The Silver Orchestra: A Novel

By Amin Bardjeste

The silver Orchestra is an underground organization that had managed to design and build a modern and secret city named: Kristal Hochburg; a city that was constructed by the decedents of Nazi's as a new Germania to rule over the world. Its underground labs have succeeded in performing human cloning and producing dangerous biological weapons.
Adam Keramat, a musical genius and music student in Rome, receives mysterious invitations from the silver orchestra during his summer visit to his picturesque Italian village. His grandfather, who is the mayor of the village is mysteriously lost and Adam sets off a journey in search of the old man. But the trails take him to the heart of The Silver Orchestra where his grandfather is being held to pay for his betrayal to the organization. To his amazement, Adam finds out that during his whole life, The Silver Orchestra had been watching him as a human subject, waiting for the right moment to use his extraordinary musical skills, to accomplish one of the most magnificent secret genetic engineering experiments of history.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Mar 6, 2012
• ISBN: 9781468552935

Amin Bardjeste

Amin Bardjeste is an Iranian author, translator and copyrights agent. He graduated from Th e London School of Journalism in Novel Writing and studied English Translation and Education Administration in Iran. Th e Silver Orchestra is his fi fth published book and fi rst novel in English.

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© 2012 by Amin Bardjeste. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 02/09/2012

ISBN: 978-1-4685-5294-2 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4685-5293-5 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2012902686

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Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Contents

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Afterwords and Acknowledgments

Prologue

A cold breeze, rising off the Saone River, was blowing through the picturesque streets of Lyon, where the French city was hosting the G8 summit. The world’s superpowers were gathered to decide upon their response to the bio attacks which had taken hundreds of innocent lives. On the table was the plot of the operation to strike at the secret city built by the descendants of the Nazis as their renewed empire, to rule over the world.

All routine flights to Saint-Exupery International Airport were canceled. The security level in and around the airport and all over the city was high. Every street was guarded by police cars and a large number of the intelligence forces of all eight countries. Diplomatic planes landed one after another at the airport. People were gathered on the sidewalks, holding banners above their heads; the most conspicuous of these read: NO MORE WAR.

The President of France was present at the airport to greet his guests. And, finally, the leaders of the eight countries were transported to the banks of the Saone.

About four hundred kilometers away from the location of the summit, in the underground level of the secret garden of the secret city, the five founders of the corporation were talking in their conference room.

The controversial and secret compound of Der Kristall Hochburg was not recognized on any map. No satellite could spot it and no government had been officially aware of its existence until that day.

‘Professor, tell us about Project Beethoven,’ said the chief of the secret meeting.

‘It has come to the best condition we could possibly imagine,’ said the professor. ‘Everything has gone well; far beyond our wildest dreams. Plus, the Forum is ready, too.’

‘Then I guess this is the time. We need to bring him in. The genius of the past will give us a huge amount of credit for the future. What is his state of health?’

‘Perfect.’ The professor grinned. ‘He has got what we want: talent and ambition.’

Chapter 1

Dear Grandpa,

I can hardly say how much I miss you and the village. Everything is fine here in Rome. I am taking my last exam tomorrow, which I am not nervous about at all. I guess you know why! I have passed all the music theory courses and now it comes to my favorite test. My professor has asked me to perform a solo in front of the Dean. This is the moment I have been waiting for. If he likes my performance, the university will grant me all the costs of publishing my first solo album.

When it comes to composing, the turmoil of city life doesn’t agree with me. I will have to spend the summer in Oria and complete my album there, where one can breathe the air and be among beauty. This album will be my graduation project, entitled Music in Curing Cancer. I will be there with you in a couple of weeks, when I have sorted out things here.

I can’t wait to see the villagers. They always cheer me up with their kind smiles and their jokes, and recently with the puzzles they keep sending me. Here is one of them:

‘Snowfall, Solo, the Sailor. The birds are coming!’

K H

I’m sure my brilliant grandpa knows the answer. It was written in crimson ink on a piece of paper and was sent to me from Oria, but since I know the village and its every corner, the name and address of the sender appear faked. It must be one of those puzzles our clever villagers make.

Wish me and my violin luck with the performance.

