The Einstein Code

by Tom West

  Kate tested the handle of the other door and eased it towards them. It opened into a low-ceilinged room, racks of shelves just visible. Kate ran her hand along the inside wall and found a switch, a single low-voltage bulb snapped on and lit up the room to reveal floor-to-ceiling metal shelves to the left and across the far wall. To the right, the pipe from the large room jutted from the wall close to the ceiling and stretched away, curving under an archway.

  They walked across the room ignoring the empty shelves and took a right under the arch and into another anonymous corridor. The pipes ran above head-height along the wall. Kate noted it all down.

  The corridor ended with an archway that led into a vestibule. Directly ahead stood a closed door. It opened inwards to reveal a room lying in darkness. It took a moment to find the light switch, an old Bakelite affair on the wall. Lou flicked down the round-ended switch and a row of fluorescent tubes began to flicker into life, splashing bursts of garish light into the room and clicking loudly in the silent confined space.

  More metal shelves. These were packed with boxes, papers spilling from them. More papers and files lay stacked next to these boxes. There was a strong smell in the room, the unmistakable odour of old, damp paper.

  ‘It would be fascinating to take a look at some of these papers,’ Kate said. ‘Maybe another time.’

  ‘Where have the pipes gone?’ Lou asked.

  Then they saw them disappearing from the room through a rough-hewn hole above an open doorway. They passed through into a passage that sloped steeply downwards, curving to the left. Immediately around the bend they were brought up sharply. The tunnel opened out onto an abandoned Metro platform.

  The place had not been used in decades. The wall opposite the platform was covered with peeling posters, communist propaganda – faded pictures of healthy wholesome-looking children and happy peasants; images from a place and time that had never really existed. There was a layer of dust underfoot and lines of lichen at the edge of the platform; green tendrils of slime hung from the ceiling accompanied by an all-pervading stench of damp. The words Stantsiya Nomer Odin, written in Cyrillic and Latin script, were just visible on a corroded metal sign.

  Kate pointed to two huge openings in the ceiling, one close to either end of the platform, left and right. ‘Must be air vents, do you think?’

  ‘Yeah. This whole network is amazingly ventilated.’

  Kate wandered along the platform, the sound of her boots echoing in the silent cavernous space. Turning on her heel and walking slowly back towards him, she said: ‘When do you think this was closed down?’

  He was standing close to the entrance they had emerged from, gazing at the ruined ceiling and the stained walls.

  He shrugged. ‘From the look of these posters’ – he nodded towards the wall – ‘I’d say mid-twentieth century, maybe early sixties.’

  ‘Certainly smells like it,’ Kate said and stopped abruptly.

  ‘What?’

  Lou strode over.

  ‘An old emergency equipment post. Could be useful.’

  ‘Too right it could,’ Lou said, peering through the filthy glass to the inside of the box. Using the sleeve of his coat, he wiped the cover clean. Then, pulling off his boot, he held the ankle leather and smashed the heel against the glass. It shattered into daggers that scattered across the concrete close to his feet. With gloved hands, he tugged away the remaining shards and pulled out an axe, a coil of rope and a torch.

  ‘I don’t imagine for a minute this works,’ he said searching for the ‘on’ switch of the torch. He found a protuberance halfway along the metal tube and a pale light burst from the end. ‘Christ!’ he exclaimed and switched it off. ‘Fantastic!’

  ‘Look at this.’ Kate was pointing to a torn remnant of a Metro map in a shattered frame pinned to the wall close to the emergency kit box.

  ‘Not much of it left.’

  ‘No, but look here.’ She pointed to the lower left corner. ‘It’s the Sokolnicheskaya line; the one we were on with Adam and Max. See? There’s Universitet and Prospekt Vernadskogo.’ She ran a finger down the paper. ‘The last stop on the line should be Yugo-Zapadnaya, but look, there are three more stations on this old map: Stantsiya Nomer Odin, Stantsiya Nomer Dva, Stantsiya Nomer Tri: which must mean “Stations One, Two and Three”. This is Station One.’

  ‘How very Soviet.’

  ‘Yes, but don’t you see? It implies this is the first of three abandoned stations, the others, Station Two and Station Three must be further into Metro 2.’

