Nemesis (19 page)

“Very
well,” said Volsky. “The tea is still warm, and the lemon cakes are quite good.”

Tyrenkov
smiled, standing slowly and then walking quickly to the door. He was not gone
long, and a few minutes later the door opened again. In walked three men, each
holding a submachine gun, the handpicked guard of the Siberian Security Service.
Tyrenkov followed them, and a fifth man came after, the collar of his heavy
grey overcoat pulled up, the bill of his cap low on his forehead, obscuring his
face as he entered.

The
others parted to make way for the man, who walked slowly toward the table as
Volsky and Fedorov stood to receive him. Then the man reached up, removed his
cap, and Volsky’s eyes widened when he finally saw who it was.

“Captain?
“ he said, and he was standing too far from Fedorov to be kicked on the foot
again. “What are you doing here?”

It was
the second time Fedorov’s mind would reel with disbelief and shock, though he
struggled to contain his emotion and mask his reaction. It was yet one more
impossible thing, rising from the whirlwind of chaos that had defined his life
these last days. It was danger, an air of menace so palpable that it seemed a
strange dark aura surrounded the man, and he realized that this meeting had
been arranged all along—by this man, peril in a dark trench coat the like of
which they could not yet measure.

It was
Karpov.

He was
standing there in a long dark trench coat, just like the other man, and now he
saw that his face had a small gauze patch applied to the cheek, masking some
minor injury.

“Let me
guess,” said the Captain. “You believed I was dead. No, that isn’t likely,
because you see I have made quite a time of things here since I was pulled out
of the sea like a half dead fish. Yet that was why you came for me in the first
place. Yes? You wanted to put an end to me, and by God, you were willing to
kill the entire ship and crew to do that, weren’t you, old man.”

He
looked at them, his eyes cold and hard, and now Fedorov noticed the drawn
cheeks, shadows under the eyes, and the weathering of years on Karpov’s forehead.
Power had a way of extracting a price from any man who tried to master it. He
knew instinctively that this was not the Captain they had left on the bridge,
and that opening salvo by Karpov had certainly proved that. In that wild
moment, Fedorov wondered what Karpov knew about them, and he saw now that the
first man, Tyrenkov, had been sent in merely to try and ascertain one
thing—were they the same Fedorov and Volsky that Karpov had struggled with, or
were they newly arrived here, unknowing, innocent of the many crimes he might
lay at their feet, and here in this world only a very few days?

That
was all he was trying to discern, he thought, and when I intervened with Order
21, Tyrenkov knew he could do nothing more than report this to Karpov. This was
a trap. It was all carefully arranged. My hunch was correct, for Karpov was the
only man who could have possibly formatted that recall order, but how could he
have survived the paradox that took the entire ship and crew? They are all
gone, save one. Time devoured them all, sparing only my own wretched soul, and
this man, the nemesis of everything we have been trying to accomplish in our
long alliance with Admiral Tovey.

“And
Fedorov,” said Karpov with a wry grin. “I thought you were a Captain. What
happened here, Admiral? Has your right hand man disappointed you?”

Volsky
gave Fedorov a wide eyed look, speechless.

Part
VII

Day of
Reckoning

“Methinks King Richard and
myself should meet

With no less terror than the
elements

Of fire and water, when their
thundering shock

At meeting tears the cloudy
cheeks of heaven”

―
William
Shakespeare:
Richard II, Act II, Scene 3

Karpov
slowly reached into his jacket and produced an envelope,
which he handed solemnly to Admiral Volsky. “Your message from Moscow,” he
said. “Direct from the General Secretary.”

Volsky took
it, and yet left it on the table, still perplexed by everything. “What? We’ve
just received another signal? Why didn’t you simply radio Troyak on the launch.
And what has happened to you?” he said. “Your face…”

“The
scars of war,” said Karpov. “One cannot gain a victory without also suffering a
defeat. This one was regrettable, and it could have been avoided altogether if
you had come to your senses and seen the world through my eyes.”

“What
do you mean?” said Volsky. “What are you saying about dead fish? What are you
doing here in that uniform, and how were you injured? I left you just a brief
hour ago on the ship. And what do you mean calling Fedorov a Captain? You have
been railing that Fedorov here was talking crazy, but now you are the one
spouting nonsense. Explain yourself, Captain, and watch your mouth while you’re
at it. Who are you calling an old man?”

Karpov
heard only one thing in what Volsky had just said. “You left
me
an hour
ago? You mean to say…” Now it was his turn to be dumbstruck with the shock of
what may have happened, yet he recovered quickly. In fact, Fedorov’s hunch was
correct, and he had used Tyrenkov to screen these men to try and ascertain
their true identities. Was this Volsky and Fedorov who had harried him in 1908,
hunting him down in an attack submarine and intervening at the worst possible
moment to disrupt all his well crafted plans? Or would these men be fresh off
the proverbial boat, oblivious to all of that, and unaware of everything that
had happened after that first coming of
Kirov
to these waters.

