Act of God (5 page)

"Was he serious?" Laine asked. "That looked like an expensive automobile he was driving."

"Sure he was serious," Sam said, complacently. "But no way am I trading this beauty for some crummy Continental." He sounded as if his car had been insulted.

They stopped for a late lunch at the Marriott Inn Although Sam fretted and complained about the service, Laine found it incredibly prompt. In a Moscow restaurant, a quick lunch meant anything under two hours. As usual, Sam tried discreetly to pump her for information. She decided to pump him instead.

"I know that you, or at least the officials you work for, must have some reservations concerning my allegiance," she said over coffee. "How is it that I was allowed in on your discussion with Mr. Novak? I am sure it must have been highly confidential in nature."

"For one thing," Sam said, "since you've been turned over to me, it's my job to decide how far you're to be trusted. So far, you seem pretty plausible to me. Don't forget, I've worked with a lot of defectors. Some of them turned out to be phonies. You're measuring up pretty well, so far."

"Indeed?" she said, amused. "And just what makes you think I am not one of these phonies?"

"Well, I'd've been on my guard right away if you'd come on about how much you hate the Russians and how much you hate Communism and how you've always admired America and how you've always wanted to come here and help us destroy the evil Reds."

She laughed softly. "Do they really talk like that? The phony ones, I mean?"

"The dumb ones do. The smart ones are a little more subtle, but they can't seem to help thinking that something of that sort will allay our suspicions."

"Well, if you want to know, my feelings about the Soviets are a good deal more complex than that. For one thing, the antipathy between Russia and Estonia greatly predates Marxism. We've been enemies since the Middle Ages. I try not to let that cloud my judgment, but it is inescapable. Europe is far older than America, and we can't escape our history. Their takeover of Estonia in 1945 was just one episode in a long history of rivalry. The government they imposed is dreadful: Russians occupy most of the key positions. Lack of Party membership or patronage condemns you to second-class citizenship."

"No love lost between you and the Russians, then?" Sam said.

"I've worked and studied in Russia for a good part of my life. The Russians aren't so bad as a people. Not much different from Estonians or Americans. I got along well with most of my colleagues. Dr. Tarkovsky is a splendid man, very warm and humorous as well as brilliant and learned."

"And how do Americans stack up against Russians in your estimation?" Sam asked.

"I have been here only a short time," she said, evasively, "I have seen very little of America."

"Still," he persisted, "you must have some kind of feeling."

There he was with the "gut feelings" again. "All right, since you are so curious. From what I have seen so far, most Americans seem to be more superficial, less serious minded than most Russians I have known. They seem more concerned with their immediate surroundings and problems, and less aware of the world at large."

"Go on," Sam encouraged.

She lit another cigarette, trying to find words to express her thoughts. "For instance," she said at last, "suppose you were to ask the average Russian why Estonia is part of the Soviet Union. He would tell you that all the Baltic nations joined of their own accord, because they wished to become a part of the family of Socialist Republics. He would say this because that is what he has been taught. But if you asked an American, I doubt if one in ten would even know where or what Estonia is."

"Probably not one in a hundred," Sam admitted. He looked at his wristwatch. "It's about two o'clock. There's one more expert on the Soviet space program I want to interview this afternoon."

"Who might that be?"

"You. Think you could give me an executive summary on what you know about the program?"

"I'm not sure," she said cautiously. "What is an executive summary?"

"It means a concise summary prepared for a busy executive who hasn't got the time nor the technical expertise to cope with a full report. The kind of report we just got from Novak."

"All right. On one condition."

"Name it."

"Please, no interrogation room. Even if you call it a debriefing room, I want no more of them."

"Any suggestions?" he asked.

"How about my hotel room? It's not luxurious, but it's adequate. Besides, all my papers and notes are there."

"You're on."

CHAPTER FIVE

BALTIMORE

In the week following their briefing from Novak, Sam and Laine, using introductions provided by Ken Bridges, visited a few cometary astronomers in the area to learn all they could on the state of research on comets. They spent an afternoon with a NASA official who described the principles of ion drive. Laine was still having difficulty with American colloquialisms, but she was at home with the technical discussions where Sam was utterly lost. They made a complementary pair. By the time the colloquium opened on Monday the following week, Sam and Laine felt prepared for it, if not individually, then at least as a team.

