Dmitry Miropolsky: The Secret of the Three Sovereigns. The Secret of the Three Kings text The Secret of the Three Kings full version

Dmitry Vladimirovich Miropolsky

The secret of the three sovereigns

A separate source of pride for the general was actually the members of the organization, simply called academicians. In the state, of course, there were only BES, who received a solid increase in the officers' pensions. But Psurtsev's colossal opportunities were given by the status of the Academy precisely as a public organization, which allowed acting employees of any power structures to be in its ranks ...

... and one of these employees was Saltakhanov, a blue-eyed brown-haired man of about thirty-five, who sat on the guest sofa in the reception area.

When the secretary invited him to the general, Saltakhanov complimented her perfect hairstyle, thanked for the coffee and entered the dim office.

“Hello,” he said.

“And you don’t get sick,” Psurtsev simply answered, shaking his guest's hand. - Sit down, let's talk.

The general had a steel grip. Despite his sixties and a ponytail and absolute gray hair, Psurtsev was in excellent shape. It was rumored that his track record included not only cabinet victories, but also solid combat practice: the official general's biography was full of significant failures.

The tall and broad-shouldered, slightly overweight owner of the office sat down at the negotiating table, nodding to Saltakhanov to the place opposite.

- The point is. We have two "two hundredths", - said Psurtsev without a preface and fell silent, waiting for the guest's reaction.

Saltakhanov's heart skipped a beat. He did not have a chance to fight, but everyone knows that since the war in Afghanistan, the dead have been called "cargo two hundred", or simply "two hundred". In the official language of reports - irrecoverable losses of personnel. Only Saltakhanov has something to do with it? What does this have to do with him?

Psurtsev is a celestial person, a man from a legend. Saltakhanov saw him only twice: the first time at a gala evening, when he received the signs of a member of the Academy, and the second - here, in the mansion, at a working meeting. Why did the general urgently summon him? It seems that a public organization is solving quite peaceful problems. Where did the "two hundred" suddenly come from? Saltakhanov was at a loss.

“Yes, comrade general,” he said.

“Don't be surprised,” advised Psurtsev. - First of all, the flu made people worse than a machine gun. Secondly, it is useless to drive the same tasks all the time - everyone should have a chance to excel. Thirdly, this is a delicate matter, and we are talking about the honor of the uniform. Fourthly, the matter is especially important and anyhow who should not be entrusted with it. And I made inquiries about you. The nickname is Khan, which is understandable. Khan Saltakhan ... The only Chechen in the St. Petersburg bureau of Interpol. An exemplary officer, impeccable service, excellent operational and analytical skills, excellent memory, good physical fitness, awards, incentives and so on, as expected, right up to your women ... What did you think? Again, you have experience of working with museums through Interpol, it can also come in handy. Do you dare?

“Not yet,” Saltakhanov answered honestly.

- Ha! Of course, - the general suddenly cheered up, - because I haven't really said anything yet. Do you remember our charter? "The Academy considers constant interaction with leading scientific organizations and leading scientists of various countries as one of the primary conditions for ensuring the security of the nation." So we interact. What do you know about the Rosicrucians?

- Well, - Saltakhanov hesitated, - in general terms ... These are Masons, aren't they?

Psurtsev thoughtfully rubbed the old scar on his chin.

- Okay. What you need right away - I’ll tell you orally now, you’ll dig up the rest yourself in the search engines or in the library.

The general's speech made a strong impression on Saltakhanov, including the abundance of information, which Psurtsev easily operated on, and the names of celebrities that sounded strange in his performance.

A few years before the First World War, the general said, a Russian box of the knightly order of the Rose and the Cross appeared in St. Petersburg - that is, the Rosicrucians. Later, the local Masonic lodge really joined them. However, both are not the same thing at all. The Rosicrucians consider the Freemasons to be excessively pragmatists, and the Freemasons reproach the Rosicrucians with an excess of mysticism.

“The Rosicrucians really did scientific research in half with mysticism,” Psurtsev got up. - Occultism was then generally in vogue, Berdyaev wrote about this. Therefore, in addition to the Freemasons, the Rosicrucians were buzzing with, or even directly entered into the order, people quite famous. Poets Tsvetaeva with Pasternak, for example. Or the director Eisenstein with Chekhov for the company ... Chekhov is not the one who is the writer Anton Palych, but the one who is the famous actor, Mikhail. By the way, did you hear Lunacharsky as well? Later he was in charge of culture in the first Soviet government. Also there. Scientists, engineers - there was enough of everyone.

Boris Zubakin.

Jacob Bruce.

The general walked silently on the Turkmen carpets that covered the floor. Behind the sloping dormer windows, early dusk deepened, and in the endless study only a table lamp and a scattering of small decorative lamps under the ceiling burned. Incorrect light and Psurtsev's shadow sliding along the walls added theatricality to the story.

The main St. Petersburg Rosicrucian, the general said, was Boris Zubakin. The surname is Russian, but in general he is a descendant of an ancient Scottish family. Zubakin's ancestors appeared in Russia among other foreigners invited to the service, and flourished during the time of Peter the Great.

- How is Pushkin? - Seizing the moment, Saltakhanov put in a remark and stopped short under the heavy gaze of the chief. - In the sense of the arap, Peter was brought from Africa, and then he became Russified ... And his descendants Pushkin was born ... Alexander Sergeevich ...

He realized that it was better not to interrupt, but to be silent and listen. The general waited until this afterthought reached Saltakhanov, and confirmed:

- Yes, like Pushkin. So ...

