The Genesis Conspiracy

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The Genesis Conspiracy Page 12

by Richard Hatcher


  “I haven’t gotten to that part yet.” Katie smiled. “First, let me finish my story about Professor Kozlov. I suspect that he found something really interesting about my grandfather’s tissue sample. He keeps a row of old lab notebooks on a bookcase in his office. I was flipping through them one day and found the term Genesis Project. At the time, I wasn’t looking for anything related to Dmitri so I didn’t think much of it. That’s until I found the same term in one of my grandfather’s old textbooks just before I left for Mongolia. Genesis Project was handwritten in the margins of a chapter on vertebrate embryonic development.”

  “What was the title of the book?”

  “Paleontological Zoology.”

  “That’s interesting,” Jake responded. “So if the two are connected, your grandfather’s find might have been a very young offspring, possibly unborn?”

  “Maybe,” Katie said. “But that’s where the trail goes cold.”

  “Except for the Gemini capsule,” Jake returned to his biggest question. “Either no one in the U.S. government wants to admit its existence, or there’s no one left who knew anything about it…except you and some very bad people.”

  A prankish look came across Katie’s face. “You may trust me, comrade,” she said with a thick accent and then laughed at the sound of her silliness.

  Jake shook his head in mock disapproval but before he could voice an analogous response, the waitress brought their breakfast order. A wonderful, rich aroma filled his nostrils.

  “Tvorok cheese stuffed blinis with wild mushroom cream sauce,” Katie announced as the plates were set in front of them. She then spoke to the waitress in Russian, causing the young woman to giggle.

  “I didn’t quite catch that,” Jake said as the woman walked away.

  “I simply asked her to bring you another order.”

  “That’s what I thought you said.” He smiled. “And the second part, the one that made her laugh?”

  “Oh that,” Katie’s eyes brightened, “I just said you were a growing boy.”

  “Thanks,” he replied in a low voice. “Now can we get back to the Gemini capsule…comrade?”

  “First, how’s the breakfast?”

  Jake took a bite and let it savor in his mouth. “Wonderful!”

  “I knew you’d like it. It’s my favorite dish here.” She scooted her chair close to him. “OK, about four months ago, a man named Oleg Volkov came to visit me at the museum. He said that he had worked on a program back in the sixties called Operation Falcon Eyes that was run out of some intelligence group in the U.S., which he wouldn’t name. The group was responsible for identifying threats to the U.S. government, mostly from Eastern Europe and Cuba. In 1964, there were three sites that the Americans needed to gather more information on. One was thought to be an experimental aircraft test center. Another was a probable chemical weapons plant. The third was the one they feared most. There was speculation that the Soviet Union was building a missile base in Cuba that could easily strike the U.S.”

  “Like the one that set off the Cuban Missile Crisis.”

  “Exactly. Because of President Kennedy’s Bay of Pigs, Cuba was pretty much a hands-off country. The only way the Americans could get a closer look was by taking high altitude photos. The Air Force was already planning to use Gemini capsules for surveillance missions. This Falcon Eyes program just rushed it up a bit.”

  “Then why isn’t this common knowledge today?” Jake asked. “I can understand classified programs, but the Cold War is over and most of its secrets revealed. Why is this still under wraps, and why does some Russian guy know all these details?”

  “I asked those same questions. Volkov told me that he was the only survivor of a small group who were given the task of evaluating a top secret Russian camera. The technology is ancient by today’s standard, but at the time it was state-of-the-art. Volkov had smuggled the camera out of the Soviet Union. It had been a top level Russian research project and was the only one in existence. To protect the inventor of the camera, they had intentionally limited the number of people who knew about it.”

  “That would be understandable if it were 1964 or even 1984,” Jake charged, “but it doesn’t explain why it’s still a secret today. What about the dead guy onboard? Did Volkov say anything about him?”

