MIRROR

Part I - Views of Mirror

Chapter 1 - Serial Numbers
At 9:30pm, on the 26th April 1986, (a date of national significance to
Russia and the Soviet Union) on the outskirts of Los Angeles,
California in the USA, an unusual, and altogether confusing crime was
committed. There seemed to be no motive. There seemed to be no suspect.
There seemed to be no leads. There was a victim.
The victim was a man of fifty-three, coming up to his fifty-forth
birthday. This man was a Russian. His name was Yuri Provenstein. He was
a physicist who worked, due to an unusual series of events, around
twenty miles away from Los Angeles itself.
At the time stated, Provenstein, a professor and a tall, dark-haired
man, sat at his computer. He studied the information presented to him
on the screen and lit a cigarette. Provenstein, who had few friends or
visitors, was quite shocked when he heard a knock at the door, but he
stood up and answered it all the same.
For almost two months, the following events presented mystery to the
FBI and anyone else who dared to get involved with them, but, for the
benefit of the reader, I shall recall them now.
In the doorway stood a short man, with light-blonde hair. He wore
perfectly round spectacles and had a blonde moustache. The man wore a
black suit and black leather gloves over his hands. Little did
Provenstein know, the gloves were the vital item to perform the crime,
had they been removed, the crime would not be removed, it would have
been too risky.
"Welcome," said Provenstein, "come in." Any unease that Provenstein had
experienced left him. He was a nervous man, but he recognised the man
in the doorway. Provenstein switched off his computer and led his
visitor to another room. "Business, I presume," said Provenstein.
"Yes, Yuri, that's right," said his visitor in a thick American
accent.
"I'll get some drinks. What would you like?" Asked Provenstein.
"No, no. Don't worry." The man slipped his hand inside his jacket. "Our
business is urgent." The man pulled out a .38 calibre revolver and
aimed it directly between Provenstein's eyes. The American accent
vanished, and was replaced by a thick, German one. "Where are the
serial numbers? On the mark twos?"
Provenstein's hand slipped into his pocket and he pulled a screwed up
piece of paper. He handed it to the man. The man took it, stepped
forward and placed the barrel of his weapon under Provenstein's lower
jaw. The last thing that past through Provenstein's head was a .38
calibre bullet.
The man placed the weapon in Provenstein's left hand, leaving no trace
of the crime. It all looked like suicide. Even after the man's arrest
months later, he was not identified, and it is likely that he never
will be.

Chapter 2 - The RAF Pilot
8000 miles away from Los Angeles, in the port of Dover, lived a man
named Scott Peak. Peak was around 5' 8", had blonde hair, a slightly
long face and a big, bulky body. Peak was fit and healthy, apart from
smoking, although only a small amount, and he was trying to kick out
the habit. He was a strong man. Peak had spent eight years in the Royal
Air Force. He had joined at the age of seventeen and was now
twenty-five, and a well-known and respected flight Lieutenant.
As it happened, Peak was due to take a piloting test to check his
skills were up to scratch when he heard about an incident in the town
of Chernobyl, Ukraine. It was the 29th April, 1986, and Peak heard
about the destruction of the Chernobyl nuclear power plant in Ukraine.
The event was of little significance to Peak. If people wanted
dangerous buildings, then they had to face the consequences. Or so he
thought.
Peak lit his first cigarette of the day. He signed in for duty, and
headed off to the cafeteria. He usually had breakfast before going to
work, but today he felt it would be better to go to the cafeteria and
talk to his good friend, Damien Brent.
Damien Brent was another Lieutenant. He was slightly older than Peak,
had short hair, was around 5' 5" and wore square spectacles. Due to his
eyesight, Brent was not allowed to pilot an aircraft, however, he had a
high level of intelligence and was given diplomatic jobs, for instance,
he had recently been given a posting in Russia, representing the
British military.
Peak sat himself down near Brent. "Morning Ambassador," he said as a
greeting.
"I'm not quite there yet, Scott," Brent replied.
"Any news I should hear?" Peak said, eyeing the newspaper at Brent's
side.
"Oh. The Russians blew up Ukraine. Chernobyl meltdown, nuclear power
plant, you know it?" Brent replied.
"Heard of it. How'd it happen?"
"They've got investigations. You might want to read it if you get any
time. Your test is today, isn't it?"
"That's right."
"Good luck."
"Thanks. If I don't pass, I'll kill myself. I want to go in for
promotion before the end of the year."
A young cafeteria girl came over carrying some toast for Peak. She gave
it to him. She also handed him an envelope and then returned to her
duties.
Peak smiled "what a lovely body she has," said he.
"Ten quid I beat you to her?" Brent interrupted Peak's almost fantasy
world.
"You've got a deal." Replied Peak.
"You gonna open that?" Said Brent, looking at the envelope in Peak's
hand.
"What? Oh! Yes, of course," Peak looked at the envelope. It was airmail
from Berlin, Germany.

