“But that’s in the mountains,” Fall said quietly. “And there aren’t any rivers where you’re pointing.”
“Yes, an island,” Atabet said, closing his eyes to focus on the image he saw. “With a perfect coast. But it’s not in a river. It’s an island in the snow.” In his vision, a woman’s breasts were heaving through the ground. Were they the breasts of a woman in labor?
As he asked himself the question, the mounds turned into metal structures. Instead of breasts there were two, white radar domes. And to their side, shrouded by a stand of birch trees, there was a missile silo. Inside it something was flashing. Letting his finger find the thing’s tenderest center, he took a pencil from a pocket and made a circle where the bomb might be.
“Kirov told you we had to find ways to show how our nations are joined in the Light’s miscarriage,” he said. “If I can get these right, maybe we can help.”
“We’re already joining forces,” said Kazi Dama. “Listen—in the jars.”
Corinne sat up abruptly. There was a ringing in the shelves by the sink, the sound they had heard the night before, and a rattling of the window that faced the eucalyptus.
“They’re out there,” Fall whispered, turning away from the window. “It’s that goddamned microwave device. They’ll keep track of us until I leave for Moscow.”
“Good,” Atabet whispered. “If they see me make these guesses, they won’t think it’s a CIA plot. Why don’t you go see what they’re doing, Kazi?”
Kazi Dama went outside, while Atabet let his mind return to the buried suns he sensed. Sparks of light were flashing from the Ukraine to Vladivostok.
To locate each warhead precisely, he waited for his image of each site to come into steady focus: breasts would turn to radar domes, and islands into well-fenced sites. With his eyes closed, he moved his hand across the map. He saw a sandy ocean, and an island like the first. Waiting for the image to clear, he saw ten missile silos. Marking a line of sites near Kirghizia, he moved his hand north until another bright image appeared. There was a silver bucket and apples sliding on ice. Metal cranes were sinking in a bog.
“Apples,” he murmured. “What have apples got to do with atom bombs?”
“Maybe they’re building silos there,” Fall said. “You’re pointing to Lake Baikal.”
In Atabet’s shifting vision, the apples turned to red metal spheres. Were they some kind of transport device? Or did they shield the warheads from the cold? He felt something round and smooth. Where the sensation was strongest, he made five circles with dots.
It was one in the morning when Atabet stood up from the maps. “This is madness,” he sighed, looking around at the others. “But I think I did it. I’ll go over tomorrow to check.” He ran his hands across both maps. Each had several hundred x’s marked in red. “I can’t tell exactly how many warheads each cross represents,” he said. “But this should give them a good idea about the general layout. The dotted circles, especially these by Lake Baikal, are a little less certain. Maybe they’re building them now.”
He stood unshaven in the firelight, his blue denim shirt hanging over his belt. “What were you seeing?” Corinne asked. “You haven’t said a word since eleven o’clock.”
“I hope I was imagining it.” He shuddered. “But the horror is closer than we think. It seems to be happening now, in fact. It’s as if the bombs are going off already.”
28
FOUR DAYS AFTER ATABET made his missile maps, Fall brought them to the Soviet Union. When Kirov came to his rooms at the National Hotel, they were spread on a table in full view of the hidden cameras that Kozin had installed. Fall told him about Atabet’s guesses, and Kirov had him repeat the story to make sure it was filmed and taped. If the guesses were even partly correct, they would provide astonishing confirmation of his argument that clairvoyance should be studied in depth.
When Fall finished his account, he gave Kirov his book and papers. Kirov had him describe them carefully for Kozin’s microphones. Then he set a date for their next meeting and took the documents to his commission’s new office in the Academy’s headquarters on Leninskii Prospekt.
