Master of Starlight

by Keith Short

  ‘I just want our love back, Leon.’

  CHAPTER 40

  The London apartment provided a safe house in which they could spend twenty-four hours a day together after months of separation; a place where they could lock themselves away and pour out their stories and their feelings in private. But it was becoming claustrophobic and their relationship was strained. After a week spent in their little piece of Earth between heaven and hell, Leon and Magda returned to Poland. Leon’s Krakow apartment was to provide a peaceful haven in which they could recover from their respective traumas, settle down and learn to relax once more. At least that was the idea. Magda was watching the European business news when the entrance door crashed open.

  ‘TV off!’

  ‘TV closing down, Mahler,’ replied the Melomet.

  ‘Must remember to restore my old wafer-set. Don’t want to be a Classico fugitive for the rest of my life.’

  ‘I was watching that,’ Magda said indignantly. ‘It’s all about Fusion Limited and progress in developing nuclear fusion power. I take it you’re still interested in that?’

  ‘Later, maybe? You and I have some serious detective work to do.’

  ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘I’m talking about getting to the bottom of why we’ve lost almost a year of our lives through no fault of our own and why our relationship is now like a cotton thread under tension. You were swept up at random into an Eastern European sex trafficking operation and ended up in one of Alexei Rodin’s brothels. It just happened to be located under the headquarters of the world’s leading private nuclear power company where I worked. What’s the probability of that happening?’

  ‘Why are you raising your voice, Leon? Vanishingly small, I would say.’

  He’d irritated her but he didn’t seem to care. ‘Agreed. It wasn’t random at all. You must have been targeted. The next question is why? I’ll tell you my own thoughts on that. Whoever arranged your abduction and incarceration did it to get me out of the way. If they could arrange for me to become preoccupied with finding you, it would divert me from my role within Fusion and provide them with the opportunity to help themselves to the data we’d accumulated from months of research at Greifswald. The data on the Goldhurst computers would be worth a fortune to any would-be hackers.’

  ‘But how did they know you wouldn’t go to Chekhov and ask for his help? They must have taken an enormous gamble.’

  ‘I did consider speaking with him but it was a non-starter. Don’t forget, I was involved with the Polish police by the time I came over to London. Imagine Chekhov’s reaction if he’d discovered that? Whoever set this up must have carefully thought through the risks and rewards.’

  Magda nodded. ‘I think you’re right. That had to be their motive for abducting me.’

  ‘So, who arranged your abduction?’ Leon asked.

  ‘It could only have been Alexei Rodin. But if I was a specific target for him, then it means . . .’

  ‘Yes, you’re thinking along the right lines. Rodin must have been involved in the data smuggling operation and she was the one who wanted me out of the way.’

  ‘She?’

  ‘Yes, Rodin is a woman. If we could gain access to the Russian Embassy’s records, I think we’d find her name is spelt A–L–E–X–I. She dressed as a man while she was at Eight Over Nine to avoid detection by any vice squad. She must have realised that MI5 would be looking for a sophisticated madame who was capable of running a chain of high-class London brothels, whereas the Polish police would be looking for a brute of an overlord who controlled Eastern European sex trafficking gangs. Her disguise would throw them both.’

  ‘But Rodin wouldn’t be short of money. So, what was her motive for stealing the data?’

  ‘Well, if you ask me, it was money,’ Leon said confidently. ‘Rodin must be a ruthless chancer and she must have realised that the rewards would be astronomical. But she couldn’t have accessed the data herself. Someone had to be doing it for her.’

  Magda looked at Leon with a wry smile. ‘And it obviously wasn’t you. How about Gunther? Would he have a motive?’

  ‘I know Gunther and I trust my own judgement. I’m sure he wouldn’t do anything like that, and they’d have watched Kaminsky like hawks while he physically handled the stellerator data. I reckon Kaminsky was murdered because whoever was responsible for the data theft must have discovered that he was getting close to rumbling them. That means someone inside Goldhurst with a high level of security clearance.’

  ‘What about your CEO, Roman Slavic?’

  ‘Slavic craves prestige and fame but isn’t driven by money. And he appreciates that any Nobel Prize is likely to go to me and Gunther.’

