The Tesla Legacy (27 page)

‘Why’s that?’ asked Mick.

Jesse pointed to the keyboard. ‘First you’d have to punch in a code. And Tesla would have been the only person that knew it.’

‘Of course,’ said Mick. He nodded to the wooden bench. ‘Do you think the code would be in the diary?’

‘I imagine he would have left a clue,’ replied Jesse. ‘But I’m not looking for it. What’s the point?’

‘Fair enough.’ Mick shook his head. ‘And to think the NSA went to all that trouble blowing up my van for nothing.’

‘Yes. Well, they obviously didn’t know that,’ said Jesse. ‘But I’ve got my story. And I don’t feel so bad about the military getting this thing now. It’s just a harmless old pile of metal.’

‘Yes,’ said Mick. ‘But an exciting, harmless old pile of metal. And the story you got is great, Oz.
It mightn’t be worth millions. But it’s still a great story.’

‘The happy ending is enough for me, Mick,’ smiled Jesse. ‘There’s no blowing up the world. And no blowing up Australia.’

‘Unreal.’ Mick smiled at Jesse. ‘So what do you want to do, mate? We get going? We still got a fair walk back. And it’s not getting any earlier.’

Jesse moved towards her backpack. ‘Yes. Let’s head back to the motel. Could you handle a few beers around the pool again?’

‘I think so.’ Mick wiggled his eyebrows. ‘I’ll tell you what I could handle. What about your promise, Oz? You said you’d let me have my filthy way with you when we found the doomsday machine to celebrate the occasion.’

Jesse gave Mick a cool once-up-and-down. ‘Before you get too carried away, Mick, I said “might” let you. And I’ll tell you something else, sport. The granite floor in here is like ice. So if you think I’m going to get down on my back and finish up with pleurisy just so you can play hide the sausage for five minutes, stiff shit!’

‘Thanks, Oz,’ sniffed Mick. ‘From now on, I’ll never believe another word you say.’

Jesse put her arms around Mick. ‘Ohh, poor little snugglepot. He’s all upset. Wait till we get
back to the motel, Tiger,’ she smiled. ‘Then we can roll around on that big double bed in front of the TV. And order up dozens and dozens of oysters from room service. And you can go crazy again. Like you did last night.’

Mick smiled down at Jesse. ‘I adore you, Oz.’

‘And my heart beats only for you, Mick.’ Jesse kissed Mick on the lips. ‘Come on, handsome. Let’s get going.’

Jesse took a few more photos, then they packed up what they had. Mick kept the torch and the Allen keys out and they moved towards the entrance.

‘Do you want to turn the light out, Oz?’ said Mick.

‘Yes. We mustn’t waste power,’ said Jesse.

Jesse switched the light off and in the brief few seconds it took for Mick to turn the torch on, the darkness and silence in the room was that heavy and intense they felt as if it was swallowing them. The torch came on and they got down and edged up to the metal door. Mick was shining the torch around it when he let out a loud oath.

‘Shit!’

‘What’s the matter?’ asked Jesse.

‘There’s no keyholes.’

‘There’s what?’

‘There’s no bloody keyholes on this side. Have a look.’

Jesse snatched the torch from Mick and closely examined every square centimetre of the door, the ceiling above it, the walls around it and along the floor. Then they both closely examined everything again.

‘Oh hell! You’re right, Mick,’ said Jesse. ‘There’s no bloody keyholes.’

‘No,’ conceded Mick.

‘Oh, this is just great,’ said Jesse.

‘Yeah. Isn’t it,’ gritted Mick. ‘Come on. Let’s turn the bloody light back on.’

They put down their backpacks and Jesse switched the light on. Mick placed the Allen keys on the bench, then together they examined the door and its surrounds with both the torch and the aid of the room lights. There was no sign of any keyholes anywhere. Finally they stood up and stared at each other. Jesse’s face had paled and, despite the coolness in the room, beads of sweat were appearing on Mick’s forehead.

‘Mick,’ Jesse said quietly, ‘this is getting serious.’

‘You think I don’t know that, Oz,’ said Mick.

‘So what are we going to do?’

Mick shook his head. ‘I don’t know, Oz. But whatever it is, we’d better do it soon. Because
we’ve got half a bottle of water and a six-inch Subway left between us. And the air in this room ain’t gonna last forever.’

Roy Sisti was enjoying himself, sitting back in the padded seat of the Kiowa Warrior still parked on the big man’s helipad. He’d been watching the polo, and at one time during the afternoon the big man had sent one of his staff over on a golf buggy with a tray of sandwiches, cakes, coffee and iced lemonade. The sun was now moving slowly towards the mountains behind the big man’s estate and Roy was quietly hoping the two people Agent Sierota wanted to assassinate had slipped away, so after dropping the NSA agent back at Nelson Bay, he could fly straight back to the
Tocqueville
and resume his liberty. The escort agency he’d contacted had a well-stacked Russian hooker on their books who didn’t look too bad either.

