Читать книгу The Human Bullet - Joaquin De Torres - Страница 10

MIRA-CAL Technologies

Marko Marmilic’s troubles were great, if not hopeless from a professional and business point of view. His regret in accepting the DoD’s commission grew day by day. He realized that he committed business’ biggest sin: making a promise that he couldn’t keep; even worse, he took the money – a cool $350 million - after giving that promise.

Day after day, he studied the requirements of the Pentagon’s project:

1.The vehicle had to achieve hypersonic speeds.

2.The vehicle could not be larger than a huge truck but only as wide as a motorcycle.

3.The vehicle had to be made of the latest stealth materials.

4.The vehicle would be invisible to all radar or infrared satellite devices known to Man.

5.The vehicle had to be land-based, not a plane, drone or spacecraft.

6.The vehicle had to be operated by a single pilot. And finally-

7.The vehicle had to be completely silent.

“There’s no way this can be done,” he would say to himself. “It just can’t be done! Hypersonic speed is achievable, but for missiles and drones! How can this be done on land AND avoid sonic or infrared detection?”

His engineering teams were just as frustrated, and went about trying to solve these impossible problems in mostly quiet whispers. It was the quietest year for MIRA-CAL which was so used to celebrating their achievements with fanfare, parties, media spots and award ceremonies. For this corporation, it was as if they were mourning.

But it was the quietist for Marko, who began to withdraw and isolate himself in silence. Always silent. Even at the staff meetings, the animated motivator seemed muted by his impending failure. This is what worried his staff the most, not that he was struggling with this problem, but that he was silent about it. It seemed to be eating him alive.

In Buddhism, it is said: “A mighty lion can be killed by a single parasite.” They knew that the parasite was eating him, eating him. . .silently.

* * * * *

Raduč

“WHAM!!! WHAM!!! WHAM!!!”

Irena swung the sledgehammer down hard on the wall around the hidden door and upon the door itself. The day was hot and sweat glistened off her face, neck and legs. Wearing only shorts and a light t-shirt, she was dressed for the heat and the hard, physical labor ahead.

“WHAM!!! WHAM!!!” She brought the hammer down, making holes into the drywall and crushing the brick wall. She noticed by the sound of the impact that the door was solid wood, so it would be harder to bring down, so she slammed on the outer wall, the cracks and the door seal with all her strength.

After another round of blows to the seam and crack, the door fell back on itself with a loud crash and clouds of dust billowed out. She was in! She stumbled back and sat down to catch her breath, drink from her bottled water and waited for the dust to settle. With the door down, she could then hammer the wall from the inside and it would all come down, making a huge enough opening to walk in and out freely.

* * * * *

The room was dark, but she brought in a flashlight and noticed the room did, in fact, extend back some 20 feet and was some 15 feet wide. The temperature was cool and had the dank, mildew smell of an old wine cellar. There was a small table there with one chair, and several candle holders.

As she moved deeper in, she noticed two large wooden crates locked with iron padlocks. What kind of hidden treasure is this? she thought. She searched for the keys to the crates but they were nowhere to be found. She stepped outside the doorway and into the light of day, retrieved several standing lamps, an extension cord, another bottle of water, the sledgehammer, and walked back into the darkness.

* * * * *

MIRA-CAL

Marko Marmilic had tried everything: every theorem, every angle, every wild notion of how to make a land vehicle travel five times the speed of sound and make no noise. His working prototype could only hit Mach 2, and that was a jet-rocket sled on rails.

This was not his specialty, not his area of expertise. Why didn’t the Pentagon go to NASA, Lockheed-Martin, General Dynamics or Boeing? Their answer? ‘We only trust you because you are the visionary! You can foresee things others cannot and make them!’

And week after week, the calls would come about his progress, about his prototype. He had no answers for them. For four consecutive days, he had writer’s block, or more accurately, inventor’s block, where he simply sat at his drafting table, staring at all the numbers, all the designs, and all the schematics in utter, dumbfounded silence.

* * * * *

Raduć

“WHAM!!! WHAM!!! WHAM!!! WHAM!!!”

It only took two swings of the hammer on each padlock to break them off the crates. She picked up the heavy brass locks and threw them into the trash can she had brought in. She did a quick sweeping of the entire inner room, table, chair and cleared all the cobwebs in the corners. She removed the candle holders and used the lamp lights to illuminate the room thoroughly.

