The God Particle (23 page)

Tom was looking out of the window as the surprisingly large
terminal building of MacArthur Airport came into view. It had recently
undergone an expansion programme thanks to the patronage of Southwest Airlines.

‘Will there still be somebody at the facility by the time we
get there?’ It was Serena’s turn to be anxious.

‘I phoned ahead and spoke to Charles,’ replied Tom. ‘He’s
keeping a full team on stand-by, so we can fire up the collider as soon as we
get there.’

‘Charles?’

‘Charles Brannigan. He’s the Research Director at the
Brookhaven National Laboratory. I did some work there for my dissertation when
I was a mere student at MIT. Nice chap, you’ll get on well with him. He’s
sending a car to pick us up.’

The wheels of the Falcon kissed the runway, before landing
with a resounding thud. The tyres screeched on the tarmac and the noise inside
the cabin increased as the airbrakes were applied. They taxied off to the right
of the main glass and steel structure, where the charter flights gates were,
towards an apron, pock-marked by other private jets. A Marshaller guided them
into a slot in front of a low-rise building before indicating to the pilot to
cut the engines.

Once stationary, the door to the cockpit opened and out
stepped the co-pilot, dressed in his crisp white short-sleeved shirt and
neatly-pressed black trousers. He looked as fresh and alert as he had when
they’d boarded some eight hours earlier.

‘I trust you had a pleasant flight, Herr Direktor?’

Tom was a little taken aback by the moniker. ‘Er… yes, thank
you. I must admit, I was so beat I slept most of the way,’ he said rather
awkwardly, feeling the need to justify why he hadn’t stayed awake to appreciate
their flying skills.

‘Do you want us to wait here for you, or should we return to
Geneva?’ asked the co-pilot.

Tom, unsure how long they would have to spend at Brookhaven,
told him to return to CERN and he would call when they needed picking up. He
was getting to like the extravagance of personal air travel.
How could he
ever go back to the cattle market of scheduled flights?

The co-pilot pulled a lever and the cabin door opened with a
hiss, the steps automatically unfolding onto the apron. He directed them to the
nondescript single-storey edifice, which doubled as the arrival and departure
hall for executive passengers, and bid them a safe onward journey.

Tom’s nerves were frayed as he stepped through the sliding
doors into the brightly-lit building, holding onto Serena’s hand for comfort
and reassurance.
How on Earth had he gotten into such a position?
Prior
to taking up the role at CERN, the most trouble he’d been in with the
authorities was a speeding ticket and a verbal warning for marijuana possession
when he was a teenager. Now, suddenly, he was a fugitive from the Swiss police,
an escapee from a homicidal maniac and possibly about to be arrested for
entering his own country illegally.

They made their way over to the immigration booths and
joined the smallest queue. Tom peered around the only person in front of him to
look at the official stamping the passports. He was a prematurely grey-haired
man in his early fifties, with a lean face, steely-blue eyes and hooked nose.
Tom was trying to work out whether he’d chosen the right person by comparing
him to the other immigration officers, when the man in front of him moved
forward. Tom resigned himself to his fate; changing lanes now would immediately
draw attention to himself and arouse suspicion.

He squeezed Serena’s hand tighter. She seemed to be keeping
her composure better than he was; her expression hadn’t changed since leaving
the plane, and she appeared relaxed and confident. He made a mental note to
himself never to take her on at poker.

‘Next.’ The official beckoned for Tom to come forward.

Tom handed his passport through the letterbox window, his
hand trembling ever so slightly. The officer didn’t seem to notice. He turned
to the photograph page, checking it against Tom’s physical features. Satisfied
with the match, he scanned the barcode, which brought up Tom’s biometrics and
travel data. He tapped away on the computer keyboard, then read the results on
the screen.

‘Which flight did you come in on, Sir?’

‘Private jet from CERN, Switzerland.’

Tom’s response elicited another flurry of typing, after
which the Customs officer checked his screen again.

‘Sir, I have the manifest from that flight and your name
doesn’t appear to be on it. Were you travelling with a Professor Morantz and a
Miss Serena Mayer?’

‘Yes… erm… I mean, no… I mean yes,’ replied Tom, perplexed.
‘I was flying with Miss Mayer, but not Professor Morantz. He died and I took
his place… I don’t mean on the aeroplane. Although I did take his place on the
plane, he just didn’t die on it. He died at work, but I wasn’t there when it
happened… I just took over from him. So the person who booked the flight must
have booked it before he died, but then I came along and she probably forgot to
change the name... Does that make sense?’

The official just stared at Tom. A trickle of sweat ran down
the centre of his back. He was convinced that, any second now, the man behind
the bullet-proof screen would call out for reinforcements and Tom would be
surrounded by armed security guards, who would drag him off to some windowless
interrogation room.

However, without another word, the officer raised his hand
and stamped the passport before handing it back through keyhole window to Tom.
He reached to take it, but the official held onto it.

