Another man would also begin waking up, Isaak Nikolin. For him it was just something that would come to him while he was grinning over a message he received on his private little network from Tasarov. He had been laughing to himself over a joke the Sonarman had sent him, then, unaccountably, he had a strange feeling of sadness, terrible loss, and it had something to do with his friend. He could not shake it for some time, but it would gradually pass. The next morning at officer’s mess he would look for Tasarov, asking him if he slept well and whether he felt alright.
“Of course,” said Tasarov. “I’m fine. Just hungry for a little more than the same old breakfast once in a while.”
Why the sadness, this sense of Toska, Nikolin wondered? There was Tasarov, fit and fine, and he had nothing to worry about on his account.
So it on would go, this odd simmering of another life slowly bubbling up in the crew, memories, dreams, feelings that they had done all this once, that déjà vu as Fedorov called it when he explained it to Orlov—the feeling that had enveloped him like the plume of bad French Cologne.
“Mister Orlov,” said Karpov as he stepped off the ladder. There he found the Chief, who had been ready to take the ladder up when he saw someone coming down from above.
“Captain… I mean Admiral.” Those were the only words the Chief could get out, for within, he was wrestling with the powerful memories of what Karpov had done, how he had goaded him, duped him into supporting his mutiny, and then how he seemed to gloat when the Chief was busted and sent down to the Marines, while Karpov wormed his way to the bridge again, just like he always did.
All these things were in his mind, and especially that one moment of satisfaction he took when he found Karpov in the officer’s dining room, and then deliberately spilled coffee on him in front of some of the other men. He had then waited outside the door, until Karpov emerged. That was when he really got a little payback, and put his big fist into Karpov’s belly, knocking him breathless to the deck. Damn if he didn’t have that same urge now, but the presence of Karpov here was eerie, different, like a darkness that had become animated, cold and calculating night.
“Something wrong, Chief?”
“Nothing,” said Orlov, edging past Karpov in the narrow passage. “Just work on B deck again. I’ll see to it.”
Karpov nodded, but looked over his shoulder as the Chief started up the ladder, his eyes following him up. The man had an odd look on his face, he thought, white as a sheet. Maybe I’d better give him some leave. After all, rattling lockers and rousting men out of their bunks is thankless work. Orlov never comes up to the bridge these days, at least not on my rotations. Perhaps I best keep an eye on him. He turned, and strode off down the corridor.
At the top of the ladder, Orlov felt he could finally breathe. “Yes,” he said softly to himself. “I’ll see to it… I’ll see to you as well.”
His highness has written me off, hasn’t he. Now he’s got Grilikov up there, all chummy with Samsonov. What was I supposed to be, Some kind of Brigadier in his little mob here? Well, I have news for him, and maybe very soon. That scrawny little neck of his will feel very good in my nice big hands when I choke the life out of that man, just like I did the same to Commissar Molla. Those two are eggs from the same basket. There’s only one way to break them, and when I break you, Admiral, you won’t like it one bit…. no… not one bit….
Admiral Tovey stared at the strange box that held so many mysteries for them. If he believed Miss Fairchild, that box, and the key she used with it, brought her ship here to the 1940s. It was a very timely arrival, and the services of the Argos Fire had been invaluable to him. Now he had repaid Miss Fairchild in kind. The key that Fedorov had sent to him, the one he recovered from Admiral Volsky’s remains, was a gift to her. Now, amazingly, she discovered this other odd thing about that box of hers. It had a hidden compartment, where impressions were made to receive these keys—seven in all. That thought was very alarming.
“Have a look for yourself,” said Elena, a gleam in her eye.
“My,” said Tovey. “One for each key…” He was looking at a series of small imprints in the material making up the base of that drawer. There were seven, each depression in the shape of a key.
“My key fits very nicely here,” Elena pointed to the second recessed area. “I thought it might be in the number one position, but it only fits here, in the number two spot. I suspect all the others have a place here as well.”
“Why not see where our newest arrival fits in,” Tovey suggested.
Elena smiled. “Yes, why not?”
She took the key, hovering it over the impressions until she thought she saw one that seemed very close, the number four spot, but the fit was not good. One by one, she tried them all, until the last—the number one position.
“It looks like we’ve found our culprit,” said Tovey, watching as Elena slowly laid the key in the number one spot. It was a perfect fit.
“Interesting,” she said. “Here I thought I had the master key, but this one has trumped me. I wish I knew how Fedorov came by it, but it’s enough that we have it at all, thanks to Admiral Volsky.”
“And that was a very high price to pay for it,” said Tovey. “Now then… You tell me this ship arrived here after you used your key in that aperture in the box?”
“That’s how I understand it.”
“Then I wonder what might happen if we were to use this new key in that fashion?”
Elena flashed him a dark glance. “That would be very dangerous.”
“I suppose it would,” said Tovey. “Yet logic leads me to think that if one key moved this ship here, another might take it somewhere else.”
“Agreed, but I’m not sure I want to find out just now. I’ve a raid to look after.”
“Quite so. Yes, I think it best that we put that little experiment off for a time, perhaps until we’ve recovered more of the other missing keys. It could be that they are each just one number in a coded lock, if you follow me, each key moving a tumbler that’s part of a combination. What it might unlock is beyond my imagining., but I might put the question to our Mister Turing. He’s very good with puzzles and codes.”
Elena smiled. “We may never find the key we lost on Rodney.”
“Oh, I’m not so sure about that. Professor Dorland seemed a very determined man, and I daresay he’s got quite a nice little machine somewhere if he can come and go as he pleases.”
“Yes, that was another unexpected surprise in all of this.”
“Well, if he got himself here for that mission aboard Rodney, and then again for that conference in the Azores, could he go further back to find this key?”
“Possibly. That was discussed, but it’s beyond our control.”
“Well,” Tovey shrugged. “Our nest is filling out a bit, but it seems we still have quite a few missing eggs. The key on Rodney was embedded in the Selene Horse, and we’re told it is associated with St. Michael’s Cave under the Rock. You say one was in the Lindisfarne Gospels, and another in the Rosetta Stone, but you’ve no idea what they may be associated with. I’m tempted to go have a look at those artifacts—quietly. We might find further clues.”
“We might….” Elena said nothing more. “As to this raid, Admiral. When will you need Argos Fire?”