  “No,” Katie shook her head. “But he did say that he believed the Falcon Eyes program was the cause of my grandfather’s disappearance, and more to the point, the cause of his death.”

  Jake narrowed his gaze at her. “But I thought…”

  “Let me explain. The chemical weapons plant turned out to be a paleontological expedition headed by my grandfather. Volkov was unaware of it until much later, but a Soviet mole had infiltrated their group. When the man reported the Gemini mission to his supervisors, they sent the Russian military into the area to investigate. Volkov believed they murdered everyone at the site including my grandfather. There actually was no chemical weapons plant or any other Soviet project in the area.”

  “Then there’s no real tie to your Genesis Project,” Jake asserted. “If Oleg Volkov is correct, your grandfather was killed simply for being in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

  “Except for this,” Katie replied, removing a crinkled envelope from the inside pocket of her jacket. She pulled a yellowed piece of paper from it and translated as she read:

  My dearest Galina,

  We are so close. Once I hear from Peter, my American friend, and get his high altitude photos, we will be able to finish the work. Please pray for our success.

  Your loving husband,

  Dmitri

  “This is a telegram,” Katie said, handing him the paper, “dated April 3, 1964, five days before the Gemini launch. I just found it in a box that Baba had hidden away. She thinks the box is why our apartment was broken into.”

  “High altitude photos,” Jake repeated. “It certainly hints to a connection.”

  “This is all so frustrating,” Katie said, “but I have to find out what’s going on here. Since the day that Oleg Volkov came to see me, I have thought of little else.”

  “So you didn’t have the telegram before you went to Mongolia?”

  “No.”

  “I see,” he replied contemplatively. “Did you ask your grandmother about Dmitri’s friend from the telegram, the American named Peter?”

  “All she said was that my grandfather had a friend named Peter Jensen. She had met him a couple of times, but she really didn’t know anything about him other than he was an American who shared a number of common interests with Dmitri.”

  “How did you find the capsule? Did Volkov know where it was?”

  “No, although based on telemetry records, he suspected it had landed somewhere in Mongolia. If you look at the data from the official NASA website, there were orbits that put the spacecraft directly over where we found it. I began searching the Internet for anything that linked Mongolia with the early space program. Last month I came across a newly uploaded article from an old Russian travel magazine. There were photos of a scrap of parachute fabric that had been found near the Flaming Cliffs of Mongolia. The author had no idea where it had come from. I did a search on NASA parachutes from that era and realized that it could have been from a Gemini capsule. I called Mr. Volkov to tell him what I’d found, and surprisingly, he sent me the money to go. He said that he owed it to my grandfather.”

  Jake frowned. “This is not adding up. For Baranov to have known to look for a camera and film,” he argued, “and tie it back to your family, someone would have to have shared this same information with him. You didn’t even know that the film had any link to your grandfather until you got back and found the telegram. Therefore, you couldn’t have let it slip nor could Baranov have gotten the info from your notes.”

  With a sudden look of shock, Katie brought her hands up and buried her face in them. “I must be blind. It was a set-up, wasn’t it? Oleg used me to find the capsule. He and Baranov must have been in league
together.”

  “They probably assumed that your grandfather left more information than he did.”

  “Or at least more than Baba has given me access to. What is wrong with me? I’ve really messed things up.”

  “Trust me,” Jake replied, reassuringly touching her hand. “I’ve never been one to weigh out all the facts before charging ahead. You can ask my mom about that. Between me and my brother, I’m surprised the poor woman is still sane.”

  Katie smiled. “Thank you. Maybe if I’d had someone to talk with about all this, I would have seen the dangers ahead of time.”

  Jake smiled at Katie’s comment. “You ready to get back to our casual morning marathon? After all, I paid for the nickel tour so you’re not off the hook yet. Maybe we can come up with a plan along the way.”

  “How was breakfast?”

  “Not too bad,” he replied looking down at his empty plate. “Can we come back tomorrow?”