‘Sir, next time, get your paperwork in order before you
fly,’ he said curtly. ‘Otherwise, you may be refused entry.’

Tom pulled a little harder, managing to wrest the passport
from the other man’s grip. ‘Sorry, of course I will. And thank you.’

He had to pace himself leaving the booth. He didn’t want to
seem too eager, but he did need to get away as quickly as possible in case the
immigration officer changed his mind. What he actually wanted to do was run as
fast as his legs would carry him. Having exercised immense self-control, he
waited around the corner for Serena to join him.

A few minutes later she sauntered up to him. ‘Well, that was
easy enough.’

‘Easy for you to say,’ he replied. ‘I must have lost two
stone and aged ten years in the last fifteen minutes. Come on, let’s get out of
here.’

Still on edge, he grabbed Serena by the arm and hurried her
past the baggage collection hall, through the ‘Nothing to declare’ channel and
out onto the arrivals concourse, where he spotted a familiar face. Being met at
the airport reminded him of the first time he’d seen Ajay.
How long ago was
that?
Less than a week, but it seemed like a lifetime to Tom. He made his
way over to a rather rotund man who was still scanning the crowd of arriving
passengers.

‘Looking for somebody in particular?’ he asked the man.

The man’s annoyance at having his concentration broken by a
total stranger was evident on his face. He turned to the interloper, intending
to give him a piece of his mind. In an instant, the frown vanished and his
features were transformed by a huge grin as he recognised his young friend.

‘Tom, ya wee bastard! You’ll give an old man a heart attack,
sneaking up on him like that,’ he admonished in a thick Scottish accent, before
throwing his arms around Tom in a massive bear hug.

The two men embraced, rocking backwards and forwards,
oblivious to anybody else around them. Eventually, the older man pushed Tom to
arm’s length to inspect him. ‘Ya have ne changed a bit. How long has it been?
Seven, eight years?’

‘More like ten and you always was a liar.’

‘Well, maybe you’re a wee bit skinnier, then, if I’m going
to be honest.’

‘That’s more than I can say about you,’ Tom replied patting
the older man’s paunch.

Serena, feeling a little awkward about being side-lined for
so long, cleared her throat.

Tom broke away from the other man and straightened his
clothes. ‘Sorry. Jed, this is Serena Mayer. Serena, this is my good friend
Professor Jed Campbell. Although, I have to say, he’s not your stereotypical
academic.’

Serena stepped forward and proffered her hand. Jed held it
in both of his. ‘It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Mayer,’ he said politely.

‘Please, call me Serena.’

Without letting go of her hand, he turned to Tom. ‘Is she ya
girlfriend?’

‘Jed! You always were as subtle as a brick,’ Tom chided.

‘And he always had a good eye for the ladies,’ Jed
countered, turning his attention back to Serena.

Serena’s crepe bandage had slipped slightly, revealing an
angry red welt. Jed turned her hand over to inspect her wrist. ‘Kinky. You two
into that S & M, are ya?’

‘Sorry?’ Tom replied, baffled by the comment.

‘Ya know, bondage and all that.’

Tom realised what he was alluding to. ‘No, no,’ he said
quickly. ‘Quite the opposite. It’s a long story.’

‘Aye, that’s what you say!’ Jed winked in Tom’s direction.
‘Whatever floats ya boat. Ya know me… I’m not one to judge… Did I tell ya about
that time I was in Bangkok?’

Tom shook his head slowly. ‘Maybe later. We’d better be
going before you say something that will really embarrass me.’

‘No suitcases?’ Jed observed.

‘No, we had to leave in rather a hurry,’ Tom replied without
going into too much detail.

‘Well, if you need anything, anything at all, just let me
know,’ Jed volunteered obligingly.

Tom considered asking for a change of clothes and some
toiletries, but settled for his more immediate needs. ‘A sandwich and a coffee
would be good. Can we grab one on the way?’

‘Aye, you look as though you need fattening up, and I know
just the place,’ Jed replied, linking arms with them both to lead them out of
the airport.

On the way to Brookhaven, they made a brief pit stop at a
24-hour diner cum watering hole named
Stars ‘N’ Bars
where, Tom and
Serena had been reliably informed, they served the best Jambalaya this side of
the Mississippi, not to mention the best Mojito outside of Mexico. Cherie,
their waitress, wearing a little too much foundation and lipstick for her age,
seemed to know Jed well. From their flirtatious banter, it was obvious to Tom
that his old friend had spent more than a few nights sampling the delights on
offer, which probably included Cherie.

Jed himself was no oil painting. Now in his mid-fifties the
once tall, broad-shouldered, lithe frame had turned flabby thanks to years of
over-indulgence. The broken nose he’d received as a young firebrand in his native
city of Glasgow hadn’t quite set right, giving him the appearance of an
ex-boxer. His unfashionably long, strawberry-blond hair, tied back in a
ponytail, was starting to recede and turn grey.