The Rosicrucians studied humanity as a single organism that develops all sorts of values ​​- moral, cultural and scientific. Under the leadership of Zubakin, the St. Petersburg branch of the order studied Slavic mythology, Jewish Kabbalah, medieval philosophy, theosophy, archeology, and so on. Quite a motley set and, as they say, harmless visibility on the surface. And by and large, only Zubakin himself knew the serious essence. Probably, this knowledge was passed along the Scottish line, from ancestors to descendants. Something he encrypted in his notes, but kept the main thing in his head.

“Zubakin was arrested for the first time in the early twenties, under the Bolsheviks already,” said Psurtsev. - Only they were either badly interrogated, or simply did not know what to ask. They crumpled the ribs, found out nothing, spat and sent them to hell. But not too far. Because in the thirty-seventh they took it again. And Comrade Stalin was personally interested in the investigation. Especially after the connection of Zubakin's ancestors with Jacob Bruce emerged.

“This Bruce,” the general stopped, “was not only a favorite with Peter the Great, but he was also a first-rate warlock. Either a scientist like Leonardo da Vinci, or a sorcerer, or both at once ... Have you heard about the Sukharev Tower in Moscow? This is also the work of Bruce, he organized a secret laboratory there. Such miracles were told about this laboratory - ooh, what are you! And in 1934, on the personal instructions of Comrade Stalin, the tower was destroyed. Why do you think?

- Did you build the metro? - Saltakhanov suggested cautiously. “I don’t know… New avenues were being laid, or it began to fall apart, so they were demolished.

- Sukharev's tower was not demolished. It was carefully dismantled brick by brick. Because they were looking for Bruce's archive. They were looking for his records, the very Black Book of the warlock. But they didn’t find it. But they remembered about Zubakin, whose ancestors were associated with Bruce.

The comrades from the authorities understood, Psurtsev continued, that Zubakin knew something. They understood that there was some kind of ancient secret that the Scots brought to Russia and passed it on from generation to generation, and even along several lines, so as not to lose. They tried to find out from Zubakin - to no avail. He told them one thing: I believe, they say, in immortality and the cosmic significance of the human spirit, which is the essence of the psychic principle. The soul, they say, is immortal not only mystically, but also physically, since its basis is Light, with a capital letter. And therefore, they say, the Rosicrucians are the Knights of Light.

“In short, the Chekists got tired of this Zubakin worse than a bitter radish,” Psurtsev summed up, “and at the beginning of the thirty-eighth they shot him to hell. And then the rest, whom they swept along with him. Then how was it?

The general fell silent for a moment, and then suddenly recited, enjoying Saltakhanov's surprise:

There is one road in prison
(And who didn't know her?):
Sloping stairs
From the cell to the basement.

- This is Zubakin's poems. Not tired yet?

- No, no, - Saltakhanov hastened to answer, - I'm listening.

- Well, listen further. As they say, Zubakin died, but his work lives on. Fifty years later, the Roseny - that is, the Rosicrucians - showed up again with us. They opened something like a scientific circle called Lectorium Rosicrusianum. Of course, the authorities immediately took them under control.

- And what about research?

- Well done, - praised Psurtsev, - you understand. These newly-minted knights, let's cross science and mysticism again. Again they started the crap, which Zubakin told the investigators: the cosmic soul, cosmic light, and so on. Now look. Since they are doing research, then the information is needed. Access to the archives is needed, to the same documents that were confiscated from them in 1937, to Zubakin's notes ... It's the beginning of the nineties, the Soviet Union has already collapsed, the KGB has been abolished, there is one big mess all around. And where are the documents and records? We and our colleagues in the Committee - here and there, but in good hands. The system did not disappear anywhere! The organs were as they were! And gradually, gradually, we fed this brethren. Here the Academy came in very handy: the Rosen seemed to interact not with the bloody KGB, but with a respected public organization. After all, I have collected BES from different departments: from the KGB, from the police, from the GRU ... Complete international! And most importantly, everyone is happy. Lord knights get what they need, and we are always in the material. They are just going to sneeze, and we already have a handkerchief at the ready.

The general fell silent again, and Saltakhanov used the pause.

- Resolve the question? You said that Zubakin knew some ancient Scottish secret, and the Rosicrucians ... the Rosen were working with it. Have you found out what this secret is?

- The fact of the matter is that no, - the general again sat down opposite the guest. - We ourselves could not find out anything, because there were no introductory inputs. Or there were too many, which is the same thing. But the Rosen did not seem to know exactly what they were looking for. We dug in a dozen directions at once. Have you heard about distributed computing?

Saltakhanov shook his head, and Psurtsev continued:

- This is a technique used by computer scientists. Let's say there is a task that requires very complex calculations. Trillions, trillions and trillions of transactions. You can, of course, load this case into an ordinary car - and let him puff. But if, for example, the enemy's encryption is intercepted, one cannot wait until Morkovkin is in charge. What if during this time the enemies have already shied away with nuclear missiles? We have supercomputers - one, two and countless. Not enough for everyone. Means what? You are using distributed computing. Split your task into a million little tasks, each of which can be handled by your laptop or my secretary's computer, on which she plays solitaire games. And instead of one supercomputer, a million ordinary ones are running on the network. They give out the answers, and you just have to add them up. This can also be done by an ordinary machine. Zipper! - and the result is ready. The nation is safe.

- I am leading to this, - explained Psurtsev, - that there is a similar story with the Rosen. They themselves do not understand their main task. Encryption - it is encryption. But they have an algorithm and a defined field of activity - albeit very wide, but still limited. Therefore, the Rosen are still solving small problems. And in the end, the sum of the results will give them - and you and me! - the answer to the question: what kind of secret is this Scottish?

The general interrupted the conversation, called the secretary on the intercom and ordered to make coffee. Soon, woven napkins with the Academy logo were already on the table. Over the lions and unicorns, the owner of the model hairstyle placed an antique silver service: cups, a vase with oriental sweets, a sugar bowl and a large coffee pot of an unusual shape. Its dull, shiny sides were covered with an ornament of flowers and Arabic ligatures.

