The Coldest War Read Online Free PDF Page A

key to the superhuman feats of Doctor von Westarp’s children, and their Soviet successors. But it was also their Achilles’ heel. The circuitry was susceptible to a suitably crafted electromagnetic pulse. The British had designed their pixies after reverse engineering Gretel’s battery, and used them with middling success during an ill-fated raid on the Reichsbehörde. Later, when the tide of war turned against the Reich, the Communists had unveiled a more potent version of the same technology.
    The Arzamas fail-safe devices dwarfed the original pixies, but they worked on the same principle. They used chemical explosives to crush an electromagnet, blanketing the facility with a crippling EMP.
    The bottom line being that nobody in his right mind willingly spent time near the fail-safes. An unannounced drill, a malfunction, even an escape attempt might come at any time. Death would be quick, and it would be certain.
    Nobody searched the fail-safe chambers.
    Sacha said, “Genius. To you.”
    â€œTo me.” Clink.
    â€œMaintenance … they do that, time to time. What then? Pay them in vodka?”
    â€œSome I could. Others would take my vodka and still sell me out. Pigs.” Kostya spat. “Come. I’ll show you.”
    Sascha belched before responding. “Into the chamber? Not going down there.”
    â€œIt’s safe. I’ve done it many times.”
    â€œYou’re a drunken madman.” It sounded as though Sacha was making an effort not to slur his words. “I am smarter and more responsible.”
    â€œThen we’ll disarm the fail-safe before we go down.”
    â€œYes. That’s a much better idea.”
    And then, after some discussion of whether they’d take the remainder of the bottle with them, they stumbled off to visit Kostya’s still.
    Gretel stood, stretched. “Well,” she said. “Off we go.”
    Incredible, thought Klaus.
    After half an hour of sneaking, hiding, dodging, and sprinting—each move dictated by the time line in Gretel’s head—they stole a car. And, because the fail-safes had been disarmed, there was nothing to stop Klaus from dematerializing the car and everything in it when they reached the perimeter.
    They escaped Arzamas-16 without incident, just two more ghosts in the gulag.
    3 May 1963
Belgravia, London, England
    Candlelight flickered through crystal wineglasses, glinted on true silverware, shimmered on fine tablecloths. The restaurant hummed with the murmur of genteel conversation punctuated by the occasional clink of fine china or pop of a wine cork.
    Lady Gwendolyn Beauclerk said, “You’re hopeless, William. You won’t stop until you’ve found your way into a pauper’s grave. I’m quite convinced.”
    Lord William Edward Guthrie Beauclerk, younger brother to the Thirteenth Duke of Aelred, squeezed his wife’s hand. She laughed again.
    â€œPauper’s grave? Never, my dear. I’ve left very specific instructions to be carried out on the event of my death.”
    â€œHave you?” Gwendolyn took another sip of the Chilean red. William hadn’t tasted it, but the unanimous consensus at the table was that France’s collectivized wineries would never produce anything approaching the South American wines.
    â€œOh, yes.”
    â€œYou haven’t mentioned this to me,” said Will’s brother, Aubrey.
    Gwendolyn cocked her head. Her gown, royal blue silk, matched her eyes. Eyes that shone in the familiar way that meant, I’m listening .
    Will paused to savor a last morsel of breaded veal. “When the time comes, darling, and I have departed from this mortal coil,” said Will, “you and Aubrey shall bring my remains to the Tower Bridge. And there, from the highest parapet, you’ll toss my body in the Thames.”
    Aubrey’s face betrayed a flash of anger. “William!”
    Viola Beauclerk, his horsey-faced wife,