Isaacs looked at his watch. 3:40, local time, twenty till six in Washington. The world was still in one piece. Apparently rationality reigned, if only for a little while, and global catastrophe was held in abeyance. He hadn’t really expected a first strike, yet some small fatalistic corner of his mind would not have been surprised to see a mushroom cloud rising in the distance as they walked between buildings. Now he could be confident their mission would not be a total disaster. If they could learn nothing from the machine that loomed before him, others would follow who could. With this the Russians could be stalled, if not convinced. There was time to look a bit here, he thought, try to see Krone, and still get back in time to lay the whole story out for the President. He stood and watched as Runyan scrambled around the device like a kid on a city park playscape.
A call from Pat Danielson came from the far side of the room.
After a minute of staring at the gargantuan, incomprehensible device, Danielson had looked around the room. Along its perimeter individual cubicles had been partitioned off. Although dwarfed by the looming device in the center, they were normal sized rooms, some even fairly large. She walked the perimeter peering into each through their large glass windows and discovered they were shops. The first was crammed with oscilloscopes, amplifiers, power supplies, and other electronic accouterments. Next was a machine shop with a multitude of drills, lathes, and saws, and a carpet of coiled, oily shards on the floor.
After wandering past several more rooms, one housing a late model large capacity scientific computer, Danielson found a small windowless room just opposite the door from which they had entered. She tried the door and stepped in, groping for and finding a light switch. There was a small but comfortable desk, shelves filled with books and computer output. What caught her eye, however, was a bound laboratory notebook resting alone on the desk. She reached for it and thumbed rapidly through. The book was three-quarters empty. She found the last entry, read briefly and then walked to the door.
“Mr. Isaacs,” she shouted, “Bob? I’ve found something!”
Isaacs rounded the device looking for her and hurried across the intervening space, stepping over cables strewn on the floor.
Danielson watched him approach with an air of excitement.
“Look here! I’ve found a lab book describing the experimerit.” She twisted to let him read over her shoulder where her finger marked a place. “The experiment has been a tremendous success,” Danielson read aloud, “much has been learned about the properties of matter at ultrahigh densities and the transition to the final state of that matter. The experiment is not over, but it is no longer in my hands.”
There was a gap and then other entries in a more hurried, scrawling manner.
“How could it have gone wrong!” Danielson read. “The sudden loss of containment is shocking, some instability, something unexpected in the containment process. The principle is now established. Must 1) study containment 2) study implications 3) retrieve them.”
The two exchanged a long glance.
“That’s the last entry?” Isaacs wanted to know. Danielson nodded.
“Are there any more of these?” Isaacs inquired, turning to examine the shelves.
“Not in here,” Danielson replied. “There is a computer. It may have files of interest, but this book seems to be where he records his personal insights and reactions.”
“Let’s keep looking,” Isaacs said.
They toured the rest of the perimeter, but found only shops. There were no more lab books. Isaacs went outside and spoke briefly with Floyd who was fidgeting in the driveway. He returned and explained to Danielson.
“Floyd says anything connected with this experiment should be here, unless Krone has other books at home. He worked at home a lot.”
He raised his voice.
“Alex? Time to move on. We’ve got to go see Krone.”
Runyan was near the top of the device. His voice carried faintly.
“A little longer. I’ve hardly explored a tenth of this thing.”
Isaacs allowed control of his temper to slip a little.
“Goddamnit, Alex, we’re on a tight schedule. You’re never going to understand that thing poking around by yourself. It’s not going anywhere, and we’ve got to talk to Krone if we can!”
Runyan muttered something unintelligible at the height, but began to climb down, feet clanging on the scaffolding steps. When he reached the bottom, his eyes still contained a glow of passion.
“That thing is fabulous! Do you see those immense particle accelerators?” He pointed at the hedgehog protrusions. “And apparently a gigantic superconducting magnet. Inconceivable that one man did that!”
Danielson clutched the lone lab book to her chest and felt a pang of jealousy. Jealous of a machine! Damn him! she thought.
Back at the administration building, Isaacs gave Floyd a receipt for the lab book.
“We’d like to try to see Krone. Perhaps we could borrow your van.”
“I’m really afraid that won’t “ Floyd said, then halted, stopped by the steel in Isaacs’ eyes. He thought desperately, but could see no recourse. He could try to stymie this group, but others would follow. Silence had been his only defense, and now that silence would inevitably be shattered. Why had these people come?
“Yes, of course,” he conceded. “I’ll give instructions to the driver.”
“That won’t be necessary. The pilot who flew us up can drive. I don’t want to cause you excess trouble.” Or let you in on any more than necessary, Isaacs finished to himself.
“Fine, if that’s what you wish. I’ll give directions to your man, it’s just a short drive, perhaps fifteen minutes.”
“Is there anyone else in the house?” Isaacs inquired.
“There is a, ah, woman. She’s lived with him in the big house for, well, I guess about two years now. I believe she’s been taking care of him while he’s—incapacitated. There is also a Mexican couple who come in to help, but they are only there for half a day. They wouldn’t be there at this hour.”