He had no desire to rummage

In chronological dust

Genesis descriptions of the earth:

But days gone by jokes

From Romulus to the present day

He kept it in his memory.

Alexander Sergeevich Pushkin

I myself was a speck of dust in the huge instruments with which Providence operated.

Prince Nikolai Borisovich Golitsyn

The less the story is true, the more enjoyable it is.

Sir Francis Bacon

I have no interest in anything unless it contains two kills per page.

Howard Phillips Lovecraft

1. Dirty detective

On the day of the pi Major Odintsov had no intention of killing anyone.

Strictly speaking, he had not been a major for a long time, he found out about an unusual date by chance, and even more so he did not have such a habit of taking people's lives out of the blue. And here you go: in broad daylight, he put two people to bed right in the center of St. Petersburg, and what to do now is a big question ...

On a chilly black morning on March 14, Odintsov, as always, arrived at work at about half past seven. I got out of the car and noted with disapproval the icy mounds peeping out here and there from under the snow, like blots of frozen office glue.

“A C-grade cleaning,” Odintsov said aloud; out of an old bachelor's habit, he sometimes talked to himself. - A C grade cleaning.

In the old park, red lanterns washed away the pre-dawn haze. Black trees clawed at the sky with the spider paws of the branches. The piercing gusts of wind knocked out a tear. Odintsov kicked a piece of ice that had turned up, wrapped his jacket over his jacket and moved towards the cold bulk of the Mikhailovsky Castle. At the service entrance, he briefly shook hands with the guard, dropped the usual: "How are you?" - and heard the same traditional: "No incident."

Odintsov worked as the deputy chief of the security service of the museum located in the castle, and now he is in charge - the chief had a flu at home.

However, the temporary increase did not break the usual routine. In his office, Odintsov changed a cozy jumper and jeans for a shirt with a tie and a dark gray suit, and high lace-up boots for shining shoes. Until eight, he still managed to check his work journal to refresh his memory of the upcoming business ...

... and the day began. Briefing and divorce of the guards, a report from the night shift, fiddling with documents, phone calls, a meeting ... Everything is as usual, a familiar routine.

Odintsov allowed himself his first cigarette only after dinner. Of course, he could smoke in the office - who would have said a word? - but order is order. If you want to ask from others, ask yourself first. So he was taught. Therefore, Odintsov smoked on a general basis, where it should be.

The newspaper was lying on the couch in the smoking-room - apparently, one of the guards had left it. Odintsov skimmed through it while the cigarette was smoldering. A flurry of advertisements, old jokes, illiterate crosswords, twisted rumors, boring horoscopes - a one-time mess for softened brains ...

... but one article nevertheless attracted Odintsov's attention thanks to the illustration - vitruvian man Leonardo da Vinci: in the middle of the text in a large drawing, a strappy muscular man stretched out his arms to the sides, inscribed in a circle and in a square at the same time. Odintsov skimmed through the first paragraph.

March 14 is the most unusual holiday in the world: it is International Pi Day! In Western countries, they write first the number of the month, and then the day, so the date looks like 3.14 - that is, like the first digits of an amazing number.

Further, the author informed Odintsov that the magic constant was known to the ancient wise men, who used it in the calculations of the Tower of Babel. The Magi were not so wrong, and yet the colossal structure collapsed. "For simplicity of calculations, the number pi- military is taken for exactly three! " - Odintsov recalled the words of the teacher from the old cadet's past. But the wise king Solomon, the newspaper continued, managed to calculate pi much more carefully - and built the Jerusalem Temple, which has not been equal in centuries.

The article mentioned Einstein, who was lucky to be born on the Day of the pi, and Archimedes, who was able to determine the millionths of a constant. The ending sounded pathetic.

Today, more than five hundred billion digits of pi have been verified. Their combinations are not repeated - therefore, the number is a non-periodic fraction. Thus, pi is not just a chaotic sequence of numbers, but Chaos itself, written in numbers! This Chaos can be depicted graphically, and besides, there is an assumption that it is reasonable.

Odintsov carefully put out the cigarette butt, sent it to the trash can after the newspaper, and returned to his study. Much more exciting reading awaited him: documentation for a new video surveillance system, which was installed in the castle.

A splash screen floated across the computer screen — a digital clock. The article said: number pi- this is 3.14159, so the holiday in his honor begins on the third month of the fourteenth day without one minute at two o'clock in the afternoon. Reasonable Chaos, which is written in numbers ...

Nonsense, one word.

The clock on the screen saver showed exactly one hour and fifty-nine minutes when there was a knock on the door. “Without delay,” said Odintsov, who appreciated punctuality, with satisfaction, and got up from the table. The meeting was scheduled for two.

Two men entered the office - one younger and taller, athletic, the other older and more resilient, with spaniel eyes. Both had a small black kippah attached to their hair on the crown of their heads with a hairpin.

– Shalom! Nice to meet you, gentleman. I am ... Odintsov began, demonstrating quite decent English, but the stocky man interrupted him with a polite smile:

- Hello, we speak Russian.

In the Mikhailovsky Castle, preparations were made for a representative international conference. The level of the participants assumed armed guards. Israeli colleagues came to Odintsov to settle the formalities.

The elder spoke and acted, the partner silently handed him the papers. The usual procedure. Only when Odintsov was about to sign the documents, the young man asked to use their pen with special ink.

“You understand,” he said apologetically.

Odintsov understood.

“The enemies are on the alert, and we are trying to keep up,” the senior Israeli added. - They always come up with something, and so do we. Security is sacred.

The young man obtained a leather pencil case from the attaché case and handed it to the elder. He opened the lid and put the pencil case on the table. Odintsov took out a massive vintage pen with a gold nib and turned it over with pleasure in his fingers.