But there was something about him that seemed to attract the
opposite sex. Perhaps it was the rebel in him, still evident behind his watery
blue eyes, or his free spirit which, mistakenly, drove women to think that they
could be the one to tame him. Many had tried, all had failed.

Tom couldn’t recall a day he’d seen Jed wearing anything
other than his battered brown leather bomber jacket, jeans and sneakers,
regardless of occasion or the weather outside. Today was no exception.

They had first met when Tom came to Brookhaven to conduct
research for his doctorate and Jed was head of the physics department. Despite
the age difference, they had bonded immediately, mainly due to Jed’s youthful
outlook on life rather than any maturity on Tom’s part. For over two years they
were inseparable, both socially and academically, and it was in no small part
thanks to Jed, and despite the alcohol-fuelled nights, that Tom graduated
summa
cum laude
, the highest distinction achievable at MIT.

‘Remember that time in Tijuana, when I saved ya sorry arse?’
Jed was about to recant one of his favourite anecdotes, one that Tom had heard
a thousand times and never failed to embarrass him.

‘Jed, I don’t think we’ve got time for this,’ he replied.
‘We’d better get going.’

‘What’s the rush? Trying to save the world?’

Tom caught Serena’s eye. ‘As a matter of fact…’

‘Aye, well, that can wait, laddie.’ He cut Tom off
mid-sentence before turning to Serena. ‘Ya see, wee Tom here had just bought
this clapped-out Beetle, so we decided to go on a road trip over the border
into Mexico.’

‘There was nothing wrong with that car,’ Tom interrupted
indignantly and resigned himself to the fact that he’d have to hear the story
one more time.

‘Aye, apart from the three times it broke down on the way
there and four on the way back. Anyways, we eventually get over the border. On
our way to Tijuana, we spot these two young lasses hitchhiking. Well, being the
gents that we are, we stop and give them a lift. Turns out they live there.
When we get to the town, they want to show their appreciation and offer to buy
us a drink in the local cantina. Being parched from the dusty road, we kindly
accept their offer. To cut a long story short, after several large
cervezas
,
poor Tom here is feeling a little the worse for wear and asks the bartender if
they have any rooms available so he can sleep it off. Luckily, they had two
left so I take one and Tom has the other.’

Tom gave Serena an embarrassed smile and raised his eyes
skywards, as there was no hope of stopping Jed now.

‘By this stage,’ continued Jed, ‘the poor wee lamb can hardly
walk, so one of the girls helps him up the stairs. She must have been tired
herself because she didn’t come back down, leaving me in the bar to entertain
the other young lady – out of politeness, of course. After about an hour or so,
me and the gal are getting on famously, hitting the tequila, when suddenly in
barges this middle-aged, fat, sweaty bloke carrying a shotgun and dashes
upstairs. He kicks open the door to Tom’s room and disappears inside.’

‘Oh no!’ said Serena, obviously enjoying the story.

‘Well,’ said Jed, ‘I can’t speak the lingo, but I can tell
straight away from the raised voices that this guy’s not too pleased. So I
excuse myself from the young lady and go to find out what all the commotion is
about. I can hear through the door that Tom and his new friend have found the
intrusion a little distressing, to say the least. She’s rambling on in Spanish,
he’s wailing like a banshee, while the only word I can make out is
Papa.
By
now I’ve sussed out that Tom may need a little help, so I kick open the door,
not realising that the fat bloke’s behind it. He goes sprawling and the shotgun
goes off, taking half the ceiling down with it. Well, ya can imagine the look
on everybody’s face.’ Jed let out a huge belly laugh and took a sip or two of his
drink.

‘Anyway, thinking we’ve probably outstayed our welcome, I
grab Tom by the arm and yank him out of bed, only to discover he’s
stark-bollock naked – excuse ma French. Our boy here had the good sense to take
his clothes off before going to sleep, but he’s thrown them all around the
room. I grab a couple of items I can see and we run like hell before the fat
bloke realises he’s got another shot left in the barrel.

‘Halfway back to the crossing, Tom’s in the passenger seat
struggling to put on his jeans, only to realise they’re five sizes too small
for him. I must have picked the wee lass’s up by mistake! Ya should have seen
the looks we got from the immigration officials when we tried to explain our
predicament. Can ye imagine what they must have thought: an older man driving a
half-naked young boy over the border from Mexico in a beaten-up VW Beetle. I’m
surprised they let us back in at all.’

‘Did you hear from the girl again?’ Serena asked Tom.

‘Just the once,’ he replied meekly. ‘It turned out that she
was the Mayor’s daughter. Her father, the one with the shotgun, swore that if
he ever saw me again he would
“hunt me down like a rabid dog and have me
castrated”.
I think those were her exact words. Funnily enough, I’ve never
had the urge to go to Mexico again.’

Jed barked out a laugh and slapped Tom on the back. ‘C’mon,
wee man, we can’t sit around here gassing all day. I need to get you back to
Brookhaven so ya can save the world.’