The God Particle (15 page)

Inspector Gervaux smoothed the red leather cover with the
tips of his fingers, coming to rest on the indentation in the bottom right hand
corner, where the initials had been embossed. ‘Where did you get this?’

‘I… I’d rather not say.’

‘Of course, you have the right to remain silent,’ the
inspector replied. ‘But, at this stage in our enquiries, it could be an
indication of your involvement.’

Tom could see the logic in that and didn’t think it would be
detrimental to his position to tell them who’d given it to him. ‘Ajay gave it
to me. He found it in Professor Morantz’s room, when he discovered his body.’

‘So he stole it,’ the Rottweiler barked.

‘He took it for safekeeping.’

‘Safekeeping from whom?’ Sergeant Lavelle had found his
voice and his bone and he wasn’t about to let it go.

‘I don’t know,’ replied Tom. ‘You’d have to ask him.’

‘Why did he give it to you?’

‘Because he trusts me.’

‘Why didn’t he hand it in to the police?’

‘You’ll have to ask him that.’

‘What did he expect you to do with it?’

‘The right thing, I assume.’

‘What is the right thing?’ The man was relentless.

‘I don’t know,’ Tom said truthfully.

Inspector Gervaux had been scanning the pages whilst his
colleague practised his interviewing technique.

‘Professor,’ he said, ‘do you know what these figures
represent?’

‘Yes,’ Tom said abjectly. He knew when he’d been beaten. He
rested his chin on his chest and stared at his hands spread out on the table.
‘They’re output readings from the Collider showing the levels of
electromagnetic radiation.’

‘And the notes scribbled in the margins?’

‘They indicate the dates and locations of earthquakes which
occurred when the Collider was operating at maximum capacity.’

Inspector Gervaux closed the file and set it down on the
table in front of him. ‘Interview terminated at nineteen thirty,’ he shouted up
to the CCTV cameras. ‘We really must get a more voice-sensitive system,’ he
said turning to Sergeant Lavelle.

‘So, what happens now?’ Tom raised his head and met the
inspector’s gaze.

‘You’re free to go. But I must insist that you don’t leave
the country until we have concluded our enquiries.’

‘But what about the earthquakes? Don’t you understand the
implications of the figures in that file? The Collider is responsible for
causing them!’ Tom was beside himself. It wasn’t the reaction from the
authorities he’d anticipated.

‘It’s an interesting conspiracy theory,’ replied the inspector.
‘One that I may have taken a little more seriously if it hadn’t been for
today’s events.’

‘I don’t understand?’ Tom said, shaking his head.

‘The earthquake that hit San Francisco, earlier today.
Reports indicate that it measured 11.3 on the Richter scale, the largest in
recorded history. Are you saying the Collider is responsible for that as well?’
The inspector gave Tom a second to answer, but he just sat there, dumfounded,
shocked by the news he had just been given. The inspector continued. ‘Perhaps
it’s also responsible for global warming, or the alien landing at Roswell, or
even J F Kennedy’s shooting?’ Sergeant Lavelle sniggered at his boss’s attempt
at humour. ‘I’m not a big fan of these types of hoaxes, Professor, and if I
find that you’re involved in instigating one, I’ll have you arrested for
wasting police time.’

Inspector Gervaux began shuffling papers back into his
folder.

‘My priority,’ he continued, ‘is to apprehend the person or
persons responsible for planting the device that killed the two maintenance
technicians. Now, at the moment, my number one suspect is missing. I’m
uncertain what your involvement is, at this time, but if the lab results
indicate a connection with the chemical found in your apartment and the
explosion, then you will be charged. In the meantime, if you do hear from Anjit
at all, it would be in your best interest to let us know immediately. Now, if
you don’t mind making your own way back to the facility, it will give us an
opportunity to continue our investigations. Good evening, Professor.’

Tom picked up his bag and the folder from the table and left
the interview room, dazed and confused.

It had taken Tom fifteen minutes to pick up a taxi outside
the police station. Several had passed him by, even though they had their
lights on to indicate they were available. His lack of attire in such a heavy
snowstorm, coupled with the fact that he was surrounded by drunks and
reprobates, must have sent out the wrong signals. Eventually, he managed to
slip into the back of a cab that had been dropping somebody off at the station.

‘Where to?’ the driver shouted into his rear-view mirror as
he viewed Tom suspiciously. He was of oriental origin and wore brown trousers,
a beige tie and a navy blue body warmer over a khaki shirt.

Tom didn’t know whether to reply to the back of the man’s
head or the dark brown hooded eyes peering at him through the mirror. He chose
the latter.

‘CERN, please.’

He hoped the taxi driver wasn’t the chatty type so he could
brood on the outcome of what had just taken place. He wasn’t in luck.