See you soon,

Love,

Your grandson, Adam

Oria was a village nestling by a mountain range. The hills around it were covered by plants and flowers. You could hardly say the pastures were green, for they were painted in millions of shades of light and dark green, with many other colors amongst the grasses. A gently-flowing river passed through the village and from its banks a delightful view of trees, flowers and fields could be enjoyed. There were three arched stone bridges spanning the river, their supports sunk into the water and covered by weeds and wild plants.

Oria was famous for its incredible climate. During the summer, clouds covered the sky and the day would begin with a slight rain, cooling the temperature down by evening. Equally, clouds were scarce in the winter skies and sunshine warmed the village. So the weather was mild and the people didn’t suffer hard conditions at any time of year. All year round, flowers and green trees flourished.

Places like this are very rare. The inhabitants of such areas are the luckiest people in the world, for they live in spring all the year through, to the envy of the people of less well-favored lands.

The livelihood of the villagers depended on farming, notably the large citrus orchards. Because of the climate, the amount of fruits produced by every tree was so great that wooden supports had to be put under the laden branches to prevent them from breaking.

Unlike those in other lands, who believe autumn to be the beginning of nature’s death, for the people of Oria the season represented blessings, wealth and happiness. It was in autumn that they could harvest and sell tonnes and tonnes of their crops.

Thankful for all the bounty they had been given, they celebrated the first day of autumn every year. The harvest celebration was an occasion of music, feasting and dance, involving rituals and customs unique to Oria. Indeed, this day was the only time when the people had a chance to listen to live music. Adam Keramat, the single musician in the village, played music in public only on this celebration day. The villagers invited him to the festivities to play and they would dance to his music the whole day.

Adam was rather tall, with a bony nose, big dark eyes and a wide forehead. His soft, long hair fell over his forehead, making it look smaller, so that his eyes seemed bigger and drew the attention. Unlike the other young people of the village, he had soft, smooth hands, for his only occupation was playing and composing music and he didn’t have to work on the farm or in the orchards.

He had grown up in the village mayor’s house and Oria’s folk liked and admired him both as the mayor’s grandson and a talented musician. The village mayor’s only son, who was believed to be Adam’s father, had been a musician, living in Rome as an orchestral conductor and music teacher. He had died with his wife in an accident when travelling to the village to see his father. One-year-old Adam, having survived the crash, had been brought up by his grandfather. He had been trained by music teachers hired by his grandfather, who came weekly from Rome to teach him how to play the violin. And at the age of twenty-two he was sent to The University of Rome to study music.

Adam spent long hours during the summer composing songs and playing the violin in a temple which his grandfather had had made for him where the river ended by the hills. The temple floor was a round platform made of stone, on which six carved marble pillars supported a dome of turquoise tiles. Adam had enjoyed this benefit since the age of sixteen. Every day he left the house, passed the farms and orchards where other young people of his age were laboring, and entered his temple. He played his violin with the sound of water flowing in the background.

Just a week before taking the train from Rome to the village, when Adam had climbed up the subway steps and was walking along the alley where his flat was located, a limousine stopped beside him. The chauffeur got out.

‘Sir, if you please, get in the car,’ said the chauffeur. ‘My employer would like to have a word with you.’

‘You must be mistaken,’ said Adam, looking with bewilderment at the dark windows of the car, trying to see those inside. ‘I’m afraid I have to go. I’m late for work.’

‘It won’t take long, sir,’ said the chauffeur, opening his jacket at his waist to expose a revolver.

Adam got in the car. A man in a dark suit was sitting opposite him on the seat.

‘Do not panic, my lad,’ said the man, leaning forward. ‘We are your friends. And we were once your grandfather’s friends.’

‘How can I help you?’ Adam found his voice.

‘You are about to be world-famous. But there will be some challenges in the beginning. I’m just here to tell you, when we approach you, don’t run away.’

‘I don’t understand, sir.’

‘You will, my lad; soon you will.’ He took an envelope from his inside pocket. ‘Will you do me a favor?’

‘I hope it’s something I can do, sir.’ Adam struggled to look confident and to overcome his fear.

‘It is. Would you give this to your grandfather?’ He handed Adam the envelope.

‘And tell him this is from who?’

‘From an old friend. He will remember me as soon as he opens it. But to save him some time, you can tell him it is from Dr. Mao.’