The space was now well-lit, clean and ventilated. She planned to break down the rest of the wall later in the week, dump the bricks and wood outside in one corner of the yard. Once that section was down, she could decorate the area under the stairs with house plants, a couch, bookshelves, etc. But first things first – the crates!

She opened the lid of the first one and saw that it was full of stacks of documents wrapped in protective paper and ribbon. She carefully lifted each stack and placed them on the table. It was now late afternoon and the Sun was setting behind the Velebit mountain range. Irena went to her large ice cooler and retrieved a bottle of Velebitsko Black and popped open the cap. She sat in the chair, sipping the beer and surveying the stacks.

She drank half the bottle before she stood up and cut the ribbon of the first stack. Removing the protective outer paper, she set the contents on her lap and quickly sifted through each page.

There were writings, official stamped documents, drawings, schematics and hand-written notes. All of it was scientific and mathematic in nature. Numbers, lines, measurements, angles, symbols and long strings of algorithms – all these things, were printed or scribbled on each page.

Some pages were of drawings of whole machines, apparatuses, devices, mechanisms, along with their infrastructures, individual parts with size and strength measurements. Some of the notes were in Croatian, while others were in English. But she couldn’t focus on the writing because it had been a long day and there were just too many papers to look at.

Feeling tired and hungry, her eyes and muscles sore from her physical attack on the wall, she downed the rest of the beer and decided to leave her detailed inspection for tomorrow. But something hit her that she didn’t notice when she was first rifling through the pages.

Her eyes never bothered to look down at some scribble on the bottom right of each sheet. But when she did, her heart began to beat like a jackhammer. At the bottom of every page was the signature of Nikola Tesla!

* * * * *

MIRA-CAL

“It can’t be done,” said Marko regrettably as he looked at the person on the other side of his large monitor. “My people are the best engineers and we’ve been over this for the months you’ve given us. There’s no way this can be done even with my technology.”

Ericka Hedlin stared back at him with her large, but tired green eyes. She wanted to hear everything he had to say before she responded. Marko just shook his head like a beaten man.

“No, Madam President, it can’t be done. So, with all due respect and the honor for having been entrusted with this project, I will immediately refund your entire investment, every penny of it, and turn over all my progress and prototype to your people.

“MIRA-CAL has simply too many projects for saving and rebuilding lives. We’re not in the business of taking them. Please accept my apologies and I will send the money electronically back to your financial institution in the morning.”

Hedlin remained expressionless. Marko could see she was not disappointed but aggravated by his answers. Her continued silence said it all as he began to sear under the heat of her glare. It seemed like minutes as her heated stare and cold silence dried his throat, yet he dared not reach for his cup of coffee just inches from his hand.

“I’ll wire you an additional 150 million,” she said finally.

“It’s not the money, Madam Pres-”

“And another three months.”

“It may take longer than that, but I don’t-”

“MARKO!” Hedlin yelled. Marko froze at the sudden boom of her voice. She pinched the bridge of her nose and closed her exhausted eyes. When she spoke, her tone had softened, but he couldn’t find anything but frost and desperation in her words.

“Don’t you understand? If you don’t do this. . .I’m dead.”

* * * * *

Raduč

NIKOLA TESLA! her mind screamed within. Irena Pezelj was no longer tired, no longer hungry, no longer a regular person. She poured over the work like a woman possessed. She was so nervous, so excited, so full of adrenaline, she couldn’t believe what she was looking at, reading, holding in her very own hands! She marveled at each page, savoring this unbelievable moment as if entrusted with her nation’s greatest treasure and secrets.

She put down the papers and left to wash her hands thoroughly. She took a deep breath and tried to clear her head. She needed to be objective, not an excited little girl. Page after page, notebook after notebook, she sifted through these precious articles of knowledge and antiquity.

She gently rubbed her fingertips on the parchment, smelled the scent of aged wood and mildew, viscerally trying to understand how unbelievable this all was. She soon realized by the handwritten notes and remarks, that these files, these documents and drawings, were not prints, but original works from the legendary inventor himself!

