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    The Tesla Secret, Book 2
    The Tesla Secret, Book 2
    The Tesla Secret, Book 2
    Ebook165 pages2 hours

    The Tesla Secret, Book 2

    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 17, 2019
    ISBN9780463588802
    The Tesla Secret, Book 2
    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 2 - Mike Wells

      Book 2

      1

      A re you sure nothing is wrong? Yasmin said. She was sitting cross-legged on her bed, wearing an amber-colored robe. With her unruly black hair and dark eyes, she could have been an exotic empress perched on her throne.

      Nothing is wrong, Sawyer lied. He had just sat down in a chair across from her, still sweating and breathing hard. After what happened with Stanislav, he couldn’t seem to calm down. He wasn’t about to tell Yasmin about it, though, not yet—not until he found out exactly what she wanted.

      You seem a bit agitated, she said, in her proper British accent.

      I was afraid the nurse would wake up, that’s all.

      Don’t worry—Viktoria sleeps like the dead.

      Sawyer nodded, glancing around the room, which smelled of incense and was illuminated only by two candles. There was a large wooden flute leaning against her nightstand. The furniture was so simple and austere, he might have been inside a monastery. There was a small Buddha sitting on one bookshelf, nestled in the middle of what must have been hundreds of thick medical texts. Some were traditional, others were about holistic medicine, acupuncture, homeopathic remedies…In the opposite corner, propped against a wardrobe, were some cross country skis, a pair of ice skates, and a tennis racket. His gaze was finally drawn to the wall above her bed—a poster-sized photo hung above it. A youthful, exuberant Yasmin was standing on the summit of some mountain. She was grinning, her gloved hand giving a thumbs-up sign against a cobalt-blue sky. There was an oxygen mask around her neck, her face bright red, ice caked in her curly black hair.

      Sawyer glanced up at the ceiling. You’re sure this room isn’t bugged?

      Positive. My grandfather can sense these things.

      Sawyer nodded, not sure he believed this, and looked back at the door handle. He noticed that she could lock it from the inside.

      She said, Thank you for taking the risk to come talk to me.

      No problem, he said, wiping sweat from his forehead.

      There was a long, awkward silence—he wanted to wait for her to tell him what she wanted. Sawyer became aware that they were both wearing only their robes. Yasmin must have become aware of it, too—she pulled hers a little more closed at her neck.

      This is very difficult for me, she began. I…I wanted to try and appeal to your sense of decency. I wanted to ask you…oh, this is so hard…

      Sawyer frowned, unable to imagine what she was about to utter. Just say it.

      I wanted to…to plead with you…not to help them anymore with their machine.

      Help…? Sawyer was taken aback—it hadn’t occurred to him that she would think he was voluntarily working with the Voronezhskys.

      Listen, I’m not helping—

      I know they’re paying you a lot of money, she said. It’s an enormous request for me to make…

      They’re not paying me any money, Sawyer said, raising his voice.

      Shhh!

      They’re not paying me any money, he said in a loud whisper.

      Yasmin nodded but still didn’t hear. I know we’re only a couple of strangers to you, but I thought I might appeal to your sense of—.

      I’ve already told you, Sawyer cut in, "I’m not helping them. Aren’t you listening to me?"

      Yasmin looked away, shaking her head, as if she thought she was dealing with a pathological liar. You’ve already helped them.

      No, I haven’t. I—

      What do you think, I’m a fool? Now she was raising her voice. "They started the big machine today without my grandfather. I know it for a fact."

      No they didn’t.

      Oh yes they did.

      If you’d let me finish…

      She crossed her arms.

      Your grandfather started the machine himself.

      That’s impossible. He never left his room today.

      That’s right. He started it remotely, when I led him through the visualization exercise. Alexandra tried to start the machine at exactly the same time, 5:12, by playing back the recorded movements. I timed it with my watch. Your grandfather did his magic from a distance. Sawyer paused. And nobody knows that but you and me.

      She looked towards the door to her grandfather’s, then a flicker of doubt crossed her face. Is that true?

      Of course it’s true. Rashne doesn’t need to be sitting next to the machine to make it start. I thought you probably knew that much yourself.

      She raised one of her dark eyebrows. Why did you do it?

      I wanted to throw them off, to buy myself some time to find a way out of here.

      She let out a morose chuckle. Smashing. Whatever time you bought yourself, you robbed from my grandfather. Now they think they can start the machine without him. If they don’t need him anymore—

      Don’t jump to conclusions, Sawyer said, though he suddenly felt ill—he hadn’t thought about what they might do to the Sufi if they believed he was redundant. He then realized this was a perfect reason to ask for her help in escaping. We need to get out of here, all three of us.

      My grandfather is far too ill for that. He—

      Do you know a way out of here? Sawyer blurted, cutting her off. He glanced over his shoulder, at the door to the corridor. Stanislav could wake up at any moment and start making a fuss.

      Yasmin hesitated, but did not speak.