‘Did you send me those letters?’

‘What letters?’ The man slid down the window and looked at the chauffeur, who was standing outside.

The chauffeur opened the door.

‘Have a good day, sir,’ said the chauffeur, looking steadily at Adam.

Adam got out of the car and watched the limo until it had gone from the alley.

Karim Keramat, Oria’s mayor, lived in a house which had stone walls and a thatched roof with three chimneys. A detached house, it stood by the middle bridge with two windows facing the river and a small blue arched door.

The house had three rooms and a kitchen and a couple of attic rooms where the mayor kept antique books and other items. In one of the attic rooms there was a wooden cupboard which was always locked and the mayor had forbidden his grandson to open it or even to ask about its contents.

The mayor had a short white beard and wavy hair. He was well built and was rarely seen without a smile on his face. The villagers all loved him for his good temper and caring manner. He spent mornings in his orchards, where many of the villagers worked. Every afternoon he met other farmers in a small council which he had established, taking care of their problems. His bedroom light never went off at night as he stayed up to study. He kept numerous books, in Italian, English, Persian and Arabic, in his library. Adam told his classmates that his grandfather’s library had been the best education for him ever.

In the afternoon of one of the last days of summer, when Adam was almost done with his practice, Savio, Oria’s school teacher, came to the temple. He rarely visited Adam there, for it was too far from where the villagers lived and worked.

‘How enchanting it is, the way you play, my brilliant one,’ Mr. Savio said. ‘I couldn’t help hearing your music. You do have a way with these strings!’

‘When I am here, it’s not me playing, it’s nature itself. I’m just a part of the orchestra.’ Adam looked around to check if there was anyone listening and continued in a whisper, ‘don’t tell anyone! I call it revelation!’

‘The woods always bear a revelation.’

‘Let me guess something, sir. You are not here to hear my music or for a walk, are you?’

‘You are right, my dear boy.’ Mr. Savio put his hands together in a namaste. ‘I came to ask you a favor.’

‘Anything, sir! But please don’t ask me to start the music class in school again. You know what I am here for. Grandpa always tells you everything about me. I should finish the…’ He stopped as he saw the look in Mr. Savio’s eyes.

‘I’m not here to ask you that, but it would be great if you could do so.’ Mr. Savio smiled appealingly.

‘What can I do for you Mr.Savio?’

‘We will get to it later,’ Mr. Savio chuckled. ‘First tell me, have you heard the voices?’ he asked.

‘The voices?’

‘The Cries. Haven’t you heard them?’

‘Cries? What cries, sir?’

‘They have been heard recently in the village. They come and go now and then.’ Glancing at the hills, he whispered, ‘From behind the hills.’

‘What are these cries like?’ Adam asked. ‘Where can I hear them?’

‘They are like a large flock of birds, I couldn’t say what kind, but they sound like crows. They all cry loudly together.’

‘Have you heard them yourself? It could be one of those rumors which go around before the celebration every year.’

‘Yes, I thought the same way myself, the first time one of the students told me about it. But I can hear them now, often several times a day.’

‘It’s not such a big deal; they could be a flock of migrating birds.’

‘True, but you know what? There is something strange about them.’

‘You are just trying to scare me!’

‘Just after each time the cries are heard, something happens to one of the villagers.’

‘Really? Like what?’ Adam wasn’t convinced, but his curiosity was aroused.

‘They disappear!’ said Savio.

‘You’re kidding!’ Now Adam did feel scared.

‘I wasn’t interested in hearing the stories, for I believe they are just coincidences. If you want to know, you can ask your grandfather. The villagers always tell him about their ups and downs. But I must confess that I’m a little worried about this particular case.’

‘So that’s why he comes home so late these days from the council,’ Adam said.

Chapter 2

Adam lay on his bed, idly thinking as a preparation for sleep. He was trying to review the poem that Mr.Savio had given him to make a song with and perform with the students on the celebration day.

Dawny, dawny, wait tonight,

bliss and miracles comin’ along;

nighty, nighty, sing with us,

joy and wealth which comes to us;

rainy, rainy, stop your downpour

the shiny sailor won’t be cool . . .