She swallowed deeply and sweat began to glisten on her forehead in nervous tension and excitement. I should call someone! she considered. I should call the Tesla Technical Museum in Zagreb! No, the museum in Smiljan! No, the Tesla Science Center in New York! No, the Smithsonian Museum in Washington DC! No, the Tesla museum in Belgrade!

“Wait. Fuck Serbia!” she spat. She finally concluded that these works would remain with her until she found a suitable institution to either sell or donate them to. Until then, she was going to just keep them with her, her own little secret, and study.

“My god, look at all this!”

For three days, she traveled back and forth from Gospić to Raduč to read over the stacks of documents, plans, calculations and mathematical equations. What was most interesting to her were Tesla’s side notes and comments that were so cryptic that only she, a mathematician, could immediately understand what he was thinking. The drawings were so intricate and detailed that, because they were originals, could fetch millions of dollars if she were to auction them off.

She began categorizing the documents by subject matter: electric power, hydraulic power, wireless communications, gravitational power, etc. and searched areas of both the dining room and the sitting room. She had no furniture in the house yet, so she walked barefoot on the cool wooden floors she had polished by hand, laying the documents in neat rows and columns according to their subject matter.

Almost all of the documents from the first crate were simply copies of his work which could be found in technical museums and universal engineering literature around the world. They were already patented and just original copies, but with the priceless editions of his own memos and even crossed-out mistakes that no one but her had ever seen. Just these personal notes could be worth millions to a history collector.

With the first crate emptied, she stood at the top of the center staircase and surveyed the documents laying across the floors on either side. Neat little stacks of papers. Precious stacks of history.

The larger drawings and sketches were laid by themselves as they were unique in their own designs. She smiled like a satisfied landscaper after completing a specially designed garden. She sat on the step, now calm but starting to sweat again as the afternoon sun on the fourth day began to bake the house. She had her fans, but they were nowhere near the stacks, so essentially, she was sitting in a sauna.

She was also getting hungry. She had eaten her last sandwich, and had one beer left in the cooler. No one delivers pizza in Raduč, she thought, I must go back to Gospić for supplies. She would need food, drinks, and a trip to the office supply store to buy plastic document protectors for each individual page and some security containers to keep them in.

She went downstairs to drink the last beer and prepare for her trip back home. She had planned to explore the second crate when she returned, but since she had an ice-cold beer in her hand, she felt she had time to take a peek at what contents lay within. She went into the hidden room where the fans were still going, giving her instant relief.

She took out a very small stack, perhaps 30 pieces of paper out of the crate and noticed that they were not protected in cover paper and ribbon as in the first crate. In fact, these pieces seemed haphazardly placed, thrown in and not organized at all.

Among the letters, wedged along the side of the stacks, was a large notebook. She looked at that first, leafing through the pages she saw that it was some new kind of contraption that Tesla must have been working on but never completed.

Every page had a headline scribbled in the inventor’s own hand: Gravitational High-Speed Travel. She didn’t read any of the writings or details; instead, she viewed the drawings of what looked like a space-aged contraption. The notebook was thick with drawings of strange parts of the contraption’s engine, its overall shape, various angles of the machine, internal schematics of its power plant, engine, fuel cells and numerous other transport equipment. It actually looked like a person was supposed to ride in it, or on it.

She kept turning the pages, fascinated, and there it was on page 34 – a sketch of a man sitting on the machine. There were even larger drawings, some as large as the table itself, showing more details of the same man in different perspectives and altered seating positions on the strange craft.

The notes attached to the drawings were puzzling – memos about safety, heat absorption, heat deflection, force fields, hovering, solid mass penetration, variable and immeasurable speeds, braking techniques, launching mechanisms, and the availability of special materials. This was something Irena had never before heard of. These things were representative of nothing that Tesla was famous for, nor mentioned in history. What the hell am I looking at?

What was even more interesting about the drawings was that in every rendition the machine had no wheels, skis or wings. It seemed to be levitating off the ground!

* * * * *

MIRA-CAL

“MPD,” said Gary Bell rubbing his own tired eyes.

“What?” asked Marko, stifling a yawn with his fist.

“Magnetic Propulsion Drive,” he repeated fully, “accelerating an object by the utilization of a flowing electrical current and magnetic fields.”

Gary Bell was MIRA-CAL’s only NASA-trained jet propulsion engineer and an invaluable member to Marko’s technical staff.

