Prologue (9 page)

The mosquitoes were arriving, harrying guests inside. In the kitchen people hovered around the granite island inhaling chip and dip. In their midst Valerie deVere stood replenishing food trays. Next to the refrigerator, Judith Wolfe was embroiled in an animated discussion with Dr. Arnold.

Arnold
was scoffing.
“You and your silly boycott.
Who is going to be hurt by not going to the library? The grade school students, that’s
who
.”

The kitchen door slammed and Lewis turned to see Natasha and Nigel standing just inside. Natasha looked grim and stared straight ahead as Nigel tried to whisper to her.
Lovers
first fight, Lewis thought.

“Finished feeding the mosquitoes?” Ginter asked mischievously.

“We heard there was more food inside,” Natasha answered without looking at her companion. She moved past Ginter and reached for a ridged chip. In front of her, Arnold and Wolfe’s discussion became more heated.

“What loss is there in not going to a library that is filled with lies?” Wolfe sputtered.

“You’re naive!”
Arnold
boomed loud enough that several guests paused at the island. Nearby, Valerie deVere stood quietly, a look of concern spreading across her pale features.

“Naive?” Judith challenged, her speech more slurred than it had been earlier. “What’s naive about wanting this country to be the way it was, strong and independent?”

“Country?
There is no country! If your so-called country was so strong why did it collapse in the face of the superior Soviet system? You are living in the past, Dr. Wolfe, in a nostalgia-laden past that has no foundation in reality. And you and your pathetic bumper stickers can’t change reality. There is no
U.S.A.
And pining for the past will not restore it.”

“My past is a past where this country, this nation, stood up for itself. Where it wasn’t exploited to perpetrate and support a tottering Soviet system that’s rotting from within. You Soviets survive by taking what isn’t yours, our oil, our coal, our wheat.” She shot a quick look at Valerie deVere. “And you’re apparently no different, Dr. Arnold.”

Arnold
stood up and for a moment Natasha thought that he was going to punch Judith Wolfe. Next to him Valerie deVere flushed deeply, turned and strode from the room.
Arnold
turned to say something to her but she was already through the doorway. He turned back to Judith Wolfe and spluttered as she stood swaying, hands on hips.

Arnold
flashed a look of hatred at the astronomy professor before hurrying from the kitchen after Valerie.

The room was silent for a moment until Dr. Worbly burst into the kitchen and announced, “Hey everyone, the burgers are ready!”

Natasha scanned the room and gratefully noted that neither Paul deVere nor his daughter were present. Even Lewis Ginter had somehow disappeared from the kitchen.

The poor man, she thought. I wonder if he
knows?

Chapter 5

Thursday, July 9, 2026

Paul stood back in the alley as Lewis fished a key from his pocket, manipulated the padlock, and rolled the garage door aside.

“Lenin’s tomb is open,” Ginter said.

Paul ignored the sarcasm. After glancing up and down the alley he followed Lewis inside. Together they rolled the garage door closed and Paul watched as Lewis drop bolted it in place.

“If there’s a raid that door won’t stop anyone,” Paul offered.

Lewis switched on an overhead fluorescent light and moved to a small refrigerator as the bulb flickered to life. He pulled two beers from the Wal-Mart mini-fridge and flipped one open before handing the other to Paul. He took a small silver disk from his pants pocket and waved it around before checking it intently. He nodded to Paul.

“No bugs. It’s more the vandals I’m afraid of in this neighborhood, not the squishheads,” Lewis remarked, taking a deep chug. “We’re safe here.”

Paul popped his beer and took a sip. “I heard that Arthur Pomeroy got picked up. I can’t confirm it. A secretary in the department was talking this morning about a raid in
Newton
and mentioned some names. I was in the next room but I think she said Pomeroy. I had to pretend not to be interested and that’s all I heard her say. You knew him, didn’t you?”

Lewis opened a tool cabinet and took out a series of wrenches. “If it was Pomeroy I’m not surprised. I never talked to him much but I’ve seen him around. He always drank too much. You don’t become Sam Adams by drinking it all day.”

Paul pulled up a metal folding chair and wiped it off with a soiled rag. He set it facing Lewis’ vintage Plymouth Roadrunner. He settled down and took a second sip. “You think they can get back to us through Pomeroy?”

Lewis paused before answering. “I don’t think so. You never ran into him, did you?”

Paul shook his head.

