Entry #5: "Build it and He will come“
The tale of Two Pigeons continues. Start with Entry #1.
I went to Misha’s house yesterday to see if I could find some clues about where he might have gone…maybe find something that Leah had missed. Leah herself was skeptical that I’d dig up anything of value. She said he did everything on his computer and the computer was encrypted so there was nothing to retrieve. She had already tried to guess his password and that just froze up access. But I insisted, and she relented. And I’m glad I did.
Their house was up in the Oakland Hills. Well, technically it was in Piedmont, the upscale little town right above Oakland. We passed two security centipedes at the city border. One of them had pulled over a delivery van of some kind and was scanning the driver. Don’t care enough to look up now but I’m pretty sure Piedmont had started out as exclusive Oakland neighborhood that then seceded to form its own little government so it could keep the blacks out. That was a long time ago but not much has changed.
Got to the address and found that Misha’s place fit right in with the neighborhood. A big fence and tall trees surrounded the property, blocking out any view from the street. The robotaxi let me out at the front gate and I walked up the long driveway to the house, past two dormant robodogs probably armed with tasers and who knows what else. A servant met me at the front door when I emerged from the decon vestibule. She was older, in her 70s. She had a rad counter and ran it up and down my body. It beeped and beeped and finally glowed green.
“Please follow me,” she said. “Misses Mogilevsky is in the kitchen.” She pronounced the last name correctly — with the “l” soft and the “e” pronounced closer to “yo.” She was a Russian speaker but from where? Maybe an immigrant from Baku like Misha? Some other ex-Soviet spot? Then I noticed thick wide burn mark on the back of her hand that ran up into her sleeve…it looked like a mangled flesh colored cauliflower was glued to her arm. It was unmistakable…the sign of a straight radiation burn. So she was from Israel…unlikely she could be from any other countries involved, given the household she was in now.
She limped slightly as she led the way into the house. Leah was at the island in the kitchen looking at something on her tablet. Her hair was done and her face all made up. She was wearing a white pantsuit. She looked up. “Hey, give me a few minutes. I have to finish this.”
"No problem. Take your time.” I wandered over the big glass windows overlooking the bay in the living room. Treasure Island was partially covered in fog. Further north, towards Marin County, the sun played on the water. I stood there, hypnotized by the glare.
“Would you like something to drink,” someone asked. It was the servant woman, coming up behind me. “Coffee? Water?”
“Some water would be great,” I said, wondering if I should switch to Russian.
The house was a typical California open plan set up, meant to break the inside/outside divide, to make you feel like your concrete and steel living room was an unbroken continuation of the natural landscape. It was anachronism now…built for a time when people could be outside without worry. The outdoor deck showed it. The opulent outdoor furniture that must have stood there before had been removed a long time ago, replaced with wind deflectors. It was then I noticed the windows were open. I couldn’t believe it. I came closer and put my hand through the space where glass should have been just to make sure…and there was nothing there.
There was a laugh behind me. “You’re not hallucinating. Yes they’re open.” It was Leah. “We keep them open on good days. Unless it gets very windy.“
I was truly surprised. “But you’re not worried about the radiation? You had me go through the vestibule and scanned—”
“Oh no. We’re very worried. We just have a system that keeps out the outside air, even with the windows open.”
I was puzzled. Just about everyone has positive pressure systems set up now to keep the dust from seeping in through the cracks. But you need to keep windows and doors closed for that to work. This was different. Leah showed me little nozzles built into their window frames that blasted air outward. “They push out these high pressure vortexes,” she said. “I can’t explain how it works…but it does…we have shed out back that controls it. You know Misha’s startup designed it.”
“Startup? I thought Misha was at—”
“Oh no he left years ago,” she said. “He’s had this company for…for like two years now.”
“What’s it called?”
“Ark.”
“Arc…like a parabola?”
“No, Ark like…like a vessel.”
“Oh Noah’s Ark?”
“No, Misha’s Ark!”
I laughed. “Right, yeah. So…he makes filtration systems for now…for houses?”
She nodded. “They call them arks. It’s actually quite cool. I sold a few houses fitted out with them already.” She paused, then squinted at me. “I’m surprised you don’t know this. They have a website, you know. Misha’s name is on it. I’m pretty sure they have a whole origin story printed there.”
“You’re right,” admitted sheepishly. “I’ve been busy winding things down the last few days to really dig in.” She pursed her lips and nodded. It probably confirmed her view of me, that I was a loser, good for nothing. “Anyway, I have to run. I’m showing a duplex we’re almost done with to some buyers. Masha will show you Misha’s office.” So that’s why she’s dressed like a real estate agent. She’s still one, like she was when she met Misha.
Masha, that was the servant’s name, led me back to the foyer and opened an inconspicuous side door. We descended down a flight of stairs, as if to the basement, and emerged in an underground corridor made out of poured concrete. It was probably 25 feet long and sloped down, and at the end of it was a metal door on thick hinges. She strained as she heaved it open.
This was the entrance to their climate proof bunker…or as Leah says she calls it: “Misha’s million dollar man cave.”