Collision

by John Williamson

  Richard trawled through the list of e-mails until he saw the message Serge had sent him. He launched the MP4 attachment and watched a recording of the view from the cockpit of an aircraft flying at high altitude. After ten-seconds of the recording, suddenly an object came into view from nowhere and collided with the aircraft, and the screen began to spin. He could hear the voices of the pilot and NASA panicking as the plane span out of control. The whole recording was less than thirty-seconds. He played the recording again not quite believing what he had just seen. There were also other attachments to Serge’s email, and Richard opened them. They were photo stills that had been taken from the same video recording, each of which showed a snapshot image on a UFO coming closer and closer to the aircraft. The last still was quite clear — a UFO about to impact the aircraft.

  “Wow,” he mouthed to himself, as he stared at the photographs mesmerised.

  He opened Skype to see if Serge was on line. He was.

  “Where did you get this?” said Richard.

  “Straight from NASA.”

  “You got in?”

  “Of course, the idiots can’t stop me. What do you think of the photos?”

  “They’re amazing. We’ve had some similar sightings here in the UK of a saucer. It must be the same craft.”

  “Of course, it’s the same craft; it’s too coincidental. Are you going to put the pics on your website?”

  “I’m not sure. They must be classified.”

  “Of course they are. Be careful. They may be monitoring us even now.”

  “I will.”

  “What about you; have you got any more info on the sighting?”

  “Masses of e-mails. But I’ve got one that’s really interesting: a picture of a cat woman on the beach where the UFO landed. I’m not sure if it’s a fake or not. The trouble is the picture was taken at night on a mobile phone and is not that good.”

  “Send it to me. I’ve got some amazing software. Maybe I can clean it up.”

  “Okay,” said Richard tapping away at his keyboard. “There, you should have it.”

  Richard finished the call and took a deep breath. Should he put Serge’s photos on his website; or was it just too dangerous, less they try to blame him for the hacking? Other hackers had been extradited to the US for far less, and Richard didn’t want to be next. He would have to think carefully about it.

  He opened his “My Pictures” file and looked through the thumbnail photos until he found the one he wanted. ‘3 August 2005, University Campus’ was the file name. He opened the file, and the picture of a UFO jumped onto the screen. He stared at it again. Then he opened Serge’s picture and placed both pictures on the screen next to each other. The photographs could easily be the same craft: almost identical. Could the 2005 and 2011 sightings be linked?

  Elle woke up the next day to the sound of sizzling bacon. She looked at her bedside table and the clock said 7:20. She swung her legs out of the bed, straightened up her nightshirt, ruffled up her hair and padded bare foot out of the bedroom door.

  Ben was behind the bar of the kitchenette cooking.

  “Good morning, Helen,” said Ben.

  Elle decided to blank him; she was still boiling with anger from the previous night, and she was not in a forgiving mood. She padded over to the bathroom and went inside. As she turned to close the door, she saw the ‘Do not disturb’ sign. Dam him. She had forgotten to use the sign last night. Why did he have to argue so much over that stupid towel? When she returned, Ben was smiling at her, which made her feel even worse.

  “Look I’m really sorry about last night,” he said.

  “It’s Elle, not Helen,” she said, interrupting him.

  “I’m sorry… Elle; but it was all just a silly mistake.”

  “A mistake?”

  “Come on, there was no real harm done. You have to see the funny side.”

  “Funny side? I was embarrassed and humiliated. And you just stood there — gawping holding my towel.”

  “I’m sorry,” said Ben. “I should have realised you felt that way.”

  His tone was remorseful, but she still wanted him to squirm as much as possible.

  “A gentleman would have turned away,” she said. She was determined not to let him charm his way around her.

  “You’re right; but… I didn’t know what to do. You looked so drop-dead gorgeous.”

  She felt her cheeks flush. “You didn’t have to stare.”

  “I suppose you didn’t look?”

  Her mouth was open in disbelief. How dare he accuse her? “I didn’t,” she said.

  “Come on, at least be truthful; you were a little bit curious,” he said.

  Elle’s mouth was wide open. She could not believe he would say that; even if it were true. “I didn’t,” she said.

  “It looked that way to me.”

  “I didn’t!” she said.

  “Okay, if you insist,” he said. “Can’t we leave it there?”

  “And what about the towel… the blue towel?” she said.

  He put up his hands in mock surrender.

  “You were right; it was yours. I don’t know why I was arguing with you. It was so stupid.”

  “You acted like a pig.”

  Ben nodded. “Look, I had had a really, really bad day.”

  “What kind of excuse is that?”

  “I know, it’s really lame, but could we please start all over again? Let me make it up to you by cooking you breakfast,” he said, “a full English breakfast?”

  Elle thought for a few seconds, making him wait for her response. She was starving, and the smell of bacon was making it worse. She let out a huff. “All right,” she said.

  Still frowning, she wriggled up onto the bar stool to watch what he was doing; checking that her nightshirt had not ridden up to expose anything it shouldn’t.

  “You cook?” she said.

  “It may not be the best English breakfast you’ve ever had, but I think you’ll like it. You’re not into the Muesli healthy thing then?”