  ‘Oh, modesty, I must say.’ Magda laughed at her own quip but she could see that Leon was in no mood for humour. ‘You know these people better than I do, Leon. So, all we have is Alexei Rodin as the mole. What are we going to do about it?’

  ‘Nothing – at the moment. We have our theory, that’s all. We need to get proof and work out how she did it. That won’t be easy now I no longer work for Fusion.’

  Magda threw up her arms. ‘What? You physicists and your damned theories.’ She shook her head in dismay.

  ‘Don’t worry, Magda. I’ll find the answers. Then we can start to rebuild our lives.’

  It took Leon the best part of a week to persuade Magda to go back to the Stare Miasto in the centre of Krakow. ‘I don’t want to wake up in Eight Over Nine,’ she kept telling him, and it hurt him to see someone with such a fine rational mind talking like that. They entered the main underground bar area of the Keller Klub. Leon pointed to the bar. ‘Look, the seats we had that night – they’re free. Let’s sit there.’

  Magda froze. ‘Do you think this is such a good idea?’

  ‘We have to face it,’ Leon said, squeezing her hand. ‘It’s the only way we can unravel this torment in your head. Somehow, we have to wipe the slate clean, get back to where we were.’

  Magda placed her hands flat on the bar. She’s trying to prevent me from seeing that she’s trembling. He touched her fingers as he had that fateful evening and she withdrew her hand. ‘Leon, I don’t think—’

  He placed his finger over her lips. ‘Don’t talk. Just close your eyes and drift back. Remember how you felt. Remember our touches—’

  ‘It’s not going to work,’ came a voice.

  ‘What the—’ Leon looked up. The man who’d taken the seat next to them was tall and well built; his penetrating eyes shone out from behind steel-framed spectacles.

  ‘I said it isn’t going to work. The damage is psycho-subliminal. It’s burned into your psyche.’

  ‘You just look here,’ Leon snapped. He was standing now. ‘You can mind your own business. And do it somewhere outside this bar.’ He squared up to the big man who remained seated.

  ‘Hold on, Leon. How does he know this?’ Magda turned her attention to the stranger. ‘You know what they did to me? You’re one of them, aren’t you?’

  ‘In a sense I am. I work for Vladimir Chekhov.’

  The throb of fear buzzed in Leon’s ears. He turned towards Magda. Her mouth was open and her face was white. She must have realised it too. Chekhov has finally tracked me down.

  ‘Forgive me,’ the stranger said. ‘Let me introduce myself. I am Ivan Kuzmin.’

  ‘Kuzmin?’ Magda sat up straight. ‘I recognise that name. You’re the one who wrote the report. What are you doing here?’

  ‘I’m here to help you. I can get your mind straightened out. It requires a psychological procedure, a form of neuro-version.’

  ‘You mean you’re suggesting I let them zap my brain again? You can forget that.’

  ‘Professor Tomala, believe me when I tell you I’m your only hope. What I’m offering is to arrange a reversal of the process known as n-flash. It would be the sa
me neurosurgeon who applied the initial procedure. But don’t worry, he no longer works for the Eight Over Nine management. He reports to Mr Chekhov without the pressures he encountered from the organisation at that time.’

  ‘You make him sound like a Nazi death doctor,’ said Leon.

  ‘I can tell you don’t trust me. And I can also see that you’re afraid of what I represent.’

  ‘I’m afraid of Chekhov, if that’s what you mean. He wants to kill me.’

  Kuzmin smiled and shook his head. ‘You’re wrong. Why would he kill you? He needs you. And this is what I seek in return for helping Professor Tomala. I want you to agree to a meeting with Vladimir Chekhov.’

  ‘Why would I want to do that?’

  ‘I’ll explain. But first I must inform you of the current situation within Fusion Limited – your company, Dr Dabrowski. You’ve recently convened meetings with Mr Chekhov and you’re therefore aware that results from research being carried out in Germany are being copied to American research teams.’ Leon nodded. ‘I must also inform you that this embezzlement of data has continued, despite the deaths of Drs Kaminsky and Slavic.’

