Zero Hour - Cussler Clive - Страница 32

Oddly enough, even as the systems continued to evolve, Yaeger remained the same, as if he were the only constant in an ever-changing equation.

As Pitt approached, Yaeger’s eyes darted around the glass screens upon which data was flashing here and there. He gestured and touched and moved things from one screen to another. A strange headset covered one ear and placed an additional tiny screen a finger’s length in front of his right eye, which seemed to flicker. Even from ten feet away, Pitt could see information flashing up on it.

“One day, I’m going to come in here and find you hardwired to the system,” Pitt said.

In his zeal, Yaeger hadn’t sensed Pitt coming. He turned abruptly, startled by Pitt’s voice. “You might have knocked.”

“All this technology, and you don’t have a doorbell?” Pitt said. “Or one of those things in the mall that ping when someone enters the store. Maybe I should get you a dog.”

Yaeger’s face scrunched up at that thought. “I already have a dog. I leave him at home because he pees on things and chews up the wires.”

“Sensible choice.”

“What brings you down here?” Yaeger asked.

Pitt placed a thick manila packet down on the table. “From the Aussies. Their file and technical data. I figured you and the computers could analyze it.”

“They sent it on paper?”

“Some people still use the mail, Hiram.”

“Might as well write with a quill pen,” Yaeger grunted.

Pitt climbed up onto the platform. “So what is all this?”

“New interface.”

“What’s that thing over your eye?” Pitt asked. “You look like a cross between Colonel Klink from Hogan’s Heroes and one of the Borg from Star Trek.”

“Unfortunately, I feel more like Sergeant Shultz,” Yaeger said. “Because I know nothing at this point.”

“That doesn’t sound right.”

“The NSA doesn’t want to share,” Yaeger explained. “Despite their promises. I’ve got nothing from them.”

“Didn’t they send a batch of data over this morning?”

“It’s all seismic data,” Yaeger said, “which we do need, I admit. But you asked me to look into this Dynamic Theory of Gravity that Tesla supposedly came up with. I’ve requested a boatload of documents on that end and received nothing. They’re stonewalling me.”

Pitt figured they would have to do something about that.

“Let me show you something,” Yaeger said, waving Dirk to the platform area between the three screens.

Pitt stepped forward. “I feel like you’re going to measure me for a suit.”

“The system could do that if you wanted it to,” Yaeger insisted. “But it’s a waste of processing power.”

“Depends on how the suit fits,” Pitt replied.

Hiram ignored him and pointed to the left-hand screen, where the photo of a one-story brick building appeared. It had ten evenly spaced windows, five on each side of a central door. It looked like a schoolhouse.

A half-finished structure stood behind the building. It was made of latticework, somewhat like the Eiffel Tower but with little of the French construction’s graceful lines. In fact, it looked very utilitarian. At the top of the tower was a dome. Altogether, the setup resembled a giant metal mushroom.

“Wardenclyffe,” Yaeger said. “Tesla’s million-dollar folly, they called it. Construction began in 1901. Tesla insisted it was the first of many to be placed around the world. Towers that would allow instant transmission of data and, more important perhaps, the wireless diffusion of electrical energy.”

“Amazing,” Pitt said.

“It really is,” Yaeger said. “Tesla worked on this tower in conjunction with his Dynamic Theory of Gravity. He exhausted himself on it, financially, physically, and mentally. He just about broke himself trying to see it through. In 1905, he ran out of money. The building remained in his possession for years but was eventually foreclosed upon. Finally, in 1917, a demolitions crew blew up the rusting tower. In many ways, it was the biggest setback of Tesla’s life. And yet, we have this letter.”

As Yaeger spoke, the photocopy of a handwritten letter flashed up on the central screen. It was signed by Tesla and addressed to a man named Watterson. It was dated March 1905.

“Who’s Watterson?” Pitt asked.

“Daniel Watterson,” Yaeger replied, “Tesla’s prodigy at the time. Computer, please read the letter.”

The computer began speaking aloud, using a convincing foreign accent. “Is that Tesla’s voice?”

“No,” Yaeger said. “But it’s an authentic re-creation of Tesla’s English. The way he probably sounded.”

“You taught it to do that?”

“No, it made the choice itself based on a thousand different dialects.”

Pitt shook his head, feeling a sense of disbelief and wonder as he listened to the voice over the speakers.

“Young Daniel, we have both been afraid this day would come. Ever since the patents on my motors of alternating current expired, the incoming funds have been drastically reduced. Neither Mr. Astor nor Mr. Morgan seem willing to put up more funding…”

Yaeger leaned over to Pitt. “That would be J. P. Morgan and John Jacob Astor IV, the one who went down on the Titanic.”

Pitt nodded. “Our paths have crossed before.”

“So I recall.”

“… they have intimated that perhaps they would be willing to grant us more if we’re able to demonstrate the transmission of power, but considering our inability to neutralize the anomalies we’ve encountered, I feel it is too dangerous to try at this point.

“Remember, poverty can be overcome with hard work. Death cannot be. And I will not be the instrument of harm to so many who know nothing of our struggle. For this reason, I must decline the other offer you arranged as well.

“Please inform General Cortland that I appreciate his efforts but cannot move forward until I have been able to render the danger moot.

“With all hope, Nikola.”

The computer had finished.

“Who’s this Cortland fellow?”

“Harold Cortland,” Yaeger said, “a brigadier general in charge of special procurements at the time.”

“So Tesla decided not to seek more money from Jacob Astor because he thought it was too dangerous, and then he turned down money from the U.S. Army as well?”

Yaeger nodded. “According to the letter. But aside from this reference, I’ve found no proof that the army ever spoke to Tesla, let alone offered him something.”

Pitt turned back to the photo of Wardenclyffe. “It looks a lot like what Kurt and Joe found in that flooded mine.”

“The ratios of the dome to the piping are almost identical,” Yaeger said. “And just like that mine, Tesla’s Wardenclyffe tower had electromagnetic conduction pipes that ran hundreds of feet down into the ground. According to Tesla, this was to ‘get a firm grip on the Earth,’ which he insisted would not only conduct the power but provide it.”

“Million-dollar folly,” Pitt mused, “except it sounds like Tesla was glad to let it go. Almost relieved. Why? What was he afraid of?”

Yaeger tilted his head as if the answer were obvious. “Probably the exact effect Thero is striving to achieve: tipping over the applecart of this zero-point field and wreaking havoc as all the apples tumble out.”

Pitt nodded. He was beginning to sense a pattern.

“From what you’ve said,” he began, “and what this Australian scientist has said, the zero-point field is connected and intertwined with gravitation. Tesla began work on his gravity theory and these towers at about the same time, around the turn of the century. He seemed to give up on both until… when?”

“Nineteen thirty-seven,” the computer replied.

Pitt looked around. “Thank you,” he said, feeling odd about responding to the machine. “Why then?”

“Insufficient data,” the computer said.

“Can it guess?” Pitt asked Yaeger. “And, if not, can you?”