‘Terrible news about the earthquake. Where you from?’ He had
obviously picked up from Tom’s accent that he wasn’t a local, a skill all taxi
drivers must acquire as part of their training. The man’s shoulders relaxed,
his concerns about being attacked by some crazed psychopath who had just
escaped from the police station abated.

‘America.’

‘Where ’bouts in America?’

‘Boston.’

‘You been San Francisco?’

‘Once.’

‘At least you seen it. Nothing left now. Bridge gone, cable
cars gone, skyscrapers gone, even Alcatraz gone, and that was one sturdy
prison.’ The man’s eyes spent more time looking at Tom through the mirror than
they did on the road, which made Tom nervous. ‘I have a cousin in China Town,
in the city, but my mum’s sister hasn’t heard from her, since the earthquake.’

‘Were there many casualties?’ Tom’s ruse of supplying single
word answers, to deter him from asking any more questions, obviously wasn’t
working, so he decided to give up and join in the conversation.

‘Millions,’ the driver said enthusiastically.

Tom knew the total population of the city was less than one
million, but he wasn’t going to correct him.

‘First Turkey, then America,’ continued the driver. ‘Where
next?’

The same question had crossed Tom’s mind when he’d been told
about the quake in the interview room.
There had to be a
connection
somehow.

‘Did the news reports give any indication of what caused the
quake?’ he asked.

‘Yeh, bloody big fault – Saint Andrews.’

‘San Andreas?’ He couldn’t let that one slip.

‘Yeh, that’s what I said, Saint Andrews. Apparently, it was
long overdue. Why do they build cities if they know there’s going to be an
earthquake? Don’t make sense.’

He has a point,
Tom thought. ‘Because it’s human
nature to think that it will never happen to them,’ he replied.

Driving conditions were visibly deteriorating. They passed
several lorries spreading grit on the roads, but they were fighting a losing
battle. The taxi’s windscreen wipers were having difficulty clearing the snow
from the screen and visibility was down to less than a hundred metres. None of
this seemed to bother the cabbie, who was in full flow, espousing the probable
causes of the disaster.

‘I blame scientists, myself,’ he went on. ‘They always
meddling with nature – genetically modified crops, global warming. We don’t
know half of what they get up to.’

Tom moved in his seat to escape the man’s eyes reflected in
the mirror. He hoped it wouldn’t take too much longer before they arrived at
the facility.

‘What you do at CERN?’ the driver asked cautiously,
suspecting that he may have put his foot in it.

‘Er… I’m the Catering Manager,’ Tom lied to save the other
man’s embarrassment.

‘Phew! I thought for a minute you were going to say a
scientist.’ He laughed nervously. ‘Anyways, as I was saying…’

The driver was quite content to listen to the sound of his
own voice, so Tom switched off and watched, out of his window, as the residents
of Geneva trying to cope with the blizzard. Most people had taken the sensible
approach of staying indoors. There were hardly any pedestrians on the streets.
The ones that had braved the elements, through necessity rather than choice,
had their full winter garb on – woolly hats, gloves, scarves, overcoats and
boots. Tom looked down at his own clothes – jumper, trousers and brogues. He
wouldn’t be venturing out anywhere in this weather.

They finally arrived at the main entrance of the facility
and stopped at the barrier. The man in the security hut slid back the window
and shone a torch into the back of the taxi. Tom had seen him around the
complex but didn’t know him by name. He wound down his window and handed his ID
card over.

‘Have a good evening, Professor Halligan,’ the guard said,
handing it back and pressing the button to raise the barrier.

The driver caught sight of Tom’s sheepish expression in the
mirror. ‘What you Professor of then? Soup?’ he said chuckling to himself.

Tom sunk lower in his seat.

They pulled up outside the accommodation block where Tom got
out. He fished in his wallet and handed several notes over; he felt obliged to
give the cabbie an extraordinarily generous tip to ease his own conscience. The
driver thanked him profusely and set off back the way he had come, with a big
smile on his face, leaving Tom standing ankle-deep in the snow, a few Euros
lighter.
The price you pay for dishonesty,
he thought to himself. He
shrugged it off and made his way to Serena’s apartment.

‘Where’ve you been? I was getting worried about you,’ Serena
said, standing back from the door to let Tom in.

‘It’s nice to know you care,’ he replied, kissing her on the
cheek as he brushed past her. ‘I’ve been down at the police station helping Inspector
Gervaux with his enquiries.’

‘Did they arrest you?’

‘No – well, not yet, at least. Did you see the news about
the San Francisco earthquake?’

‘Yes, I’ve just switched it off. It’s very disturbing. So,
tell me what happened.’

It took Tom over an hour to recount the details of his brush
with the law, aided by an ample supply of malt whisky courtesy of his hostess.

‘Have you had anything to eat?’ she asked, filling his glass
for the third time.