  A surge of cold electricity shook Leon’s body. ‘Slavic? He’s dead too?’

  ‘Yes. It was suicide, I found him myself. This means that you and your colleague Dr Gunther Schroeder are the only personnel who retain access to the data in question. Dr Schroeder is in custody.’

  ‘You’ve imprisoned Gunther Schroeder? I can guarantee he wouldn’t do anything like this. And I’m not involved. It has to be more complicated than you imagine.’

  ‘Forget the data security issue for a moment. What’s more important to Mr Chekhov is Fusion’s research programme. Following the disruption to his senior management team, he’s going to have to rely on you for the continuation of the programme. Without you, there would be no more data.’

  Leon’s mind shifted into overdrive – he had to be careful. Chekhov was astute; he desperately needed him back in charge of his programme and would probably pay anything for the privilege. But you never declare your hand early to a poker player like Chekhov. ‘You mean Chekhov wants me to give his project a boost? Well, there’d be terms associated with that – his guarantee of my ongoing health for a start.’

  ‘I’m afraid I can’t provide guarantees on Mr Chekhov’s behalf. In fact, he doesn’t know I’m here. All I’m saying is that a meeting could be of great benefit to you both.’

  ‘It sounds like you’re not sure whether either of us would agree to such a meeting. What is it that’s driving you?’

  ‘Let’s just say I’m doing my job. And in return for your cooperation I’m offering to help Professor Tomala.’ He smiled at them in turn. ‘I think it could be good for your relationship. Perhaps I should leave you now so you can think about my proposals?’

  ‘Just a minute,’ Magda said, ‘I still have one more issue to resolve.’

  ‘And which issue is that?’

  ‘Your report, Kuzmin. Why did you investigate Leon’s background, why all those questions about his parentage?’

  ‘All in good time, Professor Tomala. I wish you a good evening. A pleasure to meet you both.’ Kuzmin disappeared up the staircase. Leon and Magda were left looking at each other in astonishment.

  The day was filled with a sparkling freshness and bright sunshine. Arms linked, they made their way along Kacik Street, pulling up close for warmth.

  ‘You seem remarkably positive today, Leon,’ Magda said, ‘especially considering where we’ve just been.’

  ‘What did you think of the museum?’

  ‘It was more or less what I expected. Rewarding in its own way. Good for the soul.’ She leaned her head on his shoulder. ‘You’ve never visited Schindler’s factory before. Why now?’

  ‘I did it to put my life into context, Magda. Did you know that Szymon’s grandfather worked in there?’

  ‘I didn’t realise Szymon’s family were Jewish.’

  ‘They weren’t. They were Christian. But his grandfather married a Jewish girl. It was unusual around here at the time and for reasons I don’t need to go into it turned out to be their nemesis. He and his wife were taken to Auschwitz by the Germans. She was never seen again, but Mandek Dabrowski survived the holocaust, thanks to Oscar Schindler arranging for him to work in his factory.’

  When they reached the bridge, Magda suggested that instead of going straight home they should continue down to the riverbank. ‘Remember when we used to come here as students?’ she said as they walked along the path at the side of the Vistula.

  ‘I remember it well.’

  ‘Leon, I recognise that look of determination in your eyes. But there’s another programme running in that computer inside your skull. You’re concerned about Chekhov, aren’t you? Worried he’s going to find out where we are and come for us?’

  ‘Chekhov already knows where we are. He could be watching us as we speak.’

  ‘He couldn’t find you in London and since we no longer register our addresses in Melomet-space, he wouldn’t be able to find you here.’

  ‘Kuzmin found us, didn’t he? Pavel has promised us round-the-clock protection and I believe him. But if Chekhov wanted us killed, we’d already be dead, believe me. No, it’s not Chekhov that worries me. It’s Gunther Schroeder.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Poor Gunther is festering away in a cell while I’m doing nothing about it. He’s innocent, I know he is. But how do I prove it? Oscar Schindler put his life on the line to save those hapless concentration camp inmates. He helped individuals he’d never even met. What am I doing to save my best friend?’

  ‘You’re going to agree to Kuzmin’s request?’

  ‘I have no choice. I have to meet Vladimir Chekhov.’