- A solid thing, - he appreciated, signed several times where he was indicated, and returned the pen to the pencil case.

After seeing off the guests, Odintsov glanced at his watch again - the time had come! - and dialed the mobile number. “The subscriber is unavailable or out of the network coverage area,” the indifferent mechanical lady told him. Several more calls gave the same result.

“Varaksa,” Odintsov said reproachfully, looking at the receiver, “have you decided now not to work at all?

Varaksa was an old friend of Odintsov's, a keen fisherman and, in addition, a successful owner of a network of car service stations with a laconic name consisting of only two digits - 47. A couple of days ago, Varaksa went to Ladoga for smelt. And in the head workshop of the "47" chain, they repaired Odintsov's car, which had caught an open hatch on a snow-covered street with a wheel.

Either the reproach worked, or the cunning Varaksa still received notifications of calls, but soon Odintsov received a call from the station with the good news: the car is ready, you can pick it up.

I didn't want to crawl through traffic jams in the evening, and Odintsov decided to go to the workshop right now. After all, is he the boss or not the boss ?! The main things are done, the service is working ... Odintsov gave some orders, put the suit back on the hanger, pulled on his jeans again, put his feet into high boots with thick ribbed soles - and hastened to leave.

From the untidy, whitish sky, the usual for Petersburg March cocktail was pouring: either snow and rain, or rain and snow. Odintsov had to take a brush out of the trunk and clean the car: during the repair he borrowed a Volvo SUV from the compassionate Varaksa. He was ironing now the icy shores of Ladoga on a mighty "Land Rover", over which they thoroughly conjured up in the workshop "47".

Odintsov was finishing waving the brush when he saw Munin. The awkward stooped guy slowly wandered from the castle in his direction. He pressed to his stomach a cloth bag that hung over his shoulder on a long belt, carefully looked at his feet - and still slipped.

- Hello science! - shouted Odintsov.

Munin lifted the edge of his hood with chilled fingers. Wet snow immediately covered the glass of his large glasses.

- I'm here! - Odintsov waved his hand, and Munin saw him. - I can give it to you.

- Hello, - said Munin, going up to the car. - I would have to go to the metro, if it doesn't bother you.

- To the metro by itself. In general, where do you need to?

It turned out to be on the way.

The young historian worked in the scientific part of the museum. Munin's acquaintance with Odintsov was recent and nodding: they dined once or twice at the same table in the service canteen, exchanged a few phrases and now greeted each other when they met. But to the withdrawn Munin, even that looked like an achievement.

He liked Odintsov. Firstly, because he not only asked questions about the case, but also knew how to listen. Secondly, because there was no sense in his behavior of the watchman's condescension, usual for guards. Thirdly, what a sin to conceal? - puny bespectacled Munin desperately dreamed of being as confident in himself, stately and broad-shouldered; learn to wear a suit and not look away in conversation ... Odintsov's colorful image was completed by a gray tuft of neat hairstyle and a half-gray left eyebrow.

In the car, Munin happily settled down on the heated leather of the front seat. Odintsov taxied to the Fontanka, and they drove along the castle along the embankment.

- How are things on the intellectual front? Odintsov asked. - Protracted battles with opponents? Trench warfare?

- Enough, we sat in the trenches, - Munin responded in tune and patted the bag lying on his knees with his palm. - A breakthrough has been outlined.

Scientist, wow ... Odintsov figured: the boy recently graduated from the university, he probably did not serve in the army - that is, he is at most twenty-five years old. At fifty with a pretty penny, Odintsov could well have a son of that age. Only hardly myopic - and certainly an athlete, not a booby.

- Prory-y-yv? Odintsov raised a half-gray eyebrow and nodded at the bag. - Violation of the guarded perimeter? Have you stolen some rarity?

- What are you, what are you, - Munin played along again, - it's a sin to steal! It's all its own, dear.

Tsar Ivan the Fourth the Terrible.

Emperor Peter the First.

Emperor Paul.

He pushed back the flap of his bag and took out a thick, heavy folder with a red cover. It was evident that he was impatient to boast.

- It's like in Pushkin: “The longed-for moment has come: my work is over for many years,” the historian recited and, looking at the folder with love, weighed it in his hands. - I can’t tell yet, I don’t have the right. Although you are a person far from science, you can. You are no one? .. In general, it turns out that at least three Russian tsars were doing the same thing.

“In my opinion, all the tsars did about the same thing,” said Odintsov, “didn't they?

Munin winced in annoyance.

“That's not what I wanted to say. I was able to find and documentary confirm that Ivan the Fourth, Peter the First and Pavel acted according to the same scheme. As if they were solving the same problem. Each in his own time and each in his own circumstances, but still ... Moreover, not only was the problem a common one, but also ways of solving it. The feeling is that they acted according to the instructions, which says: do this, this and that. Do you understand?

“No,” Odintsov admitted easily.

- No wonder. Even I didn’t understand at first, ”Munin said.

Odintsov looked at him with irony because of this even, but the historian did not notice the look and continued:

- In general, no one understood anything and paid no attention! You are right when you say that all the kings did about the same thing. And these three too, but only up to a certain point. And then suddenly they began to do similar things. Paradoxical and inexplicable.

- Maybe they are paradoxical for you, - suggested Odintsov, - but for contemporaries - nothing special.

- That's just it, that contemporaries doubted whether the sovereign was in his mind! - Munin lost his temper and sat down sideways, turning to Odintsov. - Ivan, and Peter, and Pavel frightened even the closest ones. At first, they seemed to behave as usual, and then - click! - and it was as if some other program was turned on, incomprehensible and therefore especially terrible. That is why these three were feared and hated like no one else.

- Wait. Ivan the Fourth is Ivan the Terrible, isn't it?

