The Third Hour

by Richard Devin

  He looked around the apartment, noting the blackened dust swirls on the walls and floor where the police had dusted for prints. He heard the slight dripping of water from the faucet and the hum from the refrigerator. Other than that, he was confident that the apartment was empty and quiet.

  He moved to the living room and the worn, leather chair that was pushed along a side wall. He sat down, pulled a rosary from the pocket fold of the dark brown tunic he was wearing, folded his hands across his chest, and prepared to wait. The Key will return soon. And once he had the Key, he would destroy it. That is what the Jesuit wanted. No, he corrected his thoughts. Willed. This is what the Jesuit and God willed to be.

  “Thy will be done,” Brother Salvatore said out loud. “Thy will be done.”

  NINE

  JUNE 30, 1908

  Tunguska River, Siberia

  7:15 A.M.

  The sun had risen high enough to chase away the red, orange, and purple hues of morning’s first light. The sky was now clear and blue, the air still frosted from the sunless chill of the night before.

  The morning started for the herdsmen and villagers as each morning had started for countless years, gathering the herds of reindeer and moving them to the river’s edge where they would quench their thirst, before heading up to the flat tundra to feed on the nutrient rich grasses until dusk and then the routine of life on the Siberian tundra would prepare to repeat.

  This morning began no differently from all the other mornings, until, a flash of silent white light, brighter than the sun, lit up the sky. It blinded the reindeer herdsmen at the Tunguska River’s edge, who were forced to close their eyes tightly in an attempt to shield them from the searing light. Some herdsmen grabbed on to trees to steady themselves. Several reindeer in the herd, stumbled into the river, blinded, then panicked to regain their footing as the swift and cold early summer waters threatened to carry them away.

  Then the air split as an explosion of searing white light filled the sky, sending rings of shock waves crashing into the forest.

  In the distance a tower of flames shot up hundreds of feet. From there, a wave of super-heated air rolled out. The trees closest to the flashpoint burst into flames, and those farther out, tumbled into a concentric circle of destruction.

  The currents of searing air swept into the Evenki village, scorching thatched roofs of tundra grasses and singeing the hair on herds of frightened reindeer and even more frightened woman and children.

  Then a second explosion, more powerful than the first and closer to the forest floor, ripped through the river valley, the few trees that had managed to remain standing after the first explosion, now fell, unable to stand against the wall of air. The intensity of the shock wave shattered the eardrums of reindeer and herdsmen alike, sparing them from the anguished cries of their dying brethren.

  A morning that had begun as a quiet June day was now in turmoil. The clouds above that were once white against the blue sky, now unleashed a rain of blackened ash and soil. The sun, that only moments before had warmed the forest, was all but gone, hidden by the veil of smoke, dust and ash.

  All was chaos.

  Gregori Rasputin braced himself. Even here at the Lake Baykai observatory, some one hundred miles away, the ground shook, causing the observation tower to sway. From his vantage point on the sixty-foot wooden tower, Rasputin watched as the smoke rose, the skies darkened and the forest in front of him burned.

  Even at this distance the air picked up the cries and screams of the forest. Rasputin covered his ears and turned away from the distant destruction and the sight of his failure.

  He quickly climbed down from the tower and stumbled as he ran toward his carriage. There, a groomsman held fast to the reins of the harness, fighting to steady the four frightened horses.

  Rasputin stepped up to the carriage, and shouted to the groomsman in Russian, “Take me to Alexandra,” his thick accent was barely understood by the locals, but his wild gesticulations made the point clear. The groomsman climbed up onto the carriage, slapped the reins onto the backs of the horses and galloped away.

  Inside the carriage, Rasputin closed the curtains covering the windows tightly. He did not want to complicate matters any further by witnessing any more of the destruction his invention had caused. He would have much to explain to the Tsar when he returned to Saint Petersburg, and his mind was already at work on possible causes, excuses, and of course, who the Tsar should blame for the failure. Fortunately, Rasputin’s relationship with Alexandra was steadfast and he took comfort that she would protect him.

  She always had.

  TEN

  DOMINIC TURNED THE piece of the page torn from the telephone book over in his hands, twisting it between his fingers, as if he were a magician on a Vegas stage and could make his name disappear from the paper in puff of smoke.

  It did not.

  A feeling that was at first odd was now gnawing at him and becoming increasingly more uncomfortable. He was beginning to think that all he had experienced in the last day was not just happenstance, and was not just an unfortunate event that had unfolded upon an innocent person. But was something more. Something planned.

  None of it made sense.

  The thought that there was more to the events of the last hours caused his stomach to lurch and the bile started to rise to his esophagus. He had to choke back the fear that threatened to spill out.

  Dominic stood upon the Bramante’s steps, torn paper in hand, and thought back to the circumstances of the day. He was growing surer by the minute that the old man who had died in his apartment had sought him out. He was certain that the old man knew who he was and what he was and had deliberately sought him out. That alone didn’t justify the feelings that were growing and beginning to crawl up his spine. Anyone could have known that he was a priest. Many people did. It was no secret. And the fact that he was on sabbatical was also no secret. Perhaps the old man was one of his congregants or maybe he saw him at mass. After all, even now he went to mass several times a week and met up with the priest of the local parish. And he made regular trips to Saint Peter’s, where he spent hours in contemplation. He wasn’t hiding anything from anyone.