  ‘OK. So we follow the track south-west?’

  At the end of the platform they found a set of three concrete steps that led down onto the tracks. The opening to the tunnel stood a few yards away.

  ‘Feels creepy,’ Kate said.

  ‘The tracks won’t be live,’ Lou replied, nodding towards the rails. ‘Look how rusted they are for a start. They haven’t been used for years . . . decades.’

  ‘Can we make sure?’

  Lou searched around the tracks. It was littered with pieces of brick, plaster and metal; a few lengths of wood. Trudging back along the side of the track, he eventually found what he was looking for, a metal rod about five feet in length and half an inch in diameter. It looked as though it had once been used as a piece of trim or maybe part of a light fixture.

  Walking back to Kate, he stood at the very edge of the opening where the tracks lay.

  ‘What are you going to do?’ Kate looked worried.

  ‘Watch.’

  He laid one end of the rod on the outer rail. ‘If this track was still operational, the middle rail would be live,’ he said. ‘Universal design. If I drop this metal across the gap between what was the live rail and this outer rail’ – he nodded at the metal strip running left to right close to their feet – ‘it’ll short out – lots of sparks and fuss.’

  ‘OK.’

  He let go of the metal pole. It fell a couple of feet and landed on the central rail, the other end still lying on the outer rail. Nothing happened.

  ‘Stone dead,’ Lou said.

  ‘All right. Makes sense.’

  ‘Of course it does.’ Lou stepped forward, put his foot on the middle rail and started shaking frantically, emitting a horrible sound.

  ‘Lou!’

  He stopped and grinned. ‘Got ya!’

  Kate punched him hard on the shoulder. ‘Don’t ever . . .’

  ‘Oh, come on!’

  ‘No, Lou . . . Not funny.’

  ‘Shit . . . sorry.’ He shrugged.

  They stepped into the space between the outer and middle rail and started to walk towards the black hole of the tunnel entrance. Kate reached into her pocket and pulled out the map she had been drawing. Lou waited for her to catch up. But then, as she thrust her hand back into her coat pocket to retrieve the pen, the paper flew out of her hand.

  ‘No!’ she exclaimed. The paper hovered in the air, rose a little. She grabbed for it. Lou did the same. It rose higher. He made another desperate leap for the paper as it caught the updraught from the air duct directly overhead and disappeared upwards into the shaft.

  ‘Goddam it!’ Lou yelled.

  Kate closed her eyes, her face drained of blood. She let out a sigh. ‘I thought we were getting too many breaks!’

  32

  The torch was weak, the beam dispersed and pallid, but it provided just about enough light to see a few yards ahead.

  ‘It’s weird,’ Kate said. ‘I’m not at all scared thousands of feet beneath the surface of the ocean, but this bothers me.’

  ‘It’s because you know that underwater no one can jump out on you.’

  ‘Oh great! Thanks, Lou.’

  He laughed. ‘I didn’t mean it like that!’

  ‘At least we don’t have any decisions to make. It’s a straight track.’

  ‘But we could walk right past a door that leads us into the heart of Metro 2.’

  ‘Yes, but we can’t try every one of them, can we? This track
must lead deep into the hidden Metro network. Why else would the stations have been shut down half a century ago?’

  ‘Yep, and if it’s any consolation, if the schematic back there is in proportion, I don’t think the distances between Stations One, Two and Three are that great.’

  He checked his watch, moving his wrist down to catch the torchlight. ‘It’s past midnight,’ he said and stifled a yawn. ‘Perhaps we ought to get some rest.’

  They went to the side of the tunnel. Lou handed Kate the torch and bent down scooping away the track ballast, the sharp stones packed beside the rails. A few inches beneath the surface lay a tarmac base.

  ‘You rest first,’ he said, pulling off his overcoat and rolling it up to produce a makeshift pillow. ‘Not quite the Grigovna Zempska I’m afraid.’

  ‘I’m exhausted,’ Kate said. ‘Will you be all right?’

  ‘Of course. I’ll wake you in two hours.’ He cleared a patch of ballast and leaned back against the side of the tunnel. It was uncomfortable, impossible to find a patch of wall that wasn’t either pure rock or covered with cabling and pipes. He kept the torch on, figuring there was little point in him being awake and on guard if he could see nothing.

