Alternating Current: A Tesla Novel

by Agostino, John

  Carrie cringed, but still didn’t say anything.

  “Once my lungs filled back up with air, they asked if I was F.B.I. Of course, I denied that, too. They beat me again. This went on for a while.

  “K.G.B.?”

  “No.”

  Right cross to the jaw.

  “A.I.A.?”

  “No.”

  Double kidney punch.

  “Army Intelligence?”

  “No.”

  Upper cut to the jaw.

  “Once they put me back onto the chair, they continued with a slew of other agencies. N.R.O.? N.G.A.? D.I.A.? I had never heard of them. Finally, they asked, D.E.A.? At least I had heard of that one. But they never mentioned the N.S.A. or Homeland Security.”

  “That’s who you think they were?” Turbo asked.

  “Maybe, who knows?”

  Carrie finally asked a question. “How did you get them to stop?”

  “Well, after they had gone through all the government agencies they started asking about private groups like the Mafia. Of course, I denied those, too. I didn’t say anything, however, when they asked about the Black Panthers. They stopped beating me after that.”

  “They think you’re a Black Panther?” Turbo couldn’t help but laugh.

  “I don’t know. I only know they stopped beating me for a while.”

  “What happened next?” Carrie sat up in her chair.

  “They asked more stupid questions.”

  “Like what?” Turbo grew impatient. “Get to the part about me.”

  “Well, they were asking all sorts of questions about Tesla and my grandfather.”

  “How did they know about your grandfather?” Carrie asked.

  “I don’t know. That stuff was in our attic for forty years and nobody cared. Now, all of a sudden everyone wants to know about my grandfather.”

  Turbo agreed. “That is kind of odd.”

  Carrie jumped up from her seat. “It pinged, that’s why.”

  “What?” Turbo and Phillip spoke in unison.

  “The file pinged, don’t you remember, at the strip club. Rudy said your grandfather’s file pinged.”

  “That’s right.” Phillips eyes opened wide.

  “Ping. Schming.” Turbo was lost. “What the hell are you talking about?”

  Carrie told him what happened the night they met Rudy at the strip club. “That was the same night we met you.”

  Turbo drifted off for a second. He thought about Maria, the last time they’d made love, and how he left her bed to go sift through garbage. Would he do it again? Probably. Still, he missed her tremendously, although he hadn’t realized it until then.

  “Turbo. Turbo.” Carrie nudged him. “Are you okay?”

  “Yes, I’m fine. Go on, Phillip.”

  “Well, there’s not much more to tell. They asked me how my grandfather knew Tesla, and I told him that he worked at the New Yorker. Then they asked me if Tesla had ever given my grandfather anything to hold or keep safe for him.”

  Carrie gasped for air.

  “Don’t worry, Carrie. I didn’t tell them about the papers. But, when I told them that my grandfather didn’t have anything of Tesla’s, they started beating me again. They wouldn’t stop.”

  A tear fell from Carrie’s eye.

  Phillip continued. “The questions that followed were bizarre. They asked about my grandmother, about her jewelry. Did she have any gold jewelry? Any necklaces or medallions? They even asked if she had any gold fillings in her mouth.

  “Each time I said no, they hit me harder. The questions continued. Did my grandfather have any medals or medallions, any trophies? No. No. No. I kept saying no.

  “I fell off the chair several times, but they just put me back on and kept punching away at my face. Somehow, I found the strength to raise my hand in front of my face and they finally stopped hitting me.”

  Carrie gasped. “Oh, thank God.”

  Turbo still didn’t know where he fit into the picture. He waited, although impatient.

  “It took me a few minutes to catch my breath. But I mustered up enough air to ask them what they were looking for. I guess they were tired of hitting me, because they actually told me.”

  “They did?” Carrie was astonished.

  “Well, what is it?” Turbo couldn’t wait any longer.

  “Believe it or not, they’re looking for Tesla’s Edison Medal.”

  “Edison Medal?” Carrie asked. “But I thought Tesla didn’t like Edison.”

  “He didn’t.” Turbo added. “And I don’t either.”

