The Pigeon Project (2 page)

It annoyed him once more.

He was too tired to examine it, too tired to explore implications. To give people the supreme gift of living twice as long. That was good enough. What could be better?

Right now, only sleep.

He removed his crumpled lightweight beige jacket, dropped down onto the narrow soft bed, stretched out, and closed his eyes and mind to the miracle and the glory.

* * *

The pressure on his shoulder awakened him from his dream. He had been dreaming he was in some detached place between heaven and earth, kneeling before a wide golden throne on which sat Einstein, Pasteur, Newton; and a disembodied hand had placed a jeweled crown on his head, but abruptly, the crown slipped off his head and went tumbling into space and he leaped up trying to retrieve it, and then—and then he felt the pressure on his shoulder and the dream evaporated and he was awake behind his closed eyes.

The something on his shoulder—it was a hand—shook him, and a voice close to his ear whispered, “Professor, wake up. Please wake up.”

He opened his heavy eyelids and made out that it was Leonid’s head bent close to his own.

When he started to move his lips, Leonid’s hand moved quickly from his shoulder to cover his mouth.

“Don’t speak,” said Leonid at his ear. “I don’t want him to hear you. Are you fully awake?”

MacDonald nodded.

“Then listen,” said Leonid, removing his hand. “Vasily has told them. He has found out about-your discovery and told the KGB.”

KGB. Committee of State Security. MacDonald was not only fully awake, he was alert.

“I suspected Vasily was a planted informer from the start,” Leonid went on. “Remember, I cautioned you. Anyway, he must have been suspicious of our celebration. When you went to the bedroom and I went to the laboratory, he must have come into the living room, found your journal, and read the last entry you made on C-98, on your discovery. I happened to go into the kitchen, and I heard him on the telephone in his quarters. I went closer to his door and listened. He was calling KGB headquarters in Odessa. He spoke to someone there—I think the chief—someone named Boris Kedrov. He reported the news of your discovery. Apparently Kedrov asked where you were. Vasily said you were sound asleep in bed. Then Kedrov told him they would come at once and Vasily said he would be waiting for them and would keep an eye on you until they arrived. I immediately slipped out of the kitchen and came to wake you.”

“Why are they coming here? What do they want from me?”

“Your discovery. They want it for themselves alone.”

“No,” said MacDonald, frightened. “No, that must never happen.”

“It won’t, if you do what I tell you,” Leonid said. “I have made arrangements for your escape.” He glanced at his wristwatch. “We must be quick. I checked with the Sukhumi Airport, the military airport not far from here. I learned there are three flights tonight. Two inside the country, one to the outside. The outside one is a special Tu-154—a Tupolev—carrying a cultural delegation to Venice—to Italy—where the members are to meet with their newly elected Italian Communist comrades. There is room for you on the flight, as long as your papers are in order.”

“My papers are in order. Because of my research travels, I have a special visa to come and go as I wish.”

“The plane leaves in forty-five minutes. We must hurry.”

MacDonald pushed himself off the bed and stood a moment, wavering, briefly bewildered.

“My things,” he said, starting for the door.

Leonid grabbed his arm. “Please, no—”

“But my journal, the animal test charts, the—”

“You don’t need them,” said Leonid urgently. “All you need is your head. You can’t risk being seen. If Vasily suspected you were leaving, he might hold you here with a gun—or at the least, he would alert the airport and you would not be allowed to board the plane. Believe me, Professor.”

MacDonald nodded. He picked up his jacket and began to pull it on.

“Your travel papers—are they in this room?”

MacDonald nodded again. He stepped to the dark brown bureau, opened the top drawer, found his passport, his Intourist VIP travel permit, and two books of traveler’s checks.

Leonid was at his elbow. “I’ll lift the rear window and go out first. It is a short drop. I’ll help you down. The car is parked on the other side of the orchard, just off the highway. Vasily will never know. He will think you are still safely asleep.”

At the window, MacDonald paused. “Leonid, what will happen to you?”

“Never mind. I’ll manage. I’ll make up some story. The important thing is to get you out of here, before they come for you. Soon, tonight, you will be in Venice, free. Tomorrow, you will be in Paris. After that, your discovery will belong to the world.”

