Instead, he found a graceful city at the juncture of two rivers, the Sava and the Danube. There was snow on the ground, but the fresh green of spring adorned the trees. The cabdriver apologized for the weather.
“Freak weather, this spring. Very cold. Now I am asking, where is global warming when you need it?”
The riverfront was lined with floating bars and restaurants, the populace seemed well dressed and prosperous, the streets were clean. The taxi chuffed past graceful and beautiful buildings from another era.
And then there was the Esplanade.
Boxy and utilitarian, the hotel was a concrete cube entirely devoid of architectural flourish or embellishment. As without, so within: Burke’s room was a clean cell, redolent of some Serbian PineSol.
Why did d’Anconia decide to stay at this place? According to Kovalenko he had three or four million dollars coming in. You’d think he’d be ready to splurge.
Or maybe not. He hadn’t seemed like someone who was used to having money. He dressed well, but the clothes looked new, and Burke got the impression that he was playing a role. He was definitely rough around the edges, staring at Burke’s ruined ear and commenting on it. So maybe he was used to places like this.
The front desk was manned by Vuk Milic, a man of about Burke’s own age. With his suit, tie, oiled hair, and earnest expression, Milic was someone Burke might have encountered at the desk of a Comfort Inn outside D.C. His English was good, if accented.
When he was talking about room rates and checkout times, Milic was fluent and almost chatty. When the conversation turned to one of the hotel’s previous guests, a man named d’Anconia, Milic frowned. “The particulars of guests cannot be discussed,” he said, tapping his fingers on the desk. “This is not a possibility.”
Burke folded a twenty-euro note and slid it across the desk so that it came to rest in front of the desk clerk. Milic regarded the bill with a cold eye. “You would like me to change this?”
Burke shook his head. “No,” he said, “I don’t need any change.”
The bill vanished.
Milic began to type. After a moment, he flashed a smile, and said, “Gaspodin d’Anconia has been here from twenty-four January to second February.”
“‘Gaspodin’?” Burke asked.
“‘Mister.’” Milic returned his eyes to the monitor. “He rents two films for TV: La Genou de Claire, and Sorority Whores.”
“Hunh…”
The desk clerk was unstoppable. “Three times, he eats in restaurant, each time fish. Makes two telephone calls, long distance. One-two-three, five times he has drinks in bar. Always beer.
Burke stared, dumbfounded. What if he’d given the guy a hundred? Admittedly, none of the information was useful, but… “Who’d he call?”
Milic peered closely at the monitor. After a moment, he scribbled some numbers onto a three-by-five card, and handed the card to Burke.
“That’s it,” Milic said. “There’s nothing else.”
Burke believed him. He turned to go, then turned back again. “You know why he was in Belgrade? I mean, was he on business or-”
“He is here for Tesla,” Milic told him.
Burke frowned. “What’s Tesla?” He seemed to recall, there was a rock band, but…
The desk clerk was looking almost hurt. “Nikola Tesla,” he said. “The inventor. He is Serb.”
Jackpot, Burke thought. “So he was meeting this inventor?”
Milic snorted in derision, and shook his head. “No, I don’t think so. Tesla is dead, maybe fifty years.”
“Oh,” Burke said, the enthusiasm draining from his voice.
“Your friend-”
Burke started to correct him, but thought better of it.
“-he’s here for meetings. I don’t know the word in English. But many people come…”
“So, it’s like a symposium,” Burke suggested.
The desk clerk shrugged. Then he cocked his head and peered at Burke. “You don’t know Tesla?”
Burke looked apologetic. “I forgot,” he offered.
Milic couldn’t believe it. “But this is the most famous Serb of all time! He is more famous than-” he looked up, as if searching the ceiling for the names of celebrated Serbs. Finally, he grinned. “More famous than Vlade Divac!”
“Really!”
“Yes! Is true. He’s inventing electricity!”
“I thought that was Edison,” Burke suggested.
The desk clerk scoffed. “This is what you Americans say. But Tesla, he invents one kind of electricity, Edison invents the other, not-so-good kind. Then, Tesla is inventing many, many things. Twentieth century! This is his invention.”
Burke laughed.
The desk clerk scowled. “Your friend, he knows about Tesla.”
“Does he?” Burke asked.
“Yes, he gives speech! At the symphony.”
Burke didn’t know what he meant. Then he understood. “Symposium.”
“Yes! First, he studies at the Institute-”
“What institute?”
“Am I talking to wall?” Milic demanded, as if Burke were a student with attention deficit disorder. “Tesla Institute! After this, he goes to symphony, and gives speech!”
They were interrupted. First one guest, then another, came to request their keys. No card keys here. These were in the old European style, big keys attached to metal eggs so heavy that only the rare guest would be tempted to take his key along.
“So this symposium,” Burke asked. “Where was it?”
But the spell was broken. Either the twenty euros had been used up, or Milic had decided that he’d said enough. He averted his eyes and began stacking some papers into a little pile. “More, I don’t know,” he said. “Maybe in the cafe, someone knows.” He shrugged. “Also there is the possibility of Ivo.”
“What’s Ivo?”
“Doorman. He is back tomorrow.”
The bar was empty except for two women perched on stools at a tall table. A girl with spiky hair and bad skin stood behind the counter, rinsing glasses. She did not remember anyone named d’Anconia or, for that matter, an American by any other name. “I’m here in the day,” she told Burke. “Tooti, she’s coming at seven. You could try her.”
Burke said he would, then asked if there was an Internet cafe in the neighborhood.
She lit a cigarette and gave him directions.
The Web was fantastic. He’d arrived at the Sava Cafe with nothing more than a name. And now, barely an hour later, he knew enough about Nikola Tesla – thanks to Google and the Wikipedia – to pass a third-grade Serbian science class.
A Serb born in Croatia, Tesla was a prodigious inventor, responsible (as the desk clerk had claimed) for alternating current, the Tesla coil, and scores of other devices. His patents numbered in the hundreds, and he was obviously something of a cult figure – and not just in Serbia. Tesla enthusiasts considered it a travesty that he had not been awarded the Nobel Prize, calling him “the Leonardo of the twentieth century.”
After moving to the United States and working with Edison, Tesla became a rival to the American when he invented and championed alternating current, rather than the direct current that Edison favored. With the backing of the Westinghouse Corporation, Edison mounted a propaganda campaign to make alternating current appear dangerous. Dogs and cats, and even an elephant, were electrocuted onstage to make the point, while Edison asked men in the audience if they wanted their wives to risk their lives every time they plugged in the iron.
Edison’s argument was false. Not only was Tesla’s alternating current safer than Edison’s direct current, it was more efficient and easier to deliver. Eventually, and with the backing of J. P. Morgan, the nineteenth century’s quintessential robber baron, Tesla’s technology won out.
It was the Serb who lit up the towns around Niagara Falls, and who won the contract to illuminate the “White City” at the Chicago World’s Fair.