Sam's worries about the Soviet scientists' catching on to their investigation proved to be needless. None of the leading experts showed up. Tarkovksy had been scheduled to deliver an invited talk entitled: "Tunguska Phenomenon: A Quantitative Analysis." He sent a telegram to cancel his attendance, citing poor health as an excuse. A sudden cancellation of Soviet participation was nothing new to the scientific community and the meeting opened as scheduled, although some participants had been looking forward to Tarkovsky's invited talk at the colloquium banquet.

"In a way I'm relieved," Laine admitted. "It could be embarrassing, confronting a former colleague after defecting. What would I say to him?"

They attended several of the readings. Some of the speakers presented their work succinctly and interestingly, but others required perseverance to sit through. Laine had a greater tolerance owing lo experience and training, but even she began to grow glassy-eyed by the end of the first day.

On the second day of the colloquium, after the traditional banquet, Professor Dr. Ehlers, of the University of Hamburg, chairman of the scientific organizing committee, called a special meeting of his committee. The only members missing were Tarkovsky, from the U.S.S.R., and Novotny from Czechoslovakia. The eight that were present came from the U.S., Canada, Western Europe and Japan: among them most of the best known names in cometary research.

Bridges sat between Sam and Laine, muttering thumbnail sketches of the members as they entered. Last to come in was a gnomish, bearded little man, not quite five feet tall. Sam had seen him around during the last two days, usually glaring about in a sort of silent fury, occasionally buttonholing some reluctant listener for a lengthy harangue on some esoteric subject. People seemed anxious to avoid him.

"And that," Bridges said with a chuckle, "is Dr. Ugo Ciano. Born in Brooklyn, teaches in Honolulu now. One of the most brilliant men working in the field today and a hundred percent certified loony. Astronomy and astrophysics are full of eccentrics, but Ciano has 'em all beat. He's always diving off the deep end into some fringe area. It'd be okay if he'd stick to his own field, where he's preeminent, but he's into all sort of fringe areas, you name it. He's living proof that a scientist can be levelheaded in his own specialty and an utter crank anywhere else."

Sam went to the table along one wall of the meeting room where a coffee urn was surrounded by cups and drew himself some fortification against the talking to come.

"I come allaway here from Hawaii and Tarkovsky don't show!" Sam looked around to find the source of the voice, then he looked down. It was Ciano. The tiny man stood not much higher than his elbow, filling a cup with coffee.

"That's tough," Sam said, noncommittally.

"I'll say it is," Ciano went on, oblivious to Sam's lack of interest. "I had a few words I wanted to say to him about that Tunguska business. I read his paper on the subject. I coulda got some valuable work done here, and now there's nothing to do but listen to these jerks mouth off."

Sam was intrigued. The voice was amazingly young. The man's dwarfish physiognomy and grizzled beard gave an impression of age, but he now saw that Professor Ciano was not out of his twenties. Ciano studied him as intently. "I never seen you before. You ain't an astronomer, are you?"

"No, I'm afraid not," Sam said.

"I didn't think so. You look like you got some brains. Well, looks like the old Kraut's gonna talk. See you later." Ciano went and took a seat. The two chairs flanking his remained conspicuously vacant.

Ehlers introduced the two special guests: Laine Tammsalu, formerly of the University of Tartu in Estonia and more recently of the Tsiolkovsky Center for Space Research, and Sam Taggart of the Department of State. Sam, naturally, did not correct the slight misaccreditation. Ehlers yielded the podium to Laine and sat down in the front row.

Despite the slight handicap of expressing herself In English, Laine's presentation was incisive and fascinating and her audience listened with rapt attention. She was not at all handicapped by the fact I hat she was by far the most attractive astronomer in the room. Sam felt an oddly ticklish, totally unprofessional sense of pride. Then he noticed Ciano. The little man was not simply listening to Laine like the others. He was processing every word and turning them over in his mind, fitting them together in different combinations. Sam could all but hear the gears, wheels and tumblers whir and click in the man's head.