  Except Tonita.

  He pushed the guilt laden thought away and turned back to the events of the day.

  When he jumped into the back seat of the Mercedes, he was calm, confident that he was being called to the Vatican to face a barrage of questions regarding the dead man in his apartment. He could almost hear the first question lobbed at him; How is it that an old man, stumbles in the apartment of a priest, dies there, and you claim not to know him? There have been far too many scandals in the church recently and the Vatican was being very proactive in an attempt to stomp out any scandal before the press got a hold of it.

  Now, he wasn’t sure if he was just, seeing things that weren’t there, making things up, putting things together that didn’t really go together, or if all wasn’t just as it should be. Typical of his current state of indecision, he thought, and then reconsidered. He was sure. All was not as it should be.

  Dominic casually glanced around the street. Once he was sure—well, as sure as he could be—that he wasn’t being watched, he climbed up Bramante’s stairway. He looked back toward the Fountain of the Gallery. No one waited there for him. He slowed his pace, taking each step carefully, expecting someone at any moment to approach him from atop the stairs. He took several steps quickly, thinking that his random pace would throw off anyone watching. He paused, looked behind him, and then up to the street at the top of the stairway.

  Again no one.

  At the top of the stone stairway, he turned left and continued heading in the direction of the Pio—Clementine Museum. His heart was beating harder than he would have expected from a short walk up a stairway. But then, it wasn’t the walking that caused his heart to beat ever faster. He pushed the hair off his face and bit on the inside of his lip.

  Fuck trying to stop bad habits now.

 
He could see that there were people milling around the entrance to the Vatican Museums. To the right and beyond were the gate and the walls of the Vatican. Outside lay the city of Rome proper. He continued his casual walk, even stopping to inspect a bit of the Vatican architecture. He almost laughed at himself and the absurdity of it all. He wasn’t fooling anyone, but maybe himself.

  “Padre,” A deep voice called out. “Padre, attesa.”

  Dominic’s heart skipped a beat and his knees started to buckle. He caught himself by grabbing onto the building and the piece of cold stone architecture that he was just inspecting.

  He wanted to turn around to face the man and to discover why someone was calling out to him. To attempt to understand. Instead, a primal fear response kicked in, and without a second thought, just seconds later, Dominic was turning the corner, charging through the Vatican Museum gate and out onto the streets of Rome.

  He didn’t look back. He didn’t know where he was going. He just ran. His only thought was that of self-preservation.

  ELEVEN

  JULY 22, 1943

  U.S.S. Eldridge, Destroyer Escort 173

  0900 Hours/ 9:00 A.M.

  150 Miles of the Eastern Coast of the United States

  “Sir, power to the generators is at near capacity,” the seaman said, standing at attention.

  “Thank you. Carry on.” Lieutenant Hamilton dismissed the young man, as the steady and slightly increasing hum of the generators resonated in the background.

  As the Eldridge steamed out of the Philadelphia Naval Yards and into the waters of the Atlantic, the current to the generators had been initiated. Magnetic power was slowly building as the ship sailed through the fresh and salt water mix of the Delaware River into the now deep salt waters of the cold Atlantic. Lieutenant Hamilton had put more than one hundred and fifty miles between the ship and the Philadelphia Navel Yards. In that time the harmonic buildup of the electrical frequency into magnetic energy was nearly complete.

  “Mr. Einstein, we will be moving you to an observation ship.” Lieutenant Hamilton turned to the small graying haired man as a PT boat, launched from one of the observation ships just off the Eldridge’s bow, pulled up alongside.

  Einstein looked away from the row of panels of tubes, fused wires, and toggle switches, “We are ready then. I have done all that I can.”

  Seven minutes later on the observation ship thirty five yards off the starboard bow of the U.S.S Eldgridge, Einstein and the crew aboard the observation ship Rainbow stared in horror and disbelief.

  It was gone.

  Not just off of the radar instrumentation, but from sight as well.

  A thick greenish fog had built up at the water line, and then increased, until it slowly engulfed the U.S.S. Eldridge. The dim hum from the massive generators on board the Eldridge resonated throughout the hull of the ship and into the deep waters of the Atlantic. The sound waves hit the observation ship Rainbow at the same time the fog lifted, rising up from the water line to the height of the Eldridge’s super structure.

  In the quarters below deck of the Rainbow, a team of seaman listened intently through hydrophones, keen to the slightest change in the sound waves emanating from the electronic hum of the generators. Despite their preparedness and efforts to foresee a problem, it happened too quickly for any of them to react. The steady wave of sound from the Eldridge was replaced in a second’s time by the sound of silence.

  The Eldridge was gone.

  Only still water remained.

  “Well, Mr. Einstein, congratulations are in order.” Lieutenant Hamilton offered his hand to the scientist.