  It took only a few moments for Kate to drift off and she started to snore quietly. ‘Must be tired,’ Lou said to himself, his voice swallowed by the still air. He stared around the barely lit tunnel. Their eyes had adjusted to the low light levels quite quickly but there was a limit to how well the human eye could see in such darkness. It was eerie, there was no denying that, but just knowing Kate was there beside him was reassuring.

  He slipped seamlessly into a dream-filled sleep like stepping through a doorway. It was a vivid dream. He was in a car driving along an unmade country road, rough frozen mud and icy water all around. His body was shaking. He awoke with a start and it took several moments before he realized he could hear something, a muffled thud.

  ‘Kate,’ Lou whispered and gave her a gentle shake. ‘Kate.’

  She awoke with a start.

  ‘It’s OK, babe.’

  She pulled herself up and he gave her a reassuring hug and helped her to her feet. She was dazed and disorientated.

  ‘I heard a sound.’

  She saw him put a finger to his lips in the faint light.

  Nothing.

  ‘Wait,’ Lou said and tilted his head.

  The thudding sound came again.

  ‘There.’

  ‘Where’s it coming from?’

  ‘I can’t tell. Behind the wall?’

  He picked up his coat, shook it and pulled it on. ‘Let’s walk on for a bit.’

  They headed along the tunnel in the direction they had been walking earlier. For a few moments the sound did not seem to change in volume, but then they noticed it becoming a little louder.

  ‘Moving in the right direction,’ Kate said.

  A dim light appeared further along the tunnel. They approached it warily, edging forward in the darkness, keeping close to the left wall. As they moved closer they could pick out the sound of a drill. It stopped and started. In the quiet periods, they heard voices, a man shouting orders in Russian.

  Drawing nearer, they caught a light spilling from a crack between an ovoid metal door and its frame. They slid along the wall close to the opening and Lou peered round, doing his best to keep out of sight of whoever was on the other side.

  He could see a large room lit by powerful arc lights. Four men were working in the room. They were dressed in mucky overalls, hobnail boots and metal hats. Two of them were screwing boards over bare stonework, a third was stirring cement in a mixer, the fourth covering a patch of floor with wet cement.

  Lou pulled back. ‘Workmen,’ he said.

  ‘At this time of the morning?’ Kate glanced at her watch. ‘3 a.m.?’

  Lou turned back to the view and watched as the men continued working. He heard a muffled sound close to his ear and whirled round. Another man in a metal hat and overalls, with a filthy face, soot and grime around his eyes and nose, had a chunky dirt-smeared hand around Kate’s mouth, a knife to her throat.

  ‘Kto ty?’ he spat.

  Lou put his hands up. ‘I don’t speak Russian.’

  ‘English?’ the man said with a heavy accent. He kept the knife precisely where he had placed it, his hand steady. ‘What you do here?’ He flicked his head up, chin thrust forward.

  ‘I, we . . . we got separated from our friends.’ He wasn’t sure what to say, so he decided to tell the truth. ‘We were on our way to see Sergei.’

  ‘Sergei?’ The man looked surprised.

  ‘Please . . . Can you let my wife go? We mean no harm.’

  He gripped Kate tighter, moved the knife a fraction of an inch along the white flesh of her neck. Lou could see the point digging in, close to breaking the skin.

  ‘What’s your name?’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because I ask.’

  ‘I’m Lou Bates, Dr Lou Bates. This is my wife, Dr Kate Wetherall.’

  ‘Why you see Sergei? How you know Sergei?’

  ‘We were brought down here from Prospekt Vernadskogo.’

  ‘Who brought you?’

  ‘A man named Max. There were three of us with him, us and our friend, Adam Fleming. He has disappeared. I . . . we don’t know Max’s surname. Please . . . could you let her go?’

  The man took a deep breath, slowly pulled the knife away and loosened his grip so Kate could slip away. Lou grabbed her and pulled her close.

  ‘Need check for weapons,’ the man said stepping forward, putting the knife between his teeth and frisking first Lou then Kate.