MacDonald smiled grimly. “When I was young, I used to pray to God. I hope He remembers now.”

“Come,” said Leonid, slowly, silently lifting the window. “There is not a second to lose.”

* * *

Three hours had passed when Vasily answered the doorbell. He held the front door wide, admitting the five men.

The one who was obviously the leader, a stocky, uniformed older man of middle height, hatless, black crew-cut hair, close-set eyes, broad nose, thick lips—almost Mongolian features—glanced about the living room and rested his gaze on Vasily.

“You are Vasily?”

“I am,” said Vasily almost inaudibly, offering a half bow.

“Good work. I am Major Boris Kedrov. I have brought along two of our foremost scientists, Grigori Kapitin and Vladimir Petrovsky, of the Sukhumi Gerontology Institute, to ascertain whether this is a legitimate find or some kind of hoax. With us are two of my KGB agents, Yagoda and Shvernik. The professor—he is still asleep?”

“Yes, sir.” Vasily pointed to the bedroom door.

“Excellent. Let’s waste no time. Before we rouse Professor MacDonald and confront him, let us be certain that this discovery of his is genuine. What do we have, beyond your suspicions, to prove that the professor has found the secret to the prolongation of life?”

“His private journal, Major. I spoke of it on the telephone—”

“Yes, his journal.”

“It is there on the desk,” said Vasily, “still open to the last entry this afternoon.”

Major Kedrov sniffed. “Is there anything more—any other evidence?”

Vasily gestured toward a corridor off the dining area of the living room. “There is his laboratory. There are test animals, mice and guinea pigs. Leonid kept records—”

“Leonid?” said Major Kedrov sharply. “Who is Leonid?”

“His laboratory assistant. A young Jew.”

“Is he on the premises?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Where?”

“Probably in his room, near my own, just past the kitchen.” He raised his arm, pointing off. “On the other side.”

Major Kedrov signaled to his men. “Yagoda—Shvernik—find him.” As they hastened toward the kitchen, Kedrov turned to the others. “Dr. Kapitin, you read English, I believe. Have a look at the professor’s journal. Tell me what you think. As for you, Dr. Petrovsky—Vasily will show you the laboratory. See if there is any corroborating evidence.”

Major Kedrov watched Kapitin go to the desk and take up the journal, and then watched Petrovsky follow the servant into the corridor. For a while, he remained immobile, staring at MacDonald’s bedroom door. After three or four minutes, he began to pace in a small circle, waiting.

It was Dr. Kapitin who intercepted him, brought him to a halt. The scientist held up MacDonald’s journal. “It is here,” Dr. Kapitin said cautiously. “The professor claims to have found it. He is very explicit.” He opened the journal and located the passage. He read it aloud. “‘At 5:15 this afternoon… From this day on, my formula, C-98, will extend the longevity of every human being on earth from an average age of seventy-two to an average age of 150.’”

“Can that really be?” said Major Kedrov with wonder in his voice.

Dr. Kapitin’s brow wrinkled. “I do not know. Great progress had been made in the field, but even the most optimistic did not expect the discovery to come for another forty or fifty years.” He tapped the journal. “Of course, this could be an elderly man’s delusions or plain romantic nonsense—more wish and hope than reality—leaping prematurely at conclusions.” He hesitated. “Still, Professor MacDonald’s work is not unknown to me. While I am acquainted with him only slightly from his many visits here, I have read his papers. He is greatly respected internationally, has high standing in the field. But this…” He closed the journal and rubbed the cover thoughtfully. “It is impossible to say. We would have to know more.”

“We do know more,” a voice interrupted. The speaker was Dr. Petrovsky, approaching with a sheaf of charts attached to a board. Vasily followed closely after him. “These meticulous records of MacDonald’s tests on his laboratory animals are conclusive. The segregated group he injected with some kind of formula he calls C-98 has lived twice its normal lifespan. There can be no question in my mind. Professor MacDonald has made some landmark discovery, perhaps one of the most important of all time—one of such meaning and magnitude as to be almost incomprehensible in the effects it will have on the human race.”

“I am not interested in the human race,” said Major Kedrov flatly. “I am only interested, first and last, in the welfare of the Soviet Union, our beloved Motherland.”

“Of course, of course,” agreed Dr. Kapitin.

