The Twilight End: Prologue

Okay.  I thought I'd post the prologue of my novel for some feedback.  I'm currently on my third polish and getting it ready to send out but I've had a few problems with the opening and would like a broader range of criticism so I can nail down the problem and fix it.  But first a quick synopsis...

The Twilight End:  1914, the world is on the brink of what will be known as “The Great War”.  But, for affable rogue, Renaissance man, and wayward soul, Richard Grant, none of that matters.  He has been called to Sarajevo at the urgent request of his childhood friend and sometime accomplice, Jonathan Edges, on the eve of Archduke Ferdinand’s planned visit.  When Jonathan turns up dead at the famous Hapsburg Hotel, Richard finds himself embroiled in a conspiracy amongst the most powerful empires in Europe, at the middle of which is a device so powerful that it threatens to unravel the very fabric of civilization.

“The Twilight End” Features a cast of eclectic characters which include a beautiful and secretive Austrian pianist, a powerful German prince, a dangerous Serbian Captain, a jovial Englishman who may be more than he lets on, and two love-struck Russian youths, each with their own motives and back stories.  Navigating the intrigue, Richard Grant must also face the hard truth about how he has chosen to live his own life and the ingrained beliefs to which he so desperately clings.   

Most of the novel is from the perspective of the main character - Richard Grant (most easily described as a mash-up of Richard Hannay (from John Buchan's 39 STEPS and various other awesome works) and Indiana Jones with a liberal dosing of existential angst.  The Prologue is from another character's perspective that we never see again but its contents deal with one of the central focuses of the novel.

Where possible I tried to keep as many historical facts, timelines, and characters as true to life as possible.  So, as you read (hopefully), you'll be presented with a fictional happening through a factual world.

Download Link: http://www.scribd.com/doc/52659103/Twilight-End-Prologue

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 Prologue:  Property of the United States Department of War

It was a cold winter’s night as George Scherff made his way through the elegant hallways of the Metropolitan Tower.  After taking the stairs to the Twentieth story (he never trusted a lift in sub-freezing temperatures), it was a welcome breeze that greeted him upon entering his friend and sometime employer’s office.  He dabbed his perspiring forehead as he locked the door behind him; best not to take the chance of Nikola laying eyes on his damp skin.  Knowing the man, he was sure to be sickened by the sight of human sweat, and that would just make the evening…more difficult.  The books had to be looked at, the numbers crunched.  Waydenclaff was hemorrhaging money, money that Nikola did not have.  Plus there was the move to consider.  The Woolsworth Building promised to be the tallest in the world upon completion, even taller than the Met, and Nikola always had to be in the biggest and the best.  The cost would be astronomical; still, if things began to turn around they might just be able to scrape by. 

            To his relief the office was empty.  Many a time had George entered at some terribly late hour or early morning only to find Nikola bent over a drawing or staring serenely out the large windows, contemplating…what?  The mysteries of the universe he supposed, some far off, unanswerable question or problem that he was no doubt answering or solving. George sighed and took a long step toward the desk overlooking the city of New York.  The New Year was hours from being rung in, 1914, perhaps it would bring some good news for a change; God knows they needed it.  Below the electric lights powering the lamps lit the city in dotted glows of warmth scattered about a sea of white cold; it was beautiful.  George let go the breath he had forgotten he was holding in; the hot air streamed from his mouth in curls of grey mist, it was very cold, too cold.

            George caught his breath sending it billowing into the cold glass, fogging it in the process.  There could be a thousand reasons for it to be so cold, these buildings were always drafty and one could easily catch their death if not careful.  Nikola could have left a window open in his lab, though it would be the first time.  Trembling with cold…or was it fright? George searched his surroundings; they were deathly still.  Slowly he reached out, checking the room for the direction of the breeze; not the window…he aimed his hand toward the vent in the floor, nothing, then the entryway door, nothing, it was tightly fitted into its frame.  George’s eyes tracked the wall to the laboratory door.  Stepping lightly, he bent to inspect the slight space between the mahogany floor and the door.

            A cold blast of air sent shivers up his arm.  Fumbling with his keys, George managed to unlock the door and push into the frozen room.  It was too dark to see, he felt the wall for the familiar switch.  The lights flickered on.  A window stood open, snow spilling onto the floor.  A pair of bare footprints was frozen onto the wooden planks.

George stiffly followed them, deeper and deeper they led in to the maze of magnificent machines.  His eyes never wavered from the icy tracks that were growing dimmer every yard he progressed.  And then, they disappeared all together.  Frantically, George searched the ground for a sign; a heel print, toes even, but there was precious little to see.  Looking up, he found nothing the criminal could have used in order to lift his feet from the floor; it was as if he had disappeared entirely. 

            A non-descript roll top desk stood against the wall on the far side of the room.  There was nothing out of the ordinary about this desk, at least not to the casual observer, it was a work of admirable quality, sturdy, straight, and most importantly, secure.  George’s eyes strayed to the desk and his body froze, not from the cold this time, but pure horror; the roll top desk stood open, a thing George knew to the core of his being was not from some carelessness of Nikola’s.  As the blood flooded back into his body, George sprinted to the desk.

            It was neatly arrayed, writing paper, pen, and notebook all ready for use.  Standing up and fitted perfectly into a filing space stood a dozen or so binders all labeled “Tesla”.  George scanned the binders, one was slightly ajar, as if it had been forced back into its place by a man in a hurry; Nikola never did anything in a hurry.  George slid the binder from its place, its cover was embossed with gold lettering that read, “US Department of War” and then in a perfect scrawl “Experimental Designs: Ultra Secret”.  The book fell from George’s hand, tumbling over and over again seeming to take an eternity, before it slapped the floor with a dull thud.  As George ran to alert Nikola of the theft all that passed through his mind was; “God help us all”.