The sound of the helicopter returned, only this time it was much louder. It made the perch he was standing on shake and the ladder, which was propped against the scaffolding, clatter to the ground. He was annoyed with himself because he had told his students, on numerous occasions, that they should always ensure it was fixed securely with ties before climbing up. He would have to wait for his cleaners to arrive in half an hour before he could get down, which was fine because he still hadn’t finished his preparations.
He couldn’t imagine the size of the helicopter that was capable of causing such vibrations, and then suddenly a distant memory came flooding back to him, which made his heart beat faster and his mouth become instantly dry. He had only ever experienced this sensation once before in his life, when he was a young boy on holiday in Fethiye with his parents, but that was enough to leave an indelible impression on his mind.
They had been staying at his great aunt’s house by the coast, when she burst into his room in the middle of the night, shouting for him and his sisters to get outside and stand away from any buildings. He must have slept through the initial tremors but, by the time he’d reached the top of the stairs, the whole house was shaking. He froze, not knowing what was going on, but his mother appeared behind him, picked him up and carried him outside to join the rest of the family on the beach. Several other households had already congregated on the sands and were being joined by people running from every direction, some crying, some screaming; but the majority just huddled in groups, staring silently in the moonlight, as they watched the houses in front of them crumble to a pile of rubble.
***
‘What’s that over there?’ Dawn was pointing to what looked like a plume of smoke rising from a street just in front of them.
Devrim pushed the joystick forward and the helicopter descended to get a better view.
‘It looks like a house has collapsed onto those cars,’ she said, as the downdraft from the helicopter swirled the cloud around them. She could see the half-demolished building, in the middle of a row of houses, and just make out figures running into the street covered from head to foot in dust.
‘Gas explosion? You’d better let the station know. That road is going to be blocked all day,’ Devrim told her, hovering just above the commotion.
‘Seb, it’s Dawn. Over,’ she spoke into her microphone and waited for a response from the station.
‘Go ahead, Dawn. Over.’
‘We’ve got an incident on…’ She checked the map on her lap for the street name.
She was trying to work out where they were, when Devrim’s alarmed voice came over her headset.
‘Dawn, look!’
She looked down to see the whole terrace collapsing in on itself, like a house of cards. The explosion took them both by surprise. The shockwave hit their undercarriage a full second before they heard the boom, propelling them higher into the air. Devrim gritted his teeth as he tried to regain control, pulling back the joystick as far as it would go. The nose rose sharply, but the turbos failed to deliver the thrust and they didn’t gain any more height. Instinctively, he pushed the stick to the left and the helicopter banked, just in time to avoid the huge fireball that had erupted. He pulled back on the controls again and this time he was relieved to hear the pitch of the engines change as they started to ascend.
***
Giyas was cold, tired and soaked through to the skin, despite wearing an all-in-one weather-proof suit with several layers of clothes underneath. He was just hauling in his third catch of the day when he heard the sound of the explosion in the distance. His father must have heard it, too, because he turned around to ask him what it was.
‘Another bomb, maybe?’ Giyas suggested.
They were constantly living under the threat of bomb attacks from one or other of the extremist groups, so it came as no surprise to either of them. Only the day before, a Kurdish terrorist had killed himself, a policeman and injured several others, in an apparent suicide attack on a local police station.
His father didn’t say a word; his thoughts were with the innocent victims and their families. He shook his head and returned to the wheelhouse to navigate the boat. Giyas was well aware of his father’s views on the subject and would no doubt be hearing more of them over the dinner table that evening. Being of Hungarian descent, he had had his history lessons from his father from a very early age. He knew all about the Ottoman Turk invasion of his country in 1541, and the subsequent deportations and massacres throughout their 150-year rule before the Prince of Transylvania rescued them from their subjugation. His father would always talk fondly of the ‘old country’, of the traditions and cultural values of its people, despite never having set foot on Hungarian soil himself.
Another meagre haul, Giyas thought to himself as he pulled in the last of the nets. His father turned around and Giyas could see the disappointment in his sunken, aging eyes.
‘We’ll try the other side of the bridge. Maybe our luck will change,’ his father shouted over his shoulder as he turned back to steer the boat on a new course.
***
Hamil knew that he had to get outside and into open space, which meant the Sultan Ahmet Park, located next to the museum, but first he had to get down from the dais, which was starting to sway wildly backwards and forwards as the tremors increased. He realised that there was no point in trying to retrieve the fallen ladder; his only two options were to either jump or try to scramble down the scaffolding. With time and fitness not on his side, he chose the former.
He took off his overcoat and fell to his knees to eye the drop; he reckoned that he could increase his chances of not sustaining an injury by hanging onto the wooden planks by his fingertips and then letting himself fall. He manoeuvred into position by turning his back on the nave and lowering himself slowly over the side. He held onto the edge of the platform, his knuckles white from the weight of his own body, his legs dangling in open space. He could hear the sound of his own heart pumping blood through his veins as his arms took the strain.
