Authors: Jon Steele
Harper flashed the sextant from the cavern.
“Could he be using the sea?”
“No, he's measuring to the quintillionth of seconds, attoseconds. That's the time it takes for light to travel the length of three hydrogen atoms. I mean, an attosecond is to a second what a second is to nearly thirty-two billion years. That's why he's using Blue Brain to make the calculations. No, it can't be the sea. He needs a perfectly still horizon, not even a flat geographical plain would work. He needs an artificial horizon, probably a laser. Gads, that's it! He's feeding coordinates into Blue Brain, and Blue Brain is running with it! Blue Brain can see it! I'm telling you, it's one great bugger of a clock! Gads, this is the most remarkable thing I've ever seen. It's brilliant!”
Harper looked at Inspector Gobet and the judge, reading that the two of them already knew the score. They were testing Dr. Mates, seeing if an ordinary man could imagine it.
“So, Doc,” Harper said.
“Yes?”
“What time is it?”
“Pardon me?”
“You said it's a clock. What time is it?”
“I don't know.”
“Why not?”
Dr. Mates pulled at his hair, trying to reattach his own brain back to Earth.
“Look, imagine the grandfather clock again. Seconds, minutes, hours running around a clock face. Three independent elements circling above a common plane that mean absolutely nothing in and of themselves without a common zero point that makes it possible to
tell
the time.”
“Which is what?”
“Both hands straight up. Twelve o'clock high.”
“So what's their twelve o'clock high? The hackers, I mean.”
“A star, most probably.”
“Which star?”
“If he's doing it by the naked eye, then it could be any one of six thousand stars. If he's using a radio telescope, then it could be . . . any one of three billion . . . times a hundred billion. It's just . . . impossible.”
The man's voice fizzled away to a place of disbelief.
That's it,
Harper thought,
Leo the Astrophysicist has reached the outer limit of his imagination.
Harper glanced back over his shoulder, saw the inspector chatting discreetly with the judge. Harper knew what was coming. He turned to Dr. Mates, spoke softly, and with a touch of kindness.
“That's a lot of stars, Doc.”
Dr. Mates responded to the tone, laughed a little.
“Tell me about it. I just wish I knew how he was doing it. What tool he was using to make his initial calculations.”
“What do you mean?”
“It can't be one of the radio telescopes or observation telescopes, I'd know about it. I know what any one of those is doing any day of the week.”
Harper looked into the sky, too. There were only a handful of stars visible over Paris now.
“He's using a sextant.”
Dr. Mate's eyes went from disbelief to childlike joy.
“Holy fucking . . . amazing . . . of course. But how do you know?”
“I've seen it.”
The man was giddy. “No way, you've seen it, really?”
“Yes.”
“Well . . . what kind of sextant is it?”
“An old one.”
“How old?”
“Not sure, really. Only got a glimpse of it. Five thousand years; older, maybe. However bloody old it is, it was made to be used tonight.”
Dr. Mates appeared dazed as the truth dropped into his head.
“My God, someone knew this would happen tonight. Someone thousands and thousands of years ago knew this would happen. That's . . . that's . . .” The doctor was finding it increasingly difficult to express himself.
“Impossible?” Harper said.
“Well, it is. Isn't it?”
Harper shrugged. A few hours ago, he was in a cavern deep beneath Paris, talking to a dead man who kept saying the same bloody word:
impossible, impossible
. Now, on a rooftop above the Left Bank, he was hearing the same word.
Not much difference between the living and the dead when exposed to a world they were never meant to be aware of,
Harper thought.
“I tell you what's impossible, Doc: a comet appearing out of thin air and hovering in the sky at a magnitude of negative seven-point-five as part of an intergalactic alarm clock.”
Dr. Mates's mind was ready to explode and he laughed, slipping from his very Oxford tones into a native northerner's twang.
“Fookin' 'ell, I'm a bleedin' scientist, you know? But I tell you, I feel like I've been let in on some wonderful cosmic secret tonight. It changes . . .”
Harper gave the man a second.