At first Atabet’s maps were greeted with amusement. As news of the incident spread from the commission’s office, members of the Praesidium staff began to say that Kirov would be a laughing stock by nightfall. By six o’clock that night, however, the jokes had turned to alarm and suspicion. A check with the military showed that Atabet had located more than a hundred Soviet missile sites, including silos east of Lake Baikal that were not yet finished. These and other unfinished sites were marked with dotted circles. Fall and Atabet must be instruments, unwitting or not, of U.S. intelligence, some of Kozin’s people argued. But if that were the case, why would the Americans want the Soviets to know? At eight o’clock the San Francisco KGB Residency was queried for information. At ten o’clock a coded message from California referred Kozin to material sent by diplomatic pouch three days before, material that his team had not yet reviewed. In it was evidence that Atabet had made his guesses without CIA help. There were films and tapes to show that.
When Kozin reviewed the films from San Francisco, he was forced to admit that the California team was among the KGB’s best. It was amazing that they could have made them from a hill four hundred yards from the target. This was a virtuoso performance, he told his staff.
At 5:30 the following morning, Strelnikov studied the maps. After reviewing the entire affair and consulting with Kozin’s people, he decided to let Kirov include the event in arguments before his review committee. He granted the permission in a formal written statement, knowing that most of his colleagues would interpret his decision as a concession to the proponents of parapsychology. But he felt he had no other choice. To suppress the incident might ultimately bring it even more attention.
Atabet’s maps, meanwhile, had upset Kozin badly. His own surveillance people, boasting about their success in tracking the Americans in California, inadvertently strengthened Kirov’s case. One had even said he was convinced that clairvoyance was sometimes an effective intelligence tool, one that their team might use. Hearing one of his own men voice such an opinion, Kozin concluded that Kirov was turning each effort to debunk him into a victory. Strelnikov’s decision to put Atabet’s guesses before the review committee confirmed this. If he wasn’t stopped soon, Kirov’s influence in the Academy might increase dramatically. The only way to hurt him now was through a scandal. Fortunately, Kozin’s surveillance people had found out something he could use to cause one.
At three o’clock that afternoon, Kozin came into Strelnikov’s office. “I hear you’ve seen Kirov’s latest find,” he said. “What does the military say about it?”
“The Defense Ministry says it is accurate,” Strelnikov said with a shrug. “But they are not worried. The Americans get more information than that from their satellite pictures.”
“But what do you think?” Kozin folded his hands on his lap to compose himself. “Is it some kind of trick?”
“Your staff says it isn’t. They told me about the movies your team in San Francisco made. I congratulate you.”
“But the movies don’t prove that American intelligence is not involved. The whole thing might be part of a plan.”
“According to your staff, that is highly unlikely. At least the part your people filmed. The American’s spontaneity in making his guesses is obvious, they say.”
“I’ve seen the films, but something about this alarms me. I hope you won’t give this material to Kirov’s review committee.”
“And why not?” Strelnikov’s strong features softened. “What does this episode prove?”
“So you are giving the American’s maps to the review committee!” Kozin smiled sardonically. “Don’t you think you’re taking a risk, showing everyone our missile sites?”
“Not in the least. The Defense Ministry has given its approval. No one on the committee works for Western intelligence, and even if they did they wouldn’t
learn anything new. General Gradov laughed about it when we talked today. If you’re concerned, go talk to him.”
Kozin checked the anger he felt. “It is unfortunate,” he said, choosing his words with care, “that you have put Muhammad Khan on the review committee. My people have found some alarming facts about him.”
“What alarming facts?”
“He might belong to a secret Sufi group with separatist aims for Islam, a group connected to the Naqshebandi clans of Central Asia. One of my people heard him pass secret signs to members of a group here in Moscow. It seems that the militant sheiks have taken an interest in Kirov’s commission. Some of us think they are working with Kirov himself.”
“Are you sure of this?” Strelnikov veiled his alarm. “The faculty of the Institute for Islamic Studies said he knew more about esoteric Islam than anyone else, and we need someone on the committee to check that side of things.”
“Unfortunately, this might be the wrong someone,” Kozin said with discouragement. “Have you heard the phrase, ‘Tamerlane’s Angels’? It’s a code name for his group. Or the ‘Way by Kyzyl Kum’? Another one of their codes. One of my staff heard Muhammad Khan use both phrases with another member of the Islamic Directorate for Central Asia yesterday. We are trying to learn what they mean.”