  “I can do the Muesli thing as well,” said Elle, “but I’m really hungry this morning. I feel as if I haven’t eaten for days.”

  “How do you like your fried egg?” he said.

  She leaned over to see what he was doing. “I guess broken and overdone like that will have to do,” she said.

  He looked up into her eyes, “That’s better; you’re smiling.”

  Her smile quickly turned back to a frown. She had to keep her guard up if she was going to get what she wanted. She noticed he was standing in his boxer shorts behind the kitchen unit, and she remembered Jane’s comments from the day before. He must have noticed her looking at him.

  “Do you have a problem with my underwear?” he said.

  All she had on was her nightshirt; she was hardly in a position to complain.

  “No. I don’t care what you wear as long as you respect my privacy,” she said.

  “I’ll fix the lock,” he said and dished up the bacon and eggs onto their plates. “You won’t tell Jane, will you?” he said.

  “Why not?” she said.

  “She’ll kill me. I promised to fix the lock ages ago. I just didn’t get around to it.”

  “What’s in it for me then?” she said, looking into his eyes as if she was playing poker with him.

  “So you want something to keep quiet?” he said.

  She nodded.

  “Okay, I’ll wash your blue towel for you,” he said.

  “That’s hardly reparations,” she said, “for the emotional trauma.”

  “Something more then… I could be your sex slave for the day?” he said.

  “What! Never in a million years … Never in a billion years… Not even if you were the last man on this planet.”

  “I’ll take that as a ‘no’ then.”

  “Look if we’re going to get along together, spare me the male macho sexist crap. It doesn’t impress me.”

  “My god, you’re a lesbian.”r />
  “I’m not!”

  “But you don’t like men.”

  “I don’t like annoying men, irritating men and men who demean me. You wouldn’t speak to your sister like that?”

  “Well… no. Of course not.”

  “So why can’t you treat me the same way?”

  “If that’s what you want… I will.”

  She looked him in the eye. “Good. There’s a small chance we might get on then.”

  “So what is it that you want?” he said.

  She had him where she wanted him.

  “I’m working on a physics paper at the moment; I could do with some help.”

  “Is that all?”

  “Then you will help me — you promise?” she said.

  “Okay, okay, I’ll help you with your physics paper. I would have helped you anyway, if you had asked me nicely. Where’s this paper?”

  “Wait here and I’ll get it.”

  She scurried off to her bedroom and returned with a file.

  “I’m working on these field equations,” she said, pointing to the open page and trying to contain her excitement. “It’s this time dilation factor that’s causing me problems.”

  “Holy crap. Where did you get this? I thought this was part of your undergraduate course.”

  “Undergraduate? I’ve got a PhD. I wouldn’t have asked you to help unless it was difficult,” she said. Her initial excitement was starting to evaporate as she watched him scan read the papers. She watched the expression on his face as he read the paper: frowning in places and nodding in others. Then he took a deep breath.

  “I’m not sure I can help,” he said.

  The words sank in; he was not going to help her.

  “But you promised,” she said.

  “It’s not that I don’t want to. I spent twelve months looking at this when I was doing my PhD and got nowhere. When I presented the paper, the Professor just laughed at me. He said it was ‘Star Trek’ physics. I’m sorry, I just can’t help,” he said.

  Elle felt deflated. If Ben wouldn’t help her, who would? Her mouth went dry. She didn’t know what to say to persuade him to try.

  “Okay,” said Elle, “I understand.” She picked up the file and patted off bare footed towards her bedroom.

  At that moment, Jane came through the doorway.

  “Hi guys. I’m home.”

  “Hi Jane,” said Elle, but her mind was elsewhere.

  She looked at Elle. “You two getting along okay?”

  Jane must have noticed the tension between them.

  “We’re cool… He made me breakfast,” said Elle smiling at her. “We’re getting along fine.”

  “Then you must have seen a side of Ben that he keeps well hidden from me.”

  “You could say that,” said Elle, as she thought about the night before.

  “Hey… I’m here you know,” said Ben. “Can we talk about something else?”

  “I think we should have a party tonight,” said Jane, “a flat warming party for our new flatmate. What do you think Ben?”

  “Why not; I’ll pay for the Pizza,” said Ben. “What about inviting Richard along?”

  “Oh, if you really must, Ben,” said Jane.

  “What’s wrong with Richard?” said Elle.

  “Nothing much,” said Ben. “He’s just a little… eccentric.”

  “He’s a UFO fruitcake,” said Jane as she went into her bedroom to change.

  Ben waited until her bedroom door closed. “Thanks for not saying anything.”

  “I’m not a snitch,” she said and went into her bedroom.

  Ten minutes later there was a knock at her bedroom door. Elle was half way through dressing and was just about to put on her jeans. Standing in a T-shirt and briefs, she inched the door open and saw Ben standing there holding a thick ring binder of papers.

  “I’m getting dressed,” said Elle.

  “Peace offering — this is all I’ve got on Tachyons from my original thesis. Perhaps it will help,” he said.