  “That may be true,” Phillip explained, “but he accepted the solid gold Edison Medal in 1916---

  “Yeah, I know all about it. The FBI stole it from my uncle’s safe after he died. My cousin Sava tried for years to get it back.”

  “Well the men who beat me up believe someone else has the medal. According to them, it’s worth millions of dollars on the black market. They thought Tesla might have given it to my grandfather, until I assured them that wasn’t the case.”

  “And they believed you?” Turbo was shocked. “Just like that they let you go?”

  “Well, not exactly.” Phillip went over to the far side of the room.

  “What do you mean, not exactly, why’d they let you go?”

  “Because.”

  “Phillip you’re confusing me, because why?”

  “Because, I told them you have the medal.”

  CHAPTER 34

  Turbo left Carrie’s apartment in a hurry. She chased after him, but he was already in the Lexus by the time she caught up with him. She called out for him to stop, waving her arms in the air. He sped away and didn’t look back.

  He thought about staying at his vacant house for the night, but thought better of it. The address was in the phone book. He knew he couldn’t stay at the shop, they definitely knew where it was. And he thought about staying with Cosmo, but there was still some mistrust there. His apartment was probably the safest place, hopefully Phillip didn’t tell them about it.

  He parked Cosmo’s car one block over and hurried through a dark alley to the apartment. Once inside, he double locked the door, didn’t turn on any lights, and went to bed. Unfortunately, like many other nights in that bed, sleep didn’t join him.

  The next day, Turbo arrived at the shop late. Much to his surprise, the neon sign was on, and Cosmo had even tidied up the place.

  “Are you feeling okay?” Turbo walked over and handed him the Lexus fob.

  “Yes, I feel good.” Cosmo noticed Turbo’s bloodshot eyes. “But you don’t look so good.”

  “I didn’t get much sleep last night.”

  “It’s okay; go take a nap on the couch. I’ll watch the shop.”

  Turbo had a horrible thought. Maybe Cosmo was selling drugs and doing drugs. “You’re awful chipper this morning.”

  “Hey, why not be happy, you should really splash your face with cold water or something. Just to bring the color back.”

  “Quit worrying about how I look. We probably won’t have any customers today.”

  A customer entered the shop. Although, Turbo knew at once that he wasn’t a real customer. His customers didn’t wear nice suits like that. Or alligator shoes, still he was thankful the man wasn’t wearing sneakers. And his customers didn’t carry leather briefcases, either.

  Cosmo tried pushing down the cowlick in Turbo’s hair with his hand. Turbo pushed him away and greeted the customer. “Did you need some help?”

  “Yes. Are you William Trbojevic?”

  “Wow, you’ve been practicing. Nobody gets it right the first time. Please, call me Turbo.”

  “Well thank you, Mr. Trbojevic. My name is Arthur Jansen, and I’m an attorney with Dumbowski, Jansen, Turner, Stut, and Bumgardner.”

  “Oh, an attorney, Cosmo, he’s an attorney, pleased to meet you Mr. Jansen. What can I do for you?”

  “Well, Mr. Trbojevic, I’m glad you asked that. You see, I represent a client who would lik
e to purchase this property.”

  Turbo wasn’t sure he had heard him correctly. “This property?”

  “Yes, your shop. My client will pay two-hundred-thousand-dollars. I believe that is more than twice the assessed value.”

  “Yeah, at least, but why would they want to pay that much for this piece of shit building.”

  “Unfortunately, Mr. Trbojevic, I am not privy to their reasoning, I am merely the messenger.”

  “Wow! Cosmo what do you think?”

  Cosmo was eager to enter the conversation. “You should take it, what are you crazy, you’ll never get an offer like that again.”

  “Yeah, you’re probably right. But who would want to buy a building in this neighborhood, who did you say your client was?”

  “I didn’t, Mr. Trbojevic. I am not at liberty to say.”

  “What?”

  “I’m sorry, but my client must remain anonymous.”

  “You can’t tell me who he is?”

  “No. I’m sorry I cannot. However, it’s a very generous offer.”