‘Still no sign of them, Zimmer?’ he nonchalantly asked Agent Sierota, seated alongside him.

‘No, goddamnit!’ replied Zimmer. ‘But I’m not leaving without them.’

‘Well, we can’t stay here forever, Zimmer,’ said Roy. ‘That big guy’s gonna smell a rat sooner or later.’

‘Screw the big guy,’ said Zimmer. ‘They’re out there. The transceiver’s still on. It’s just a matter of waiting till they show. If we have to, we’ll wait somewhere else. But I’m going to get them.’

‘Whatever,’ shrugged Roy.

Mick and Jesse searched every nook and cranny in the room, looking for a way out or a switch to open the door. Mick flicked the light switch on and off several times, had a fiddle with the keyboard and pushed and pulled the switches. In desperation they even tried their mobile phones and got No Signal Area for their trouble. All their avenues exhausted, they were now pacing back and forth around the room, getting more worried by the minute.

‘Jesus, Jesse,’ said Mick. ‘I don’t like this.’

‘Neither do I, Mick. Christ!’ answered Jesse.

‘Shit! If we’re stuck in here?’ Mick shook his head. ‘I dunno.’

‘Yeah. It’s not something to look forward to, is it?’

Mick shook his head again. ‘Fair dinkum, Oz. Why did I let you talk me into this?’

‘What?’

‘I said why did I let you talk me into this? I was quite happy at home, feeding the peewees and
riding my mat down the beach. Now I’m stuck in a cave out in the middle of nowhere with a very dismal-looking future.’

‘Ohh yeah,’ said Jesse. ‘Blame me.’

‘Well, who else?’

Jesse gave Mick a withering once-up-and-down. ‘Jesus, you’re a turd at times, Mick.’

Mick stared back at Jesse then walked over and put his arms around her. ‘You’re right, Oz. I was out of line there, mate. And I’m sorry. It’s just that…’

Jesse looked up at Mick. ‘Mick,’ she said. ‘Is that a tear in your eye?’

‘Yeah. It bloody is,’ said Mick, turning away.

‘Oh, what’s up?’ she said, giving Mick a cuddle.

‘It’s just that, if we do die in here,’ sniffed Mick, ‘and you go first, I don’t know what I’m going to do. I got no world without you, mate.’

‘Oh, you big wuss,’ soothed Jesse, giving Mick a kiss. ‘We’re not dead yet. And if I do go first, even though the smell will get pretty crook in here, you’ll get used to it.’

‘Ohh shit! Don’t say that,’ wailed Mick.

‘All right. Let’s hope you go first,’ said Jesse. ‘Women can handle these things better.’

‘Oh for Christ’s sake.’ Mick let go of Jesse and walked across to the entrance. ‘Righto. Let’s stop fartarsing around. We got to get out of here.’

‘I’ve been saying that for a while now, Mick,’ replied Jesse.

Mick banged his fist into his hand. ‘All right. Let’s look at this from Tesla’s point of view.’

‘Fair enough,’ nodded Jesse. ‘You’re Nikola Tesla.’

Mick resumed pacing. ‘Okay. I’ve let myself in here to start the machine up. I’ve got the keys. But there’s no keyholes.’

‘Right on, Mick,’ said Jesse.

‘But I still have to get out. I don’t want to be locked in here and suffocate.’

‘No. You don’t.’

‘But I want to only let myself out. Not somebody who might have snuck in here.’

‘Now you’re cooking, fellah. Keep going.’

‘I’m the genius and I’m the only one that knows the code to start the machine.’ Mick snapped his fingers. ‘That’s it. To get out of here, I’ll bet you’ve got to be able to start the machine. And when it kicks in, it’s geared to open the door. Yeah?’

Jesse threw her hands in the air. ‘Yes, yes. That’s it, Mick. You’re a genius.’

‘Thanks,’ said Mick. ‘The only thing is, Oz. How do you start the bloody machine?’

Jesse shook her head. ‘Trust you to put a dampener on things.’

They started pacing again. Mick was sweating noticeably and Jesse was getting agitated. Mick stopped in front of the brass panel to the right of the doorway and looked at his reflection.

‘Bloody hell! Mirror, mirror on the wall,’ cursed Mick, shaking his head in exasperation. ‘Who’s the two biggest bloody idiots of them all?’

Jesse stopped in her tracks, spun on her heel and stared at Mick. ‘What did you just say?’ she asked him.

‘Nothing, Oz,’ replied Mick. ‘I was just talking to myself.’

‘No, you weren’t,’ said Jesse, coming closer. ‘What did you just say?’

‘Oh, all right. I was looking at that brass panel. And I said, Mirror, mirror on the wall, Who’s the two biggest bloody idiots of them all? There. You happy? You scrawny, horrible thing.’