  PART 4 – 2021

  Dawn of the Nuclear Fusion Age

  CHAPTER 41

  It seemed like years since Leon was last inside Goldhurst. The receptionists were cheerful as usual, yet he sensed they’d been briefed on the reason behind his absence.

  ‘Welcome home, Leon, we’ve missed you,’ said the head receptionist. ‘I’ll let Mr Kuzmin know you’re here.’

  ‘Thank you, ladies. All is well, I hope.’

  Their lack of response told him it wasn’t. However, Kuzmin arrived within a minute, which was reassuring.

  ‘Ah, Dr Dabrowski. So glad to have you back. Mr Chekhov is delighted with your decision to return to work and looks forward to meeting you in Monte Carlo. Here, I’ve renewed your pass.’ Kuzmin placed the lanyard around Leon’s neck. ‘We can go straight up to the viewing room. Dr Schroeder is waiting for us.’

  ‘Gunther’s up there?’

  Kuzmin waited until they were inside the elevator before he answered. ‘I persuaded Mr Chekhov to move Schroeder from the old cells. I don’t think he appreciates what poor conditions exist down there. It was like one of your old Victorian prisons – a legacy from his father’s era. However, you can be assured that Dr Schroeder is now occupying more salubrious surroundings. He’s still under house arrest, of course, until we get to the bottom of this commercial espionage matter.’

  ‘You mean Chekhov still suspects him?’

  ‘I’m afraid so.’

  ‘But he is fit and well, isn’t he? You haven’t—’

  ‘No, Dr Dabrowski, we haven’t tortured him. We’ve even provided him with food and water. You’re about to see for yourself.’ The elevator door opened.

  ‘Gunther!’ Leon embraced his colleague, took a step back and shook him by the shoulders. ‘Are you OK, my friend? You look terrible.’

  ‘I’m all right. You look a bit drawn yourself.’

  They embraced again.

  ‘Ahem, gentlemen,’ Kuzmin interrupted, ‘can we proceed with the entry protocol?’

  ‘Sorry, Kuzmin. You have to appreciate how glad we are to be here
.’

  Kuzmin ignored his sarcasm. ‘Request access.’

  The door to the data viewing room slid open and the three men entered. ‘That’s your seat on the extreme right,’ Leon said, to Kuzmin’s obvious annoyance. He took his own seat in the middle of the row of five stools, the room lights dimmed and the three occupied stools lit up in blue.

  ‘Members beta, gamma and epsilon present,’ said the Melomet. ‘Members alpha and delta absent. Can the validator please confirm?’

  Absent friends, thought Leon as he exchanged a sad glance with Schroeder. He nodded to Kuzmin.

  ‘Epsilon confirms,’ said Kuzmin, taking his cue.

  ‘View latest upload,’ Schroeder commanded.

  A twisted loop of brilliant white ribbon sprang to life in front of the video-wall and the holographic image rotated about its vertical axis. ‘It’s looking good, Gunther. You’ve done a fine job since I’ve been away.’

  ‘I’d hoped to be further on than this,’ Schroeder replied, ‘but you know the circumstances. Things would have been so different if you’d been here with us.’

  ‘What does it all mean?’ Kuzmin asked.

  ‘This holographic image depicts the behaviour of the plasma within the stellerator during our latest tests. The process is the same one that powers the stars – the forced fusion of low-mass isotopes which releases enormous energy. You’re looking at an image of man-made starlight.

  ‘You’ll have to spare me the physics lesson, Dr Dabrowski. I’m more interested in security breaches at the moment. Can you determine what we’ve leaked and the implications?’

  ‘I can. After all, this is why Chekhov let me back in, I presume. Can you provide the data status file, Gunther?’ The hologram disappeared and a vast array of zeros and ones covered the video-wall. ‘This doesn’t represent the actual stellerator data, it merely shows the key dates for this particular test run, including when the initial upload took place, when the partitioned data were subsequently downloaded for use by individual engineering teams and so on. We can interpret this array to find out if a whole dataset has ever been copied in one go – a situation we wouldn’t normally expect. How’s your memory functioning, Gunther?’