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    The Tesla Secret, Book 1
    The Tesla Secret, Book 1
    The Tesla Secret, Book 1
    Ebook157 pages2 hours

    The Tesla Secret, Book 1

    By Mike Wells

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    About this ebook

    When a Stanford University physicist is kidnapped and whisked away to a top-secret research facility near Moscow, he finds that a Russian oligarch has developed a “free energy” machine based on the lost work of Nikola Tesla. There, he is forced to finish developing the earthshaking invention. If perfected, the machine will provide unlimited, pollution-free electrical energy extracted from the earth’s very atmosphere. In so doing, it would make the oil, gas and alternative energy industries obsolete. It could also solve the world’s problems with poverty and perhaps even climate change.

    Torn between his scientific ego and the fact that people driven by profit alone are in control of technology that has such monumental humanitarian potential, the professor reluctantly begins to help with the project. Working side-by-side with him is a beautiful woman from Tajikistan who has special knowledge related to the device’s operation and is also being held against her will. The professor soon develops feelings for her, and they both try to escape, which takes them on a harrowing chase through Moscow. The two are relentlessly pursued not only by the Russian oligarch and his henchmen, but by an oil industry cartel who will stop at nothing to keep the disruptive technology hidden from the world.

    Readers of Dan Brown, Michael Crichton, Robert Ludlum, Blake Crouch, and Nelson DeMille will enjoy this exciting, well-researched techno-thriller.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherMike Wells
    Release dateOct 2, 2019
    ISBN9780463595626
    The Tesla Secret, Book 1
    Author

    Mike Wells

    Mike Wells is an author of both walking and cycling guides. He has been walking long-distance footpaths for 25 years, after a holiday in New Zealand gave him the long-distance walking bug. Within a few years, he had walked the major British trails, enjoying their range of terrain from straightforward downland tracks through to upland paths and challenging mountain routes. He then ventured into France, walking sections of the Grande Randonnee network (including the GR5 through the Alps from Lake Geneva to the Mediterranean), and Italy to explore the Dolomites Alta Via routes. Further afield, he has walked in Poland, Slovakia, Slovenia, Norway and Patagonia. Mike has also been a keen cyclist for over 20 years. After completing various UK Sustrans routes, such as Lon Las Cymru in Wales and the C2C route across northern England, he then moved on to cycling long-distance routes in continental Europe and beyond. These include cycling both the Camino and Ruta de la Plata to Santiago de la Compostela, a traverse of Cuba from end to end, a circumnavigation of Iceland and a trip across Lapland to the North Cape. He has written a series of cycling guides for Cicerone following the great rivers of Europe.

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      Book preview

      The Tesla Secret, Book 1 - Mike Wells

      Prologue

      Dubai, United Arab Emirates

      L adies and gentlemen, the Viper said in his soft Dutch accent, I apologize for any inconvenience this impromptu gathering may have caused you. His masked face turned to the Saudi prince. And I thank you, Your Royal Highness, for arranging this secure location on such short notice.

      Holding this meeting so far from my home is an imposition, the queen said huffily. Not to mention the risk involved. She fingered a gold necklace, from which hung a pendant engraved with an ibis, or Nile bird. It was the symbol for the one hundred-year-old group. I do hope it will be justified.

      Due to the highly irregular nature of the emergency gathering, only ten of the twelve Benefactors’ Elders were able to attend. In addition to the European queen, who currently served as chairman, and the Saudi prince, who represented OPEC, the others were: the CEO of the largest American oil corporation; the dictator of a South American country; the prime minister of a former Soviet republic; the owner of the largest Asian energy conglomerate; a Russian oil and gas oligarch who was also a high ranking member of the Russian parliament; the great-great grandson of a Chinese emperor; the president of one of the largest utility companies in Europe; and the heiress of the Malaysian energy cartel which controlled the lion’s share of the market in that region.

