The Fourth Rome (23 page)

It did not take long for the old bureaucrats to become frustrated. This American woman, who would not accede to their wishes
or adopt their priorities, flouted their authority in front of Russian youths in need of object lessons.

A young sycophant of the hard-liners named Lipinsky nearly shouted at her. “Defense conversion,” he lectured her, “so far
as my region of military production is concerned, means converting excess defense capability to civilian use. Nothing more.”

Lipinsky stared at her defiantly, as if she should counter this assertion. His glare dared her to accept his challenge. He
wanted to further distinguish himself before his old masters. He had a hawk’s face, a prominent Adam’s apple, and English
worthy of the US and Canada Institute’s finest.

But Roebeck wasn’t really representing the US or any time-localized interest. She reiterated that her only interest was in
certain experimental geochronometric technology that might have potential for cooperation. Not missiles. Not space programs.
Not modernizing the Russian air traffic control system.

Lipinsky was intent on showing his bosses how to keep Russia’s military-industrial complex intact. He would give no strategic
advantage to foreigners. She had a feeling that the young hard-liner’s view of his country’s future would turn out to be the
prevailing reality. But then, she had the advantage of Central’s hindsight.

And Central’s clout. Lipinsky was so abrasive it was hard not to take his behavior personally. When the time came, it would
be a pleasure to teach this nasty, perk-conscious young Russian a lesson. Offending people can have long-term consequences,
not only for you, but for your faction. Perhaps even for your country. If this little bastard was as deeply involved as she
suspected with efforts to revert control of Russia to its former masters, taking out the revisionists might mean taking out
Lipinsky as well. Or at least could be construed to mean that.

Nan Roebeck would love to see Lipinsky’s face if she deposited him in 50K.

Eventually, Orlov and his friends extricated her from the clutches of the aging elite and their fawning sycophants. Orlov
apologized forthrightly for the evening’s debacle. “We are so sad to have wasted your time. Sorry to say that your presence
here has excited too much interest from the senior officials of the old regime. Their single hope is to use foreign pressure
to reestablish themselves under Yeltsin. This is the only way they may continue just as they have done in the past.”

She’d said, “I understand their need to send senior personnel to oversee such a visit. But it is not productive for me.” If
she’d wanted to, she wouldn’t have been allowed to inspect any of the nuclear devices or large naval missiles she’d seen.
During their tour of FILI, Orlov had leaned against one with a bad-boy smile and patted it, saying, “SS-N-25. The US does
not yet know we have such a missile. So you can see, there is much of interest here.” A tart rebuke by Lipinsky, who by then
controlled the agenda, had followed.

She remembered Orlov introducing an old guard scientist sent to baby-sit her. “This is Dr. Nikolai Neat, Madam Roe-beck.”
He’d pronounced it like the English word for tidy.

Dr. Neat had darted over, hand outstretched, back hunched so that he seemed like a gnome among the huge nuclear missiles.
His bearded chin had jutted out in welcome.
“Privyel.
Neat. Neat.
Da. Da,“
he’d said.

She’d already resigned herself to a useless visit by then. Whatever Orlov’s intent had been, this formalized exchange could
include nothing of value. She’d had no choice but to continue going through the motions. She kept wondering how Chun was doing
with Etkin, hoping Chun was having better luck. Tomorrow was another day.

Orlov, after he’d extricated her from FILI, had promised that the following day would be different.

So now, on the next morning, after four hours sleep and the disaster with the beggar girl, she reminded him of his promise.
“Today we’ll see something useful, I hope. Without too many of your senior officials present.”

“Madam, these senior officials were informed by someone else of your impending visit. Well, who could this have been? Was
it, do you think, Madam Chun’s friend, Mr. Etkin?” He was still brooding over last night’s embarrassing proof that he could
not deliver all he promised.

“It could have been Mr. Etkin, I suppose. You did meet him. He is interested in helping us, of course.” Orlov needed to be
reminded that she knew he didn’t run the only game in town.