Munin nodded.

- Well, then there are no questions why they were afraid and hated. He's a rare bloodsucker. Did you kill your own son? I killed. And he executed people indiscriminately right and left ...

- Ivan was not a bloodsucker! - Munin was indignant. - And he did not kill his son, and executed only those with whom it was impossible otherwise. You are repeating gossip that is four hundred years old! They began to compose them even during the life of Ivan Vasilyevich. And in the textbooks they still lie, and no one knows the truth!

- And you, it turns out, you know? Odintsov again glanced slyly at Munin.

Turning off in conversation at the snow-covered Summer Garden, they crossed the bridge over the Fontanka, gleaming with gold railings; passed the terracotta with white veins block of the Panteleimon Church - a monument to the first naval victory of Peter the Great - and drove to Liteiny Prospect.

Munin has already calmed down.

“You see,” he said, “there are, as it were, two truths. This is normal in any science, especially in history. There is truth for ordinary people. For you, sorry, and for them.

The historian waved his hand towards the passers-by outside the car window, and Odintsov clarified:

- For the masses? For the people?

- For the people. And I mean the truth for specialists who know the subject more deeply and versatile. What you know about Ivan the Terrible is a primitive scheme that is roughly cobbled together, easy to remember and easy to use. But we, historians ...

- You just said that no one except you knows the truth. Now it turns out that all historians know it. A contradiction, however!

- There is no contradiction. Any colleague of mine, if he is really a professional and, moreover, unbiased, with documents in hand, will explain to you in five minutes why Ivan the Terrible is not a bloodsucker. Unlike ordinary people, who immediately receive a ready-made scheme, we are supposed to collect facts, then check them for reliability, and only then add one to the other. The problem is that a scientist usually seeks to confirm or refute some hypothesis - his own or his predecessors. Therefore, he interprets events with a given result, and the picture is biased.

Odintsov looked at Munin with interest:

- How are you different from the rest in this case?

“By the fact that I set a fundamentally different task,” the historian said with pride and adjusted the glasses that had slipped down on his nose. - I did not try to prove or disprove anything. It didn't matter to me whether Ivan the Terrible was a devil or a saint. In the same way, Peter the First could be an agent of Europe or a patriot of Russia, and Pavel - a crazy soldier or a titan of the spirit, who was ahead of his time. I knew the same about them as the others. I just noticed that the actions of Ivan Vasilyevich, Peter Alekseevich and Pavel Petrovich are very different from the actions of the rest of the sovereigns, but they are very similar to each other.

Munin stroked the folder.

“The actions of each person,” he said, “are his own business. You never know what it will take into the head of someone? But when strange and, moreover, the same actions are performed by the leaders of the country living at different times, and even done not by force, but deliberately - then I'm sorry. This cannot be an accident. Obviously, there is some kind of regularity, there is a system!

- And this system you ... - Odintsov began, and Munin picked up:

-… and I tried to describe this system. Just add up and compare historical facts, without proving or refuting anything.

The car crossed Liteiny Prospect, circled the watercolor Easter cake of the Transfiguration Cathedral along a fence made of captured cannon barrels, and soon turned into Kirochnaya Street.

- Thanks. Stop somewhere here, please, - asked Munin.

Transfiguration Cathedral.

Everything was busy along the curb, but a parked car blinked a little ahead with its left turn signal. Odintsov slowed down after her; turned on the emergency gang, blocking the lane and letting the driver drive out, and then deftly dived into the vacant seat.

- What does it mean? - He asked, glancing at the cover of the folder, on top of which was flaunted a large yellow label with the inscription: Urbi et Orbi.

Munin was embarrassed and began to stuff the folder into his bag.

- Urbi et orbi? Yes so ...

- Well, all the same? - did not lag behind Odintsov.

- It means "City and World" in Latin. Ovid ... the poet was so ancient ... Ovid wrote that borders were given to other peoples on earth, while the Romans had the same length of the city and the world. In general, the appeal is such an ancient Roman - to everyone and everyone. Urbi et orbi.

Munin handled the folder; said goodbye, got out of the car, put on his hood and wandered towards the pedestrian crossing.

Odintsov looked after the historian. From Munin's story, he did not really understand what kind of discovery he made and what the breakthrough was. Long-dead kings, repeating illogical actions of each other ... Who cares about them now?

On the other hand, it's good that the boy is interested. The eyes are burning! It is not easy to cram such a thick folder - you see, really serious work. But now he turns to all progressive humanity, to the entire Universe. Urbi et Orbi, is not exchanged for trifles. And rightly so - at his age ... Oh, youth!

Odintsov dialed Varaksa's mobile number and put his hand into his pocket for cigarettes. It was not possible to get through again, and there was no smoke with me: he probably left the pack in his jacket when he quickly changed his clothes before leaving work.

“Disorder,” Odintsov chided himself, turned off the engine and got out of the car. Familiar places, the center of St. Petersburg; and just nearby, I remember, there was a good tobacco shop.

Odintsov crossed the street. Ahead, near the arch, he saw Munin, who was talking on his mobile, and was already getting ready to joke - they say, we began to meet more often, and this pleases. But then two strong fellows in gray jackets appeared next to the historian, took him by the elbows and literally carried him into the gateway.

- Interestingly girls are dancing, - Odintsov frowned, - four pieces in a row ...

He turned after. In the cramped courtyard, one of the men was pulling a bag from Munin's shoulder. The historian clung to his belt and shouted in a breaking voice:

- What do you need? What do you need?

Odintsov walked slowly towards them.

- Guys, are there any problems? - he asked.

“No problem,” said the second strong man. - Come in, come in, everything is in order.