  Turbo put his finger up to his temple. He didn’t know what to make of all this and he didn’t really need the distraction right then. He had much more important things on his mind. Besides, how could he sell the building his father had worked so hard to purchase?”

  “Turbo, it’s a no-brainer.” Cosmo chimed in. “Two-hundred-thousand-dollars, you can move to Florida and be with Maria and the kids.”

  Cosmo was right, it was a no-brainer, and Turbo knew he should take the money. Still, in the back of his mind he believed he would make ten times that if the formula for Tesla Water worked. But what if it didn’t? Could he take that chance? He needed some time to think. “I’ll tell you what, Mr. Jansen. I’ll take your offer, just as soon as your client presents it to me in person. Have a good day.”

  Turbo went into the bathroom and splashed cold water on his face. When he came out, he saw Cosmo outside talking to the attorney. Turbo confronted him. “Cosmo, what the hell are you doing talking to that buffoon?”

  “Nothing, I was saying goodbye.”

  “Bullshit.”

  “Okay, I was talking to him, big deal.”

  “What are you on his side?”

  “No, I’m not on his side, but you should take the deal. It’s a lot of money.”

  “That’s exactly why I didn’t take it, something’s fishy. It stinks to high heaven.”

  “Oh, I forgot, it’s another conspiracy. You’re a fucking moron.”

  Turbo started to say something, but didn’t.

  Cosmo kept the insults coming. “You’re too stupid to know a good deal when you see it. You’d rather sit in this hellhole and wait for somebody to buy a fucking fuse than be with your wife and children.”

  “You know that’s not true.” Cosmo’s remark hit Turbo hard. “You know that’s not true, you should take it back.”

  “Fine, I take it back. It’s just you make me crazy. What are we gonna do when were the only business left on the entire block?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “That attorney told me they already bought the shoe store and they’re negotiating with the deli right now. What do we do then?”

  “I guess we’ll have to start brown-bagging it.”

  Cosmo left the shop in a tiff. Soon after he was gone, Agents Lawson and Arnold came in. Turbo jumped at the sight of more men in suits, but relaxed when he realized who they were.

  “It’s been a rough day already, what the hell do you two want?”

  “William Trbojevic, you’re under arrest for the murder of Marco Fagan. Turn around and put your hands behind your back.”

  CHAPTER 35

  In January 1943, Doctor John G. Trump’s day job was Assistant Professor at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology. He moonlighted as a technical aide for the Office of Scientific Research and Development, a division of the O.S.S.

  Doctor Trump was the main government official who examined Nikola Tesla’s secret papers after his death. The papers from his safe, along with two truckloads of papers and apparatus stored for years in the basement of the New Yorker Hotel. He also participated in the examination of 75 packing crates and trunks in storage at the Manhattan Warehouse and Storage Company.

  Trump reported afterwards that no examination was made of the papers taken from the hotel’s basement or the storage facility. The only papers examined were those in Tesla’s immediate possession at the time of his death. Trump concluded in his report that there was nothing that would constitute a hazard in unfriendly hands.

  Doctor John G. Trump went on to an illustrious career at M.I.T. Although, some would argue that much of his work incorporated Tesla's ideas. Tesla had written extensively on many subjects and his views were widely known in the scientific community. In 1938, he had written a non-flattering critique of Doctor Trump’s work on M.I.T.'s huge Van de Graaff generator. The generator was comprised of two thirty-foot towers and two fifteen-foot diameter balls mounted on railroad tracks. Tesla showed how the generator could be out-performed, in both voltage and current, by one of his tiny, two-foot-tall, Tesla Coils.

  Doctor John G. Trump died in 1985. No government agency seized any of his belongings, which was exactly why Doctor Armaly was in Boston.

  From his room on the third floor of The Liberty Hotel he could see the campus. Doctor Armaly sat on the bed fingering the week’s worth of stubble on his face. He hadn’t grown a beard in years, not since the months after his wife died. He didn’t remember how itchy it could be. He sat on the bed awaiting the arrival of his dinner.

  The room was silent, well insulated. The television could change that, but the doctor decided against noise for the sake of noise. The vibrating cell phone dancing across the desk would have to do.