“So now we deal with reality.” Major Kedrov stared once more at the bedroom door. “It is time we congratulate Professor MacDonald.”

As the three started toward the bedroom door, Vasily darted ahead of them. He wrenched at the doorknob and flung the door open, stepping back to allow his superiors to pass him.

Major Kedrov reached inside, snapped on the light, and entered. He stopped in his tracks, eyes widening at the empty bed. He glanced about the room, walked slowly to the closet, opened and closed the door. He moved to another door beside it, opened it, and peered into the bathroom. He backed away, once more studied the room, and then he observed the open window.

“Well, now,” he said. He half-turned, narrowed eyes fixed on Vasily. “You are sure he went to sleep?”

“Leonid told me he was going to take a nap,” said Vasily nervously.

“Could he be anywhere else in the house?”

“No, sir. I kept an eye on the room here.”

“The window. Did he always keep the window open when he slept?”

“I-I don’t remember. I don’t think so.”

Shvernik reappeared in the bedroom doorway.

“Major—”

“Yes?”

“We have found the assistant, Leonid, in his room. He was undressing for bed. We questioned him about the discovery. He claims to know nothing about it. He says his duties were limited to keeping the laboratory in order and watching over the test animals.”

“He lies,” Vasily interrupted. “He and the professor were in the living room for two or three hours drinking, celebrating. He must know what happened to the professor.”

Major Kedrov nodded. “Yes, I think our Leonid can tell us more.” He addressed one of his agents. “Shvernik, Professor MacDonald is missing. We must know as quickly as possible where he has gone. I suggest you and Yagoda question this man more persistently. Go as far as is necessary. I want an answer, the truth, in the next five minutes.”

After the agent had gone, Major Kedrov surveyed the bedroom once more, then went to the bureau. He began pulling out the drawers, one after another, looking inside each, examining the clothes inside. Finished, he crossed to the bed, opened the” drawer of the bedside stand, closed it.

“I wonder where he keeps his passport,” Major Kedrov said. “It is not in this room.”

Lost in thought, he left the bedroom and returned to the living room. The other three followed him. At the coffee table, Kedrov stopped, dug a pack of cigarettes out of a pocket, extracted a cigarette. Dr. Petrovsky hastened to light it for him.

From behind a stream of exhaled smoke, Major Kedrov spoke quietly. “Perhaps I am unduly alarmed. Perhaps our guest merely went for a stroll and will return any minute. Possibly, there is some other innocent explanation. I would hate to contemplate any other reason for his disappearance. You see—”

He was momentarily distracted by a shrill, prolonged scream from beyond the kitchen. He looked in that direction, listened, and heard moaning, indistinct sounds of protestation, and suddenly another scream.

Major Kedrov gave a short shrug and devoted his attention once more to the two troubled scientists opposite him. “You see, gentlemen, I consider this the most important assignment of my career. There would be no explanation acceptable to the Kremlin if we failed to deliver Professor MacDonald and his C-98. Exclusive possession of the formula by the Soviet Union would change future history. For one thing, the premier himself is seventy-five and not in the best of health. To possess a potion that would give him another seventy-five years—you can see how vital this would be to him personally.” Major Kedrov puffed on his cigarette, then resumed. “But even more, think what this discovery, in our hands alone, could mean to the Soviet Union. It would mean that our leaders—members of the Politburo, our wisest inventors, generals, economists, artists—could live on and on, while their counterparts in America and other nations, limited to normal lifespans, would die off and those countries would have to start afresh with new people in every field. Our advantage would give us dominance of the world in every area imaginable. This would be the instant view of our leaders. I dare not fail them.”

Another series of screams from beyond the kitchen made him pause. Then, there was silence.

Major Kedrov nodded knowingly. He examined the expressions of the faces of Dr. Kapitin and Dr. Petrovsky. “Do not be concerned, gentlemen. In my work the result always justifies any action taken. Simple remember one thing. This discovery was made in the Soviet Union, because of the hospitality of the Soviet Union. Therefore, logically, it belongs to the Soviet Union. So you must—”

“Major Kedrov!” It was the KGB agent Shvernik, who was hurrying toward him. “He has confessed—admitted Professor MacDonald left the country—”