Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

Tim Downs is the author of nine novels including the Christy Award-winning PlagueMaker and the highly acclaimed series of Bug Man novels. Tim lives in North Carolina with his wife Joy. They have three grown children.

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Ends of the Earth

Thomas Nelson

Chapter One

The old man looked at the driver of the car. "Is he angry with me, Pasha?"

The young man gave an indifferent shrug. "It's just business, Nikolai. He hired you; you worked for him; you no longer wish to work for him; you quit. You will take another job and my grandfather will hire another scientist. Life goes on."

"Your grandfather is a very powerful man."

"Dedushka is a businessman, nothing more."

"Then he forgives me?"

Pasha Semenov looked over at his passenger. Nikolai Petrov's eyes looked sunken and haunted, like those of a dog that had been kicked too many times. The old man hunched down in his seat as if a great weight was pressing down on him. Wrapped around his left wrist was a black wool Orthodox prayer rope, tied into fifty knots with a wooden bead dividing the knots into groups of ten. The old man constantly fingered the knots, mouthing silent words until his fingers arrived at a wooden bead-then he said aloud, "Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me, a sinner."

Pasha smirked. "You don't look like much of a sinner to me. Maybe I should get one of those things."

"You don't know what I've done," Petrov mumbled. "You don't know what I almost did."

"What did you do, old man? Go on, impress me with your sins."

"We did things that no man should do, Pasha, things that could lead to the end of the earth-the end of everything. Your grandfather does not understand this. He does not believe as I do."

"What my grandfather believes is that the great Dr. Nikolai Petrov has lost his mind."

"Do you know why the Soviet Union crumbled, Pasha? It was God's judgment on us for the things we almost did-for the things we were preparing to do."

"Listen to yourself-you talk like one of those cave hermits from Kiev. Do you know your problem, Nikolai? You're living in the past. This is the new Russia-the world is different now."

"The world does not change, Pasha. The human heart does not change."

Pasha pulled the car off the road and stopped.

Nikolai Petrov looked out his window. In a clearing to his right he saw an enormous concrete grain silo encircled by a winding metal staircase whose steps protruded like the petals of a flower, ascending to an open doorway at the very top of the silo. There was a matching doorway on the opposite side that opened into empty space. At the bottom of the silo was a third doorway where a corn elevator offloaded the grain into a line of waiting trucks.

"This is not the train station," Petrov said.

"How observant of you," Pasha said, opening his door and stepping out. "Dedushka asked me to bring you. He wants to wish you good-bye."

"It isn't necessary," the old man protested, but Pasha was already out of the car.

Pasha put his fingers to his lips and made a piercing whistle.

One of the farmhands looked up.

"Dedushka," Pasha shouted.

The farmhand pointed to the top of the silo.

Pasha turned back to the car and found Petrov still huddled inside. He waved impatiently to the old man until he reluctantly opened his door and climbed out.

"He's up in the silo," Pasha shouted over the din of the corn elevator. "Come."

They walked to the base of the metal staircase and Pasha gestured for Petrov to go ahead of him. The old man began to timidly climb the stairs while Pasha kept one hand pressed against the middle of his back to keep him moving forward. When they had rounded the silo once, Pasha whistled down to the corn elevator operator and made a slashing gesture at his throat. The machinist nodded and pulled a rusted lever and the engine sputtered to a stop. The air was suddenly silent.

"Dedushka didn't have time to come to the station," Pasha told Petrov, continuing to urge him forward. "Prices are up and the corn has to get to market right away. You know how it is on a farm-always something to do."

At the top of the staircase Pasha pushed past Petrov and looked into the open doorway. The interior of the silo was a circular room filled with an endless sea of golden corn that dipped toward the center like a draining sink. A white-haired old man was standing knee-deep near one of the walls, scooping up shovelfuls of corn and tossing them into the center. There were no lights in the silo; it was illuminated only by the daylight pouring through the doorways on opposite sides.

"Dedushka," Pasha called out. "You have a visitor."

Yuri Semchenko turned. The man was built like a tree stump with arctic-white hair combed straight back toward his shoulders. He was dressed in denim overalls and a white cotton shirt, the sleeves rolled halfway up his thick, mottled forearms. His face was tanned and leathery, a field of deep folds and furrows with jowls that concealed most of his neck. His forehead was narrow and his hairline low; there was no hint of thinning or receding. His eyes were a dull, hollow gray set in sunken sockets like two slabs of slate peering up from the soil.

Semchenko looked at his visitors without expression. "Grab shovels," he said to them. "Make yourselves useful."

Pasha picked up two shovels and handed one to his companion. He waded into the corn a few steps, then turned back and motioned for Petrov to follow.

The old man did.

"Like this." Semchenko demonstrated, holding his shovel overhand and scraping the corn away from the concrete walls. "Moisture collects," he said. "The corn forms a crust-we must break it free."

Pasha began to do the same.

Petrov stood near the center of the silo and stared at Semchenko's back. "Don't do it, Yuri," he said. "Please-I beg you."

Semchenko looked at him over his shoulder. "Don't do what?"

"You know what. You have no right."

The white-haired man let out a snort.

"Science makes possible things that should never be done," Petrov said.

"Who is to say what should not be done?"

"God. He is to say."

Another snort. "Then let God tell me himself and not some cowardly old man."

"I cannot have a part in this. I will not." " Yes, Nikolai, you've made that very clear." He tossed a shovelful of corn in front of Petrov and nodded toward the center of the room. "Throw it there-in the middle."

Petrov slowly scooped up the corn and threw it a few feet. "I have to go, Yuri. Please, I have a train to catch."

"Pasha must help me first," Semchenko said. "The sooner he finishes, the sooner he can take you to the station." He tossed another shovelful at Petrov's knees.

So did Pasha.

Petrov began to eagerly dig into the growing pile of corn and pitch it toward the center of the silo, working as hard and as fast as his aging back would allow.

Semchenko watched the old man work for a few moments, then nodded to Pasha. The two men set down their shovels and waded through the corn to the opposite doorways. Pasha climbed out onto the stairway on his side. Semchenko sat down on the ledge of his doorway, leaned out, and signaled to the corn elevator operator below him.

The engine started up again.

Petrov began to sink.

He looked up in horror and saw Yuri Semchenko calmly watching him from one of the doorways. He twisted around and saw Pasha doing the same behind him. He tried to take a step, but when he lifted one leg the other leg only sank deeper. With a rustling sound the corn poured toward the center of the silo like sand...