Kirov Saga: Darkest Hour: Altered States - Volume II (Kirov Series) (30 page)

“But I
must be responsible for the things I caused,” said Fedorov.

“Did
you cause them? I wonder. This is where you make your mistake in thinking about
all of this. The dots
seem
to be connected. You want to move from point
A to point B and feel that one thing caused another, but it does not work like
that. It’s human nature, I suppose. We want everything tidy, with a nice
beginning, middle and end. Believe me, I was in the same distress you were in
when I first found my history books were telling me lies. Things change, Mister
Fedorov. Things begin from unseen causes. They spin off in unexpected
directions. They end up places no one ever thinks they could go. Look at this
ship and crew for the truth of that. You see, there are no happy endings in stories
like this. Things just continue. They go on and on, just like this little
adventure you have all found yourselves in these many months. This isn’t just
your
story, Mister Fedorov. It’s everyone’s story, yours, mine, the whole world’s.
Yes, you have your part to play, but there are other actors on the stage, and
they speak for themselves.”

He
folded his arms, satisfied that he had done what he could to relieve the other
man’s burden, but knowing that it was entirely up to Fedorov as to whether he
would continue carrying it.

“Now,”
said Kamenski. “This Karpov is back again. It appears his part in the story is
not yet finished. In fact it seems he never left the story at all! The only
question we have before us is what do we do about it?”

Volsky
nodded. “What
can
we do about it? I do not believe I can simply send a
radio message and tell Karpov to return to the ship!”

“No, it
is clear that he has made good use of his time since he arrived, whenever that
was. This is a man who aspires to reach the top. He will always be
uncomfortable standing in any other man’s shadow, so trying to bring him back
into our family here may be useless.”

“Karpov
is Karpov,” said Zolkin with finality. “We were foolish to ever think he would
really change. The man is a megalomaniac!”

“A very
dangerous one,” said Fedorov. “What you say is true, Director. He is a bit of a
wild card in the deck now, as is the Free Siberian State. I’ve been reading
those books we got from the Russians at Murmansk. Last winter Volkov’s regime
made a major incursion east and took the city of Omsk. It has been a point of
contention between the Siberians and Orenburg ever since, but now Nikolin tells
me he has received news feeds indicating that the Grey Legion is withdrawing
from the city.”

“The
Grey Legion?” Zolkin had not heard any of this.

“That
is what the troops under Volkov’s regime call themselves. Yet, from what I can
see, Volkov could have held on to Omsk easily enough. The fact that he is
pulling out could hint at an accommodation with the Free Siberian State.”

“You
believe they may have negotiated a settlement?” said Volsky, knowing where this
might be leading them.

“It is
very possible, sir. Volkov is already at war with Kirov’s Soviet Russia. The
last thing anyone wants is enemies on two fronts. He may have chosen to end his
operation at Omsk to appease Kolchak and the Siberians. Kolchak had a residence
in that city for many years, and I do not think the Siberians would have given
it up easily.”

“My
God,” said Volsky. “Do you think the two of them might ever get together?”

“Karpov
and Volkov?” Zolkin smiled. “They would mix like gin and vermouth, eh? What a
nice little martini they would make together.”

“Yes,”
said Fedorov, “and the olive would be the outcome of this war. If those two
states ally, then Soviet Russia is isolated. They are already at war with
Volkov on one front. If he is reinforced by the Siberians that will be a major
strain on Soviet resources and manpower. Add to that the fact that Germany
could invade Russia at any time, and I do not think Kirov’s Red state can
survive.”

The
implications of what Fedorov was saying were now evident to them all. “And
there is one other thing,” he said, his face betraying real fear now. “Karpov
knows about us—the ship. He knows we are adrift in time, and a possible player
in all these events. I have little doubt that he has wondered often what
happened to us. If he suspects that Rod-25 was used as we planned it, then he
also knows that control rod has a habit of stopping off in the 1940s on the way
to 2021.”

“Yes, I
have worried about this,” said Volsky.

“Well
sir,” Fedorov continued. “He may be watching for us… waiting, and looking out
for any sign of our appearance.”

“But
would he not assume we were still in the Pacific?”

“Perhaps,
but this ship can move. He obviously made his way to Siberia somehow, so he
learned that his plans all backfired and that the Japanese Empire controls
Vladivostok and the far east now. He would realize we would have discovered
that as well. Then where would we go?”

“I see
your point,” said Zolkin.

“He may
not know we are here yet,” said Fedorov. “We have only been here a few weeks,
and I do not think much news has leaked out on us yet, but it will. The British
intelligence has good photos of this ship already, and so do the Soviets. In
time our presence here will be known, and don’t forget that Volkov was a
Russian Naval Intelligence officer too.”

“The
bear is out of his cave,” said Kamenski. “Yes, they will soon learn we are out
on the tundra looking for fish and berries.”

“But
that is not all I’m worried about,” said Fedorov. “There is something else we
have to consider now. What if they discover that stairway at Ilanskiy?”

“Ilanskiy?”
Volsky spoke up. “But Karpov knows nothing about that. He was out to sea with
the Pacific Fleet when you launched the operation to rescue Orlov.”

“What
about Volkov?” said Fedorov. “He went down those stairs too. Might he not
wonder about that place?”

They
were all silent, thinking it through. Then Kamenski spoke.

“Gentlemen,
the young Captain here makes a very telling point. That stairway at Ilanskiy
may still exist in this world. If it does, it might even still connect the year
1908 to this time, and even extend to the year 2021. It did that in the world
we came from, and it may do so here. Think about this for a moment. If we could
go back up those stairs, to our time…” The implications were blooming in all
their minds like black roses in the Devil’s Garden.