“Then we should drop him from Kirov’s committee,” Strelnikov said quietly.
“No!” Kozin leaned toward the desk. “Please, these are only suspicions. If they are plotting something, this is a good chance for us to see. Kirov’s commission might draw them out.”
Strelnikov nodded gravely, raising his hand to signal an end to their talk. “Yakov,” he said. “I am watching this whole thing carefully. Nothing will get out of control. But if you don’t moderate your worries and stop bothering me like this, I will have to complain to the Committee for State Security.”
Kozin was stunned. This rebuke proved that Strelnikov was on Kirov’s side. “I am only doing my duty,” he said, veiling his alarm. “I will keep you informed about our surveillance of Kirov and the sheik.”
Strelnikov nodded, but did not reply. He could no longer hide his dislike for Kozin. “Please go,” he said. “I’m sure you will do your duty.”
Later that afternoon, Strelnikov sat alone in his office looking at Rozhnov’s book. For three weeks he had studied it with fascination, wondering who its anonymous author might be.
The book was a commentary on a Persian poem, “Golshan-e Raz,’ The Rose Garden of Mystery, that focused on the ascent of the soul to fana fi-llah, its reabsorption in God. Strelnikov reread a passage that described the visio smaragdina, the Green Vision at the summit of the Mystery, the ecstatic union within the emerald labyrinth of the ‘luminous night.’ He was amazed how closely the words resembled the cries of Boris Marichuk in his final agony. The cosmonaut might have been shouting the words of this passage.
Strelnikov put down the book and started pacing the office. His restlessness had grown as he fought his fascination with the complexities of the space-capsule crash. Slapping the desk, he cursed his state of confusion. Was he suffering that turn to religion he had so often joked about? The failure of nerve that afflicted so many aging scientists? Or was he on the edge of extraordinary insight? He cursed Kozin for warning him against Kirov, the person who might help him most with his dilemma.
29
KIROV PLACED HIS FILES on the table, straightened the lapels of his formal gray suit, and surveyed the conference room. Its cool businesslike atmosphere, he hoped, would contribute to a dispassionate meeting. The bare white walls and green carpeted floor had a quieting effect that was reinforced by the dignity of the room’s location on the Praesidium’s second floor. The sobriety that pervaded the building might restrain the passions his report would invite. That would be fortunate, given the potentially volatile make-up of the group. A fight during his first review would not sit well with Strelnikov and his colleagues.
Kirov took a seat to gather his composure. In spite of his elaborate preparations, the review committee’s dynamics were impossible to calculate. Muhammad Khan’s remarks that morning had only increased his uncertainty about the committee members.
Kirov recalled their chance encounter, the second one in which the sheik had mentioned Tamerlane’s Angels. The old Sufi passwords sometimes meant that friends would help in a crisis. Was the sheik an ally after all? There were rumors that the government’s Islamic Directorate for Central Asia, of which the old man was vice-chairman, had been infiltrated by a Sufi group. Did Muhammad Khan have an allegiance to it? Conceivably, he had tried to say there would be allies at this meeting.
Kirov reviewed the committee list. Present at this first meeting would be: Sheik Muhammad Khan, as an expert on esoteric religious psychologies; Leonid Karpov of the KGB’s Department A, the disinformation section of the First Chief Directorate; Boris Alexeyev, an anthropologist who studied shamanism; Yevgeny Strugatsky, a medically trained director of the space-flight program; two psychologists from Moscow State University; and a secretary to record the proceedings. Had the sheik signaled that there would be friends in this critical group? Though he could not be sure, Kirov was prepared for such a possibility.