“In my opinion, just not everything is in order,” objected Odintsov. “I’m looking at the purse, it’s someone else’s.” And it's not good to take someone else's. You shouldn't have started this. Honestly, in vain. Let's, maybe, somehow in an amicable way ...

- You should go, man, - said the second again, let go of Munin and stepped forward.

These two weren't street bastards. “But not the police either,” thought Odintsov: they didn’t show any IDs, although they acted very well. The way the talkative robust man moved also betrayed a professional. And yet Odintsov managed to lull his vigilance - with simple chatter, a relaxed gait and, of course, with his hands in his pockets. Hands in pockets are usually the most soothing. You just need to be able to take them out instantly.

Odintsov knew how.

A punch with an open palm in street combat is more effective than a fist: the affected area is larger, you won't miss. The lightning-fast slap in the face, especially heavy on the opposite side, was a complete surprise for the strong man. Dealing with ordinary hooligans, Odintsov would be satisfied with the shock of a slap in the face. But here he did not risk it and knocked out the attacker with several powerful blows.

The knockout was so quick and devastating that the man who took the bag also made a mistake. The dumbfounded Munin could serve as a cover, but the strong man pushed him away, seemed to be ready for battle - and suddenly thrust his hand into the bosom of his gray jacket.

Odintsov did not stop and found himself right in front of the man when he drew his pistol: neither time nor distance was enough to point the weapon at Odintsov and pull the trigger ...

…. And in the next instant the strong man screamed, drowning out the crunch of his wrist. Unscrewing the pistol in the opponent's hand, Odintsov unrolled the short barrel under his ribs and clenched his fist, pressing the trigger with someone else's fingers - one, two, three ...

No shots were heard. The pistol only clanked dully, throwing out its shells. The strong man goggled his eyes, hissed for a long time and began to settle on the snow.

Odintsov unraveled the weapon from the dying man's twisted fingers and turned around. The first fighter with a folded jaw, lying on his back, moved his hand and tried to reach the waist holster, which peeked out from under the raised jacket.

“Eck, you quickly regained consciousness,” Odintsov said with surprise and some annoyance.

There was no choice. He went up to the man and shot him in the forehead. The pistol clanked again.

The historian stood where he was, his fingers in his ears and shaking his head from side to side. The ill-fated bag lay at his feet.

“Nothing, nothing,” Odintsov kept saying to himself. - Not deaf and not gone. Wait a little, I'll quickly ...

Under Munin's wandering gaze, he pulled on gloves and cleaned up everything from the pockets of the dead: wallets, spare clips for pistols, cigarettes, chewing gum ... He threw mobile phones into a snowdrift, spent cartridges and weapons stuffed into the pockets of his jacket; the rest, without looking, put in Munin's bag. The skill with which Odintsov acted gave him considerable experience.

Quickly finishing the business, he threw the bag over his shoulder, slapped Munin on the back, reviving; caught the slipping glasses under the historian's long nose, put them back on, firmly took the guy by the sleeve above the elbow and commanded:

- And now - run!

Dmitry Miropolsky

The secret of the three sovereigns

He had no desire to rummage

In chronological dust

Genesis descriptions of the earth:

But days gone by jokes

From Romulus to the present day

He kept it in his memory.

Alexander Sergeevich Pushkin

I myself was a speck of dust in the huge instruments with which Providence operated.

Prince Nikolai Borisovich Golitsyn

The less the story is true, the more enjoyable it is.

Sir Francis Bacon

I have no interest in anything unless it contains two kills per page.

Howard Phillips Lovecraft

1. Dirty detective

On the day of the pi Major Odintsov had no intention of killing anyone.

Strictly speaking, he had not been a major for a long time, he found out about an unusual date by chance, and even more so he did not have such a habit of taking people's lives out of the blue. And here you go: in broad daylight, he put two people to bed right in the center of St. Petersburg, and what to do now is a big question ...

On a chilly black morning on March 14, Odintsov, as always, arrived at work at about half past seven. I got out of the car and noted with disapproval the icy mounds peeping out here and there from under the snow, like blots of frozen office glue.

“A C-grade cleaning,” Odintsov said aloud; out of an old bachelor's habit, he sometimes talked to himself. - A C grade cleaning.

In the old park, red lanterns washed away the pre-dawn haze. Black trees clawed at the sky with the spider paws of the branches. The piercing gusts of wind knocked out a tear. Odintsov kicked a piece of ice that had turned up, wrapped his jacket over his jacket and moved towards the cold bulk of the Mikhailovsky Castle. At the service entrance, he briefly shook hands with the guard, dropped the usual: "How are you?" - and heard the same traditional: "No incident."

Odintsov worked as the deputy chief of the security service of the museum located in the castle, and now he is in charge - the chief had a flu at home.

However, the temporary increase did not break the usual routine. In his office, Odintsov changed a cozy jumper and jeans for a shirt with a tie and a dark gray suit, and high lace-up boots for shining shoes. Until eight, he still managed to check his work journal to refresh his memory of the upcoming business ...

... and the day began. Briefing and divorce of the guards, a report from the night shift, fiddling with documents, phone calls, a meeting ... Everything is as usual, a familiar routine.

Odintsov allowed himself his first cigarette only after dinner. Of course, he could smoke in the office - who would have said a word? - but order is order. If you want to ask from others, ask yourself first. So he was taught. Therefore, Odintsov smoked on a general basis, where it should be.

The newspaper was lying on the couch in the smoking-room - apparently, one of the guards had left it. Odintsov skimmed through it while the cigarette was smoldering. A flurry of advertisements, old jokes, illiterate crosswords, twisted rumors, boring horoscopes - a one-time mess for softened brains ...

... but one article nevertheless attracted Odintsov's attention thanks to the illustration - vitruvian man Leonardo da Vinci: in the middle of the text in a large drawing, a strappy muscular man stretched out his arms to the sides, inscribed in a circle and in a square at the same time. Odintsov skimmed through the first paragraph.

