Hammer of God

Chapter 30

“First off,” said Karpov, “there is another man named Sergei who might want me dead, and his last name is Kirov, the head of the Soviet state and Bolshevik party in 1941.”

“Sergei Kirov?” This took Tyrenkov by surprise. “But didn’t you just conclude an armistice with him?”

“You mean like the accord I signed with Volkov at Omsk? Things change, Tyrenkov. Yes, I made the decision to support Kirov, but in doing so I had to reveal my true identity to him. Now he knows I am not from his time, and he also knows about Ilanskiy, giving him the means of sending someone back to the pre-revolutionary era where we find ourselves now.”

“Then you also told him about Ilanskiy?”

“No, and that was quite a shock to me when I learned about it. It seems Sergei Kirov discovered that back stairway all on his own-with a little help from one of the other officers aboard my old ship, a man named Fedorov.”

“The man you suspected as the doctor who cared for Petrov?”

“Yes, though I have not proven that connection yet. Now listen carefully, Tyrenkov. Sergie Kirov was never supposed to rise to the position he holds in your time-in 1941. No. He, himself, was the victim of an assassination plot, in 1934. This gets to be a long and convoluted tale, but suffice it to say that Soviet Russia, and the Bolsheviks, were led by another man in the history I know, a man named Josef Stalin. Kirov learned of Stalin’s rise to power, and took steps to change that.”

Now Karpov explained what he had learned, of Fedorov, and the chance meeting at Ilanskiy with the young Sergei Kirov, and of Kirov’s subsequent journeys up those stairs to glimpse the future Russia that Stalin built. Then he revealed that it was Kirov who killed Stalin as a young man, just as Tyrenkov had eliminated Petrov, while he languished in prison.

“Amazing,” said Tyrenkov. “To think that the entire history of our time, of my time, was shaped by these events. It’s very chilling. So now you think the man who attempted to recruit Petrov, the man name Sergei, was actually Sergei Kirov? But why would he want you dead?”

“That should be obvious. Because I represent the strongest possible challenge to his power-indeed, to his very existence. He knows that I have learned the secret of Ilanskiy, and that I control that site in 1941. In fact, there were more than two airships involved in that incident at Ilanskiy when Volkov launched his raid.”

“The third airship…” Tyrenkov paused. “My intelligence apparatus eventually determined it was a Soviet ship, the Narva, dispatched from Murmansk.”

“Yes,” said Karpov with obvious anger in his voice, “and it was carrying a team of elite Naval Marines, the men actually responsible for the demolition of that back stairway.”

“Were they sent there by Kirov?”

“No my friend,” said Karpov. “Not the man, but the ship. They were the Naval Marine contingent aboard my vessel, a ship named Kirov. So it was obviously a plot hatched by the senior officers of that ship.”

“The same officers who opposed you earlier?”

“Correct.”

“What was their motive?”

“Obvious again-to prevent me from discovering or ever using that back stairway. To prevent me from ever being able to get here, Tyrenkov, to a time where I can now make truly decisive changes to the history. Don’t you see? Even as we just settled the Petrov matter regarding my Great Grandfather, I have more irons in the fire here. If Sergei Kirov wanted me dead, it is because he knew I could come here and hunt him down before he ever enacts his own plan to seize power in Russia. From here I can decide everyone’s fate-Stalin, Kirov, even the officers on that ship of mine who dared to oppose me. I can deal with them all!”

“Then they are also on your list of possible suspects,” said Tyrenkov, “these other officers.”

“A few might want me dead. They have already taken bold and aggressive action against me to prevent me from achieving my vision-betrayed me, after I fought and saved that ship more times than I can count. That is how I came to Siberia! I was betrayed, and left behind.” He said nothing of the real truth, of how he came to get that scar on his cheek, of that headlong fall into the sea that was as much fate, or happenstance, as it was any betrayal by the officers and crew of Kirov.

“Perhaps they have learned who the Karpov in Siberia really is-Vladimir Karpov. If they cannot act to prevent my plans, then perhaps they would attempt to eliminate me altogether!”

“I see…” Tyrenkov thought about that. “But they are not here now, in this time. And how could they travel here?”

“Remember my old ship,” said Karpov quickly. “They meet all three conditions I specified earlier, the knowledge of time travel, the means to do so, and a motive to eliminate me. So yes. They are on my list-Admiral Volsky, and Captain Anton Fedorov. I haven’t decided about Rodenko yet, but the fact that his name came up in this Petrov business has me thinking about him as well. He was quite truculent when acting as my Starpom aboard the ship. He may also be involved in this conspiracy.” Karpov held up a finger, but Tyrenkov said nothing.

“So you see,” said Karpov. “We have quite a few things to do. We will be very busy in the days ahead, Tyrenkov.”