 “What
would a man like Karpov, or Volkov do with the power that stairway represents?”
Kamenski was thinking out loud now. “Would they go forward to escape this mad
world? Yet what if they had grown all too comfortable running things here, then
what? Would they go up those stairs and bring things back… Weapons? Technology?
Or perhaps they might simply have a look at how things might turn out?”

“Or
worse,” said Fedorov. “What if someone goes
down
those stairs, returning
to 1908 to start this all over again? That stairway represents a very grave
risk. It must not be discovered or ever used again by either of these men.”

“What
do you suggest?” asked Volsky.

“We
must destroy it,” said Fedorov. “Destroy it and forever close the breach in time
there, if we can. Or God help us if we cannot, because that will either become the
stairway to heaven, or the stairway to hell.”

Chapter 27

The
airship emerged from thick overhead clouds, a monstrous
thing in the sky, big as an ocean liner, brooding over the sallow landscape as
it slowly descended.
Abakan
glided gently down, following the steel
railway line as it wound its way through stands of pine. Behind it came a
second zeppelin, lighter in color than the dull slate grey of
Abakan
,
the
Angara.
It followed in the air wake of the command ship, a pair of
bulbous behemoths gliding through the lowering sky.

Negotiations
at the Omsk meeting had dragged on for days on the lower levels as arrangements
were made for the withdrawal of Volkov’s forces, and re-occupation of the city
by Siberian troops. Karpov supervised everything, tirelessly seeing to the
smallest detail to assure that there were no hidden cadres left behind in the
city, and that adequate security was in place. Then, satisfied that all was in
order, he boarded
Abakan
and turned east for Novosibirsk.

There
Karpov disembarked to rejoin his commiserate headquarters. After working late,
filing his report and communicating with Kolchak in Irkutsk via telephone, he
took a fitful sleep, rising early to make ready for a another secret foray into
the skies, his curiosity driving him east with the wind.

The sun
rose at a little after 5:00 in the morning of July 27th to begin its long
journey, climbing up through the low clouds and arcing high overhead. It would
not set that day until two hours before midnight, and the weather and winds out
of the west seemed favorable for a speedy journey.
Talmenka
, the third
zeppelin in Karpov’s flotilla, remained at Novosibirsk. The other two airships
replenished and carefully checked for any maintenance needs before their next
flight. They continued east, following a course that would take them over
Kamenka and Krasnoyarsk to Kansk, some 800 kilometers distant.

The
airships slipped their mooring cables, rose into the sky and were on their way
an hour after dawn, rising up to pierce the cloud deck like whales breaching
the surface of the ocean. The upper level winds were very steady, allowing
Air
Commandant Bogrov to make a hundred KPH and cut their flight time to just eight
hours. Karpov had spent most of that time in his air cabin, thinking, planning,
wondering.

So now Volkov and I are two peas
in a pod, he thought. Be careful. That man is not to be trusted. That theater
at the end of our discussion was good warning. Pull a revolver on me, will he?
No doubt he was infuriated by the fact that his security men had failed to find
my own weapon. But he would not have killed me, any more than I would have
killed him. It would have upset everything he was planning. Yes, I think he
took Omsk last winter simply to give it back this summer and buy himself a
tentative peace.

Yet we are stronger together than
either state could be alone. Siberia has just dragged itself up off its knees,
and we still see the shadow of the Japanese Empire darkening our borders.
Volkov knows that is our primary concern for the moment. That
vranyo
I
gave him about putting half a million Tartar cavalry in the field was enough to
give him pause. He really may not know how strong we are just now. One day he
will find that out.

Yet how shocking it was to learn
who this man really is! Ivan Volkov, Kapustin’s lapdog. It seems the dog has
become a wolf here, even as I have become a bit of a Siberian Tiger in these
two short years. Volkov’s presence here was shocking, completely unexpected.
Once I had time to think about it, I knew what my next move was at once. Here… this
place.

He had come onto the gondola
bridge after taking a light breakfast. “Where will we tether, Air Commandant
Bogrov?”

“Sir? We could use the tower at
Kansk by the river. I have radioed ahead to arrange for a car. It is just a
twenty kilometer drive east from that point.”

“Good enough. I will want a full
rifle squad in escort, as always. And scout the road ahead with the motorcycle
platoon.”

Twenty minutes later the
Abakan
was tethered to the tall steel tower near the river at Kansk, while
Angara
continued on. It would arrive at their planned destination first, hovering on
overwatch, the eyes of its watchmen scanning the surrounding countryside,
gunners at the ready. One never knew when a roving band of raiders might emerge
from the thick woodlands.

Karpov made the long walk along
the keelway of the ship to the nose. Being a minor air receiving station, this
was a small tower, with no elevator, so he had to make the climb down some 200
feet using the interior metal ladder. His security detachment went before him,
and he was pleased to see that Bogrov had doubled the guard by having men from
the Kansk militia at the ready as well. There were two trucks and a motor car
waiting. His Siberian Rifles took the lead truck, his car following with his
personal guard of two men, the militia following behind.

A small motorcycle detachment had
been lowered by winch and cables and was already well ahead, scouring the road
east by the time Karpov settled into his motorcar. It was a short, bumpy ride
over a plain dirt road, but it had not rained in recent days and so the mud was
not a problem.

They pulled into the small hamlet
of Ilanskiy half an hour later, the security men leaping from the lead truck
and fanning out, eyes dark and threatening as they began to search the
warehouses by the rail yard. This was the very same place Fedorov had come to
with Troyak and Zykov, the place where he had faced down Lieutenant Surinov and
tried to secure just a little fair treatment and comfort for the prisoners
moving east on the railway cars. This time there were no NKVD men, and no
prison camps, and not even a train car to be found in the desolate little town.
Stalin’s gulags were not blighting the land as they did in Fedorov’s journey.
Stalin was dead.