March 14 is the most unusual holiday in the world: it is International Pi Day! In Western countries, they write first the number of the month, and then the day, so the date looks like 3.14 - that is, like the first digits of an amazing number.

Further, the author informed Odintsov that the magic constant was known to the ancient wise men, who used it in the calculations of the Tower of Babel. The Magi were not so wrong, and yet the colossal structure collapsed. "For simplicity of calculations, the number pi- military is taken for exactly three! " - Odintsov recalled the words of the teacher from the old cadet's past. But the wise king Solomon, the newspaper continued, managed to calculate pi much more carefully - and built the Jerusalem Temple, which has not been equal in centuries.

Apr 26, 2017

The secret of the three sovereigns Dmitry Miropolsky

(estimates: 1 , the average: 5,00 out of 5)

Title: The Secret of the Three Sovereigns

About the book "The Secret of the Three Sovereigns" Dmitry Miropolsky

“The Secret of the Three Sovereigns” is a book unprecedented in its scale and genre variety. Dmitry Miropolsky presented the reader with an amazing mix of historical documentary, intriguing detective story, psychological melodrama and political thriller. Reading this unusual book will be interesting for those who are interested in Russian history and real events in the cultural and political arena and would not mind indulging themselves with an action-packed history as part of their study.

At the beginning of the narrative, by chance coincidence, there is a former secret service employee, performing secret missions in different parts of the world, and a young historian. This seemingly random meeting predetermined the subsequent turns of the storyline. The main intrigue revolves around the Russian rulers of various eras - Ivan the Terrible, Peter the Great and his great-grandson Pavel. Having studied in detail the personality of each of these influential people in their time, Dmitry Miropolsky came to the conclusion that there is one feature that unites these completely different representatives of the authorities. It is a mystery rooted deep in history. In it, they came close since the creation of the world, the great minds of mankind - scientists, politicians, public figures - came into contact with it, not suspecting that the solution lies on the surface. The path to its disclosure turned out to be a long one - for many centuries history has managed to make its own adjustments, but now the time has come to put everything in its place. It will happen in Russia, in the legendary city of St. Petersburg. What is this secret that changed the perception of world history, you will find out if you decide to read this grandiose book.

“The Mystery of the Three Sovereigns” is such a historically rich work that it is impossible to read it voraciously - you need to perceive the avalanche of facts in a measured dose, stopping and pondering each historical event presented from an unexpected angle. Dmitry Miropolsky reveals little-known facts about the Russian sovereigns, which are perceived by many modern readers from the point of view of stereotypes imposed by society (for example, Ivan the Terrible is a cruel and domineering murderer). The reign of the Russian tsars was accompanied by numerous intrigues and unpopular decisions, the necessity of which is convincingly proved by the author.

In addition to historical subtleties and secrets, the book mentions the problems of modern society. Political contradictions, interethnic disputes of a cultural and religious nature, relationships between the richest people on the planet, in whose hands the power over the whole world is concentrated - all this is intertwined in a multilayered novel. Influential people from different parts of the world are looking for the main artifact that will open up their greatest opportunities ...

On our site about books, you can download the site for free without registration or read the online book "The Secret of the Three Sovereigns" by Dmitry Miropolsky in epub, fb2, txt, rtf, pdf formats for iPad, iPhone, Android and Kindle. The book will give you a lot of pleasant moments and real pleasure from reading. You can buy the full version from our partner. Also, here you will find the latest news from the literary world, find out the biography of your favorite authors. For novice writers, there is a separate section with useful tips and advice, interesting articles, thanks to which you yourself can try your hand at literary skill.

Free download of the book "The Secret of the Three Sovereigns" Dmitry Miropolsky

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Dmitry Miropolsky

The secret of the three sovereigns

He had no desire to rummage

In chronological dust

Genesis descriptions of the earth:

But days gone by jokes

From Romulus to the present day

He kept it in his memory.

Alexander Sergeevich Pushkin

I myself was a speck of dust in the huge instruments with which Providence operated.

Prince Nikolai Borisovich Golitsyn

The less the story is true, the more enjoyable it is.

Sir Francis Bacon

I have no interest in anything unless it contains two kills per page.

Howard Phillips Lovecraft

1. Dirty detective

On the day of the pi Major Odintsov had no intention of killing anyone.

Strictly speaking, he had not been a major for a long time, he found out about an unusual date by chance, and even more so he did not have such a habit of taking people's lives out of the blue. And here you go: in broad daylight, he put two people to bed right in the center of St. Petersburg, and what to do now is a big question ...

On a chilly black morning on March 14, Odintsov, as always, arrived at work at about half past seven. I got out of the car and noted with disapproval the icy mounds peeping out here and there from under the snow, like blots of frozen office glue.

“A C-grade cleaning,” Odintsov said aloud; out of an old bachelor's habit, he sometimes talked to himself. - A C grade cleaning.

In the old park, red lanterns washed away the pre-dawn haze. Black trees clawed at the sky with the spider paws of the branches. The piercing gusts of wind knocked out a tear. Odintsov kicked a piece of ice that had turned up, wrapped his jacket over his jacket and moved towards the cold bulk of the Mikhailovsky Castle. At the service entrance, he briefly shook hands with the guard, dropped the usual: "How are you?" - and heard the same traditional: "No incident."

Odintsov worked as the deputy chief of the security service of the museum located in the castle, and now he is in charge - the chief had a flu at home.

However, the temporary increase did not break the usual routine. In his office, Odintsov changed a cozy jumper and jeans for a shirt with a tie and a dark gray suit, and high lace-up boots for shining shoes. Until eight, he still managed to check his work journal to refresh his memory of the upcoming business ...