“Well, madam, today we shall see what no one else can show you. And I will appreciate it if you tell no one what you see today.
Otherwise, as you have seen, future access could be denied you. You will see what these scientists have to offer. You will
tell me if it is interesting. If so, then we will discuss how to proceed. Privately. Not at the dinner with Professor Etkin
tonight to which you have so kindly invited me.”

The car was driving along a divided highway with trolley tracks in its center meridian. It paused to cross. On the other side
of the street was a tall stone complex with the gatepost indicating a secure facility. Its whole block was enclosed within
one metal wall of large diamond-patterned panels. Its green-painted gates were pulled back as their car nosed across lanes
of traffic.

There was an interior guardhouse. Orlov’s driver got out of the car and had a discussion with the guard inside.

Orlov’s driver came to the car’s rear doors, opened them, and stood there as Orlov, then Roebeck, got out. She was fumbling
in her bag for ID when Orlov said, “No need. Come with me.”

He walked her past uniformed guards without incident. He led her under a stone arch, through a side-set door in another stone
wall, through an interior checkpoint. They received Cyrillic-printed entry cards for the facility. “Keep your card at hand,”
Orlov advised.

Then they were allowed to continue into a broad stone room that seemed part secure facility, part hotel lobby.

Inside a Plexiglas and wooden booth there, a woman waited. Black leather jacketed men stood around talking very low in the
cavernous reception area. Bright red leather divans were arranged on a broad granite and marble floor.

Two men sat on a divan. One had a dial phone in his lap. The other was smoking.

Orlov ignored the woman behind the Plexiglas and approached the two men. The three spoke together. Then all of them approached
her. “Come,” Orlov said. “We go upstairs.”

The men in leather jackets didn’t follow. She had the distinct impression that they were bodyguards, just looking her over.

A narrow Soviet-era elevator opened to Orlov’s demanding jabs at a button. Into one fake wood wall was screwed a metal plaque
with color engraving. One side of the plaque depicted a lit cigarette inside a red circle. The circle had a diagonal line
through it: the international sign for
no smoking.
The other panel displayed the same diagonally bisected red circle around a bundle of dynamite:
no explosives.

“What is this place?” Roebeck asked when she’d puzzled out the sign’s meaning.

“This is the Gorbachev Foundation Socio-Economic Hotel,” Orlov said gravely. “Provided to Mr. Gorbachev in thanks for valuable
service. It is only semi State organization. Here we can meet without interruption. Without being overheard. Castro has stayed
here. Arafat has stayed here. Very safe for discussions. Has Olympic swimming pool. Three cafes. Very good coffee bar. Only
people who have done great service to the State may lodge here. Prominent Russians from out of the town stay here, as a prize
or for important Moscow conference.”

“Whatever you say. I’m sure it’s fine.” Roebeck was disappointed. She would see no technology in a hotel.

When the elevator opened on a large meeting area, two more men awaited. These, also, spoke only to Orlov in Russian, then
handed him a key attached to a large wooden ball.

Orlov motioned her to follow. “This way.”

Orlov’s key opened the door to a suite of high-ceilinged rooms. There, briefing materials and several samples of electronics
were laid out on a long table. Four Russians were smoking acrid cigarettes and talking in a corner.

Orlov began introductions immediately. Nan Roebeck needed no prompting to recognize Dr. Nikolai Neat. Her heart sank. The
show scientist cum baby-sitter from yesterday was here to make sure nothing interesting happened. And to report back to his
masters. If Lipinsky slithered through the door to join the party, Nan resolved to leave.

Neat strode up to her, stared her right in the eye, and spoke in Russian, rapid-fire.

Before she could object that she didn’t understand, Orlov translated verbatim.

“Dr. Neat says we meet today under different circumstances. He is here representing solely the interests of certain scientist
you see. These scientists are from a
voyenna strate-giya
—strategic military—organization. So Dr. Neat says this is a meeting which is not happening. You agree to these terms?”

“Certainly,” she said. Whatever was on that table was important to these people. It might not look relevant to her, but at
least the precautions seemed real enough.

Orlov turned to Neat:
“Da, da.”

Neat spoke again in Russian.