  Einstein did not accept the proffered hand. Instead, he turned away, muttering in German, and rechecked the dials on the nearby instrument panel. “This is not right,” he said, glancing back to the Lieutenant briefly. “No. No. Something is wrong here. We should see the ship. The ship is not supposed to disappear. It should only become invisible to our instruments.” Einstein moved to the railing of the ship and stared at the place where the Eldridge was once anchored. “It should still be there.”

  “It seems to have worked better than we expected.” Lieutenant Hamilton smiled, but this time kept his hand to his side.

  “This is not what we had planned.” Einstein considered the Lieutenant’s words, then dismissed them. “I do not know what is happening to that ship.”

  “Sailor, are we maintaining radio contact with the Eldridge?” Lieutenant Hamilton shouted to the young radioman.

  “Sir, radio contact maintained.”

  “Mr. Einstein, it appears as though we still have radio contact with the Eldridge.”

  “Good. Then, tell them to shut it down,” he said, rushing back to the instrumentation. “Order them to turn off the generators.” Einstein stared at the man who commanded the ship. “Your men are on board that ship, Lieutenant.”

  Hamilton hesitated, then said, “Sailor, give the order to shut down the generators.”

  “Yes, sir,” the sailor replied. “U.S.S. Eldridge this is observation ship Rainbow. You are ordered to disengage the generators. Do you read me Eldridge?”

  Static.

  “U.S.S. Eldridge, come in.” The radioman paused for a moment. “U.S.S. Eldridge come in.”

  “Observation ship Rainbow. This is U.S.S Eldridge.” The static was broken. “We read you. We are shutting down the generators. I repeat. Shutting down.”

  The thick greenish fog that had enveloped the Eldridge before its disappearance began to build again. At the exact site where the Eldridge had been anchored, the fog grew, becoming a dense swirling mass.

  Below deck on the observation ship Rainbow, the hum from the generators returned, vibrating within the steel walls of the hull, and then began to diminish steadily.

  As the hum of the generators wound down, the fog surrounding the site of the Eldridge began to dissipate, and with it the outline of the Eldridge began to materialize.

  Fifteen minutes after the experiment had begun, the Eldridge was back.

  Within minutes of the ship’s return, Lieutenant Hamilton and a crew of six came alongside the ship. The ship and its crew were silent. Lieutenant Hamilton expected a crewmember to come along the side of the ship, as protocol demanded, and attend the small boat. The lack of protocol alerted his senses. He knew that something was different aboard the Eldridge, but hid his concern in his voice. “Prepare to board,” Lieutenant Hamilton shouted the order to several crewmembers aboard the Eldridge that were in clear sight. His order was ignored. The crewmen never responded, and wandered off.

  It took another five minutes, after coming alongside the Eldridge, to secure the PT to the ship, and board. The crew of the Eldridge, disoriented, wandering aimlessly on deck, took no notice of Lieutenant Hamilton or his crew as they climbed up the net ladder attached to the side of the Eldridge and onto the boat.

  The generators were intact and now completely off and silent. The acrid smell of burning wire and insulation hung in the air about the boat. If there had been a fire, it was out now.

  A gagging sound caught the attention of Lieutenant Hamilton and his crew. They turned to the bow where several crew members from the Eldridge had draped themselves over the side, heaving, over whelmed by nausea.

  Lieutenant Hamilton pulled the radio from his belt. “Observation ship Rainbow. This is Lieutenant Hamilton. Prepare to bring Mr. Einstein to the Eldridge.” He hesitated for a moment, choosing the correct words. “Something has gone wrong here. Very wrong.”

  TWELVE

  PUTTING THE VATICAN behind him and the voice that called out, “Padre, attesa,” Dominic took the corner quickly, turning off of the wide street into a narrow alley. Still running, he barely missed colliding into a young woman walking several small dogs. Yorkies, he thought, as he stepped, then skipped around the trio of ankle biting pups.

  “Hey, scatto. Faccia attenzione,” The young woman yelled after Dominic.

  “I’m sorry. Sorry,” Dominic said, then noted the confus
ed look on the young woman’s face. “Spiacente. Scusilo.” He sucked in a gasp of air, nearly exhausted. He sprinted to the doorway of a store and dodged inside the shop.

  The Deposito Del Libro was dark and dusty. He didn’t mind the dark, but breathing hard from the long run, the dust collected in his nostrils and he sneezed several times in a row. Not the best move for someone trying to hide, he thought, looking around the shop quickly, then sneezing again. He glanced up from his cupped hand and noticed that he was the only person in the shop, other than a lady working a stack of books. He smiled at her.

  The woman took a close look at him from behind books stacked so high that it looked as though they were about to fall to the floor at any moment. Apparently, she didn’t consider Dominic to be of any concern or a likely sale; she turned her back to him and continued with whatever important matter she had been dealing with before he had entered the shop.

  Dominic pushed the sweat soaked hair back from his face and bit into his lip. He was relatively sure he had not been followed. His zigzagging run even confused himself. He needed time to figure out where the hell he was and what the hell he was going to do next.