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Then it struck him-jarred loose by the sight of that terrible mushroom cloud. He had come here looking for the reason Volkov might have shifted in time, and he had found it! Yes, that could not be happening in 1940, which meant…

With a sense of rising panic Karpov looked over his shoulder, staring back at the broken door, aghast. He took one last look at the roiling detonation, knowing it would have been right over the Naval Arsenal near Kansk. Then, like a man who had stumbled upon the entry way to hell itself, he took one backward step, edging slowly away, back to the broken door, back to the darkened stairs.

Shaking with fear and shock, he turned and hurtled down the steps, shouting for Tyrenkov. Half way down the awful rumble of the explosion diminished, becoming a muffled background sound, and then fading away altogether when he reached the bottom landing.

He stood there, shivering, his eyes still wide with fear. The sound of a barking dog came from far off, and he took two steps, out from the shadowy alcove on unsteady legs. Then he started, reflexively jerking his hand to see that he still had hold of his cigarette, and the ash had burned down to singe his fingers. The sound of men shouting…

He stepped into the dining room, making his way slowly toward the front desk of the inn, and seeing there the same calendar, the same date: 8 DEC 28. As he stepped outside he saw one of his guards, who turned, face alight when he saw Karpov.

“Commandant!” The man looked over his shoulder, waving at someone. “Lieutenant! I have found the Commandant!”

Karpov heard men running, fast booted footfalls on the ruddy ground. Then up came Lieutenant Tyrenkov, his dour face registering surprise and relief.

“There you are, sir. We thought something had happened to you. I’ve had men searching for you the last hour.” Now he looked at Karpov, somewhat shocked. The Commandant’s uniform was soiled, a sheen of chalky dust on his shoulders. Karpov just stared at him, his mind finally starting to function and think again. The sound… that distant rumble, the stairway.

“Tyrenkov,” he said, his voice hoarse. Karpov looked over his shoulder, to the northwest, the place where he had seen the terrible mushroom cloud just minutes ago. There was nothing there, only the pallid sky and the distant shape of Abakan gleaming from the tether at Kansk, the sunlight finally breaking through and reflecting off the airship’s smooth surface.

“You say you have been searching an hour?”

“Yes, sir. I came to give you my report. The town is abandoned, but you were not where I left you at the inn.” He noted the diminishing ash on the Commandant’s cigarette, a strange look on his face now.

“Sir, what happened to your uniform?”

Karpov now took notice of the dust that lay on him, his shoulders and cap all covered with a sheen of chalky white. He removed his cap, slapping it on his pants leg to clear the soot, and brushing off his shoulders.

“Filthy place,” he said. “That damn back stairwell. Cobwebs everywhere!”

Tyrenkov surmised that the Commandant must have gone up those stairs, but where he had been the last hour still befuddled him. He had a man up there, searching every room, and he had shouted into that stairwell calling for the Commandant himself. Why did he not answer? Perhaps he was simply enjoying his smoke and did not wish to be disturbed, he thought. The sight of the cigarette still burning in Karpov’s hand drew his gaze again, and he remembered that it had been the last one in the pack when Karpov offered it to him an hour ago. He dismissed the thought, realizing the Commandant must have had another pack in his coat pocket.

Karpov could feel his weight on his feet again. His breath calmed, eyes narrowed. That damn stairway, he thought. One minute I am here, and the next I am somewhere else! This is the madness that Volkov described. What did he say? He struggled to remember the man’s exact words.

“The little railway inn just east of Kansk near the old naval munitions center. That's when the madness started. I was searching the premises with my guards, and thought I discovered a hidden stairway at the back of that inn. I found someone was hiding there, and herded the rascal down to the dining hall. The next thing I know I encountered men who seemed completely out of place…”

Tyrenkov saw Karpov reach into his jacket, fishing out the cigarette pack. He found it empty and threw it away, then turned and walked slowly to the waiting car.

Karpov looked at his Lieutenant. “Bar the entry to this inn-every door and every window. Leave two men here and no one is to enter-absolutely no one. And get me some cigarettes. Understood?”

Part X

Vengeance

“To choose one's victims, to prepare one's plan minutely, to slake an implacable vengeance, and then to go to bed… there is nothing sweeter in the world.”

— Josef Stalin

Chapter 28

July 28, 1940

In spite of the grave danger the stairway at Ilanskiy represented, Admiral Volsky could think of no way they could do anything about it. He paced for days, postponing his movement south into the Norwegian Sea as he considered the situation, realizing the danger and the need to act soon. Fedorov was patient, but he could see his young Captain was still concerned. Finally he raised the matter yet again, and Volsky had come to a decision.

“Let us now consider an operation, Fedorov. How far is it to Ilanskiy?” He soon got the answer he already knew intuitively.

“Just over 3000 kilometers, Admiral. But if we sailed to the deep inlet south of Port Dikson, we could trim a thousand kilometers off that range.”

“That still leaves 2000 kilometers. And what is the maximum range of our KA-40? That is the only way we could get men there any time soon, yes?”

Another quick check with the helo bay brought no discouraging news. Even with external reserve fuel tanks mounted, the KA-40 could range no more than 1200 kilometers.

“So if we were to attempt a mission with the helicopter, we would also have to abandon it at the 1200 kilometer mark. Where would that leave the men, Fedorov? In the middle of the Siberian wilderness, with an 800 kilometer hike in front of them. A man might be lucky to get twenty kilometers a day in such terrain, particularly now, in July. The place is a morass of bog and marshland, with no roads and little to eat. They might make good sport for the wolves, but it would probably take them months to reach Kansk. Then what? They could blow that railway inn to pieces, but there they would be.”

Fedorov frowned. It seemed hopeless, until he suddenly remembered what Admiral Golovko had told him. “Just a moment, sir.” The light of a plan was in his eyes again, and Volsky recognized it at once.

“Admiral Golovko said that they were able to find and shadow the German ships with a zeppelin-the Narva. The later German models had tremendous range, over 16,000 kilometers. If Narva could do the same it could easily get an assault team to Ilanskiy.”

Volsky folded his arms, looking at his ex-navigator, slowly nodding his head. Then he smiled. “Mister Fedorov… Another of your missions to the heartland of Russia, is it?”

“It sounds like a job for Sergeant Troyak, sir. I’m sure he could do it. Then we would at least know that the history we are dealing with here will stay put for a while. As it stands, if the nature of that stairway were to be discovered, and a man knew what he was about, why he could go down those steps, appear in 1908 and change everything.”