‘Not since this morning.’ The effects of the alcohol on his
empty stomach expedited his tipsiness. ‘Are you trying to get me drunk, Miss
Mayer?’

‘No,’ she said putting the bottle on the table. ‘But I think
you should eat something.’ His vulnerability was bringing out her maternal
instincts.

‘Well, I’m not exactly dressed for going out,’ he replied.
‘And, with the state of the roads, you can forget about pizza deliveries.’

‘I’m sure I can rustle something up for you,’ she said,
leaving him on the couch and going into the kitchen.

The layout of the apartment was the mirror opposite of his,
but it was what she’d done with the furniture that made it look more spacious.
The large orange sofa, which she had covered with a rust-coloured faux fur
throw, had been pushed up against the wall, leaving space in the middle of the
room for a round shag-pile chocolate-brown rug. A large parlour palm sat on the
small imitation wood table, which had also been concealed by a throw, but this
one was covered with geometric patterns of African origin. The unit housing the
TV was in the same position but, as well as the appliances, it housed
photographs and ornaments. She had managed to find a painting, the hues of
which complemented the colour scheme of the apartment perfectly. A large
picture of a sunset over the Serengeti, featuring the silhouette of a solitary
elephant, hung on the wall above the sofa.

‘I like what you’ve done to the place,’ Tom shouted into the
kitchen.

‘Thanks. Is there anything you can’t or won’t eat?’ Tom
could hear her rummaging through cupboards.

‘I’ll eat pretty much anything, as long as it’s not moving.’
He thought back to the dinner he’d had with Frederick and shuddered at the
thought of the lobster.

He got up, taking his whisky with him, and stood in the
doorway of the kitchen. She was wearing a pair of pink cut-off jeans and a
simple vest T-shirt. She would have looked good in a bin liner, he thought, as
he watched her from afar. He’d learnt from bitter experience not to cross the
threshold into a woman’s domain when she was preparing a meal. That occasion had
ended in a huge row, with him taking the blame for the burnt offering that was
presented on the table. Words like
interfering
and
distracting
came
to mind. He had to admit to himself, that he had been partially responsible;
after all, it was he who made the first move that culminated in them making
love on the kitchen work surface.

‘How does chicken foo yung grab you?’ she said taking a
half-eaten roast chicken out of the fridge.

‘I can’t wait. What is it?’

‘Mashed-up chicken, mushroom and onion omelette.’

‘Since you put it so eloquently, it sounds very appetising.
My taste buds are already tingling.’

‘Okay, you take the meat off the carcass and I’ll prepare
the other ingredients.’

‘What, eggs, mushrooms and onions?’

‘There’s an art to chopping onions, I’ll have you know,’ she
said scornfully.

They worked side by side, him hacking the meat off the bones
with a knife, and she wiping the tears away as she sliced the onion.

‘So the police didn’t believe there was a connection between
the earthquakes and the Collider?’ she managed to say between sniffs.

‘No, they thought I was a crank – or, at the very least, a
fool for taking the figures seriously.’

‘But I verified those figures and they did coincide.’

‘I know, but how do you explain the San Francisco earthquake?’

‘Perhaps it’s a coincidence? Maybe it was going to happen
anyway? It’s about sixty years overdue, according to seismologists.’ She blew
her nose on some kitchen roll.

‘Hell of a coincidence, wouldn’t you say?’

‘What if it was due to happen and the Istanbul quake somehow
triggered it off?’ Serena put the eggs, mushrooms, onions and seasoning into a
wok, which was heating on the cooker. ‘Looks like you’ve massacred it,’ she
said, scooping the morsels of meat up with two hands and adding them to the
pan.

‘That would make more sense. But how could we prove it?’ he
continued, ignoring her last comment.

‘Isn’t there anybody we could ask as to whether it’s at
least a feasible hypothesis?’

‘The only person I know that has any understanding of
earthquakes is Ajay,’ said Tom, washing the smell of poultry off his hands.
‘And he’s gone AWOL. But even if he was here, I wouldn’t think he’s got the
in-depth knowledge required to make a judgement.’

‘Frederick?’

‘I’ll ask him in the morning.’

‘What about the chemical they say they found in your
apartment?’

‘I’m hoping it’s something innocuous, like cleaning fluid,’
Tom said trying to draw a close on the topic. He’d just about had enough of
earthquakes and conspiracy theories for one day. ‘Now, if my services are no
longer required, I will take my leave and await your delectable supper in the
lounge area.’ He picked up his whisky and headed out of the kitchen.

‘Yes, Your Majesty,’ she curtsied as he passed her by.

It took her less than ten minutes to follow him into the
lounge with two hot steaming plates. Tom hadn’t realised how hungry he was
until he’d smelt the onions cooking. Now he was ravenous.