      The eleven individuals sitting around the table commandeered, either directly or through their political spheres of influence, more than seventy percent of the world’s energy resources. Add the two missing Elders, and the figure jumped to a mind-numbing eight-six percent. The sum of the wealth they represented far exceeded the GNPs of the most developed nations.

      As you all know from the encrypted communiqué, the Viper began, one of the Elders has received a rather disturbing message. Behind the Viper, on the wall of the ultra-secure meeting room, the screen came to life. The scanned image was composed of letters cut out from newspapers:

      ImPOrtAnT inFORmaTION foR YoUr GroUP: wE ARe BuiLDiNG A FRee EnERgy MAchInE iN RuSSia. PrOfEssOR STepHen SAWyer WiLL HeLp fiNisH. YOu MUsT sTOP uS aNd HiM.

      —YouR FRiEnD

      Jesus Christ, the American CEO said.

      "Us and him?" the prime minister said.

      The queen looked alarmed. Does this have any credibility?

      The Viper peered at her, only his grey eyes visible behind the mask. I’m afraid it may. He clicked a new slide onto the screen. It was the title page of an academic paper, by Stephen Sawyer. Stamped diagonally across it in thick red letters were the words TESLA CONFIDENTIAL.

      I thought we made that paper disappear, the American said.

      We should have made Sawyer disappear, too, the dictator said. I recommended that, if you remember.

      What’s happened in the past is irrelevant, the queen said testily. She looked back at the Viper. Please continue."

      He gave her a deferential nod, then turned to the others, his expression impossible to read behind the mask. We did eradicate this paper ten years ago—Technical Paper Number 634, to be exact—and quite effectively. All known copies were eliminated, with the exception of those in Sawyer’s personal files.

      Could Sawyer have given it to these Russians, whoever they are, himself? the Chinese Elder asked. Sold it to them?

      That’s certainly a possibility. As some of you may remember, he spent a year teaching in Russia, at Moscow State, shortly after he attempted to publish this.

      But our people kept a tight watch on him, the Russian parliament member said. He behaved himself.

      Yes. He responded well to the usual...deterrents. He’s been on our A Watch List ever since he attempted to publish this paper, and hasn’t engaged in any suspicious activity.

      What I want to know, the Saudi prince said, is how this situation has progressed this far. He motioned angrily to the Viper. Do we have to remind you that your job is to detect and eliminate this kind of activity long before it becomes a serious threat?

      We have yet to confirm the existence of a such free energy machine in Russia, the Viper said smoothly. He nodded to the member of the Russian parliament, who concurred. If such a device is actually under development, our Sentries will track it down, I assure you. They’re working the problem 24/7.

      The Saudi looked at the queen. With all due respect, Your Majesty, if he cannot do his job—

      I believe he is doing his job very well, she said. And I warn you not to try and take this situation into your own hands, or to pass any of this information on to OPEC.

      The Viper gave the queen a deferential bow, then pushed another button on his computer. A photograph of a slender middle-aged man appeared on the wall. He was smiling, standing casually on the sidewalk of a college campus, one hand in his pocket, a satchel slung over his shoulder, chatting with two students whose backs were to the camera.

      If Sawyer does prove to be involved in a project like this, the Viper said, we have a decision to make.

      Indeed we do, the queen said. With a sigh, she opened the wooden box in front of her. The mahogany container was ancient and well worn, the ibis symbol inlaid in blue pearl on its cover. Underneath the symbol, carved into the wood in Latin, was the Benefactors’ motto:

      Status Quo Conservo, or Maintain the Status Quo.

      Her bejeweled hands carefully removed eleven of the twelve Voting Tokens from their felt-padded slots and distributed them to the other Elders. The weighty round disks were white on one side, engraved with the ibis symbol. The other side was polished to a smooth black sheen.

      One by one, the Elders went through the one hundred-year-old ritual, sliding their tokens forward. The disks formed a rough circle in the center of the table.

      Black.

      Black.

      Black….