  23

  Sergei Baranov sat in his small, dismal office, staring at a bottle of pills on his desk. Adorning the walls were cheaply framed posters of visiting museum attractions he’d had some part in managing. He studied each of them in turn as he rotated slowly in his chair: Galapagos Island: On Board the HMS Beagle; Dawn of Man: Our African Ancestors; and finally, Neanderthals: A Step in the Upward Direction. It was the one currently on display. There wasn’t much to show for his brief academic career, but he gradually entertained the thought that it was all there was ever going to be.

  The lunch hour had passed and like breakfast, he had eaten nothing. His careful plans were falling down around him. How could he have been so stupid? Snatching the bottle, he held it up in the dim light to read the label: AcePro, a tranquilizer given to thoroughbreds to calm them down before a race. In the past, half a tablet was all he’d needed to put most of his cares behind him. He wondered what two or three or perhaps the whole bottle would do.

  Nine, ten, eleven… He counted them out in his hand.

  As he reached for a half empty bottle of Vodka, there was a knock at the door.

  “Who is it?” he said in an abrupt, fearful voice.

  “Alena.”

  “It’s unlocked.”

  When the door opened, a tall, slender woman with long, platinum blonde hair entered the room. She was wearing a bright red dress and matching spiked heels.

  “What are you doing here?” he asked.

  “I’ve been trying to reach you all day. You haven’t returned any of my calls. Is everything OK?”

  Baranov leaned back in his chair and cocked his head as he looked up at her. “You’re looking at a dead man,” he said flatly.

  “What?” she gasped in response.

  “It’s all going to hell, and I can’t blame anyone but myself. I knew from the minute I met Engel’s henchmen at the airport that they could never be trusted. If you’re fabulously wealthy and former Eastern Bloc, you’re as dirty as April snow.” His speech was distinctly slurred.

  “You’re drunk.”

  “Almost, but not enough,” he replied.

  “I don’t understand why you’re not running if you’re so scared. You still have the film. Others will be interested, especially that first guy. His lackey is still here trying to get his hands on it. I’ve been trying to reach you because I took a call today from someone in the States who knows about the film and wants to discuss an offer with you. Forget these other guys. Let’s run and regroup. As long as we have the film, we’re in control. It would be better than hiding in here until they find you.”

  In his inebriated state, Baranov was suddenly caught up in her enthusiasm. He’d never expected to find more than a sexual consort in Alena, but she could actually be a true partner, a soul mate. He smiled at the banality of such an overused term. Still, his burden of loneliness felt lighter and what she was saying made sense. He could wait for the Germans and hope for the best, but he knew there would never be a single euro transferred to his account. His death would assure them anonymity. They were probably waiting for him outside, but it was better to try than to do their job for them.

  “You’re wonderful,” he said as he struggled to rise from the chair.

  “Are you going to get the film?” she probed.

  “Yes,” he mumbled, grabbing his coat.

  “Is it here?”

  “Upstairs. The old photo lab behind the fossil storage room.”

  When he turned around to grab the door handle, he suddenly caught a glimpse of something out of place in her hand. Too late, he realized it was the barrel of a small automatic handgun.

  Blam, Blam! A deafening report and flash came from the weapon. The impact drove him against the filing cabinets next to the door.

  “Why?” he managed to say as he sank to his knees.

  “Because you were never going to leave that witch and because I’m no one’s mistress. My life begins today.”

  Stepping over him, she opened the door and headed for the central stairwell that led to the paleontological labs. Alone once more, Baranov managed to roll over on his back as excruciating pain and the coppery smell of his own blood overwhelmed his senses. In the dim light, he saw an exhibit poster behind his desk: Mythology in the Post Modern World; God in an Intellectual Age. If there really was a god, a final thought entered his fading consciousness—he was about to meet him.

