“Please, Robert. At least talk it through with your dad.”
I don’t reply, but go over to the window and check the street below. There’s no sign of anyone. “I’ll be back soon.” I kiss her again and leave.
Chapter Fourteen
MEYRIN HIGHWAY IS almost clear of traffic. The bike handles well, even in the wet. The moon dips in and out of a bank of thick cloud. I turn into the main entrance, half an hour early, and consider turning back onto the highway to mark time when I see him again. The headlight sweeps past him on the bend, as he walks in the opposite direction, lurching in his characteristic rolling gate, the silhouette of his long coat flapping in the patchy moonlight. His head turns as I pass. I drive on then pull the bike to the side of the road, and glance back. He’s making his way towards ATLAS. Keeping my distance, I see him walk in through the entrance. I check my watch. Twenty minutes to spare. I turn back, leave the bike by the entrance and follow him. Only two cars are parked here, and one of them is my dad’s silver Volvo. I swipe my entry card and step inside.
There’s no sign of him inside. I stop, listening, then hear uneven footsteps on the stairs. Glancing up, I can see the tail of his coat as it disappears onto the next level, into the office corridor. There’s a sudden clatter and the sound of glass smashing. I take the rest of the stairs two at a time to the first floor. The lights are on in the office corridor, but the control room is locked up, and my dad’s office sits in darkness. There’s no sign of him, and it’s eerily quiet. A framed photograph is lying on the floor, splinters of glass surrounding it. I pick it up, turning it over to let the remaining glass fall to the floor. Quick footsteps come from the end of the corridor and my pulse picks up. I try my dad’s door, but it’s locked. Florence appears at the top of the hallway.
She gasps and places a hand across her chest. “Oh, you scared me. I didn’t think anyone else was in. What happened?” She fusses towards me and takes the broken picture from my hand.
“Where did he go?”
“Professor Stiller?”
I check the office doors, but they’re all locked, then pace up to the end of the corridor, to where Florence came from. There’s no-one there.
“No. There was a man here, long coat, dark hair, just a minute ago.”
“I haven’t seen anyone.”
“You couldn’t have missed him, Florence. He broke the picture – I heard it when I came upstairs.”
“Honestly, I haven’t seen anyone else. I’m just getting some last minute things done before Monday. It’s all locked up, and I’ve got the keys.”
“Is there any other way out of here?”
“No. Do you want me to call security?”
“No. No. That’s okay. Maybe I imagined it.”
“You’re in very late.”
“Yeah... making the most of it.”
She looks down at the photo in her hands. “It’s a shame. But I’ll get it fixed when I get back.”
I look at the picture, a group photo. I recognise Rene, Jack and my dad and...
“It was taken at one of our family days. They’re ever so much fun.”
“Is that Professor Thorpe?” I point at the tall wiry man in the front row with the tangled black hair.
“Yes, that’s Professor Thorpe, bless him. And his wife.” She points to a small, dark haired, dumpy woman. He has his arm around her. “Poor woman. She’ll never get over it.”
“That’s not his wife.”
“Yes, that’s Olivia.”
“No, I’ve met her – she’s blonde and, eh, slim.”
She chuckles. “No, not Olivia. She’s been battling with the bulge for years now, poor thing. It’s all that pasta, if you ask me.”
I stare at her. “Are you sure?”
“Of course. I’ve known her for years.”
Holy fuck.
“Excuse me.”
“You’ve still got those papers to sign!” she calls after me.
“I’ll get to them, Florence.”
I PUSH THROUGH the door into the car park, my heart hammering. I can barely press the digits on my phone.
“It’s me. We need to talk.”
“Later, Robert. We’re all set. Ten minutes.”
“No. Meet me at the church. Now.”
I HEAR THE sound of the tyres crunching and see the headlights swing into the driveway of the church. I leave my helmet on the bike and wait for him to approach, then lead him inside. I can’t see who’s in the shadows in the church grounds, and I don’t want to be overheard.
The old dark wooden doors whine as I push them open. It’s empty. Columns line the aisle and statues sit in the alcoves, looking down with blank faces, listening. The pews are old, dark wood. A shaft of moonlight slices in from the high, arched, stained glass window, dust motes dancing within in. A single red candle glows on the altar.
“Make this quick, Robert. We don’t have much time.”
I turn to face him. “When did you last see Thorpe’s wife?”
“What?”
“Just answer the question.”
“The day they took him to hospital.”
“What colour is her hair?”
“Robert, is this really...”
“Tell me!”
“Black.”
“The woman I spoke to, who told me she was Thorpe’s wife, the woman who told me Thorpe believed that they’d created strangelets? She was tall, blonde, slim. It wasn’t his wife.”
“Is this why you called me here? To talk about Thorpe’s wife?”
“Don’t you get it? Amos set me up! Tell me this. Did Thorpe create strangelets with a five sigma certainty?”
He stares back at me.
“Answer me!”
“No.”
“So... so all we’ve been doing is based on bullshit?”
“It’s irrelevant now, Robert. We need to finish the job.”