“Did
you hear that?” Karpov looked at Tyrenkov now, astonished.

“Well I
did invite you to join us here,” said Volsky, “but you declined. It seems you
have changed your mind, and your uniform along with it! What is going on here,
Captain? And you men,” Volsky waved at the three guards. “Kindly take those
weapons elsewhere.”

Karpov
narrowed his eyes, studying the Admiral for a moment, and coming to some inner
conclusion. He passed a moment, looking suspiciously from the Admiral to
Fedorov, as if trying to read them and determine who they really were. Then he
snapped his fingers, and the three guards saluted crisply and withdrew to the
room behind the door.

“There
now,” said Karpov. “One big happy family again.” He looked around the room. “You
may have noticed that Severomorsk is not what it was when we left it,” he said,
taking the assumption that Volsky’s confusion was genuine. “No doubt you have
more than a few questions concerning that.”

“Quite
an understatement,” said Volsky. “Everything we have seen since that accident
with
Orel
has raised one mystery after another. It was here we thought
to find our answers, particularly since the recall order we received was
properly formatted and coded. But my god, yes, this is not the world we left
just days ago.

Karpov
said nothing, thinking, considering, trying to assess, even as Tyrenkov had,
whether Volsky was being genuine or duplicitous here. He had goaded them both,
with statements obviously referencing events they had lived out together, but
the men seemed oblivious.

For his
part, the Admiral had come to an almost immediate conclusion that something
utterly fantastic may have happened. If he took everything Fedorov told him as
true, then clearly this man could only be the Karpov from that long sad tale,
and not the man he stood with on the weather deck off the bridge an hour ago. Beyond
the gauze on the man’s cheek, there were subtle physical differences that he
immediately noticed. The thought that he was an imposter briefly crossed his
mind, a body double of some kind? He quickly discarded that, for he could see
no way it could have been arranged.

Yet
Fedorov’s story was even more fantastic! The man’s strange uniform, and those
dour looking guardsmen, all reinforced that impossible notion. This was the man
from Siberia Fedorov had told him about, the man who vanished in 1908, pulled
forward with the ship, and the man who then wormed his way into the power
structure of the Free Siberian State. It was all too much for him to imagine,
but, behind the confusion and shock, another part of his brain screamed of
danger here, just as it had with Fedorov when he first set eyes on Karpov. He
instinctively perceived that this meeting had been carefully arranged, and that
this man was here for a reason much more sinister than the delivery of an
envelope from Moscow.

Now
Karpov looked at Fedorov. “Done chasing Orlov about, Fedorov?” He goaded him
one last time, looking for a reaction.

“Sir? I
told Orlov that I would not tolerate his bullying, and I was within my rights
to do so. That is all. I was just trying to present and interpret the evidence
we uncovered, nothing more.”

Karpov
nodded slowly.

“That
quicksilver mind of yours,” he said. “Admittedly, you were correct in the
beginning, and after my fall from grace you had the good nature to extend me a
second chance, but after that, you went sadly astray. Was it you who convinced
the Admiral that consorting with our enemies was the only way to insure the
future of our nation?” He was still testing, probing, making statements that
only his old nemesis might comprehend.

Fedorov
knew just how perilous this moment was. Volsky had led the way, also perceiving
the danger, and reflexively taking a line that would convince Karpov he knew
nothing of events before this. The fact that was actually so made the Admiral’s
response seem quite authentic. Yet now he would have to act out his part in
that play, become the man he was when the ship first arrived, the man he sent
to oblivion when he appeared here after that last shift. He had to think
quickly, and there would be no margin for error.

“I’m
sorry sir. I have told you before, I am part of no conspiracy. I merely tried
to identify those contacts to the best of my ability. Yes, it seemed impossible
that they would be British ships. But how does that suddenly become a betrayal
of our mission when I simply use my knowledge of the history to try and understand
what is happening to us? I showed you the reference material. You could see for
yourself those ships were a direct match for the video feed we received from
the KA-226. If I have done wrong in coming forward with this assessment, then
let the Admiral here discipline me. After all, he is our commanding officer.”

He
thought he did that very well, putting himself in the mindset of the days they
had just lived, and hoping he could also convince Karpov that he knew nothing
of what had happened, nothing of the long tale he had tried to relate to
Admiral Volsky.

Karpov
took a long breath. “What do you think, Tyrenkov?”

“Hard
to say.”

“I’m
not convinced… Fedorov, tell me what day and year you think this is. Clearly
the condition of this harbor and the almost complete absence of the city must
be quite shocking. Yes?”

“Certainly!
It’s just as I was trying to tell you before, and trying to tell the Admiral
here. The sun and moon data is wrong, and for me that was not something I could
dismiss. So I suggested we investigate the facilities at Jan Mayen, but you
heard the report on that. They are gone, and now the same thing seems to have
happened here. Everything has changed, impossibly so, but if our eyes do not
lie to us now, then this is not 2021. I believe we are in another year, and my
sun and moon data suggests it is 1941. How that happened escapes me, and this
is what we hoped to learn in coming home again.”