“I like the idea of using the magnetic fields of the Earth,” said Lana, “but like any scramjet, it needs a booster to generate the initial launch thrust.”

“And that booster is going to make a lot of noise,” added Marko. “It’s also going to generate a heat signature that will look like a Christmas tree on an enemy satellite screen.”

“It has to be electrical,” continued Bell, “to keep the infrared signature invisible, but powerful enough to supply the thrust-force.”

“Like shooting a man out of a cannon but without gunpowder,” mused Lana.

“Exactly!” smiled Bell, then dropped it. “Although we will be literally - shooting a man.” Lana bit her lip and looked away.

“Gary, you’re the NASA man,” said Marko, “is there a way to generate such thrust without a trace?”

“At ground level? No. But, when I worked there, we were experimenting with what is known as an Ion Thruster. It creates thrust by accelerating ions with electricity but for spacecraft. The term refers to electrostatic ion thrusters, but may be applied to all electric propulsion systems that accelerate plasma, since plasma consists of ions.”

“I don’t know,” Lana said shaking her head slightly, “maybe we could build an ionic core plasma system in the cycle.”

“Remember, guys,” interrupted Gary, “the prototypes for these have been experimented for space flight, not ground travel.”

“Then we go with electromagnetic gravity,” stamped Marko, clearly reaching the end of his patience.

“How about NASA’s electromagnetic drive?” asked Lana.

“The EM drive is for space travel, too,” said Gary without hesitation.

“Then we’re back to square one,” huffed Lana out of frustration. Suddenly, the intercom in the room came on; it was the front desk receptionist.

“Dr. Marmilic, you have a call on line one.”

“Everyone, let’s break for lunch,” Marko said to the relief and gratitude of all. As they dispersed out of his office, he picked up the line.

“This is Marko Marmilic.”

He listened intently for about two minutes before responding to the caller.

“I understand. I’ll let you know the details when I get them. Thank you. Good-bye.” He then pressed the intercom button to the receptionist desk.

“Yes, Dr. Marmilic?”

“Ana, I need a Lufthansa flight out of SFO immediately. I would like to leave tomorrow. First or Business Class, makes no difference.”

“Yes, sir. Will you be taking anyone else? Martina, perhaps?”

“No, Ana. I’m going alone.”

“And the destination?”

“Zagreb, Ana. Zagreb, Croatia. I’m going home.”

* * * * *

Raduč

While going over the papers for another two days, Irena recalled the bi-annual Zagreb Science and Discovery Conference that she attended some seven months ago. It was there where she listened to Dr. Marko Marmilic give several brilliant technical and business lectures.

Of all the topics, there was one that he talked about with great energy and equally great agony. It had to do with exploiting the power of the Earth’s magnetic fields for the use of mass teleportation of objects.

On her recent trip back to Gospić, she Googled Marmilic’s theory and read his research. The main thing that had evaded his grasp, thus his ‘agony,’ was how to make objects move so fast that they could get from one part of the Earth to another without using fossil fuel-based energy. His hope was to be able to teleport medicine and equipment to needy nations in a matter of minutes.

He mentioned that his corporation had been building a prototype for trials, but so far, it couldn’t generate the hypersonic speeds he desired.

“How wonderful it would be to transport live organs from a donor in South Africa, to a dying patient in Arizona, in a matter of minutes!” he asked the stunned but very much enthralled audience that day. “Or, liters of blood from New York, to earthquake victims in China in less than an hour! However, despite my efforts, that technology is non-existent and may need 50 years before a platform like that can be developed.”

Irena had raised her hand during the question-answer session.

“Dr. Marmilic, I’m Dr. Irena Pezelj. To generate hypersonic speed, the back blast of power would be enormous for any vehicle. Why is it necessary for your vehicle to be near silent?” Marmilic was ready for such a question; in fact, he expected it.

“Dr. Pezelj, having a vehicle of this importance would be a prize target to a radical enemy like Isis and Al Qaida, or North Korea, who would seek to capture it. And if we follow global military events, we know that China and Russia already have hypersonic missiles. So, if they could track the heat or sound signatures of our vehicle, they could shoot it down.”

“Why would they want to do that?” Irena followed up. “I mean, your vehicles would be transporting medicine and supplies to earthquake, flood or starving areas of the world. Your research has always been humanitarian. I don’t see why there would be a danger.”