“I understand sir, but…”

“But what?”

“Well I was wondering about the war, the situation on the eastern front near Omsk, and our plans for the offensive. Now that we are gone-that you are gone-what will happen?”

“Don’t worry about that,” said Karpov. “First off, suppose we returned to 1941 right now, and arrive there an hour after we left? You see? We would not even be missed. But that doesn’t matter. Things we do here may rewrite all that history. What if we were to find Ivan Volkov here, and give him the same treatment we just gave Petrov? Think about that, Tyrenkov. Think long and hard. Who would we be at war with on the eastern front? There would be no Orenburg Federation when we returned-at least not under Volkov.”

“Interesting,” said Tyrenkov, though he did not speak his full mind on that subject.

“The same goes for Sergei Kirov. What if I find him here and return him to the dust bin of history where he belongs? Then who ends up ruling the Soviet Union?”

“This man you spoke of… Stalin?”

“Well I would certainly not leave that little matter unattended. Think again. Who rules if I eliminate Kirov?”

Tyrenkov allowed himself an appropriate smile. “Why, you, Admiral. That is evident. You would easily outmaneuver any opposition in this time.”

“Correct! And you will be my chief of state. I have big plans for you. Together we can accomplish a very great deal.”

“And the war? The Germans? What about that?”

“From here all that history is in play-the rise of the Nazi party. The life of Adolf Hitler himself-I hold all these things in the palm of my hand, and all I have to do is close my fist to crush anything I desire!”

The light in Karpov’s eyes could start a fire.

Tyrenkov did think long and hard about what Karpov had told him, and his logarithmic intelligence soon began to come to some very alarming conclusions. If all this were true, and he would accept as much for a starting variable in his thinking, then what if Karpov did eliminate Ivan Volkov now?

Just as Karpov said, it would mean there would be no Orenburg Federation if they ever did return to 1941. But how would they manage that? The Admiral had not given him any clear reason for their arrival here in 1909, though that storm obviously had something to do with their situation. He did not really know what had happened, but that did not matter. They were here, in 1909. He had seen that with his very own eyes when they reached Saratov. Instead of the long lines of entrenched positions around the city, there was no sign of any military activity. The city was much smaller, and the people clueless as to who he was. They were awed by the appearance of Tunguska, and not because it was an anachronism in a world that had largely abandoned airship technology. No. They had never seen a thing like Tunguska before, and that had made a strong impression on Tyrenkov’s mind.

The Admiral did not offer any clear explanation. In fact, he even stated that his own movement in time seemed to be accidental. If that were so, then the importance of Ilanskiy was redoubled. If there was a hole in the history there, then it was perhaps the only means Karpov had of returning to the future, to their own day of 1941 or even years beyond. That was why he was so eager to get there-this grandfather business aside.

But what would happen if Karpov used that stairway? Would he go forward in time again, or backward? He did use it once before, returning strangely shaken, his uniform soiled, and not by the dust and cobwebs of that stairwell. Where did he go? Did he come here, to the past, or to some unseen future? He needed to know, needed more information, and so he asked his next question.

“Certainly all things are possible here,” he said. “Yes, you could become the head of the Soviet State. Of that I have no doubt. Does that mean you intend to stay here, and live out the remainder of your life from this year forward?”

Karpov’s eyes shifted, as if he had not yet thought that through himself. “That has not been decided,” he said. “We must first determine how to locate Volkov and the others, and that could take some time. He arrived here in 1908, but that was a year ago. He could be anywhere now, and nothing is known of him until after the October Revolution in 1917. So it may take a lot of sleuthing to find him.”

“Perhaps your Great Grandfather might help,” Tyrenkov suggested. “After all, he is a member of the Okhrana, and has their network as a resource. We have no intelligence net set up here at the moment, but he does, and he owes you his life.”

Karpov raised an eyebrow at that. “Interesting,” he said. “Yet I hardly think he would believe me if I came to him and told him who I was. That would not be possible. I would have to remain anonymous.”

“Yet you might ingratiate him by revealing Petrov’s plan to kill him, and telling him how we foiled that operation.”

“Possibly…” The thought of finding and speaking with his own Great Grandfather, a man he had never known, was suddenly compelling. Tyrenkov was correct. How would they find Volkov without an extensive intelligence network? It could take them years of fruitless searching. But the Okhrana already had that network in place, men in virtually every district and city in Russia. He considered that, and the other question his intelligence chief had asked him. Did he intend to stay here? Did he really want to hunt down Volkov and Kirov, and assume the role of head of the new Soviet State?

First things first, thought Karpov. I need to know if I can find a way back to 1941. It is clear to me that storm sent us here-time sent me here-and for some reason. It happened just like that incident with the Demon volcano, a massive, highly energetic natural event that opened a breach in time. But why do I always seem to fall through to these years before the revolution? Why did Fedorov appear here when he went down those stairs where he first met Sergei Kirov?