“Irrelevant? What are you talking about? If Thorpe’s paper was fake, there is no threat!”
“There is to you, if we don’t finish this.”
“Am I hearing this?”
“Think about it! Amos has the worm – you gave him that. If we don’t release it, he will.”
“They don’t have admin access off site. He needs me to release it from inside CERN.”
“And when did you last speak to him? Three days ago? More? His team will be over it like a rash. He’ll get his connection in time. But if we don’t uphold our end of the bargain, he’ll find us. And you don’t want to know what he’ll do to you if he does.”
“I don’t give a shit! I’m not doing it. I’m not selling myself for a pack of lies. And you? How can you even consider it?”
“Please, Robert, you don’t know what he’s capable of. I didn’t mean to drag you into any of this – if I’d just done what he’d asked, none of this would have happened.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“The only reason you’re here is that I refused to agree to the sabotage when Amos first approached me. I’ve drip-fed him information for years, but I drew the line at this. Then he recruited you. It left me with no other option than to give him what he wanted.” The colour drains from his face so that, for a moment, he looks like one of the statues.
“Why are you so afraid of him? What has he got over you?”
“Thorpe’s illness wasn’t just bad luck.”
I pause. “He did that to him?”
“They create all kinds of things at ORB. I won’t let him do to you what he did to me.”
“What did he do to you?”
He stares past me, vacant, unblinking, and his eyes glisten.
I step closer. “Dad? What did he do to you?”
“He broke into my mind.”
“What?”
“There was another part of the deal when he bailed me out. They were experimenting with something and they needed a test subject. He’s so persuasive. It sounded straightforward to begin with, observing mood and linking it to acti
on, but then it got more serious. They began to control how I felt. It was like being chained to something dark – I didn’t have the will to break free. I lost six months.” He looks up. “That’s the reason I never contacted you. Every time I tried, he’d trigger it, and I’d be back there, in that place. I’ve never felt despair like it. That’s why I tried to take my own life – I couldn’t take it anymore. After that, the doctors locked me up.”
“Did you tell them what he did?”
He nods. “The authorities looked into it, but they couldn’t find any evidence that Amos existed. In the end they put it down to psychosis and kept me on depot injections until I learned to deny everything I’d said, because I knew it would get me out.” His eyes focus on mine. “I won’t let him do that to you. We don’t have a choice, Robert.”
“No. We do have a choice. I’m not doing it.”
He takes me by the shoulders. “I took all this so that you wouldn’t have to! Don’t make it be for nothing. You can’t fight him, Robert. He’s too powerful.”
“Maybe, but I’m not giving in before I’ve started.”
Exasperated, he drops his hands and turns away, staring up at one of the statues. “I don’t think you understand how powerful he is. Do you think it’s a coincidence that SightLabs was shut down?”
“He told me it was a political decision.”
“A political decision based on his instructions to the politicians. He has a way of getting what he wants. He’s not the man you think he is. He’ll stop the experiments whether we do it or not. And in the grand scheme of things, history will forget, and science will find another way. But if we don’t do what he asks, he will find us. Please, I can’t lose you, not again.”
“You won’t. We’ll get Cora and we’ll go somewhere where we can figure out what we do next.”
“Who?”
“Cora. She’s my... well, I’m not sure what she is right now, but she’s at the apartment. She arrived today.”
The way he looks at me makes something plunge in my gut.
“You left her alone?”
I punch in Cora’s number into my phone. It rings out. No answer.
We make for the doors. “I’ll drive,” he says.
“No, the bike’s faster – I’ll go on ahead. Four-four-six Roux de la Croix.”
I BOUNCE OVER potholes, too fast for a farm track in the dark, and I’m approaching the highway when it hits me. The flash of an image. I see Cora struggling, gagged, arms tied behind her. A man in a suit is pushing her into the back of a black van. As quickly as it came, it vanishes and I swerve the bike, drawing it to a stop in the dust. I blink at the fields and the highway ahead. It only lasted a microsecond, but it felt like I was there, watching it happening. I feel shaken and sick. Gathering myself, I set off again into the night.
THE BIKE GROWLS to a stop in the street. I take the stairs, scrambling up them, calling her again from the mobile. No reply. Please, let her be there.
I fumble with the keys, dropping them once, swearing as I pick them up and force them into the lock. But I know before I step inside; it’s too quiet.
“Cora?”
Nothing.
She’s gone.
I BURST OUT into the street, into the drizzle and the darkness. A crowd of students stumble into the road, pissed. I scan the street for her. There. Ahead of the crowd, a tangle of long hair, the right height, moving in the right way. I take off after her, ignoring the barrage of drunken French abuse. She stops at the crossing. The lights change and she glances right before stepping out. I reach forward and grasp her wrist. “Cora.” She turns, frowning; a woman I don’t know.
“Pardon, Madame. Pardon.” I back away as she glares at me and turns back to the road.
I’m aware of something to my right – something purring, dark. Turning, I see a black BMW inching along the kerb just behind me. A window glides down, noiselessly. Victor Amos is sitting in the back seat.