      Well, do you? Sawyer said, raising his voice.

      I might.

      "You might? For God’s sake, tell me! Sawyer glanced over his shoulder again. I just put Stanislav in the storage closet across the hall."

      Yasmin’s eyes widened. She looked at the door, then back at Sawyer. "You killed Stanislav?"

      No, of course not… Yasmin’s face had gone pale—she had noticed something on Sawyer’s robe. When he looked down he saw a red blotch just below his knee, from wiping up Stanislav’s blood. He quickly folded over the material so it didn’t show.

      I didn’t kill him. He’s only unconscious.

      Yasmin sprang to her feet and was gathering the stethoscope and some other instruments from her desk. Alarmed, Sawyer stood up.

      Out of my way, she said, moving towards the door.

      Sawyer didn’t budge.

      Out of my way!

      The expression on her face told him there was nothing he could do to change her mind. With a sigh, he let her pass. She quietly slipped out of the room, pulling the door shut behind her.

      Sawyer sat back down, cursing under his breath. A long few minutes passed before he heard the door handle twisting again. After a brief second of panic, he saw that it was Yasmin.

      Her dark eyes glared at Sawyer. What did you hit him with?

      He pulled the paperweight out of his pocket.

      Lovely. She deposited her instruments on top of her desk, along with a used syringe. He’ll be all right. I gave him an injection. He’ll be out for a few hours.

      That’s good, Sawyer said. Now are you going to tell me how to get out of here or not?

      She stood there for a moment, as if sizing him up anew, taking into account his propensity for violence. She sat back down on the bed.

      I think not.

      But…why?

      She gave a little laugh. Why should I tell you? My plan will only work once, and we all can’t go. I already told you, my grandfather can’t be moved—

      I’ll send help for you.

      Sure you will.

      Sawyer struggled to find something else to say, but he couldn’t blame her. Why should she trust him? Look, Rashne is a very gifted man—his abilities need to be studied by professionals, people who—

      No! Yasmin said, almost snarling at him. What do you think, he’s a laboratory animal?

      I didn’t mean—

      My god, don’t any of you understand? she said, looking up at the ceiling.

      Sawyer realized he’d said exactly the wrong thing. I didn’t…what I meant to say was, if he wanted to help—

      "He’s old. He’s dying. Don’t you get it? What he wants is to finish his last days at home, in peace, in Tajikistan."

      Sawyer nodded, embarrassed by appearing so cold. He was just so scared, he hadn’t thought about her or Rashne’s perspective…

      Can’t we escape together? Sawyer said. Once we’re safe, we’ll find a way to get your grandfather out of here.

      How? Yasmin said flatly.

      Well…we can go to your embassy—the Voronezhskys can’t just go around kidnapping foreigners. Your diplomats can get him out of here. Sawyer paused—something had flashed across her face, something he couldn’t read. You were kidnapped, I assume.

      Yasmin had looked away. The helicopters.

      Sawyer frowned. What about them?

      That’s how we can escape.

      What do you mean? Hijack one?

      No. We can hitch a ride on the bottom. Hang from the skids.

      Sawyer couldn’t believe his ears. Hang from the… He laughed. "That’s your brilliant escape plan?"

      It will work, she said defensively. I’ve got everything sorted out.

      You’re dreaming, Sawyer said, raising his voice. How the hell do you expect to—

      Quiet!

      Yasmin leapt off the bed and cocked her head to the side, listening. Sawyer heard some coughing and what he thought were footsteps shuffling out in the hallway. The nurse must have woken up, or maybe one of the guards. Yasmin double-checked the lock on the door. Sawyer stood up, his knees trembling. He was afraid to breathe.

      Out in the hallway, they heard a door open, then shut again. After a few seconds, there was the faint sound of a toilet flushing. A door opened and closed again. Footsteps passed back down the hall…and stopped right outside of Yasmin’s room, only inches away.

      Now, Sawyer was rigid with fear. Yasmin was so still she could have been a statue. They both stared at the door handle.

      After what seemed like an eternity, the footsteps continued slowly down the hallway and faded away. Sawyer heard the faint squeak of the cot in the nurse’s office.

      Thank god, Yasmin whispered.

      I thought you said she slept like the dead, Sawyer whispered back.

      She does, but you have to keep your voice down. You keep yelling. Yasmin paused, looking peeved, and said, "I was about to explain to you, before you flew off the handle, that I wasn’t talking about hanging from the helicopter by hand. Give me a little credit, will you? I’m not a moron."

      She padded over to her wardrobe and quietly opened the right-hand door. On the upper shelf were stacks of blankets. From the very bottom she pulled out an olive-green one and spread it out on the bed. I made this sling myself. It will fit between the helicopter’s skids.

      Sawyer examined the large piece of material, which upon closer inspection was not a blanket at all. The sling consisted of two pieces of tightly weaved material sewed together about halfway up from the bottom, with nylon thread, triple-seamed, with the top end open. It resembled an oversized sleeping bag but with a shorter top

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