Orlov rephrased in English: “Dr. Neat says that these scientists are willing to show you the know-how. It is know-how for
implanting in a person a device for moving that person from one—” Shaking his head, Orlov broke off. He questioned Neat. Neat
responded. Orlov then said to her: “Is medical know-how for moving humans with implants back into the past.” He shrugged.
“I am just a translator. I am not sure this is technically correct description. But better translators are not trusted for
this meeting. Please wait. I will ask more details.”

Neat and Orlov began a long exchange.

Nan Roebeck needed the time. An implant technology? To send humans to the past? Could that be correct?

Neat began again to speak. Orlov translated, staying about a phrase behind Neat. “This technology is based on Russian know-how
in very small devices and in human bone and tooth replacement material. It also involves very small—microscopic—technology
machinery embedded in insulation. This is called silicon-on-insulator. These technologies are joined with special…”

Orlov stopped to question Neat again. Then he continued to translate, the English translation staying a few words behind Neat’s
Russian. Neat watched her closely as he spoke, as if suspecting that she understood every word of his Russian.

“The technologies are joined with special know-how to produce a remodulating—maybe ‘transducing’?—system to tune human biostatic—electromagnetic—fields.
This implant allows—causes—biological systems to become out of phase with current moment. Implant then allows biological system
be moved. Remodulator attracts biological system to place in time where harmony with local fields can be reestablished,” Orlov
relayed.

It sounded like techno-bullshit to Roebeck. Neat, and then Orlov, stopped talking and waited expectantly. She had to say something.

“Go on,” she encouraged. “Nanotechnology—small machines. Attuning biological systems to … home tones of epochs. I guess I
understand that. Music of the spheres, and all. So tell me what you’ve got.…”

“Please, Madam Roebeck.” Orlov held up his hand. “Say to me slower. Simpler. Not so many technical concepts before waiting
for translation.”

“Right. My apologies. I’m not used to working with a simultaneous translator so talented.”

Orlov translated her request—she hoped. Central hadn’t given them linguistic implants—most Russians spoke some English; most
Americans didn’t speak Russian, and the ones that did were assumed to be spies. Right now, she wished Central had decided
they could sustain a fiction of not knowing Russian. But wishing didn’t make it so.

Neat nodded very gravely.

If this was a joke, the punch line wasn’t obvious.

Neat spoke once more in Russian, this time taking Roebeck by the elbow to guide her to the table as he was talking.

Orlov followed behind. “Dr. Neat says that you will see how this is working with animals very soon. Animal must be fairly
young. Old animals so far have not had resiliency to accept surgical implant. Bodies must be young to survive implant and
… initialization … process. Remodulation is easier procedure.”

“I understand,” Roebeck lied.

On the table were a series of Russian briefing charts, a few computer chips, some circuitry. She now recognized a primitive
high-powered microscope, a bulky personal computer. One of the men then brought in a cage holding four white mice. He extracted
one.

“Mouschka,“
the man said, stroking the white mouse in his hand.

The white mouse looked no different from the three others left behind in its cage.

The Russian holding the mouse pushed a clock timer much like a chess timer. Then he opened his hand. The mouse stayed docilely
on his palm.

Neat spoke.

“Watch the rat,” Orlov translated.

A second scientist or technician stepped forward. First he marked the mouse’s spine with a red pen. Then he touched a handheld
device against the mouse. The mouse disappeared from the first man’s open palm.

“Now look at the cage,” Orlov told her, once more translating Neat’s words.

There were now four mice in the cage. One had a red mark down its spine.

It had to be a parlor trick. Yet the mouse on the first man’s palm had never been obscured from her view.

“Do it again,” Roebeck ordered, forgetting her manners.

“Nyet, nyet,nyet,“
Neat refused.

“Don’t bother to translate that, Sergey,” Roebeck told Orlov. “I know ‘no’ when I hear it.”

Neat spoke again. Orlov translated, “Same rat, that is, mouse cannot do this twice the same. Mouse cannot occupy two places
in same space-time at same time.”

That explanation, more than anything else, convinced Roebeck that the Russians weren’t playing an elaborate joke on her. “Then
do it with a different mouse,” she demanded.