He had assembled several studies for this meeting. For each one he had passed a summary page the day before to every committee member. He thumbed through them now, rehearsing his arguments. He would begin by saying that the Soviet leadership faced a triple challenge: from the Western world’s research into mental process, from the irrepressible interest of the Soviet people in such mysteries, and from certain inexplicable events like the capsule incident. He would then review Soviet intelligence reports about Western parapsychology, work with “hidden reserves,” and research in altered states of consciousness. These and other studies, he would argue, contained overwhelming evidence that humans possessed untapped capacities that commanded the interest of people all over the world. Interest in the mind’s farther reaches was irresistible and could be harnessed through the kinds of programs he would eventually propose. He would present a mass of supporting material, including several KGB studies (one on UFOs), transcripts from the 1966 Commission on Soviet Values, summaries of Soviet successes in parapsychology and Darwin Fall’s two-thousand page study of the human organism’s neglected powers. As further evidence for his argument, he would describe the apparent connections between the cosmonaut incident that had triggered this study and the extraordinary possessions of an Argentine boy at Project Elefant. In conclusion, he would reveal Jacob Atabet’s successful guesses about the placement of Soviet missiles. To support this revelation he would use the written confirmation of Ivan Strelnikov that the American had made his maps in California.
As Kirov reviewed his summaries, the recording secretary came into the room. He was a man in his sixties, tall and ascetic-looking, with a command of Central Asian languages. Kirov had seen him before in meetings of the Council for Affairs of Religious Sects. The tall figure bowed with a look of apology. His tape machine had just broken down, and he wouldn’t bother to find another. But Kirov shouldn’t worry: the Academy official in charge of this review had given him permission to take shorthand notes. Kirov joked that there would be enough for everyone to read without another lengthy transcript.
The secretary seated himself behind the chairs at the conference table. As he did, a voice echoed in the hall. Boris Alexeyev came through the door, wiping his sweating forehead and hitching up his corduroy pants. He had gained fifty pounds since they had seen each other last, Kirov guessed. “Vladimir!” he said with a booming voice. “I hear that you will lecture on the secrets of angels!”
Alexeyev laughed loudly, his red beard bouncing on his chest. “Be prepared for some extraordinary tales!” he said to the secretary. “I did not think I would ever hear something like this at an Academy review committee!” Alexeyev’s disarming presence would lighten the discussion, Kirov knew, but the man would shrewdly track each nuance of his presentation. No one in the Soviet Un
ion knew more about Siberian shamanism, but Kirov was never sure what credence Alexeyev gave to the putative powers of the shamans he studied. His attitude toward Kirov’s studies was unclear.
As he and Kirov traded pleasantries, the two psychologists entered, dressed in dark blue suits. They were thin, with glasses, and looked to be in their thirties. Neither was familiar to Kirov, though he had heard that one was an expert in reinforcement theory and an acquaintance of B. F. Skinner. They took their seats quietly, a little shy it seemed in Kirov’s presence. He guessed that they had never participated in a Praesidium review. Alexeyev winked at Kirov, his playfulness a vivid contrast to the psychologists’ formal demeanor. One of them forced a smile for the anthropologist, while the other studied Kirov’s summaries.
Then Leonid Karpov arrived. He was a stocky, broad-faced man who had been a protégé of General Agayants, the first director of the KGB’s disinformation department. Karpov helped circulate misleading information abroad about Soviet work in parapsychology, and he decided which psychic researchers could be seen by Westerners. Kirov was glad he was on the committee, for the man knew better than anyone else which Soviet efforts in these fields were supported by government funds and which were amateur efforts.
Yevgeny Strugatsky came next, carrying a briefcase under his arm. He was a director of cosmonaut training whom Kirov had seen before at the Baikonur Cosmodrome. They had occasionally talked about the psychological aspects of space flight, Strugatsky asking Kirov’s opinions on concentration exercises to control the nausea caused by zero gravity. Kirov wondered if he knew of the telepathic experiments conducted on the ill-fated flight. Strugatsky nodded pleasantly and shook hands with the others. There was an unencumbered intelligence about him that felt refreshing to Kirov, a clarity of mind that would help this group when passions ran strong.
End to Ordinary History Page 21