When Laine finished her talk, Ehlers rose to ask for questions or comments from the audience. Several questions followed but it was obvious that the other committee members were equally at a loss as to why deputy premier and former KGB chief Nekrasov had taken a personal interest in cometary probes and had given top priority to the manned missions to comets. No one could see any tangible scientific returns from landing a manned space-craft on a chunk of dirty cosmic ice ball only a few kilometers across. The possible returns seemed wholly inadequate in consideration of the cost and risk involved.

Roger Marais, the Belgian astronomer with a serious interest in celestial mechanics, remarked, "The whole idea seems absurd. Even for a comet with a small eccentricity, an orbital inclination closely matching that of the Earth, and a favorable perihelion point, the fuel required for the safe return of the cosmonauts will be prohibitive. Unless, that is, Nekrasov plans to send his political opposition on a one-way trip, thus putting them on ice permanently, so to speak." The audience chuckled politely at his witticism.

When the comments were exhausted, Ehlers closed the meeting, asking the participants to get in touch with Dr. Tammsalu through the good offices of Ken Bridges at NASA, should they come up with new ideas concerning the subject matter, and to be discreet about the special meeting as it would not do to raise unwarranted publicity concerning the whole affair. Sam had little faith in this last point. The cat was out of the bag as of now, and he had little doubt that, within days, Nekrasov would know that questions were being asked in America about his pet project. No help for it, though. The only way to find out was by consulting with the experts.

"Sorry you weren't able to get more response," Bridges said as the meeting broke up.

"Well, maybe some of them will come up with something when they've had a chance to mull it over," Sam said.

Ehlers came over and shook hands. With deliberate Teutonic emphasis he said, "Cheer up, it could have been much worse. But, thank Gott, Ciano did not want to speak."

They left the room a little discouraged, but they had really expected no startling revelations from the colloquium. In the hallway outside the room, they found Ciano waiting for them.

"Dr. Tammsalu," Ciano said, managing a courtly bow despite his diminutive physique, "Mr. Government Man, allow me to introduce myself. I'm Ugo Ciano, and if you wanna know why this creep Nekrasov's taking over Tarkovsky's project, you've come to the right man."

"I know who you are," Sam said, "and we didn't come to you, you've come to us."

"Amounts to the same thing. Fact is, I'm the guy with the answers. I didn't wanna say anything in there, because some of my esteemed colleagues would've given you a lot of bullshit, excuse me, Ma'am, about everything I said. So to save us all a lot of time I figured I'd talk to you after everybody else left. Buy me a drink and I'll tell you every thing you need to know."

Sam considered it. Did he really want to waste time talking to this bizarre homunculus, considered as a crackpot by his own colleagues? On the other hand, maybe this was just what was needed: someone whose mind didn't work along accepted academic channels and was agile enough to make the intuitive leaps denied to the more ploddingly conventional. Besides, Sam was bored with scientists and bureaucrats and this little clown seemed to be entertaining, at least.

"There's a bar near here I know of. The jukebox is quiet enough for conversation without having to yell. Do you have transportation?"

"Are you kidding? On my budget? I'm staying In the cheapest flophouse in town and using the bus."

"Come on, then. My car's outside."

Laine smiled fetchingly at Ciano. "Now I remember! I read your paper on an alternative to the quantized Big Bang. I read it in translation, of course, including your name. Please forgive me for not recognizing you at once, but the Cyrillic transliteration of your name is very inadequate. It is a brilliant paper. Dr. Tarkovsky commented on it in a symposium he held for us while we were waiting for construction to be completed at the Tsiolkovsky Center."

Amazingly, Ciano blushed absolutely purple under the flattery. "Christ, you mean somebody actually read that? Everybody here gave it the dead fish treatment. Tarkovsky, though, he'd get my drift." He smiled up at Sam. "Superior minds understand one another."

"That's what I've always said," Sam assured him.

"You ain't really State Department are you?" Ciano said slyly as they rode down in the elevator. "What is it? NSA? CIA? Air Force Intelligence? Naw, not Air Force. You're no zoomie. You got that look, though. What was it kept you out of planes? Inner ear problems?"