Isaacs herded his team into the van and made sure they had the directions straight. A woman. He remembered the stories of the Soviet refugee he had heard from his contact in the FBI. Of course, she could be some old peasant lady who changes his sheets.
*****
Chapter 17
Maria Latvin opened the door and knew the dreaded visit had come at last. The two men wore conservative western business suits, but she recognized the type and, despite herself, felt as if she had been suddenly yanked eight thousand miles back to the home she had fought so hard to leave.
The taller man stepped forward and reached into his inner jacket pocket for a small leather identification folder. He flipped it open and Maria stared at it. Not his papers, but photographs. Her mother and younger brother still trapped in Lithuania. Fighting the growing feeling of numbness, she stepped back and held the door open for them.
The tall man spoke quietly in Russian.
“We must see Paul Krone.”
“He’s not well,” Latvin replied, slipping into the same language.
“We know that. We must see him anyway and judge his condition for ourselves.”
“You know who I am. Why are you interested in Paul?”
“This is not necessary for you to know. You will take us to him.”
The woman led the two Russians into the study.
“There, you see,” she pointed to a figure seated before the fireplace, “he is very ill and cannot talk to you.”
The two men slowly approached the figure in the chair. They crouched next to the chair, then began to whisper animatedly to one another.
Finally the taller one stood and walked back across the room to where Maria Latvin stood.
“You take care of him?”
“He responds to me a little. Enough for me to feed and wash him, to see to his basic functions.”
“His research?”
The woman merely raised an eyebr
ow in a deeply skeptical look.
“What do you know of his work?” the man demanded.
“Nothing. I am no scientist. I know nothing.”
“Notes. Does he keep notes of his work?”
“If he does, they are at the lab. He never worked here.”
A faint crinkling cracked the frost around the man’s eyes. “I must report for instructions. He will stay with you,” he said, gesturing to his companion.
The woman’s face betrayed no expression. The man shot a glance at his companion, a silent order, and left the room rapidly.
He had been gone five minutes when they heard a car coming up the drive. Maria Latvin looked questioningly at the remaining Russian. He shook his head and slid a hand toward the bulge under his jacket.
“Quickly,” she said, “you can hide in a rear bedroom. I’ll see who it is.”
“Get rid of them. Immediately!” he demanded, as she hustled him down the hallway.
Isaacs scanned the house as they approached. It was a large, multi-level adobe structure, graceful despite the characteristic thick walls and solid projecting beams. It faced the southwest with a glorious view of the plains and the oncoming Sunset. Isaacs spoke to the agents and the pilot who had driven them up to the house.
“This is a private home, and we don’t want to come on like an invasion force. We’re just going to try to speak with the man who runs the complex up the road. I’d like you to sit tight here.”
The agents nodded.
Isaacs, Danielson, and Runyan walked up the flagstone walk to the massive carved front door. Not seeing a doorbell, Isaacs used his knuckles.
After a moment the door swung open. Runyan was not sure what he expected, but it was certainly not what he saw in his view over Isaacs’ shoulder. A lovely young woman stood there, one hand on the knob of the door. She was of medium height, dressed in a dark hostess gown. She had a smooth brown complexion, thick black hair in a longish page-boy cut, and high cheekbones. Her black eyes sparkled behind gold-rimmed eyeglasses, but registered no surprise at the three strangers in the doorway of her redoubt. Runyan saw her take in Isaacs and then swing her gaze to him. After a moment she looked past him to Danielson and raised one eyebrow in a slight quizzical gesture.
Isaacs displayed his badge and said, “We are here by authority of the President of the United States. May we come in?”
The woman seemed to instantly understand and accept the situation. She stepped aside and said, “Come in,” in a lilting slightly accented voice.
Inside the door was a foyer, high-ceilinged and about eight feet across. There was a closet door on the left. On the right was a small stand holding a lamp and fronting a mirror, which ran nearly to the ceiling and added even more width to the area.
The woman led them from the foyer to a large living room. The room was decorated in Spanish style. A massive fireplace dominated the wall directly across from where they entered. A thick Navaho rug lay on the dark tile floor in front of the fireplace. Bordering the rug were two heavy leather sofas at right angles with a high-backed overstuffed leather chair filling the gap on the right side of the fireplace. On the wall on either side of the door through which they had entered were floor to ceiling shelves of dark mahogany that contrasted with the whitewashed walls. The shelves were filled with books and excellent specimens of Mayan and Incan relics. To their left a large archway led to a dining room dominated by a great mahogany table, surrounded by twelve ornate chairs, but set, Isaacs noted, with only two places—the right end and the position to the immediate left of that, such that the diner would face away from the living room. To the right of the fireplace a hallway disappeared from view.
The woman stepped around the sofa that faced the fireplace and sat back in the chair, tucking her legs beneath her. Without taking his eyes off her, Runyan followed her and perched unbidden on the corner of the sofa nearest her chair. Danielson watched him with the closest scrutiny, but remained standing behind the central sofa with Isaacs. Isaacs asked the key question.