“Changes what, Doc?”
Dr. Mates looked at Harper.
“Everything.”
Harper looked down, saw a formidable shadow moving over the roof. The cop in the cashmere coat was coming their way. Harper smiled at Dr. Mates.
“Glad you enjoyed it, Doc. Too bad you won't remember it.”
“Why not?”
Inspector Gobet stepped quickly between them and locked on to the man's eyes.
“Doctor, I'm afraid you must excuse Mr. Harper. He's had a rather distressing evening, as you can see. Hit by a tour bus on the Champs-Elysées this very evening. Sort of thing that happens when one doesn't bother to look both ways.”
“An accident?”
“Yes, most upsetting to even hear about it, I agree,” the inspector said, pointing to the stairs. “Shall we go down to the library, Doctor? I think a cup of tea would help calm the excitement of the evening.”
“Tea?”
“Quite. I have some rather soothing herbal blends. Never leave home without them. I think you'll find one in particular most relaxing. Mixed with a bit of Japanese hand-rolled Sencha from a small plantation I know very well. Near Wazuka in the Kyoto Prefecture. Do you know it?”
“Japan?”
“Indeed. Lovely part of the world, I think. This way if you please, Dr. Mates.”
Mutt and Jeff moved in on either side of Leo the Astrophysicist, practically lifting him off his feet and edging him to the door. He tried to protest.
“But . . . but there's so much to know yet! The hacker's not finished with building his clock!”
The inspector laughed politely.
“Yes, well, you know how it is with time, it goes on and on. Besides, I'd be very interested in hearing that theory of yours again.”
“My theory?”
“Yes, regarding this evening's event being no more than a rogue piece of Giacobini-Zinner that burned up upon entry into Earth's atmosphere, thereby accounting for this evening's rather spectacular celestial vision.”
“But I never said that.”
“No? Why, I could swear you did. Well, you know how it is with policemen. Always needing to hear things again and again to get the facts through the thickest of skulls. I'm sure we can sort it all out with a nice cup of tea. This way, if you please.”
Harper watched them disappear down the stairs. A couple cuppas from now, the man would be singing the inspector's tune and believing every word of it. So much so that Harper imagined tomorrow evening's lecture at l'Académie des sciences, where Dr. Mates would amend his prepared remarks regarding the oceans of planet Earth being formed by a bombardment of frozen water comets 4.5 billion years ago, to include his considered opinion on the previous night's celestial event (which he personally viewed whilst strolling along the Left Bank), and thereby set the record straight for mankind.
“Ab uno disce omnes,”
Harper mumbled.
It was quiet on the roof, the din of Paris still hushed in the wake of the celestial visitor. Inspector Gobet's computer geeks kept working at their Crypto laptops, numbers and equations now dripping down the monitors like rain. Off to the side was the judge, puffing on his pipe, staring at Harper. The three tramps spread around him in a protective arc, doing their own bit of staring. Clarity required. Harper looked back over his shoulder to Sergeant Gauer, held up his bandaged hands.
“Don't suppose you could get me a fag? They're in a cigarette case in the right pocket of my overcoat.”
Sergeant Gauer found the case in the left pocket. He pulled a cigarette, set it between Harper's lips. Unlike the inspector, Sergeant Gauer actually had to strike a match and hold the flame to the tip of Harper's cigarette. Harper sucked in the smoke. As always, relief was just a drag away.
“Anything else, Mr. Harper? Need me to help you take a piss or anything?”
“Clever lip for a Swiss cop.”
“
Merci
, but just so you know, if it comes to it, you'll be pissing your trousers.”
Harper raised his left hand. His fingers poked through the bandages. He pulled the cigarette from his lips with his fingertips.
“I'll manage.”
“Bon.”
“I'll be back.”
“Where are you going?”
Harper nodded toward the judge. “For a walk.”
“Is that a good idea, without the inspector being present?”
“No worries, I'll take the scenic route. Besides, knowing Inspector Gobet, this is the way he had it planned.”