He was just about to let go, when he heard an ominous creaking sound above him. He managed to turn his head and look up to see all the wrought iron chandeliers swaying in unison, like some bizarre metronome. He could see that the plaster around where they were fixed to the ceiling had cracked and large pieces were starting to fall onto the marble floor below him.
He held his breath, closed his eyes and let himself drop. The first chandelier smashed to the floor at exactly the same time he did and with similar consequential damage. It had landed just three feet from where he now lay, spraying him with shards of glass as it disintegrated. It was such a loud crash that he almost hadn’t heard his own leg snapping. The pain shot through his body instantly, causing him to let out an involuntary animalistic shriek that echoed around the vast hall. His body shivered uncontrollably and he started to perspire despite the wintry temperature.
***
They had passed under the First Bosphorus Bridge, which spanned the continents of Europe and Asia, by the time Giyas had secured the nets and joined his father in the cramped wheelhouse. The spray from the waves lashed at the windows and the small windscreen wipers were struggling to clear them sufficiently enough for them to see where they were going.
‘If it gets much rougher, we’ll have to call it a day,’ his father said, peering through the smeared glass.
Giyas pulled on the green woollen hat his grandmother had knitted him and went out on deck to see if he could get a better view, but he couldn’t. Looking back at the suspension bridge, he could see the headlights of the commuters on their way to work. A distant rumbling could be heard over the boat’s engines as they strained to cope with the pitching sea. Thunder, he thought. They would definitely be returning to port early.
Another wave smashed over the side, drenching him again. He was past caring now, as he didn’t think he could get any wetter. He wiped the salt water out of his eyes and stared back at the cars. The bridge appeared to wobble,
almost imperceptibly; Giyas knew from experience that the sea could play tricks on your eyes. He watched intently, another wobble, this time more pronounced. The sound of the thunder grew louder. Vehicles were slowing down; a lorry at the front braked, which concertinaed through the line of traffic causing a jam in the middle. He could see motorists switching their hazard lights on as they joined the orderly queue.
Then, suddenly, a shudder travelled from one side of the bridge to the other, like a concrete Mexican wave. The bridge started to oscillate up and down, slowly at first, but then seemed to gain momentum. The majority of the cars on the bridge were now stationary; some motorists had abandoned their vehicles and were running to the relative safety of the shores.
Giyas wanted to run to tell his father, but his feet were rooted firmly to the spot, his eyes transfixed on the bridge as the undulations grew more and more violent, throwing cars, buses and trucks high into the air as though they were toys, and landing on the terrified pedestrians as they tried to flee. Then, one of the central suspension cables snapped, like an overstretched rubber band, followed by another, then another and another, in quick succession. The oscillations turned into a violent torsional twisting motion, like a demonic skipping rope, hurling vehicles and their passengers off the side of the bridge.
As the cables failed, one by one, two gaping fissures appeared at either end of the structure, which spread rapidly along the full width of the road; Giyas could see slabs of concrete falling from underneath the bridge in their wake. And then, with an almighty crack, which could be heard well above the sound of the raging sea and the rumbling of the earthquake, the whole middle section fractured, plummeting some two hundred feet into the Bosphorus, creating a thirty-foot wave as it disappeared into the murky depths, taking with it the remaining vehicles, their contents and anyone unfortunate enough not to have made it to the sides.
The wall of water came crashing towards the small fishing vessel releasing Giyas from his spell. He turned to warn his father but, as he did so, the first wave knocked him off his feet and slammed him hard onto the deck, winding him. As he lay there, trying to catch his breath, he could see his father in the wheelhouse struggling to retain control. The second, larger wave engulfed the boat, capsizing it. Giyas tried desperately to cling onto the nets, but the force of the water ripped them out of his grip and tossed him into the freezing sea.
Giyas struggled to the surface but there was no sign of the boat or his father. He trod water as the waves pounded down on him, hoping that his father had somehow managed to survive, but he knew in his heart of hearts that it was unlikely. He would only be able to last, himself, a few minutes in these conditions, a combination of the exertion he had to put in just to stay afloat and the extreme cold that would soon deplete his energy reserves.
Then, bobbing up and down in the swell, he spotted one of the fishing buoys that had been hanging over the side of the boat. He swam over to it and managed to reach out and grasp the rope it was tethered to before being swamped by another wave. This time, he was determined not to let go. As the water receded, he quickly pulled the float towards him and wrapped his arms tightly around it. The relief was instant; his newfound buoyancy meant that he could save his energy as he didn’t have to fight against the troughs and peaks.
He knew his chances of being rescued were slim; some of his best friends had perished in milder weather conditions than these, but as long as he could stay afloat he still had a fighting chance. His toes were the first to go numb, then his fingers, then his legs. He recognised the symptoms immediately and clung tighter to the buoy. He was so tired and couldn’t keep his eyes open.