“I don’t know about you,” he begins, “but I am a man who operates on intuition. And I sense a weakening in your resolve.” The moon’s shining onto his face, but no light reflects in his pale eyes. “Tell me, Robert, is your resolve weakening?”
“Where is she?”
“She’s quite safe, as is your father.”
“My dad?”
“I feel you need a little more incentive to focus on the task at hand. They will both be returned to you, unharmed, once you deliver.”
“I need him to get inside the Ops Room.”
“Lambert will provide the distraction you need to plant the worm. We made a deal, Robert. Don’t disappoint me.”
The window glides up silently and the car pulls away. I stand there shivering in the moonlight.
Something draws my eyes across the road. A silhouette standing under a streetlamp. It takes me a minute to work it out. Slim, pale, unsmiling, Sarah turns and walks into the next street.
When I get there, she’s at the other end, and I see her disappear into an alleyway on the left. Ahead, Sarah turns again and I follow her into an unlit lane. I stop as I realise where she’s led me. She’s standing by the door of La Caverne.
“There’s nothing in there!” I shout.
She stares back, unsmiling, unblinking.
“Why are you messing with my head?”
I walk towards her and can almost reach out and touch her. She looks as real as she ever did, except that there’s something haunted in her expression. As I approach the entrance, she fades, disappearing into the rain. My hand rests on the door, and I look up. The weather vane spins in a gust of wind, pointing north. I’ve already proved there’s nothing in there. This is just wasting my time. I turn and walk away.
A creaking sound behind stops me. I turn to see Rosinda standing in the doorway. “Robert,” she says. “They’re waiting for you.”
“UPSTAIRS,” SHE SAYS as I come inside. “I’ll bring you something hot to drink.” She opens the door to the next level. There are no boxes of beer at the foot of the stairs.
Hope flickers inside me as I climb. I reach the top and see the fire blazing.
“Hello, Robert.” Sattva is sitting at the end of an oblong table, leaning back in his chair with his legs loosely crossed, and next to him, Casimir. Balaquai picks a book from a shelf and glances back at me.
“Is this really happening?”
“Yes, it is.”
“Why couldn’t we see you before?”
Sattva replies. “Because Cora’s not strong enough yet to see us.”
“She can see Sarah.”
“Cora can see Sarah because they’re tightly entangled. You can see Sarah because you’re one of us.”
“Wait, what did you say?”
“Your recent brush with death has expanded your awareness, that’s all. Now it’s time you caught up with it.”
I’m back down the rabbit hole, but I don’t have time to process it. “Where is Sarah?”
“She’s somewhere we can’t reach, Robert. Is that why you’re here?”
“No. Amos has Cora and my dad. If I don’t deliver, he’ll kill them both.”
“He’ll do worse than that,” says Balaquai, without looking up from his book.
“What?”
“At the moment, I believe they’re quite safe,” Sattva says. “If he harms them now, he loses his bargaining position.”
“We have people looking for them, Robert,” says Casimir. “As we speak. We’ll hear from them soon.”
“Well, I want to help...”
“You’d just get in the way,” says Balaquai.
Sattva smiles. “What Balaquai means is that you would do them a greater service by being here, for the moment, and learning something about what’s going on.”
I hear her footsteps on the stairs and Rosinda arrives with a large mug of coffee and a towel which she wraps round my shoulders. The grey pebble that hangs round her neck swings forwards as she leans over. “Take a seat, love,” she says.
The cof
fee’s sweet and hot. “So is this where you... end up when you die? A pub in Geneva?”
“We’re wherever we need to be,” Sattva says. “We can come and go between worlds as we choose. They occupy the same space, you see; all that separates them is their physics. Light from one world can’t leak into another. But other things can – other signals get through. Gravity, for instance. Or consciousness.”
“Consciousness?”
“The core of every living thing. In its more advanced forms, it is the ability to question and choose. What do you think drives science?”
“Consciousness is a by-product of the brain.”
“Do you really believe that?” He knocks on the table. “The world isn’t solid matter, Robert – you of all people know that. Solidity is an illusion – most of it is empty space. But what’s vibrating in that space, in the Field, is consciousness itself.”
“The Field?”
“The Quantum Field. Are you familiar with it?”
“The theory that particles are just excited states of an underlying physical field.”
“Precisely. We’re more attuned to picking up the resulting vibrational signals. It’s how I heard your fear on the mountain in Tibet.”
“Why did you help me then?”
“I remember a time when a young boy found me hiding under a bush in a forest. Yet he said nothing to my hunter, and in so doing, he saved my life. That act of compassion entangled us, through many lifetimes.
“In the same way Aiyana knew about the car jumping the lights. And it’s why Balaquai appeared when the mugger threatened to shoot you for your wallet. They responded to your vibrational signal before you were even aware of what was going on. That’s what we do. And once you come to terms with this, that’s what you’ll do too.”
I get up and walk towards the French doors at the back of the room. They open out onto a large balcony with waist-high iron railings. A murky, dense cloud, a dirty mix of blue and purple and grey, reaches from the sky to the rooftops. Rain patters on the window panes.
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