Sam was flabbergasted speechless for one of the few times in his life. The man was crazy as a loon, but his intuition bordered on the supernatural. Of course, there was nothing supernatural about it. It was that rare ability to snatch up random pieces of information entirely out of context and rearrange them into a logical pattern. He had known only a few people with the ability, none of them so acute and none of them trained scientists. When they reached the car, Ciano careened off on yet another tangent.

"A '56 Chevy! I knew you was no ordinary G-man, Taggart. Only a person of real discernment would own such a vehicle. This is gonna be a real pleasure." He reached up to open a door and hauled himself inside like an ape.

Laine leaned close to Sam and whispered; "I like him. He reminds me of Dr. Tarkovsky."

"God help us," Sam muttered, "you mean there are two of them?"

During the drive to the bar, Ugo and Laine jabbered on about professional subjects, quickly switching to German as a more suitable mutual language for the discussion, Sam already knew that Laine had grown up, like many other Estonians, speaking German. It suited him because he could tune out the conversation and concentrate on the deadly traffic.

At one point during the drive an inept or possibly drunken driver pulled over without signaling, almost sideswiping Sam's classic Chevy. Laine was distracted from her conversation and saw Sam's hand dart beneath his coat as he bit out something pithy she did not understand. She knew he was reflexively reaching for a gun.

Ciano cackled and said, still in German: "God help the man who puts a dent in this car!"

The bar was, as Sam had promised, a quiet place. Sum ordered a double shot of Jack Daniels on the rocks and Laine a double vodka on the rocks. Ciano ordered Wild Turkey straight up. Sam was alarmed. The man couldn't weigh ninety pounds. His tolerance for alcohol had to be low. He hoped this wouldn't get sticky.

When their drinks arrived, they clinked their glasses.

"To Estonia," Sam said, diplomatically.

"To poor Pyotr Tarkovsky," Laine said, "wherever he is tonight."

"To Planck's Constant and the speed of light," Ciano said, apropos of nothing whatever.

They took their first sips and settled back in their chairs. "All right, Dr. Ciano," Sam said, "time to deliver. What revelation do you have for us?"

"The ion drive," Ciano began, abruptly. "It's still theoretical, but, theoretically, it can use anything for reaction mass. It's not like atomic reactions, where you gotta have something rare like uranium. Anything'll do, and the simpler the better. You can do it with water. Miss Tammsalu, didn't you say this new Tsiolkovsky Space Center was built on the Aral Sea, with docks out into the water like a navy base?"

"Yes—that's true. We wondered about that, but—"

"Hold it," Sam said. "I'm not an expert like you two, but I know a little about planes and ships and such. It's not enough to have fuel to go out. You have to have fuel to come back again. Could they take that much water with them? It weighs a lot. I've hauled plenty of water buckets in my time."

Ciano shook his head wearily. "Jesus. You gotta lead them by the hand." Then, shockingly, he jumped up onto his chair, grabbed a handful of ice from Sam's glass and held it under Sam's nose. "Ice, you dumb jerk!" he yelled. Heads swiveled to see the source of this disturbance. "The frigging comets are made of ice! Weren't you listening? Ice is the solid state of water. They pick up their return fuel at their destination! Ice is the key to this whole business!" The little man dropped the ice back into Sam's drink and resumed his seat as if nothing untoward had happened. Sam and Laine sat and stared, utterly at a loss as to how to deal with this mad little dynamo.

"Okay," Sam said at last. "Now we know how they plan to carry the expedition off, but we still don't know why. How come Nekrasov's interested?" Sam saw Ciano's sly smile. "Hold it!" he ordered. "If you jump up on the table, I'll bat you across the room."

"No need," Ciano said. "It's the same answer. Ice." He sat back in his chair with a contented smile and drained his glass. Sam did the same and signaled for another round. When the fresh drinks arrived, he said, "Okay, enlighten us."

"They got food here?" Ciano said. "All of a sudden, I'm hungry." Sam glared at him, but decided that the little man really should get something in his stomach to soak up the alcohol he was absorbing. The waiter came and Ciano ordered barbecued ribs, french fries and onion bagels. Sam and Laine ordered a late supper as well.