He wasn’t afraid to die, he just felt sorry for his mother. He could picture her being told by the harbourmaster. She would get a knock on the door in the early evening after the boat had failed to return to port. She would have a headscarf on and be wearing an apron, having spent the afternoon preparing a steaming hot stew, ready for when her men returned. She would open the door and be surprised to see the portly frame of Mr Levent standing there, head bowed, cap in hand. He’d look up at her with sad, bloodshot eyes and she’d know that he’d been crying. She would ask him in… that was the last thought Giyas Macar had before he succumbed to hypothermia, slipping gently below the waves to join his father.
***
Hamil had managed to avoid most of the falling debris as he made his way across the marble floor towards the nearest side entrance. A large piece of masonry had landed on his damaged leg, which must have made him black out because he woke up covered in rubble. Not knowing how long he’d been out for, he shook his head to clear the fuzziness and a cloud of dust from his hair made him cough.
He raised himself onto his good knee, then transferred all his weight onto his outstretched arms before pulling himself forward, whilst dragging his broken leg behind him. He’d invented the technique after twice trying to stand on his good leg and hop, but both attempts had ended after just one jump, the ground shaking so much that it was impossible for him to keep his balance, and both times he’d landed awkwardly on his fracture, making him cry out. So, while the hand-pull method was excruciatingly painful (his palms and knees were encrusted with blood and dirt from cuts he’d sustained from the shattered glass of the chandeliers that now littered the floor) and exhausting, it was the lesser of the two evils.
He knew that nobody was coming to rescue him - his cleaners would have their own problems to deal with, if the earthquake was as bad as he suspected. Therefore, the only hope he had was to make it outside and put his trust in a passing Samaritan to take him to safety.
He focused on his goal, an elaborately carved wooden door set in an arch of golden mosaics depicting the Virgin Mary guarded by two seraphim. He had tried to steer a path away from any walls and pillars, the plaster and brickwork crumbling so much so that daylight streamed in through holes and cracks. He wondered how much longer it would be before one came tumbling in on him.
His progress was slow and made even more arduous by having to go around larger objects that had fallen in his way. But he had reached his halfway point – directly beneath the Grand Dome - and allowed himself a moment’s rest to look up at the compassionate face of Christ, gazing benevolently down on him. He lay on his back, his chest heaving from his exertions, to study his greatest achievement to date. The incandescence radiating from the gold aura surrounding the figure illuminated the entire cupola. The vibrancy of the colours that made up the central figure was now on show for the first time in half a millennium.
However, as he studied the face of Jesus, his emotions turned from pride to incredulity, then to terror as the Lord’s expression changed; the altruistic smile morphed into a hideous, toothless grin. As the crack widened, it distorted the features even more, making the image appear as though it was laughing at him. He tried to crawl away, but he was too slow and the recently restored figure of the Christian Messiah, as judge and ruler of all, came crashing down on him, burying him under a mound of plaster and gilt mosaics.
***
‘Dawn, are you alright?’ Seb’s voice came over her headset as the helicopter climbed to a safe height, above the cloud cover.
‘Yeh, we’re both fine,’ she replied shakily. ‘But that was a close call.’
‘What happened?’
‘Not sure, some kind explosion.’ Dawn looked at Devrim for inspiration. The pilot just shrugged.
‘Well, leave that for the time being. We’ve had a hysterical listener on the phone, reporting a major traffic incident on the First Bosphorus Bridge. Can you make your way over there and see what all the fuss is about?’
‘Will do. I’ll come back to you when we’re there. Over and out.’
It took them less than ten minutes to get to the bridge from where they were, using the helicopter’s GPS. As they descended out of the cloud, Dawn could not find the words to describe the panorama that unfolded in front of her, but would later tell her mother that the only word she could come up with, in h
indsight, was ‘apocalyptic’.
They both sat there in stunned silence, mouths agape, surveying the devastation all around them.
‘You there yet, Dawn? Over,’ Seb broke their trance.
‘I... I… er… I can’t believe what I’m seeing,’ Dawn managed to say with some effort.
‘Well, try! You’re the wordsmith and our sponsors don’t pay us to guess what you’re seeing. It’s not TV, you know!’ Seb said angrily.
‘I… I… can’t describe it.’
Seb moderated his tone, sensing that it was something serious. ‘Sorry, Dawn. What is it? A multiple-car pile-up? Is the bridge closed?’
‘No, it’s gone.’
‘Gone? What do you mean, gone?’ The irritation was back in Seb’s voice.
‘I mean, the whole middle section of the bridge… isn’t there. Just the supporting pillars are left at either end. It must have collapsed into the sea.’
‘What else can you see?’
Dawn looked around and below her. ‘The whole city’s gone and there are fires everywhere,’ she replied in a monotone voice, still trying to comprehend what her eyes were registering.
She couldn’t see a building standing that was over one floor in height. Streets were buried under a mass of debris and cars were crushed into unrecognisable lumps of metal. It was reminiscent of the images of Nagasaki and Hiroshima after the Americans had dropped their atomic bombs. A thick layer of smog had started to form over the conurbation.
The God Particle Page 9