He walked over to the computer geeks, stood behind them. They sensed his presence but didn't turn to look at him.
“Was he right?” Harper said.
“Who?” the geek on the left said.
“Dr. Mates. Was he right about Blue Brain and the clock?”
“Yes, but he was trying to explain it to you in very basic terms. It's quite complex, actually,” the geek on the right said.
“How so?”
“That depends.”
“On what?”
The geek on the right looked at Harper.
“How much do you know about Minkowski's space-time theory?”
“Unless it's been on the History Channel, not a bloody thing.”
The geeks looked at each other, then back to their Crypto Terminals. The one on the left said, “In that case, sir, find a chair and sit down. We can spend the next fifty years explaining it to you.”
Nothing quite like a put-down at the hands of the very creatures you were sent to protect two and a half million years ago,
Harper thought. Then again, with some of them knowing space and time were the same bloody thing, they were learning fast.
“Cheers.”
He turned around, walked toward the judge. The tramps straightened up seeing Harper coming.
“At ease, lads. Just coming over for a chat.”
He stopped before the judge, took a hit off his cigarette. Did his best imitation of the head-swallowing smoke trick.
“Mind if I ask a few questions?”
The judge prayerfully bowed his head a little. Or maybe Harper was imagining it. Hard to tell. The whole disciple thing was rather new.
“Bien sûr, monsieur,”
the judge said.
“First. I take it the crime scene in the cavern was run by you to put pressure on Astruc, forcing him to make a move; seeing as you seem to run things at Brigade Criminelle.”
The judge's silence meant yes.
“So you moved the bodies of the fallen to safety, to Base Aérienne 442. Same place you stashed the bomb from the Paris job, so you could send a dud to the generals, yeah? But nobody knew the truth, but for you and your gang.”
Yes again.
“When are you putting the bodies back?”
“As soon as we remove the body of Gilles Lambert for burial.”
“No. Leave him down there.”
“Pardon?”
“If I am who you think I am, that'd mean you still take your orders from me, regardless of what form I'm in just now, right?”
The judge bowed his head.
“Oui, Monsieur de Saintâ”
“Stop right there, gov. I already have one dead man running loose in my head, I don't need another one. Call me Harper.”
“
D'accord, Monsieur Harper.
As you wish.”
He looked at the judge and his attending bums.
“Right then, here's the drill. I want you to lay Lambert in one of the coves, his hands across his chest. And I'd like you to leave a sanctuary candle burning in the cavern. Be a bitch of a job going down there every week to light a new one, but that's the way I want it.”
The tramps fidgeted.
“I know he's dead, lads,” Harper said. “I'm just not sure about the state of his soul. I'll sort it after I sort whatever the hell's going on just now. Also, somewhere down there you'll find a pocket knife, a Laguiole. I want you to carve his name into the stone above his cove, leave the knife next to his right hand. Like I said, sorry about the fuck-about factor in getting it done.”
The judge cleared his throat.
“In fact, Monsieur Harper, there is a secret ladder from the surface to very near the passage leading to the cavern. Because of the damage caused by Father Astruc's explosives, we were unable to use it in rescuing you. But it will be repaired very soon.”
“A ladder. You're kidding me.”
“
Non.
It begins in l'Ãglise de Saint-Germain-des-Prés.”
Harper flashed his tour through the church.
“Let me guess. In Chapelle Saint-Benoît, behind Descartes's tomb.”
The judge smiled.
“Actually in the priest's compartment of the confessional. May I ask, Monsieur Harper, why would you honor Gilles Lambert this way?”
“Because he bloody well deserves it.”
The judge did a slight bow again. “Thy will be done.”
Giving orders to disciples. Interesting concept,
Harper thought. He nodded to the sky.
“Right, the comet, tonight. By chance, way back when, did I happen to mention what all this was supposed to mean, if and when it happened?”
“You said, âBy this sign you will know that the time of the prophecy is at hand.'”
“The time of the prophecy? I said those exact words?”
“Those were your exact words.”
Harper thought about it.