CHAPTER FOUR

INSIDE THE LUBYANKA

“You must be our late arrivals.”

The Major turned to the man who had spoken, thinking this was so ridiculously obvious it did not even require a reply. Instead, he settled for a piercing look and gave a small smile when the man flinched. “Hans Keller,” he said, shaking the man’s already outstretched hand.

“Ah! You’d be with the German contingent.”

Again with the fucking obvious! Bloody Yanks. “Ja, zhat I vould,” Klaus sing-songed in a caricature German accent.

The SIS men gave him a stricken look before they were suddenly being accosted by the man who identified himself as Jeff Miller, one of the organizers of the conference.

“Well, let’s get you settled,” Mr. Miller said happily. “We’re just about to get back underway.”

“I’m still a bit muddy on the details,” Jones said mildly.

“Oh, just brainstorming today. We’ll take everyone’s ideas to the Commies when we’re done. Run it up the flagpole and see who salutes,” Miller grinned. “We’ll teach ‘em what Madison Avenue is all about.”

“Oh, jolly good!” Smith said in an exaggerated tone. Miller rushed off to get the leaders of the other groups. “I have no idea what the bloody Yank just said,” Smith said under his breath.

“I think the KGB would be preferable to that idiot,” the Major replied aridly.

“At least the Commies have better taste in suits,” Jones agreed, taking in the American’s garish clothing. The majority of the assembled businessmen were dressed in the standard three-piece suit and tie. Only a few, such as Miller, had chosen “business casual.”

“When are we supposed to get out of here?” Smith asked quietly as the three waited near the door. “Now wouldn’t be soon enough for me.”

Klaus mentally agreed with him. The sooner they were out from behind the Iron Curtain, the better. “Tomorrow,” he replied in an equally quiet voice. “We’re only supposed to be at this little gathering as a cover. My agents already verified the details. You’ll leave the building with the British contingent. I’ll be with the German group. Your airline tickets should already be at the front desk of your hotel. And a car will be waiting to take you to the airport at seven o’clock tomorrow morning.”

Jones nodded. “My thanks to your agents, Major.” He groaned as Miller waved a hand in their direction. The idiot was speaking with some men at the front of the room. “Happy faces, Mr. Smith,” he said as he plastered a grin on his face.

“Yes. Happy faces, Herr…um?” Smith’s voice trailed off when he turned to the Major.

“Keller.”

“Yes. Happy faces, Herr Keller.”

The Major gave a snort. “I’ll leave that to you two jolly Englishmen,” he said as he lit another cigarette.

“You lucky bugger. The stoic Teutonic fits you like glove, Major,” Jones said as he acknowledged the man grinning inanely at him from the front of the room. “I hate playing the ruddy jolly Englishman.”

The Major’s eyes flickered but he did not reply as someone from their respective groups came to collect them at that moment. They joined the others as the conference finally got underway.

* * *

Train Station
Moscow, Soviet Union
August 1987

“I feel like I’ve been on that train forever,” Eroica said as he stepped onto the platform and stretched. As promised, he had changed from his customarily outlandish attire to a very respectable Armani suit and tie. He had even managed to procure a rosebud for his buttonhole.

“If you’ll come this way, Lord Gloria.”

Eroica turned to see Romanov a few feet away. “Comrade Romanov!” he said brightly. “I didn’t know you would be coming with us. Oh, how positively delicious!”

Romanov did not reply, giving the Earl a cold, disapproving look, which went completely ignored.

You call that intimidating? Eroica thought dismissively as he looked around the platform. The Major could eat you for breakfast. Then he giggled as his own words struck him. Several images in his own desire to be eaten for breakfast by the Major came to mind, all of which he knew the officer would object to violently.

Keep your mind on the job, Eroica reminded himself. You can’t afford to let your lechery run away with you. Especially in Communist Russia!

“This looks like a rather large city,” he remarked, trying to get his mind back on the subject of art…and thieving. “I thought this collection was in a small village.”

“I’m sorry. My English. It isn’t what it should be,” Ivanov said apologetically as he came up beside him. “The man who died lived in a small village. His collection is stored here.” He held out a hand to the waiting car.

“Isn’t it a bit late to be looking at these?” Eroica asked as he got into the car. “We’re losing the light,” he said, glancing up to the fast darkening sky.

“There’s plenty of light in the studio, Lord Gloria. No need to worry about passing summer thunderstorms stealing the sunlight.”

Eroica nodded. “Natural light is always the best.” Except when I’m the one doing the stealing, then pitch dark it best.

Ivanov settled back in his seat. “If you feel you need to see them in better light, we’ll return tomorrow,” he said amiably. “First, we’ll get you introduced to everyone.”