Now he remembered how Kirov had described the inn at Ilanskiy to him… Imagine a simple boarding inn, lost on some forgotten stretch of railway. Imagine the people boarding there all come from different places, which is not that unusual. Yet now throw in a most remarkable twist-say they all come from different pages in the history, different eras in time. The bottom floor houses guests who lived before the revolution, the middle floor is reserved for travelers from this day… and the upper floor? Suppose men from tomorrow board there.

Yet the upper floor is gone, thought Karpov. I saw that with my own eyes. The war had begun. It was underway the moment I reached the top of those stairs. I saw the naval munitions depots at Kansk taking a direct hit from a nuclear weapon. So if I go up those stairs now, from this time, where will they take me? Every time we shifted on the ship, we seemed to get stuck in the 1940s, but Fedorov clearly demonstrated that Rod-25 could go farther back in time, to these years. That’s how they came after me, using Kazan.

Now he began to feel very uncomfortable, the remnant of that mouse of a man he once was, longing for his safe little mouse hole. He had risked much, and taken bold action since he gnawed through that intercom cable outside the sick bay aboard Kirov, sealing Volsky and Doctor Zolkin inside. He had played with the big cats, and taken a scratch or two for his effort. Yet he was alive, a real player in this world now, and in a position to do some very significant things. Yet even as he thought this, he could still feel that thrum of anxiety in his chest. How would he get back to 1941? Could he do so? Where would another journey up those stairs take him this time?

That thought struck him like a thunderclap. The stairway! It’s gone! It isn’t there in 1941! Fedorov destroyed it, damn his rotten little soul! It was blown to pieces, and though I have the plans, and have men working the site in early 1941, he did not know when that job would be complete, or even if the stairway would still work once it was rebuilt. What if the alignment had to be absolutely perfect? What if it was a matter of inches, centimeters, and that stairway no longer angled into oblivion as it did before?

His heart beat faster, realizing that his mouse hole, his escape route, might no longer be there. In 1941 he had already had three years to acclimate himself, gain his footing, recover from the treachery that had nearly been his undoing. In 1941 he was in a very comfortable spot, and one he was very familiar with. He was a rising star, scheming to further his position and eliminate potential rivals as he always did. Yet above him were men like Ivan Volkov and Sergei Kirov, already achieving their power and status by working hard for it from these pre-revolutionary years. In 1941 it had been much easier to cuddle up to Kolchak and work his way into power. From here it would be a long thirty years to take that last step up from where he was, and supplant Volkov and Kirov, and he would have to live through the tumult and travail of WWI and the revolution-the long civil war. It would take years to tame the wild beast Russia would become after the fall of the Romanovs. From 1941 he might still reach the top, and without having to spend thirty years of his life to do so. Kirov and Volkov were old men in 1941, and from there he was still young…

But how could he get back there if the stairway was gone? How?

Tyrenkov was watching Karpov closely, and could see the machinations of his mind working, and the sudden flash of anxiety in his eyes.

He isn’t sure, he thought. The little Admiral with delusions of grandeur doesn’t really know what he wants to do yet. Has he figured out what I concluded just moments ago? The stairway at Ilanskiy was destroyed in 1941, and might not ever be rebuilt. Has that finally occurred to him, or the fact that we’re all living on a short lease here? He decided to voice the concerns in his mind, and asked another question.

“One other thing, sir. Suppose we do commit ourselves to look for Volkov here. We had better be quick about it, and we will need all the help we can get. Because what happens to me in 1913, four years from now, when I am scheduled to be born? Do I suffer the fate of Konev, Symkovich, and Lavrov? Will I just keel over and die on the day of my birth? Will all the crew die that way, one by one as they reach their year and day of birth?”

Karpov seemed surprised by that remark, his eyes narrowing as he thought. “An interesting dilemma,” he said. “I have never considered that. Yet four years would be more than enough time for us to find Volkov, with or without help from my Great Grandfather and the Okhrana. Don’t worry, we’ll make sure you never have to face that paradox. As soon as we conclude operations here, we’ll return to 1941 to see how things turn out.”

“Can we return, Admiral?”

“Of course!” Karpov tried to sound confident, in control, but Tyrenkov could hear the edge of uncertainty in his voice.

“But then we’ll have another problem, sir. You said that first incident with the propulsion system aboard your ship sent you to 1941, and I can only assume that you arrived later in the year, because you were obviously alive and well in March when we departed for England. That said, what happens to you on the day your ship first arrived? Do you just keel over and die as well? I may have a four year lifespan if we remain here, but if we return, your candle may be burning very low.”