      Book 1

      Ibis figure

      1

      Las Vegas, Nevada

      Professor Stephen Sawyer was snoring, his mouth half open. He was having a disjointed dream, an unpleasant montage of blackjack tables, one-armed bandits, and endlessly spinning roulette wheels. He’d spent most of the evening at the casino with his old friend Jack Waterman, performing an experiment of sorts—to see if the laws of physics still applied to a tumbling pair of white cubes with little dots scattered on their faces.

      The laws still applied. Sawyer’s wallet was five hundred dollars lighter to prove it.

      He rolled over and felt something touching his forehead. Thinking it was a bug or a feather from the pillow, he took a swat at it.

      That’s when his fingers made contact with the gun barrel.

      You must help me, a voice said.

      Sawyer opened his eyes. Through the Mai Tai-induced haze, he dimly understood that the voice belonged to the female holding the pistol to his head. Encased almost entirely in black leather, she looked like she was in her late twenties. Straight black hair, with bangs cropped straight across her dark eyebrows.

      She looked like a hooker.

      Adrenaline began pumping frantically into Sawyer’s sleep-fogged brain. His eyes flicked to the right and he spotted his blue blazer hanging over the back of a chair, his name tag clipped to his pocket. DR. STEPHEN SAWYER, STANFORD UNIVERSITY.

      He was attending a conference on polymer physics. And this was his room at the Flamingo hotel. How the hell did a hooker—

      You must help me, she repeated.

      Sawyer was too terrified to move. Somewhere in the back of his mind he understood that she was Russian—he recognized the accent. You must hyelp me.

      He finally found his voice. Look, if you need money, my wallet is over there—

      Stand up, she said, her tone becoming firm. She motioned with the pistol to Sawyer’s slacks, which lay across the arm of an easy chair. Put zem on.

      Her features—the cat-like blue eyes, the long, straight nose, and the triangular jawline—were Slavic-looking. She was definitely Russian.

      Move! the girl hissed, motioning again to his slacks.

      Sawyer stumbled over to the chair, thankful that he had been too tired last night to take off his jockey shorts before collapsing into bed. As he stepped into his pants and zipped them up, he watched her with trepidation. If he turned and started pounding on the wall, Jack would wake up, he was in the next room...

      Ze shirt, she said, pointing with the pistol.

      Sawyer stepped over to pick it up off the back of the desk chair. He glanced at the telephone—it was within easy reach.

      Do not be stupid, she said.

      Sawyer put on the wrinkled garment and buttoned it up with trembling fingers. Keep it together, he told himself. He knew he had been in worse situations, although at the moment, he couldn’t actually think of one. She won’t shoot you, he told himself, not in the middle of a large hotel…

      Jacket, the girl said, motioning again with the gun.

      As soon as he donned the blazer, she yanked the name tag off, then shoved the pistol in his back and guided him towards the door.

      It only now dawned on Sawyer that she planned on taking him somewhere.

      Across the street, in the parking lot of the Tropicana Hotel, a woman in an unmarked van was engaged in a frenzy of activity. Four minutes ago she had been jarred awake by the alarm from the sensor that she had attached to the top of Stephen Sawyer’s hotel room door.

      One hand held her secure satellite phone, a monotonous ringing on the line. Her other hand manipulated one of the electronic consoles, replaying the conversation that had just been recorded—some female had entered Sawyer’s room and abducted him. A Russian, by the sound of the accent.

      A kidnapping operation was not something for which the Viper had briefed her. If Sawyer was helping the Russians develop a free energy machine, she had assumed he was a voluntarily participant. Her job was to immediately report any suspicious contact Sawyer made and wait for further instructions.

      She listened to the endless ringing on her satellite phone and cut the connection. It figured—the Viper always seemed to be unavailable at the worst times.

      She’d just have to wing it. She certainly couldn’t let Sawyer out of her hands. To hell with the Viper if he didn’t like how she handled this.

      After starting the engine, she drove

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