“Oh, if you must…” the Earl sighed dramatically.

“Then we’ll get you to the finest restaurant in the city for dinner. How does that sound?”

The Earl brightened considerably upon hearing this. “That sounds lovely.”

* * *

Security & Surveillance Conference
The Lubyanka
Moscow, Soviet Union
August 1987

Klaus listened as the businessmen bickered back and forth about technological advances and current “state-of-the-art” technology, all of which would be considered outdated by the intelligence community. He nodded when others did, deferring to someone else with “better knowledge” when asked his opinion. He preferred to chain smoke and observe. When he first heard of this conference, he feared the Soviets would be getting hold of ultra-modern or top secret equipment. Now that he’d seen what was being presented, he realized his worries were groundless. If the Reds were going to get their hands on modern technology, it certainly wouldn’t be from this lot.

There was a break in the afternoon, and Klaus decided to take advantage of the lax atmosphere and slip out. He might never get another opportunity to walk around the Lubyanka again. After all, he held only temporary diplomatic status. As soon as he returned to Germany, it would be null and void. He left the conference room with a few others heading to the Men’s room. No one would pay any attention to him, nor would they be looking for him to return with any specific group. He took care of business, and then took his time washing his hands as one group of men was replaced by another. He casually lit a cigarette as he left the room, and then quickly headed in the opposite direction of the conference room, vanishing around a corner before anyone noticed.

Considering where he was, the Major was surprised at what little security there actually was. He expected to see at least a guard or two somewhere along the line. He kept a mental note of the turns he made, keeping to a specific pattern so he would be able to find his way back to the conference room.

A door opened up ahead of him followed by voices. He ducked around a corner and strained to listen. Scientists discussing technical mumbo jumbo, he concluded. Then again, any scientific information he could gather would be of value to someone, even if he himself didn’t understand a word of it. With this in mind, he decided to follow them.

Klaus had barely started down the corridor when he realized he wasn’t alone. Someone had obviously spotted him and was following. He continued until he was within a few feet of the door that had opened before he casually lit a cigarette and turned. The corridor was the empty. So, he waited. After a minute, he heard the man shift position and a ghost of a smile came to his face. Amateur.

“Well, don’t stand around in the shadows,” he said calmly. “If you don’t want to lose track of me, you’d better keep up.”

A man Klaus did not recognize stepped into the corridor. From the insignia on his uniform, the Major recognized the man’s rank as Lieutenant. So I only rate a junior officer. How low has Iron Klaus sunk?

“You’re a long way from the conference, sir,” the Lieutenant said as he came forward.

“I was looking for the john” the Major replied coolly.

“Really? You weren’t looking for other things?”

“It’s a security and surveillance conference. I was checking the security. Not very efficient, in my view.”

A door near the room the Major was heading toward opened and another man he did not recognize stood on the threshold. He exchanged a look with the Lieutenant, who said simply, “Comrade Borodin.”

Borodin acknowledged the greeting with a nod and turned to the Major. “I can only assume you’re trying to collect intelligence information to take back to Bonn, Major Eberbach,” he said knowingly.

The Major’s eyes flickered. Dammit, I was set up. They let me wander this far into the building. Why? He waved his hand dismissively. “There isn’t anything here that I don’t know already.” He made a point to stubbing out his cigarette on the portrait of Mikhail Gorbachev that was on the wall behind him.

Borodin stepped back in the doorway, holding out a hand. “Please, Major, come in. I’ve a feeling you’ve never seen this before.”

The Major threw a quick glance back at the armed officer blocking his escape. The threat was obvious. When no one made any move to search him, he wondered if they realized that he was armed. That was definitely a piece of information to keep to himself. At least for the time being.

Klaus gave a non-committal shrug and entered the room. Whatever he could glean, he reminded himself, and then get the hell out as quickly as possible. He’d head for the nearest Embassy of a NATO country and contact Bonn. After that, the politicians could fight out the details of getting him out from behind the Iron Curtain.

* * *

Inter-Galactic Medical Conference
Gorbachev Complex
Moscow, Russia
November 2620

“I hope your first visit to Earth was enjoyable, your highness,” Rosewood said urbanely as he led his royal guest through the enormous building.

When Rosewood originally learned he had been assigned as aide to a visiting Crown Prince of a planet he had never heard of, he had foreseen a week of ego stroking compounded by lengthy explanations of all things human. He soon learned that his royal charge was nothing like the other aristocrats to whom he had been assigned. The Prince was extremely intelligent and very knowledgeable about inter-species medicine. In fact, he was a self-sufficient individual who appreciated candor and had absolutely no illusions about himself whatsoever.