But there was one thought which preoccupied him and wouldn’t let him sleep a wink. It was the message he had received in town.

‘Snowfall, solo, sailor. The birds are coming!’

He had seen the word ‘sailor’ in the song, according to Mr.Savio, representing the comet that was about to be seen after fifty years in the sky of the village and he had heard the strange story of the birds from Mr. Savio. All night he pondered the question. Who had sent him the message? And why? He tried to put these thoughts out of mind and concentrate upon creating something memorable for the celebration, but that was impossible. It couldn’t have been a puzzle or some sort of joke, he decided. It had to have been a message.

The next morning, having agreed to the school teacher’s request, Adam used his laptop to find the traditional outfit of the area which the villagers used to wear on such occasions. Having printed some of the images, he climbed upstairs to look for something similar to wear for the celebration.

But before he could begin his search for clothes which would suit him both as a musician and as a teacher, he was taken aback by the sight which greeted him. He almost forgot what he had entered the attic room for in the first place. His grandfather’s cupboard had been unlocked and its contents were spread around the room. None of the villagers had ever dared even to come close to the attic rooms, Adam reflected. Grandpa was always careful about locking the cupboard. What had happened in the house that morning? Did Grandpa know about it? Had anything happened to him? The blood froze in his veins. Without his grandfather anywhere to be seen, he was at his wits’ end.

The floor was covered with jewels, antique books, cloaks and assorted wind instruments. Finding the mess in the attic and his grandfather’s secret cupboard unlocked had disturbed him beyond belief. Adam started to search in his grandfather’s stuff. An old piece of newspaper caught his attention. On its first page there was a photo of his grandfather, in a white medical uniform, shaking hand with a lady. He read the title:

‘The future of the historical genius, in this man’s hands.’

Adam tried to find out more about the news but the article below the photo had been cut. On the light part of the photo a sentence could be seen:

‘In der Knust ist das beste gut genug.’

Johann Wolfgang Goethe

There was a knock at the door. He ran down the stairs as fast as he could, hoping to see the mayor at the door. But his momentary hope turned into fear again when he remembered that his grandfather never left home without his keys. He opened the door, repressing the nightmare in his mind.

‘There you are!’ said Mr. Savio.

‘For god’s sake, is he with you?’ Adam asked, looking around to see if the mayor was with his teacher.

‘Your grandfather is all right. He has just given me this message for you.’ Savio spoke quickly. ‘He is on a short trip around the village with a couple of his men in the council.’

‘Please tell me if there is anything wrong! Is he ok?’

‘They must be having a big breakfast on the hills right now. And he told me, ‘Clean up the mess.’ What mess does he mean?’

‘Dear god, he’s ok!’ said Adam. ‘But why didn’t he let me know?’

‘Your choir must be waiting for you in the temple, sir!’ Mr. Savio said, not answering his question. ‘Shall we go?’

‘Mr.Savio, I can’t make head nor tail of this. Why should he leave in such a hurry?’

‘Don’t you believe your grandfather is wise enough always to make the right decisions?’ Mr. Savio admonished him.

Adam didn’t feel reassured. ‘It is only a week left to the celebration!’ he protested. ‘The people expect him to set everything up.’ Since I gave him that envelope from the weird visit in Rome, he had been acting oddly, Adam thought.

‘I can assure you he will be with us very soon and we will celebrate as happily as we do every year. Especially with your new band this year.’

Adam was silent the whole time on the way to the temple. Seeing the attic in that state and his grandfather’s absence troubled him deeply. He was so concentrating on this concern that he didn’t remember when he had separated from Mr. Savio. He started murmuring the sailor song to make a melody for it, since the children were expecting him to have something written and ready. But all he could think of was his grandfather’s bizarre sudden trip and the message.

Adam and his band had ended a hard day of practicing and had eventually reached a satisfying balance in the group who were to sing the song. The students had left and he was all alone in the temple. He hadn’t found a moment to practice for his own performance in college, the one which would be a turning-point in his life. He was so close to achieving the grant which meant he could join the professional company of composers and players. He had to make good use of all the time left if he was to win the Dean’s annual grant. Therefore, he decided to stay as long as possible in the temple and play his own pieces.

Later, at his grandfather’s house, the door was locked and there was no sign that