  She swung the door open and took the file. “Thanks,” said Elle placing it on the bed. “I can’t wait to get started.” As she started thumbing through the papers, she heard her bedroom door close behind her.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Daniels was in the lobby of the hotel at 7:30 a.m. when the car arrived for her. It was Carla driving. Daniels got into the passenger seat, and they drove off.

  “So what did you do to become the Major’s assistant,” said Daniels.

  Carla smiled, “You mean apart from graduating with a first at Oxford, finishing top of my class at Sandhurst, three-years in military intelligence; then working until I drop for two years in MI6? Just lucky, I suppose.”

  Daniels didn’t like smart-arses and Carla quite clearly fell into that category, but she would have to work with her on this assignment. She might as well make their relationship as cordial as she could. “Okay, perhaps that was a silly question. We have to work together, so let’s start again… Who’s this guy we are seeing today?”

  “Andy Toser, the driver of the truck,” said Carla.

  “You’re sure his name’s not pronounced ‘A Tosser’?” said Daniels, looking at her.

  Carla laughed, “If it is, he would have to hate his parents for that.”

  “And what do we have on him?”

  “Nothing much: he’s a forty-year old trucker who’s worked all his life in trucking. He was a bit cagey when I spoke to him on the phone. Apparently, it’s against company policy to pick up hitch hikers, so he was a little defensive.”

  Twenty minutes later they drove into the entrance of the East Yorks Truck Company. Carla parked the car, and they both headed across the car park to a one-storey office building. One of the truckers stood outside the offices smoking. Daniels approached him.

  “We’re here to see a Mr Toser.”

  “In there, third door on the right,” he said, pointing to the entrance.

  Daniels opened the door and walked in with Carla following her. She walked down a short corridor and opened the third door. Inside was an over-weight middle-aged man, with a grey receding hairline, sitting on a chair. He was white faced as though the blood had drained from him and was nervously playing with his fingers as he looked up at them.

  “Mr Toser?” said Daniels.

  The man almost jumped out of his seat. “Yes,” he said, “You’re from MI6?”

  “No, I’m with the CIA, but my colleague is.”

  His eyes had a look of terror in them. “I never touched her, honest. What has she said?”

  “Relax Mr Toser; no one’s accusing you of hurting her. We just want some information.”

  “Okay,” he said as though a great burden had been lifted from him. “She’s all right then?”

  Daniels looked at Carla and then back at him. “As far as we are aware. We need to find her. Perhaps you could tell us what happened that night.”

  He paused before he spoke. “I was driving along the coast road. It was eleven or thereabouts. The road was badly lit, and I didn’t see her until the last second and had to swerve. I thought I had hit her; but I hadn’t. She was a bit shaken; we both were. And I offered to give her a lift. It only seemed right. She might have been hit by someone else.”

  “What was her name?”

  “I know it’s silly; but she never said, and I didn’t ask.”

  “What was she wearing?”

  “I’m not sure how to describe it. A kind of black tunic like what the Chinese wear; with black slacks. That’s how I would describe her.”

  “Was there anything unusual about her?”

  “You mean apart from walking down an unlit road in the middle of nowhere — no.”

  “She didn’t have a fancy dress costume like a cat?”

  “I don’t think so; unless she had it in her rucksack.”

  “Where did you take her?”

  “The Blue Rest service station; bought her a coffee and a burger. Poor lass didn’t have
any money with her. It was the least I could do. That’s where I left her — in the coffee shop in the all-night services.”

  “Do you know where she was going?”

  “Yes. She wanted to get to the university, but I was heading north from there… I don’t think she would have had to wait long for another lift from there though. Pretty thing she was.”

  Carla pulled out a photograph of the cat women. “Is this woman you gave a lift to?”

  Toser looked at the photograph for a second or two. “Could be,” he said. “Not a good photograph though.”

  “Thanks Mr Toser, for your help. If there is anything you remember that might be helpful finding her could you give me a call,” said Carla, giving him a card.

  Toser took the card, looking relieved that the interview was over.

  Five minutes later, Carla and Daniels were driving away from the site and heading towards the university.

  “What do you think?” said Carla concentrating on the road ahead.

  “Some kind of student thing: maybe the catsuit was some kind of a beach prank. But the answer would seem to be at the university,” said Daniels. “Where are we going now?”

  “I’ve arranged a meeting with a Professor Rider at the university. He’s an astrophysicist, one of the best in his field. He may be helpful on some of the technical stuff. I sent him a copy of our intelligence report.”

  “Can he be trusted?”

  “We’ve used him before, and he’s signed the official secrets act. And if nothing else, it will give us an opportunity to look around the university and get a feel for the place. There are about 16,000 students at the university. About half are female and about 10% of them might be blonde and similar height and build — but we’re still looking at finding one in 800.”

  “Can we get access to student records? And university CCTV?”

  “Not legally; but I’ll have a team working on it by tonight. If she’s a student, we’ll find her.”

  Daniels impression of Carla had changed. Not bad for a smart-arse, she thought; they were making progress.

  Daniels and Carla sat in Professor Rider’s office at the university. He was an old man in his sixties with silver-white hair. There was something about his condescending tone in the way he introduced himself, when they first arrived, that Daniels immediately disliked.