The Human Bullet. Joaquin De Torres

had raised her hand during the question-answer session.

      “Dr. Marmilic, I’m Dr. Irena Pezelj. To generate hypersonic speed, the back blast of power would be enormous for any vehicle. Why is it necessary for your vehicle to be near silent?” Marmilic was ready for such a question; in fact, he expected it.

      “Dr. Pezelj, having a vehicle of this importance would be a prize target to a radical enemy like Isis and Al Qaida, or North Korea, who would seek to capture it. And if we follow global military events, we know that China and Russia already have hypersonic missiles. So, if they could track the heat or sound signatures of our vehicle, they could shoot it down.”

      “Why would they want to do that?” Irena followed up. “I mean, your vehicles would be transporting medicine and supplies to earthquake, flood or starving areas of the world. Your research has always been humanitarian. I don’t see why there would be a danger.”

      She remembered the inventor taking a deep nervous breath before answering. She could see that there was something else he was considering that made him hesitate.

      “Dr. Pezelj, it’s not a perfect world. There are enemies who would love to have, or prevent, this technology.”

      There was concern behind his eyes. There was apprehension in his voice. He was holding something back. But before she could ask another question, he abruptly thanked everyone and walked off the stage. She never saw him again except on TV, the Internet, or in science journals, and she was left to wonder what, if anything, he was hiding from all of them.

      * * * * *

      Irena returned to Raduč after printing Marmilic’s research notes and theories, and began juxtaposing them with the Tesla materials from crate one. Spreading everything around her on the floor, she sat and compared notes from the two men’s detailed work. She found correlations and similar equations written by each, but one thing was wrong about Marmilic’s procedure for the vehicle that she believed Tesla had already solved for his vehicle. More study, more comparisons, more Google searches, and more in-depth analysis that took up more hours.

      Then hours later, it suddenly became clear in her eyes.

      “YES!” she screamed gleefully. “Electro-Gravitational Magnetism Confluence Theory!”

      After two more hours of her own calculations in which she had scribbled over 20 pages of equations she fused with Tesla’s equations, she saw the bridge – the primer – that could solve Marmilic’s problem!

      She drove back to Gospić at high speed, almost crashed in front of her house as she skidded to a stop, and jumped out of her car with an armful of her notes. She ran into the house and pounced on the computer to find the MIRA-CAL website and its contact numbers. She was breathing heavily, sweating, and had to calm her hammering heartbeat before she called the front desk of the corporation.

      “MIRA-CAL Technologies. This is Ana speaking. How can I direct your call?”

      “Miss Ana, my name is Dr. Irena Pezelj. I’m calling long-distance from Croatia. I need to speak to Dr. Marmilic on an extremely urgent matter.”

      “Dr. Marmilic is in a private meeting at the moment, Miss Pezelj, can I take a-”

      “NO! This is an emergency! He needs to hear what I have to say! PLEASE!”

      * * * * *

      Raduč

      A day after Irena picked up Marko from Zagreb International Airport, a two-hour drive each way, they were both sitting on the floor looking at the papers and notes of Tesla, Marmilic and Pezelj spread widely around them.

      Marko was astounded by this treasure trove of historical data, thinking of dozens of museums that would spend a fortune to display them. Like Irena, he delicately lifted every piece of paper; he slid his fingers over the ancient ink imagining Tesla’s own hand on that same piece; he brought the weathered papers up to his nose to smell them.

      He said nothing for a while. This was so surreal to him. He was simply in awe and reverence by this privilege. Irena smiled and handed him a glass of blood red Croatian wine, Plavac Mali.

      “What you’re doing now – with the paper - I did the same thing,” she said smiling, taking a full glass of wine for herself.

      “This is all unbelievable. We are holding a treasure here, and no one but us knows about any of it!”

      “No, Dr. Marmilic,”

      “Marko, please.”

      “Marko, the real treasure is over there on the table.”

      They moved to the table where Irena had already set up a specific display. Papers written in her own hand were sitting next to those of his and Tesla’s. It didn’t take him more than a minute after reading her short thesis for his eyes to begin to moisten.

      “You solved it,” he whispered. “Oh my god, you solved it.” He turned to her. “You solved it, Irena!”

      “You really think it can work?” she asked. He nodded and continued.

      “Tesla was way ahead of the world, way ahead of his time, but was unfortunately trapped by the technology of his time. But your calculations – fusing his with mine – is absolute genius! This is what I’ve been seeking for years!” They toasted and he gulped the wine down in one smooth swallow.

      “I want you to pack your bags, all these papers, whatever you need.” His eyes were moving about, already thinking ahead of things he had to do. “Tomorrow afternoon we’ll need a taxi. Leave your car in Gospić, you won't be needing it. Get your passport.”

      “Are we going somewhere? Back to Zagreb? I can drive, we don’t need to call a taxi.” Irena was puzzled by his sudden set of requests. He turned around to face her.

      “You don’t understand, Irena. You’re coming with me to California. We’re going back to MIRA-CAL. We’re going to build this thing! We’re going to build Nikola Tesla’s machine! And it’s all because of you!”