“But
all we get here are more questions,” said Volsky, quickly reinforcing Fedorov’s
performance. “And the least of those is how I suddenly find you here, out of
uniform, apparently injured. What happened to you, Captain? How did you come by
this message from Moscow?”

Karpov
thought. If these men were as they seemed, oblivious of all that had happened,
they would react exactly this way to see him here. Then it is true, he thought.
I
was
on that ship when it appeared here—but as the man I was before all
this started! And that man also survived the paradox. We
both
survived!
There are two of us!

He
wanted, more than ever now, to conclude this business and get aboard that ship.
But he might need this man, Volsky, for he had seen all too well how the men
would follow him, and how that unflagging loyalty would be his undoing. If
Volsky was harmed, the crew could simply refuse to follow his lead, just as
they did off Oki island in that last desperate engagement. He had to find a way
to prevent that, and to win the crew over to his side, just as they voted to
stay with him once before, until these two men came hounding his shadow, and
ruined everything he had planned.

So
Karpov decided to take the cards Volsky and Fedorov were playing here at face
value, and play in kind.

“Admiral,
you came here for answers, and I’m afraid that it may not be easy for you to
hear them. I was summoned shortly after you left. The message was delayed, but
when I arrived, I was handed that envelope and told to give it to you. As for
this,” he gestured to the gauze on his face. “A little fall in the rush to get
over here. It’s just a scratch. I think you had better read that now.”

Volsky
gave him an puzzled look, and his reaction was so sincere that Karpov was
slowly coming to believe his assessment was correct. These men knew nothing, he
thought, and in many ways that would make them so much easier to manage now.

“Seeing
this harbor was… quite a shock,” said Karpov. “I finally realize that Fedorov’s
story must be true, no matter how fantastic it may sound. Apparently we are not
the only ones who have come to this realization, and that message will prove
it.”

“Yes,”
said Volsky, a look of real confusion on his face. “The world has gone crazy,
and me along with it!”

It was
very convincing, and Karpov looked at Tyrenkov, looking for the signal they had
arranged to indicate he perceived duplicity here. Yet Tyrenkov remained calm
and silent, and so now it was time for the closing act in this little drama.

“Admiral,
you are understandably confused and shocked by what you have now
discovered—that your Navigator here was correct, and this is not the port you
sailed from for those live fire exercises. I looked at that message, and found
it quite surprising, but I could reach only one conclusion. Suffice it to say
that Moscow—the government here in this time, is aware of our predicament, and
they have apparently come to a decision. It is right there in that envelope you
were asking for. Why don’t you open it?”

Volsky
looked at the envelope, frowning. “Very well,” he said. “Let me see if this
will help make any sense of this nightmare.” He slowly opened the envelope, and
as he did so Karpov thought he might smooth the way.

“Your
guess was correct, Admiral. That accident with
Orel
somehow caused the
ship to move in time. It’s the only explanation. We are lost in time. It is
1941, just like Fedorov claimed. Only this world is more than a little
different than the one in Fedorov’s history books. I learned that on the way over
as I was briefed. I cannot tell you why just yet, but one thing I learned is
that Josef Stalin died in 1908. He no longer rules the Soviet Union.”

Volsky’s
thumb working under the flap of the envelope stopped in another well played
moment of surprise. Fedorov had told him this, but he knew he had to pretend he
was hearing it now for the very first time. “Stalin died in 1908? What are you
talking about?”

“Yes,
quite shocking, but it happened, at least in this world, and in his place
another man you will be familiar with in our history took control of the Bolshevik
movement, Sergei Kirov, the man our ship is named for.”

“You
were told this on the way over here from the ship? Admiral Golovko said nothing
of this to me.”

“His
mind was elsewhere,” said Karpov quickly. “But this is true, Admiral—all true.
We are here in 1941, and Sergei Kirov is presently the General Secretary of the
Soviet State. As I said, Moscow knows we are here, which is why they formatted
that recall order to bring us home. Sergei Kirov sends you that message, and a formal
request. Why don’t you have a look at it now.”

Fedorov’s
heart quickened as Volsky slowly opened the envelope. Of course, he knew who
this man really was, but could not let on that he was aware of the Siberian
Karpov’s existence. The Admiral was making a masterful play here, and he had to
follow suit. It was now clear to him why Karpov was chosen as the messenger,
for he must have struck some accord with Sergei Kirov concerning the ship. He
realized how desperate the situation was now, and how the General Secretary
would be reaching for any support he could find in the face of the terrible
onslaught of the German army. The support and alliance of the Free Siberian
State was essential. Without it the Soviet State could simply not survive.
Siberia provided resources, endless terrain to fall back upon, a place to
relocate industry and factories, and tough, hardened manpower.