  24

  The morning quickly faded into afternoon as Jake and Katie strolled along the canals in the heart of the city. She explained more about her trip to Mongolia and the events following her return. She also told Jake about her supervisor and the conversation she’d overhead between him and one of their attackers. His involvement had come as no surprise. Before her departure, Baranov had certainly asked more questions than usual, especially since he’d rarely spoken to her after she had confronted him about his disgusting sexual humor.

  “You think the film is still in the darkroom?” Jake asked.

  “Unless they’ve moved it today. Professor Kozlov’s daughter has been keeping an eye on the fossil room and on Baranov. He hasn’t been coming in to work very much, but when he does, he stays in his office with the door shut.”

  “If I buy a ticket to the museum,” Jake posed, “how hard is it to gain access to the restricted areas?”

  “They’re all controlled with swipe cards.”

  “Do you still have one?” Jake asked hopefully.

  “I do, but I can’t promise it will work.”

  “Do you have after hours access?”

  “Until 9:00.”

  “What time does the museum close?”

  “Today is Thursday,” Katie thought aloud. “Four thirty.”

  Jake checked his watch. “That’s fifteen minutes from now. If you’ll loan me your card, I’ll give it a try.”

  “I’m not sure that’s a good plan,” Katie said. “The thought of going back to that museum doesn’t thrill me, especially with what I ran into there a couple of days ago. If anyone checked the login records, they’ll know I’m back. I wouldn’t put it past Baranov to have the system spit out a warning message when my swipe card goes through. We could be walking into a trap.”

  “Why don’t you let me go alone?” Jake suggested. “There’s no reason for both of us to risk it.”

  Katie smiled and wrapped her arm around his. “That’s very sweet and noble, but I couldn’t bear it if something happened to you. Until you showed up yesterday, I was miserable. I didn’t know if you’d been killed. I don’t want to go through that again. We’re either in this together or…”

  “Don’t even think it.” Jake nudged her. “You’re not alone anymore. We are in this together. OK?”

  Katie nodded as she squeezed his arm.

  “Now, let’s go see what’s on that film,” Jake encouraged. “If your grandfather was right, the whole world is waiting for this mystery to be solved. And frankly, my curiosity is getting the best of me.”

  25

  “Dietrich,” the insipid voice on t
he other end of the phone answered.

  “Yes sir,” Alena replied uneasily. She held the cell phone close to her mouth, cautiously looking about. “This is Alena Fomin, Mr. Baranov’s secretary.”

  There was a protracted pause with no reply on the other end of the line, so Alena continued. “I… uh. I’ve replaced Mr. Baranov. He is no longer in possession of your merchandise. You will be dealing with me now.”

  “Where is the film?” Dietrich demanded.

  “I have it, or rather I…I will have it tomorrow. I can meet you and deliver it.”

  “Where is the film?” Rune Dietrich repeated more sternly.

  Alena’s mind raced as she thought through her ad hoc scheme. Like Baranov, she was smart enough to know these Germans could not be trusted. Once they had what they wanted, they would kill everyone involved. Her only hope was to keep them off balance while she covertly retrieved the film from the darkroom. Then she’d hide out until the dust settled and make contact with her half-brother. He was savvy in dealing with the underworld. He’d even spent time in prison on a mafia-related fraud indictment. Vasilii would know what to do next. They would be partners and share the money.

  “This will be on my terms,” she mustered the courage to say.

  “And what are those terms?” Dietrich smugly asked.

  “Tomorrow morning, 8:00, Alexander’s Column, Palace Square,” she tersely replied.

  “Why should I trust you?”

  “Baranov had other customers, but you are the only ones I know about. I’m also not greedy. Whatever amount you had originally settled upon is satisfactory.”

  “How can I be assured that Baranov will not try to stop you? You may need my protection.”

  “That won’t be necessary,” she said smugly.

  “And why is that?”

  “Because I killed him.” She surprisingly enjoyed the power in that statement. “I come from a family that you should not cross. Now…do we have deal or not?”

 

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