can be expected,’ Nolan replied. ‘The docs think he’ll recover, but the scarring will be extensive. The plastic surgeon will do her best, but she was pretty frank about the limits of what can be done cosmetically.’
‘How about his attitude? Do you think he’ll be able to get back to work?’
‘He’s taking Raphaele Paramo’s murder hard,’ Nolan answered.
‘Raphaele was very much a father figure to Ted,’ Kelsey added. ‘But I get the sense that when Ted is finally out of the hospital, he’ll go right back to the lab. I think he’ll continue their work as a way of honoring Paramo’s memory.
‘For instance, just yesterday he showed signs of being his old self when Nolan and I brought him a bundle of letters that Paramo had wanted him to have. You see, Paramo was planning on retiring once Ted’s new lab was up and running, and according to his wife, he felt that these letters might help Ted further his research.’
‘Are these letters from Paramo?’ Sean asked.
‘No, they were written to him by a young physicist who was here at Michigan about fifty years ago,’ Kelsey stated. ‘I read a few of them to Ted yesterday; they’re mind-boggling.’
‘I can attest to that,’ Nolan offered. ‘Each letter began with some friendly little chitchat, then this guy would dive into some aspect of theoretical physics that lost me
very
quickly.’
‘There are probably fewer than five hundred people worldwide who could follow these letters,’ Kelsey explained. ‘Each seems to contain some flash of brilliance, some insight into how the universe works.’
‘Can the person who wrote these letters help this Sandstrom fellow with his work?’ Audrey wondered.
‘That’s what we’re trying to find out,’ Kelsey responded. ‘The strange thing about these letters is that I’ve never heard of the author. Our theory is that someone this bright must have left some record of his work somewhere.’
Martin stared down into the brownish liquid in his mug, lost in thought.
‘Kelsey and I spent the better part of today just trying to find any mention of this guy on campus,’ Nolan offered. ‘We came up with next to nothing. The library has no books, articles, or scientific papers with his name on them.’
‘That’s not too surprising,’ Kelsey added, ‘considering that he was just an assistant professor and spent only two years here.’
Martin looked over at his wife as Kelsey spoke; his eyes were moist.
‘What is it, dear?’ Audrey inquired of her husband.
‘Johann.’
Audrey clasped her hands to her mouth as if to keep the breath from rushing out of her.
‘Dad,’ Sean said, worried, ‘are you all right?’
‘I’m fine, son. Just a bit surprised, that’s all.’ Martin turned toward Nolan and Kelsey. ‘Was the man who wrote these letters, this friend of Raphaele Paramo’s, was he a German by the name of Johann Wolff?’
‘Yes,’ they confirmed in unison.
‘How’d you know?’ Nolan continued on with his thought.
‘I wondered if I’d ever hear that name again,’ Martin said absently, aloud. After a moment’s silence he glanced at Audrey, who was wiping the tears from her eyes.
‘Answer Nolan’s question,’ Audrey urged as she regained her composure.
‘Johann Wolff was a friend. Back in ’forty-six, he arrived here in Ann Arbor with the clothes on his back, a few dollars in his pocket, and a job at the university. The poor fellow was an absolute lost soul, no friends or family – and the anti-German sentiment was still pretty bad. We met, quite by chance, because his office was in Randall and I was in the building next door. He was a wraith of a man when he came through the door of my shop, lost he was and looking for direction. I helped him out, and over time we became friends. A couple of odd ducks we were, with him a highly educated German scientist and me a little-schooled Irish woodworker.’
‘Johann was a bright young man,’ Audrey added. ‘He was handsome in his own way and very sweet. There was also a sadness about him, as there was with a lot of the refugees who came after the war. You see, he lost everyone who was dear to him.’
‘Not everyone, Audrey. You’re forgetting Elli,’ Martin reminded her.
‘Who’s Elli?’ Nolan wanted to know.
‘Johann’s fiancée. They fell in love just before war broke out. Unfortunately, she and her family didn’t get out of Germany and were sent to the death camps.’
‘You see, they were Jewish,’ Audrey added.
‘I think they get the picture, dear. The gobshite Hitler didn’t send too many Lutherans to the camps. Anyway, while Johann was working in Berlin, his family was killed in Dresden and Elli disappeared into those camps. He searched for her after the war but was unable to find her. But because he was well educated, he managed to get a teaching job here at Michigan. A little over a year after he arrived, he got a letter from Germany. It turns out that Elli had survived the war and was living in Chicago. They hadn’t seen each other in years, but it didn’t matter.’
Martin choked back the swelling in his throat.
‘In November of 1948 I loaned Johann a few dollars so he could buy an engagement ring for Elli. Nothing fancy, mind you – neither one of us was a Rockefeller – just a simple gold band as a token of his love for her. A local jeweler made it up for him, and he took it to Chicago. The last time I saw Johann was in my shop, when he told me she’d accepted his proposal of marriage. My God, he was happy. He even asked me to be his best man. When we parted company, we’d agreed that he and Elli would stay here with us for the weekend.’
‘Grandpa, so what happened to Wolff?’
‘I don’t know. Nobody does. It’s like he fell off the face of the earth. There were rumors, but nothing came of them.’
‘What kind of rumors?’
‘He was a German scientist, Nolan. Some said the government found out that he’d done some terrible experiments during the war and put him in prison or deported him or had him hanged. Some say that he ran away. Take your choice,’ Martin said bitterly. ‘It was all a load of malarkey. He wasn’t some Nazi bastard. For the first time in his adult life, Johann Wolff had something worth living for. His house was in order; there was no reason for him to run anywhere. Though his body was never found, I still believe that he was murdered. Death is the only thing that could’ve kept him apart from Elli.’
‘So he just disappeared?’
Martin nodded. ‘Vanished. As far as I know, Johann Wolff was never seen again.’