Jesse stepped up to Mick and shoved him hard in the chest. ‘You bastard,’ she said. ‘You absolutely amazing bastard. Where’s that bloody diary?’

Jesse hurried across to the bench, opened the diary and started flicking through the pages. Mick watched her and came over.

‘What are you looking for?’ he asked.

‘Numbers and Celtic writing,’ Jesse muttered.

‘Numbers and Celtic writing. Oz, we’re not trying to figure out the bloody Da Vinci Code. We’re trying to get out of here.’

‘Forget the bloody Da Vinci Code, Mick. We’ve got to crack the Tesla Legacy. Or we’re both dead.’ Jesse found the pages she was looking for and an enigmatic smile appeared on her face. ‘God! I’m an idiot,’ she said. ‘For all my Superwoman IQ, at times I can’t see shit.’ Jesse snatched up a piece of paper and a biro, handed it to Mick then stepped across to the brass panel. She tapped it and turned to Mick. ‘Mirror, mirror on the wall,’ she recited. ‘Who’s the maddest scientist of them all?’ Jesse held the diary up in front of the brass panel. ‘This isn’t Celtic writing,’ she said. ‘They’re numbers. Tesla’s written them back to front and I missed it because of his rotten handwriting.’ Jesse slapped her forehead. ‘What a dill. Okay, Mick,’ she ordered, ‘write down these numbers.’

‘I’m writing,’ said Mick.

Jesse stared into the brass panel. ‘Nine, three, two, five. One, one, four, seven.’

Mick wrote furiously. ‘I got it,’ he said, holding the sheet of paper up to Jesse.

‘Right,’ said Jesse. ‘Now, the sneaky part is the last sequence of numbers: one, one, four, seven. Eleven, four, seven. Or, four, seven, one, one.
They all look pretty much the same when you hold them up to a mirror.’

‘Shit!’ exclaimed Mick.

‘But,’ said Jesse, ‘Tesla covered his arse again. Just in case an intrepid pair of young adventurers like us got hold of his keys and his diary, then got into his cave, he wrote in his diary:
Mirror, mirror on the wall, Who’s the sweetest-smelling mad scientist of them all?
As well as a cryptic reminder for himself, that’s another paradoxical clue.’

‘It is?’

‘You bet,’ said Jesse. ‘Mick. Your Aunt Nina.’

Mick thought for a moment. ‘Yeah. What about her?’

‘She died before I met you. But you gave me a couple of bottles of perfume that belonged to her. It was called Four Seven Eleven.’

‘That’s right,’ said Mick.

‘4711 was a really popular perfume years ago.’ Jesse pointed to the piece of paper in Mick’s hand. ‘I’ll bet, just to be cunning, Tesla, the sweetest-smelling mad scientist of them all, made the last set of numbers the same as the perfume. 4711.’

‘Shit. You could be right, Oz.’

‘So, Mick, I want you to punch the numbers nine, three, two, five, four, seven, eleven into the keyboard and press the hash key. Then…’

‘Push the switches and hope for the best,’ cut in Mick.

‘That’s right.’ Jesse shut the diary. ‘Unless you’ve got a better idea.’

‘No. Sounds good to me.’ Mick looked at the numbers he’d written on the sheet of paper, then paused over the keyboard. ‘What if it doesn’t work?’ he asked.

‘Well, you’re going to have to fight me for that last Subway, Mick,’ said Jesse. ‘And I don’t like your chances. So hit the keyboard, homeboy.’

Mick swallowed hard. ‘Okay. Here we go.’

Mick tapped in the sequence of numbers then pushed the hash key before easing the four switches up. For a few long moments there was nothing and Mick and Jesse’s hopes began to fade. Then the first glass button lit up and turned green. Followed by the second, then the third and the fourth.

‘Look at that,’ yelled Mick, pointing to the glowing green buttons. ‘It’s working. The bloody thing’s on.’

Jesse threw her head back and punched the air. ‘Yes,’ she shouted.

Along with its girders and coils, the machine started to gently vibrate. Both elated and fascinated, Mick and Jesse were watching the
machine plus the glowing green buttons and the needles starting to flicker on the dials when Jesse let out a yell as the room suddenly exploded into tiny streaks of lightning. Thousands of them, sparkling around the room like countless spiderwebs of shimmering silver. There was little noise. No more than a low, static sound, as if someone was gently rustling a sheet of cellophane. Standing alongside the machine, Mick and Jesse found themselves covered in swirling, crackling sheets of lightning. It was all over their clothes, their hair, totally enmeshing them. Yet there was no pain or discomfort. Just the weird feeling of being trapped in a room full of strange, darting lights.

‘Good Lord!’ said Jesse, watching a tiny streak of lightning arc from the tip of her index finger up to the ceiling. ‘What is it?’