Chapter 3 - Karl
Peak read the letter.
"Dear Mister Peak,
I regret to inform you of the death of Karl Hossenberg, who died in
the Chernobyl meltdown on the 26th April. As the solicitor and friend
of Mister Hossenberg, it is my duty to inform you that a reading of his
will shall take place on the 5th of May this year.
I hope that you shall be able to attend this reading, although, if you
cannot, I shall personally make sure that you cannot, I shall
personally make sure that you receive what you are legally entitled
to.
Please phone me on the number given under my address with your
answer.
The reading of the will shall take place in Berlin. Valid
identification may be required. I hope that you can attend this
reading.
Yours Faithfully
Hans Zuffer, Solicitor."
Peak read the letter a second time. He had been sure that the Chernobyl
meltdown wouldn't affect him, but now, this letter showed differently.
What had Hossenberg, a good friend of Peak's doing in Ukraine anyway?
Surely he had nothing to do with the Soviet Union. Peak didn't want to
believe what he had just read, but why would a solicitor lie?
When his grandfather died of lung cancer twelve years ago, Peak had
convinced himself that death should not be cared about. Usually. Karl's
death had brought about a strange feeling.
Later that day, after his pilot's test, Peak visited his chief, Group
Captain Craig White. He requested a week's leave.
"Any reason, Peak?" Asked White.
"Perhaps this, sir?" Peak presented the letter to white.
White read the letter. "My deepest sympathies, Lieutenant," said he.
"Request granted," he said, after a little hesitation.

Chapter 4 - Hans Zuffer
The British Airways Boeing 737 heading for Berlin landed at the
airport. After going through customs, Scott Peak boarded the flight. A
little over an hour later, the aircraft landed. After going through
customs again, Peak walked out into the city, where the damage from the
Second World War remained and American soldiers patrolled the
area.
Peak caught a taxi and was driven to another part of the city. He paid
his fare and stood looking at the fencing in front of him, and the
sign, which read:
"You are now leaving the American Sector."
Peak passed through the fence into the Russian sector of Berlin. He
walked on, trying to keep a low profile. Hans Zuffer, the solicitor of
the late Karl Hossenberg, had given Peak an address not more than ten
minutes away, so he decided to walk.
When he arrived at the address, Peak knocked upon a large wooden door.
It was instantly answered by a man of about thirty.
"Herr Zuffer?" Asked Peak.
"Ja. Herr Peak?" Replied the man inside, who was obviously, as he had
just confirmed, Hans Zuffer.
"Ja. Guten Morgan. Wiegehtes Ihren?" Said Peak, worrying about the
quality of his German.
"Fine. Your German is very good, Herr Peak." Said Zuffer.
"As is your English, Herr Zuffer. Darf Ich hinein kommen?" Said
Peak.
"Of course." Zuffer gestured for Peak to enter. Peak now took the time
to observe Hans Zuffer. Zuffer was a tall man, of little under 7-foot
in height. He was a stocky man of strong build. He had dark brown hair
and a small goatee. He wore a black suit and tie, with a neatly ironed
shirt. He wore over-polished leather shoes.
Peak entered Zuffer's house and was led into a comfortable sitting
room. Zuffer invited Peak to sit down and then left into what was
probably a kitchen. Zuffer re-emerged moments later with two ice-cold
beers. He handed one to Peak.
"Danke," said Peak.
"You don't mind if I smoke?" Said Zuffer, taking out a cigarette and
lighter.
"No, of course not," said Peak. Zuffer lit the cigarette. Peak took out
one of his own and did the same.
For the next few hours the men drank, smoked and spoke together. It was
not until Zuffer asked if Peak would like to see the city that the two
them finally got up and left the room.

Chapter 5 - The Flight to California
It was around 5pm when the two men returned to Zuffer's home. After a
lengthy discussion which involved nuclear physics, they had a
hunger-satisfying meal together, and at 8pm there was little for them
to do, so they indulged themselves in a game of poker for they next two
hours. They played for small stakes, and Peak lost sixty-seven
Duetschmarks and won 35.
After spending an hour drinking another beer and smoking their last
cigarette, the two men went to bed.
Perhaps due to the intolerable headache he was experiencing, Peak awoke
in the night. He was usually a deep sleeper, and was quite surprised
that he had awoken. He checked the time. 3am. Peak got up to get a
drink. He turned on the light in the room he had played poker in only a
few hours before.
Peak stood still, horrified by what he now saw. On the table, next to
the pack of cards, lay an envelope, which was not sealed. Next to that
lay an ugly black lump of metal - a revolver, with four rounds lying
around it.
Peak almost completely forgot his headache. He slowly walked forward
and picked up the envelope. He pulled out what at first seemed to be
one thick document, but then turned out to be a German passport and an
airline ticket for American Airlines.
Peak flicked through the passport. It was Zuffer's. He looked at the
ticket. The destination was San Francisco, California. Why would Zuffer
want to go to California? And why the revolver? Whatever it was about,
it had nothing to do with Peak. He replaced the passport and ticket and
returned to his room. He lay down and slowly drifted into a difficult
night's sleep.

To Be Continued...

(C)2003 Christopher Rose