‘I’m afraid His Highness will have to make do with one’s lap
on account we ain’t got a table.’ Serena put on her best British accent, which
was reminiscent of Eliza Doolittle in
My Fair Lady
.

‘Atrocious! I didn’t realise how sparsely the other half
lived,’ he responded, lording it up.

‘Could you ever forgive a poor peasant girl?’ She sat next
to him, fluttering her eyelashes.

‘That depends on the fayre, wench.’ He took a mouthful of
the food. It was delicious. ‘Uh, mmmm.’

‘Is it to Sire’s satisfaction?’

‘If this is anything to go by, I’ll promote you to head
scullery maid.’

‘Gee, thanks,’ she said sarcastically.

They finished their meals, managing to avoid all mention of
the disasters that had taken place over the past couple of days, although it
was never far from Tom’s mind. Serena dutifully cleared the plates into the
kitchen, whilst Tom scoured her CD collection.

‘You certainly have an eclectic taste in music,’ he said
when she rejoined him in the room. Her catalogue ranged from eighties pop to
classical, with a selection of everything in between. ‘Aren’t you a bit young
for Kajagoogoo?’ he asked, holding up their 1983 debut album.

‘That’s what happens when you have two older brothers!’ She
made her way back to the couch and sat with her legs tucked underneath her.

‘Funny, I’d have put you down as an only child,’ he replied,
putting on a smooth jazz compilation.

‘Why, because I’m spoilt?’ she pouted.

‘Definitely!’ He made himself comfortable beside her.

‘I’ll have you know, when I was growing up my mother used to
tell people that she’d had three sons because I’d always prefer to play boys’
games.’

‘You, a Tomboy? Now that really is stretching the
imagination.’

‘It’s true! I didn’t even own a dress until I got to
America.’

Tom noticed a flash of sadness cross her eyes. ‘Did you miss
Israel much?’ he asked, his voice serious.

‘At first. I had to leave all my friends behind in Haifa. As
a young teenager, I found that very difficult. We didn’t have access to the
mobile phone technology the kids use today. I couldn’t just text them, and
Skype wasn’t even invented, so it was hard to keep in touch. Eventually, I made
new friends and lost contact altogether.’

‘Why did you move to America?’

She told him how their father had returned home one evening,
tears running down his face, his hands and clothes covered in blood. After he’d
showered, changed and composed himself, he’d sat them all down at the kitchen
table and explained how he’d been on his way home from work, when there’d been
an explosion on a bus on the opposite side of the road. He’d parked up and made
his way across the debris-strewn carriageway with several other motorists who
had stopped. They were first on the scene and were confronted with the
aftermath of a suicide bomb. As they fought their way through the twisted metal
and shattered glass at the front of the bus, it was evident that the passengers
towards the rear, where the terrorist had detonated the device, hadn’t
survived.

Selena described how her father had broken down as he
described how he’d helped to get the injured off the bus and comfort those
passengers still trapped in the wreckage, until the emergency services arrived.
He hadn’t gone into too much detail, but it was evident from his face that he’d
seen a lot more than he was telling them. It wasn’t until the next day that the
final death toll of fifteen was reported by the papers.

Serena’s own tears began to fall when she described how
she’d gone to school expecting to see her best friend, Ellie, waiting for her
at the entrance, as they did for each other every morning. She’d hung around
for her as long as possible, hoping she was just running late, before having to
go into assembly. It was there that the school was informed by the headmaster
that Ellie, along with another three pupils, had died in the explosion.

Serena’s father had then decided to safeguard his family by
moving to America to join his brother.

Tom put his arm around her to comfort her and she buried her
face deep into his chest. He could feel the violent sobs rack her body as he
held her tightly. Tom suspected that she wasn’t just grieving for a long lost
friend; the tension that had built up over the past couple of days was being
released. He stroked her hair, which seemed to soothe her, as the convulsions
soon subsided.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said looking up at him, her eyes brimming
with unshed tears.

‘I didn’t realise my choice of music would have such a
profound effect,’ he replied, smiling.

She managed a laugh, but her eyes never left his. He bent
his head to kiss her and she met him half way. Their lips touched, tenderly at
first, and then with more eagerness. She reached up and gently caressed his
cheek with the tips of her fingers. He moved his body around so he could kiss
her shoulders, pulling the thin straps of her vest down over her arms. She let
out a moan as his lips brushed the nape of her neck. She turned towards him,
her hands finding the buttons on his shirt and deftly undid them, one by one.

He broke away from their embrace, pulling her down onto the
rug. Tom had imagined this moment from the very first time he’d seen her and
wondered whether she would be a passionate lover. He wasn’t disappointed. They
made love all night, time and time again, until finally, exhausted, they fell
asleep in each other’s arms.