  ‘We are unarmed,’ Kate said.

  ‘Maybe, maybe not.’ Satisfied, he stepped back and gripped the knife in his hand. ‘ID?’

  Lou pulled out his passport from an inside pocket of his jacket. Kate found hers in a pocket of her jeans. They handed them over. The man flicked through them.

  ‘So, what you want?’ he said.

  ‘What’s your name?’ Kate asked.

  He stared at her for a few moments before answering. ‘Milov. Boris Milov, foreman of this work group. I know Max and . . .’ He paused for a moment and puffed out his chest. ‘I know Sergei. He is my master.’

  ‘Master?’

  ‘My boss. He is big boss.’

  ‘You live in Metro 2?’ Kate asked.

  Boris nodded. ‘Again . . . what do you want?’

  The door from the room opened and a man stepped out into the tunnel. He saw Lou and Kate and gave Boris a quizzical look.

  Lou glanced at the man and turned back to Milov. ‘We were due to meet Sergei to discuss . . . a deal.’

  Boris caught the other man’s eye. ‘Hear that, Peter? A deal.’

  Peter produced a crooked smile; his teeth were a mess.

  ‘How we know you not government spies?’

  ‘You don’t,’ Kate said matter-of-factly. ‘But I imagine Sergei would not be pleased if you were to take matters into your own hands, to make false assumptions.’

  ‘You threaten me?’ Boris said and took a step towards them.

  ‘Just pointing out the obvious . . . Boris,’ Kate snapped back.

  He fixed her with a cold stare. His eyes looked small and very dark. Then, to their surprise, he broke into a smile. ‘How do you people say it? Pluck. You are pluck, young lady. I like that. Come on, follow me.’ And he pushed past them, swung the door open and stomped into the room, the drill screeching and then stopping abruptly.

  ‘This part of new extension. East Wing, Section 4. That probably means little,’ Boris said and nodded to the workmen. They turned back to their labours. ‘We are at outer edge of Metro 2. You must have followed very strange route from Prospekt Vernadskogo.’

  ‘We have no idea how we got here,’ Kate said. ‘We were blindfolded for part of the way.’

  ‘Of course.’ Boris was nodding.

  ‘But then we were . . . dumped and separated from our friend and fro
m Max,’ Lou added. ‘We started to draw a map, but lost it.’

  Boris stopped. ‘The tunnels are our protectors. Many people have died trying to find way out. You lucky.’ He turned into a small room containing a metal desk strewn with papers, an ancient wood-fuelled heater stood in another corner. A single weak bulb dangled from the ceiling by a coiled wire.

  ‘Hungry?’

  Kate shook her head.

  ‘I have cheese and strong coffee.’

  ‘I’d like a coffee,’ Lou said and looked at Kate. She nodded.

  It was strong too, syrupy and sweet and delivered in a chipped enamel mug. Lou and Kate felt its invigorating effects almost immediately.

  ‘Are you allowed to talk about Metro 2, Boris?’ Kate asked, watching the foreman as he reclined in a battered old chair, feet up on the desk, mug of black coffee steaming in his hand.

  ‘Depends.’

  ‘We know Sergei is a recluse and Metro 2 is his . . . well, Max called it his realm.’

  Boris barked a laugh. ‘Max is a romantic! Reads too much, watches too many old Soviet movies! Sergei is very different. He is practical man, like me. Most of us practical men, that is how we survive.’

  ‘How many are you?’

  ‘How many? No exact number. Maybe . . . how you say? Two thousand, three thousand . . .’

  ‘Wow!’ Lou exclaimed. ‘We had no idea.’

  ‘I come here 1997. My three children born here. We have four doctors now and a good hospital. We want for nothing.’

  ‘How do you keep going?’

  Boris gave Kate a puzzled look. ‘We work hard.’

  ‘Yes, but . . .’

  ‘We each have our jobs to do. Some go to surface if we need supplies. We grow food.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘I don’t know word. There are light shafts from surface. We build in recent years. We also use lamps. We have air . . . I don’t know word again . . . Sent down here?’

  ‘Ventilation. We saw some heavy piping.’

  ‘That may have been air or electricity.’

  ‘And there are families living down here?’