“Is Paul Krone here?” The woman looked back at Runyan and then at Isaacs.
“Yes,” she replied simply.
“May I ask who you are?”
“I am Maria Latvin, his companion.”
“I would like to speak with Dr. Krone.”
“Certainly.” She arose without further comment and proceeded down the hallway to the right of the fireplace.
Runyan rose with the woman as she led the three of them down the corridor. They passed a closed door on the right, but she paused before a door somewhat beyond that to the left. Opening that door, she stood aside and gestured for them to enter.
The room was a study, extending down to the left and ending in another large fireplace that backed up to the one in the living room. The other three walls were lined with shelves completely filled with books. A large desk dominated the middle of the room. Its surface looked well used, but was currently empty save for a pencil holder and a couple of mementos. Two high-backed large chairs, mates of the one in the other room, flanked the fireplace. Unlike the other fireplace this one had a small flame flickering in the grate. A figure was seated in the chair to the right of the hearth. From their vantage point just inside the door at the far end of the room, they could only see extended legs and the left arm draped on the armrest.
“Paul?”
Isaacs jumped slightly and turned at the sound of the voice behind him. Her tone had been gentle, but faintly condescending, as one might address a child. The figure gathered itself slowly and rose from the chair.
Isaacs had never met Krone personally, but he recognized him immediately from photographs. He also saw more. Krone was in slippers and a dressing gown, incongruous attire for a physicist, but it was his face that arrested Isaacs’ attention. The jaw was slack, the eyes glazed and unfocused, his whole visage one of lifelessness. Isaacs stepped forward.
“Krone? Paul Krone?”
The eyes shifted slowly to the speaker, but there was no sign that the words registered.
Isaacs stepped up to Krone and lightly grasped his arm above the elbow. The eyes maintained their original focus. Isaacs waved his other hand in front of Krone’s face. The eyes blinked about three seconds later with no apparent regard to cause and effect.
Isaacs released Krone and spun around to face the dark figure in the doorway. “He’s virtually catatonic! How long has he been like this?”
Her face was nearly as expressionless as Krone’s except for her eyes that, by contrast, still sparkled with life. “Since last April,” she replied succinctly.
“Has he been treated?” Isaacs’ voice betrayed more strain than he intended.
“Three experts have been called in. They have been of no use.”
“Do you know what happened to him?”
She unwound slightly, moving around Runyan and Danielson to the desk and extending the fingers of her left hand until they rested lightly on the surface. She turned her face to speak directly to Isaacs. Her voice dropped in pitch.
“He was doing experiments in his laboratories. He was very excited, totally engrossed. Then the excitement left. He became withdrawn, more and more. Very late one night he tried to commit suicide. I called the doctor at the laboratory. He was in the hospital for a month. They saved his life, but since then he has been like this.”
She moved to the motionless figure beside Isaacs and took his arm in much the same manner that Isaacs had.
“Come, Paul,” she spoke gently and led him to the chair where he sat as if by instinctual response. She saw that he was arranged comfortably and then turned and proceeded directly from the room without a glance at her visitors.
During this interchange, Danielson’s eyes had been scanning the bookshelves. When Maria Latvin departed, she moved over and touched Isaacs’ sleeve. He followed her pointing finger to a shelf behind the desk. There was an array of lab books identical to the one they had found at the complex. Isaacs and Danielson stepped around the desk
and began to examine them. They took turns lifting down a volume, checking its contents briefly and adding it to a growing pile on the desk. All the books seemed to be related to the experiment that led to the creation of the black hole. Although it became clear they were in chronological order, they continued to spot-check to make sure that all dealt with the same subject.
Maria Latvin hurried along the corridor to the room where she had left the Russian agent.
“They are from the Central Intelligence Agency,” she whispered. “They also came to see Paul. I could not make them leave. You must warn the other. He must not come in.”
“What are they doing?”
“I left them in the study.”
“They cannot talk to him. Perhaps they will leave.”
“I do not think so.” She had lied to the Russians. She knew the lab books were on the shelf, but resolved to tell them as little as possible unless forced. She had seen that Danielson carried one of the books and knew they would spot the others. “I think that they will want to take Paul away.” That was a stall, but also the probable truth.
“Show me a back way out,” the man demanded. “I will head my compatriot off, and find out our orders. You must learn the intentions of the American agents. Keep them in the front of the house, and meet us back in this room in ten minutes. If you are not here—.”
He reached under his jacket again, his meaning crystal clear.
Isaacs was rapidly evaluating the situation. Krone was useless for their immediate needs. The machine itself would speak to experts, but not to them. The lab books were a treasure, but was there something else they should know about? They could grab the books and head home, but if they quickly perused them they might find other valuable clues as to what had gone on in this remote place. He grabbed several books at random.
“Let’s spend a little time looking through these,” he said. “See if there is any hint that we should try to dig up something other than these books themselves.”
The Krone Experiment Page 34