“Last time I saw him was at a meeting in
Somerville
a few months ago,” Lewis continued.
“Drunk as usual.
He was with some woman down from
Maine
. She ran some sort of pamphlet operation–left pamphlets at restaurants, something like that. He was spouting off about trying to blow a ship or barge or something coming into
Portland
.
Would supposedly close the harbor for six months.
He had a map of it spread out in front of him. I knew then he was toast so I gave him a wide berth. I wouldn’t worry about him.”

“What if he gives them someone who can torch us?” Paul asked.

Lewis shrugged. “What’s anyone going to say? You haven’t joined any group. Christ, Paul, you never meet with anyone. So, I’ve been to a few meetings. Who hasn’t around here? The squishheads can’t lock up half of
Cambridge
, can they?”

“But, the project…” Paul began.

“What about it?” Lewis demanded. “It’s no one but you and me.
Nothing on our computers.
No notes left lying around.
Arnold
doesn’t even know what half the equipment we’ve bought is for, not that he ever did,” he added contemptuously.

“What about the money trail?” Paul asked nervously. “They’ve funneled a ton of dough to us to build this thing. Perry knows about the money. Lorrie Maddox delivered most of it to you. She knows. And we’re gonna’ need more to get additional fuel to run more tests.”

“She knows about the money, that’s all,” Lewis corrected. “She still thinks we’re developing explosives.”

“Jesus, Lewis, how the hell does that help? You think Vodkaville will leave us alone if they think all we’re doing is building bombs? You think they’ll figure
that’s
O.K.?”

Lewis sat on the bench opposite his friend. “Look, there’s nothing we can do. We need the money, we need Perry and we need Lorrie. Besides, even if they trace us they won’t make any move until they know what we’re up to. They’ll be afraid of not getting all of us and ending up with a 50 car freight train lying on its side outside
Chicago
. If they nab someone close to me we’ll know and have time. They won’t do a thing until they figure out what we’re up to.”

“What about the lab intern?”

Lewis nodded thoughtfully.
“Natasha’s probably Agency.
Smart too, and not just as a spy. Nigel says she really knows her stuff in physics. If she wasn’t a Russkie she could probably be a real help to us. But it’s just
routine
. There’s always a plant in the department.”

Paul shook his head. “Not always. There hasn’t been anyone for awhile. The last guy you spotted as Agency was that janitor two years ago.”

“You mean the guy from
Boston
College
? That was two years ago?” Lewis laughed. “Yeah, maybe you’re right. Well, Vodkaville has had funding problems. They don’t have the dough to watch everyone. Hand me that wrench, will ya’?”

Paul searched around the floor before bending over and retrieving the wrench closest to his feet. As he handed it to Lewis he glanced around the garage.

“Not the cleanest place to plan a revolution,” he mused aloud.

Lewis grunted at an especially tough engine bolt. “Yeah, well, we’re off the beaten track here. What office building around town isn’t bugged? Any outdoor meetings are sure to draw attention and I don’t exactly fancy freezing my ass off half the year. You know the problem with public
places,
you never know who’s in the next booth. Besides, I really want to get this Superbird on the road.
Can’t let Wolfe beat me on this.”

Lewis inserted an eight-track tape into a player on a nearby metal shelf and cranked up the volume. Paul winced at being forced to listen yet again to Steppenwolf.

“So, what’s the next move?” Lewis asked. “Gimme’ that ratchet set.”

“Next move is we pinpoint a time to go back.”

“Got one in mind?”

Paul shook his head. “Not really. We need someone who knows a lot of the details.
Someone who has access to the real stuff, the history, the primary sources.
We can’t afford to hit the wrong time.”

“Like a professor,” Lewis said. “Watch your feet.” Paul lifted his feet and Lewis rolled under the car to work on a brake line. “Ratchet,” he called out, extending his hand.

Paul handed him the ratchet set. “Know anyone?”

“Maybe,” Lewis said. “There’s a new associate professor of 20
^th
Century American who joined the faculty this month. Published extensively on the Kennedys and Lindsay, and from what I’ve heard through my contacts, spouts off anti-Soviet.”

“Who doesn’t?” Paul asked, taking some greasy piece of metal from Lewis and placing it on the workbench beside him. “That establishes his I.Q. at 80-plus. What’s his name?”

“Her’s. Nigel said he was thinking of asking her out, evidently she’s a decent little number. Her name’s Hatch, I think. Amanda Hatch.”