Prince Jason gave his aide a small smile. “Actually, this isn’t my first visit to Earth, Rosewood,” he said mildly.

Rosewood gave the Prince a startled look. “Really, sir? I was sure the Ministry said this was your first visit.”

“Well, it’s my first as Crown Prince. And the first in this century. They just didn’t go back far enough.”

This was enough to stop Rosewood in his tracks. “This century? ”

“My dear Rosewood, I’m Alterran, not human. I’m almost three hundred years old.”

Rosewood’s eyes grew wide as saucers. “Three hundred? ” he gasped, looking the Prince up and down. He looked very human. Average height and build, curly black hair with not a speck of grey anywhere. In fact, he looked like he was in his late twenties.

Jason grinned. “I should’ve realized they hadn’t told you all the facts when I first arrived.”

“Sir, all they told me was your title and that you were a highly qualified physician.”

Jason laughed at this. “At least they have me as highly qualified. That’s something I suppose.”

Rosewood’s next question was forestalled when a uniformed individual appeared with a message requesting that the Prince come to Transmat 12.

Jason raised an eyebrow, exchanging a baffled look with his aide. “I’m not being deported from the planet, am I?” he asked jokingly.

The officer gave him a puzzled look. “No, sir,” he said seriously.

Rosewood chuckled. “His highness was joking, Corporal.”

“Yes, sir,” the Corporal replied stiffly before turning to lead the way.

Jason shook his head. Why is it military men never have a sense of humor?

When the Prince arrived at the transmat room, he found more serious expressions. Then he learned why. Transmat 12 had been experiencing intermittent power fluctuations. Since all the other transmats were functioning perfectly, the fault was thought to be isolated to this single unit. And all efforts of the technicians to trace the origins of the fault had proven fruitless.

“I’m sorry, I’m not following this,” Jason interrupted. “Why did you want me? I’m not a transmat technician.”

“No, sir,” lead technician Barnes replied. “But I understand that you have considerable knowledge of temporal mechanics and time-travel.”

Rosewood made a small startled noise, causing the Prince to throw him an amused sideways glance. The poor man had been his aide for more than a week, and only on the day he was scheduled to leave was he learning about his considerable experience and background. What would the poor man think if he learned he was what many referred to as a “shape-shifter?” Vulgar term, the Alterran reflected with distaste. He much preferred the term, “transmute.”

“True. But I still don’t see how it’s relevant,” the Prince replied.

Technician Barnes motioned the Alterran over to the computer screen. “We just discovered the energy fluctuation is external.” He pointed at the wave pattern being displayed. Before he could say anything further, he heard Jason catch his breath.

“Good Lord, do you have any idea what that is?” Jason asked, turning his now wide sapphire blue eyes in the technician’s direction.

“Not exactly, sir. That’s why I sent for you.”

“It means you have a transmat sitting on top of a temporal anomaly!” the Prince announced. “I think you should start from the beginning, Mr. Barnes.”

* * *

The Lubyanka
Moscow, Soviet Union
August 1987

The Major kept a bored expression on his face, but as usual, his eyes took in everything. The room was large and very functional, the back wall covered with gauges and dials. A massive computer, perhaps? There was a kind of podium or control panel a few metres in front of it that had an angled surface. He wondered if an operator was meant to be standing behind it.

Klaus turned his gaze to the other side of the room and frowned. There was a large square platform that had a tall, clear plastic enclosure on it. No, not even an enclosure. It only had three sides. Another platform stood against the far wall, but had only loose equipment and wires piled on it. He turned back to Borodin, who had an expectant expression on his face. “Don’t tell me. You’ve discovered how to make a bullet proof telephone booth,” Klaus said blandly.

“Very amusing,” Borodin replied.

“Enough of this crap,” Klaus snapped impatiently. “What the hell do you want? I have a conference I’m supposed to be attending. My Chief expects a full report.”

Borodin waved a hand. The Lieutenant who had been following the Major took him by the arm. Klaus had to fight not to pull away as he was dragged further into the room and finally thrust against the wall. Find out what they’re up too, he reminded himself. Don’t tip your hand too soon.

“We both know that Iron Klaus isn’t here to attend a conference,” Borodin replied coldly as he came to stand in front of him.

“If you know who I am, you also know I’m here as a guest of your General Secretary,” the Major replied coldly. He gave the man an angry look. “Your own Director admitted there were…illegalities within the KGB. Does he know they’re still going on?”

Borodin growled and slapped the Major across the face. “Insolent dog!”

The Major touched his hand to his face and looked up, his eyes blazing. “That was a mistake.”

* * *