... and the day began. Briefing and divorce of the guards, a report from the night shift, fiddling with documents, phone calls, a meeting ... Everything is as usual, a familiar routine.

Odintsov allowed himself his first cigarette only after dinner. Of course, he could smoke in the office - who would have said a word? - but order is order. If you want to ask from others, ask yourself first. So he was taught. Therefore, Odintsov smoked on a general basis, where it should be.

The newspaper was lying on the couch in the smoking-room - apparently, one of the guards had left it. Odintsov skimmed through it while the cigarette was smoldering. A flurry of advertisements, old jokes, illiterate crosswords, twisted rumors, boring horoscopes - a one-time mess for softened brains ...

... but one article nevertheless attracted Odintsov's attention thanks to the illustration - vitruvian man Leonardo da Vinci: in the middle of the text in a large drawing, a strappy muscular man stretched out his arms to the sides, inscribed in a circle and in a square at the same time. Odintsov skimmed through the first paragraph.

March 14 is the most unusual holiday in the world: it is International Pi Day! In Western countries, they write first the number of the month, and then the day, so the date looks like 3.14 - that is, like the first digits of an amazing number.

Further, the author informed Odintsov that the magic constant was known to the ancient wise men, who used it in the calculations of the Tower of Babel. The Magi were not so wrong, and yet the colossal structure collapsed. "For simplicity of calculations, the number pi- military is taken for exactly three! " - Odintsov recalled the words of the teacher from the old cadet's past. But the wise king Solomon, the newspaper continued, managed to calculate pi much more carefully - and built the Jerusalem Temple, which has not been equal in centuries.

The article mentioned Einstein, who was lucky to be born on the Day of the pi, and Archimedes, who was able to determine the millionths of a constant. The ending sounded pathetic.

Today, more than five hundred billion digits of pi have been verified. Their combinations are not repeated - therefore, the number is a non-periodic fraction. Thus, pi is not just a chaotic sequence of numbers, but Chaos itself, written in numbers! This Chaos can be depicted graphically, and besides, there is an assumption that it is reasonable.

Odintsov carefully put out the cigarette butt, sent it to the trash can after the newspaper, and returned to his study. Much more exciting reading awaited him: documentation for a new video surveillance system, which was installed in the castle.

A splash screen floated across the computer screen — a digital clock. The article said: number pi- this is 3.14159, so the holiday in his honor begins on the third month of the fourteenth day without one minute at two o'clock in the afternoon. Reasonable Chaos, which is written in numbers ...

Nonsense, one word.

The clock on the screen saver showed exactly one hour and fifty-nine minutes when there was a knock on the door. “Without delay,” said Odintsov, who appreciated punctuality, with satisfaction, and got up from the table. The meeting was scheduled for two.

Two men entered the office - one younger and taller, athletic, the other older and more resilient, with spaniel eyes. Both had a small black kippah attached to their hair on the crown of their heads with a hairpin.

– Shalom! Nice to meet you, gentleman. I am ... Odintsov began, demonstrating quite decent English, but the stocky man interrupted him with a polite smile:

- Hello, we speak Russian.

In the Mikhailovsky Castle, preparations were made for a representative international conference. The level of the participants assumed armed guards. Israeli colleagues came to Odintsov to settle the formalities.

The elder spoke and acted, the partner silently handed him the papers. The usual procedure. Only when Odintsov was about to sign the documents, the young man asked to use their pen with special ink.

“You understand,” he said apologetically.

Odintsov understood.

“The enemies are on the alert, and we are trying to keep up,” the senior Israeli added. - They always come up with something, and so do we. Security is sacred.

The young man obtained a leather pencil case from the attaché case and handed it to the elder. He opened the lid and put the pencil case on the table. Odintsov took out a massive vintage pen with a gold nib and turned it over with pleasure in his fingers.

- A solid thing, - he appreciated, signed several times where he was indicated, and returned the pen to the pencil case.

After seeing off the guests, Odintsov glanced at his watch again - the time had come! - and dialed the mobile number. “The subscriber is unavailable or out of the network coverage area,” the indifferent mechanical lady told him. Several more calls gave the same result.

“Varaksa,” Odintsov said reproachfully, looking at the receiver, “have you decided now not to work at all?

Varaksa was an old friend of Odintsov's, a keen fisherman and, in addition, a successful owner of a network of car service stations with a laconic name consisting of only two digits - 47. A couple of days ago, Varaksa went to Ladoga for smelt. And in the head workshop of the "47" chain, they repaired Odintsov's car, which had caught an open hatch on a snow-covered street with a wheel.

Either the reproach worked, or the cunning Varaksa still received notifications of calls, but soon Odintsov received a call from the station with the good news: the car is ready, you can pick it up.

I didn't want to crawl through traffic jams in the evening, and Odintsov decided to go to the workshop right now. After all, is he the boss or not the boss ?! The main things are done, the service is working ... Odintsov gave some orders, put the suit back on the hanger, pulled on his jeans again, put his feet into high boots with thick ribbed soles - and hastened to leave.

From the untidy, whitish sky, the usual for Petersburg March cocktail was pouring: either snow and rain, or rain and snow. Odintsov had to take a brush out of the trunk and clean the car: during the repair he borrowed a Volvo SUV from the compassionate Varaksa. He was ironing now the icy shores of Ladoga on a mighty "Land Rover", over which they thoroughly conjured up in the workshop "47".

Odintsov was finishing waving the brush when he saw Munin. The awkward stooped guy slowly wandered from the castle in his direction. He pressed to his stomach a cloth bag that hung over his shoulder on a long belt, carefully looked at his feet - and still slipped.

- Hello science! - shouted Odintsov.

Munin lifted the edge of his hood with chilled fingers. Wet snow immediately covered the glass of his large glasses.