She remembered the inventor taking a deep nervous breath before answering. She could see that there was something else he was considering that made him hesitate.

“Dr. Pezelj, it’s not a perfect world. There are enemies who would love to have, or prevent, this technology.”

There was concern behind his eyes. There was apprehension in his voice. He was holding something back. But before she could ask another question, he abruptly thanked everyone and walked off the stage. She never saw him again except on TV, the Internet, or in science journals, and she was left to wonder what, if anything, he was hiding from all of them.

* * * * *

Irena returned to Raduč after printing Marmilic’s research notes and theories, and began juxtaposing them with the Tesla materials from crate one. Spreading everything around her on the floor, she sat and compared notes from the two men’s detailed work. She found correlations and similar equations written by each, but one thing was wrong about Marmilic’s procedure for the vehicle that she believed Tesla had already solved for his vehicle. More study, more comparisons, more Google searches, and more in-depth analysis that took up more hours.

Then hours later, it suddenly became clear in her eyes.

“YES!” she screamed gleefully. “Electro-Gravitational Magnetism Confluence Theory!”

After two more hours of her own calculations in which she had scribbled over 20 pages of equations she fused with Tesla’s equations, she saw the bridge – the primer – that could solve Marmilic’s problem!

She drove back to Gospić at high speed, almost crashed in front of her house as she skidded to a stop, and jumped out of her car with an armful of her notes. She ran into the house and pounced on the computer to find the MIRA-CAL website and its contact numbers. She was breathing heavily, sweating, and had to calm her hammering heartbeat before she called the front desk of the corporation.

“MIRA-CAL Technologies. This is Ana speaking. How can I direct your call?”

“Miss Ana, my name is Dr. Irena Pezelj. I’m calling long-distance from Croatia. I need to speak to Dr. Marmilic on an extremely urgent matter.”

“Dr. Marmilic is in a private meeting at the moment, Miss Pezelj, can I take a-”

“NO! This is an emergency! He needs to hear what I have to say! PLEASE!”

* * * * *

Raduč

A day after Irena picked up Marko from Zagreb International Airport, a two-hour drive each way, they were both sitting on the floor looking at the papers and notes of Tesla, Marmilic and Pezelj spread widely around them.

Marko was astounded by this treasure trove of historical data, thinking of dozens of museums that would spend a fortune to display them. Like Irena, he delicately lifted every piece of paper; he slid his fingers over the ancient ink imagining Tesla’s own hand on that same piece; he brought the weathered papers up to his nose to smell them.

He said nothing for a while. This was so surreal to him. He was simply in awe and reverence by this privilege. Irena smiled and handed him a glass of blood red Croatian wine, Plavac Mali.

“What you’re doing now – with the paper - I did the same thing,” she said smiling, taking a full glass of wine for herself.

“This is all unbelievable. We are holding a treasure here, and no one but us knows about any of it!”

“No, Dr. Marmilic,”

“Marko, please.”

“Marko, the real treasure is over there on the table.”

They moved to the table where Irena had already set up a specific display. Papers written in her own hand were sitting next to those of his and Tesla’s. It didn’t take him more than a minute after reading her short thesis for his eyes to begin to moisten.

“You solved it,” he whispered. “Oh my god, you solved it.” He turned to her. “You solved it, Irena!”

“You really think it can work?” she asked. He nodded and continued.

“Tesla was way ahead of the world, way ahead of his time, but was unfortunately trapped by the technology of his time. But your calculations – fusing his with mine – is absolute genius! This is what I’ve been seeking for years!” They toasted and he gulped the wine down in one smooth swallow.

“I want you to pack your bags, all these papers, whatever you need.” His eyes were moving about, already thinking ahead of things he had to do. “Tomorrow afternoon we’ll need a taxi. Leave your car in Gospić, you won't be needing it. Get your passport.”

“Are we going somewhere? Back to Zagreb? I can drive, we don’t need to call a taxi.” Irena was puzzled by his sudden set of requests. He turned around to face her.

“You don’t understand, Irena. You’re coming with me to California. We’re going back to MIRA-CAL. We’re going to build this thing! We’re going to build Nikola Tesla’s machine! And it’s all because of you!”