  He opened the phone, but waited for the person on the other end to speak first.

  “Yes, I’m here . . . the flight was good . . . oh really . . . did they buy it . . . are you sure . . . good then, goodbye.”

  Doctor Armaly tossed the phone onto the bed. The silence returned, but only for a moment.

  Knock, Knock, Knock. “Room service.”

  The following morning, his taxi stopped in front of the Department of Electrical Engineering and Computer Sciences on Massachusetts Avenue. Doctor Armaly gave the driver a ten-dollar-bill for a four-dollar fare. “Keep it.”

  The driver was thankful.

  Inside the EECS building, he walked over to the reception desk. The receptionist, an older woman with grayish-blue hair, wore much younger makeup. The name on her badge was much younger, also. Doctor Armaly did not believe her to be Ashley.

  “Hello, Miss Ashley.” The doctor smiled a devilish grin. One that might indicate he was on to her.

  “Sir, may I help you?”

  “Yes, Ashley, you may help me.” Again, the devilish grin.

  “Listen, here bucko, you keep looking at me like that and I’ll call security. And stop calling me Ashley. My name is Eleanor; I forgot my name badge at home. Ashley works the evening shift. Keeps her badge in the drawer so she won’t forget it. Smart girl.”

  “Eleanor, what a lovely name.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Somehow I knew your name wasn’t Ashley. You don’t look anything like an Ashley. Eleanor, however, fits you well, so elegant, even regal.”

  “Mister, I don’t know what you want, but I don’t have keys to any of the labs.”

  “No, Eleanor, my dear, I would never ask such a thing. I do need directions to Doctor Trump’s office.”

  “Doctor Trump? Why he’s been dead for years.”

  “Oh, no, Eleanor. Not that Doctor Trump, John G. Trump Jr.”

  “Oh, his son?”

  “Yes, his son.”

  “Then why are you in this building?”

  “He’s a professor here, isn’t he?”

  “Oh, sure he is, but not in this building. He’s one building over in ChemE.”

  Doctor Armaly was befuddled. “Ch
emE?”

  “Yeah, Chemical Engineering, that’s usually where the chemical engineers hang out.”

  Doctor Armaly thanked Eleanor for the information.

  Befuddled, he turned to leave. He knew Doctor Trump’s son was a professor at M.I.T., he automatically assumed Electrical Engineering, same as his father. He would’ve never guessed Chemical Engineering. He turned back to Eleanor. “Did you work here when Doctor Trump was alive?”

  “He had just retired a few months before I started, but he still worked some as a consultant, came in all the time.”

  “What was he like?”

  “He was an ornery old goat?”

  “Is that so?”

  ***

  The ChemE Building was a few hundred yards north on Massachusetts Avenue. The receptionist was young, dark hair and no makeup as far as Doctor Armaly could tell. Her name badge was missing.

  “Hello, Mister.” She said.

  Doctor Armaly paused for a second, expecting her to say more. She didn’t. After a few seconds of awkward silence, he spoke. “Hello, I’m looking for Doctor Trump’s office.”

  The young woman picked up a clipboard. “Your name please.”

  “My name isn’t on there.”

  “You don’t have an appointment?”

  “No, I’m sorry, I don’t.”

  “Doctor Trump doesn’t see anyone without an appointment.”

  A young man stumbled into the lobby carrying a load of books. “Hey Missy.” He said as he walked by the front desk and dropped the books on a nearby table. He made an awful racket.

  Missy. Doctor Armaly felt better now that he knew her name. “Missy, I know I don’t have an appointment, but Doctor Trump is an old friend. I have come a long way to surprise him.”

  “Let me call up to his office.”

  “Missy, you’ll ruin the surprise.”

  “Well, at least show me some identification, that way I can tell the police who you are, if there’s a problem.”

  “That’s a smart idea.” He reluctantly turned over his driver’s license.

  The receptionist read his name aloud. “Doctor Michael Armaly, wow, do you really live in The Bahamas?”

  The young man had just organized the books in his arms making them easier to carry. Upon hearing the doctor’s name, he let them fall to the floor.