Stone Message

by Peter Parfitt

  Chapter 6 – Spies, Lies or Science

  At 6am on Monday morning Tom walked to Drayton Gardens to meet the Professor at his car. Their drive to Larkhill gave them the opportunity to talk about the two maroon notebooks and Angus’s plans. The Professor had one ambition and that was to discover the identity of his father. He accepted that it was almost certain that his father would be dead by now, but he wanted one day, to discover the truth. Tom was relieved that the whole business had not undermined his relationship with his boss come friend, and discussion soon turned to work. They were both excited about the next stage of the project. The Professor said that now the birthday party was over, Alison would spend some time in the Larkhill area. He confessed that she was not really looking forward to life in the country as she was very much a town girl. “At least the house will be cleaner and we will get some decent food for a change!” Tom did not take offence despite being the chef in the house. All too often they had relied on TV dinners or takeaways. Then Tom made the mistake of raising the subject of screwdrivers. “Tom, I have had a lovely weekend but your bloody screwdriver obsession is getting me down.” The Professor’s driving was worse than normal and he strayed across the road, narrowly missing an oncoming car.

  “Watch out James, you’ll get us killed.” exclaimed Tom as he reached out to brace himself for impact. The Professor did not slow down until he was forced to do so by a slow moving lorry overtaking a tractor. “How many screwdrivers like yours do you think they produce?” He did not wait for an answer. “I’ll tell you, bloody millions, Tom. And, as for time travel, forget it. It hasn’t and won’t ever happen.” They sat in silence for the remaining few miles of their journey.

  As they drove into Larkhill Camp the Professor turned to Tom and smiled. “Busy day ahead, Tom.” Tom smiled back but said nothing. The sentry at the barrier asked to see their ID and car pass, then waved them on into the camp.

  As soon as they arrived at the Dagger building, Tom opened up and moved his motorcycle back outside. It would have enjoyed a weekend sheltered from the rain and wind and could now enjoy what promised to be a warm spring day. Inside, work began immediately. Power supplies were switched on, computers were started and Tom opened his very tidy toolbox. He could not get the screwdriver off his mind.

  Experiments were started, some were aborted but most were completed. They all produced masses of data that would be analysed by programs running on a second computer. Transferring data sticks and starting the analytical programs all took time and by Tuesday morning the Professor decided to take stock of the progress. “Right Tom, after this next run, I want to call a halt to data collection and start the detailed analysis. That way we will be able to see how the Beast needs to be set up in order to start trying to detect or track large moving objects.”

  The Professor had walked over to the Beast just as Tom had finished making the preparations for the next run. He looked inside and spotted a carpenter’s tape rule just inside on the round floor. “What’s this Tom?” he asked as he picked up the tape rule. Tom was a bit sheepish. “Oh, I must have left it there by mistake James. I’ll put it back in my toolbox.” Tom stood up and went across to where the Professor was standing. The Professor was not convinced by Tom’s explanation. “I know damn well that you would not have left something there by accident. Nothing else is going to disappear, so stop bloody jeopardising my experiments. The metal in here is enough to bloody well ruin most, if not all of what we’ve done.” The Professor was very cross and Tom was deeply embarrassed. The Professor did not sense Tom’s shame and kept berating him. “I have never in my life had to suffer such utter incompetence.” He paced to and fro in an animated rage. He then crossed to where Tom was standing. “You young man are the most stupid, self centred, mindless individual that I have ever had to suffer.” He was standing inches in front of Tom and punctuated each point with a poke of his finger into Tom’s chest. After the third poke, Tom lost his temper. He forced the Professor’s hand away from his chest and pushed him away. The Professor pushed him back. Tom could feel the anger welling up inside, he could feel his face start to flush, he could feel a familiar foe coming back and then he was consumed by the darkness and dropped to the floor.

  The Professor had no idea what had happened and assumed that it was his push that had sent Tom on his fall backwards. Tom was lucky. His head missed the edge of the heavy work bench but even so it did hit the floor with sufficient force to cause a small pool of blood to appear. The Professor knelt down beside him and checked his pulse. It was racing thirteen to the dozen but at least he was still alive. He checked the head wound. There was less than a table spoon of blood but it looked far more. He took out his handkerchief and formed it into a pad and gently applied it to the back of Tom’s head. All through this he was half sobbing “Tom. Tom. I am so sorry. Tom. You’ll be okay.” Tom started to come around and was soon able to apply reason from within his dazed state. He realised that the Professor was holding him, he remembered the finger prodding and the shoving but, as always, he could not remember the last few seconds before he blacked out. “I’m okay James. Just a bump, I’ll be alright.” Tom was still not himself and was content to just lie on the floor. The Professor did not know the best way of getting medical help. He picked up the telephone on the wall near the work bench. It was a military telephone on a military line and he had only used it before to talk to the Quartermaster. He called that number and spoke to the Quartermaster’s clerk. He was very helpful and soon had an Army ambulance on its way from the Larkhill Medical Centre. Tom was seen by the duty doctor who instructed that he should be taken to Salisbury Hospital for an X-Ray. The Professor followed the ambulance in his car.

  Despite having been taken to hospital in an Army ambulance, Tom had to join the queue in the casualty department. The Professor sat with him which allowed the two Army medics to return to base. After ten minutes, Tom was seen by a senior nurse who assessed his injuries as minor which meant more waiting. An hour later another nurse recorded Tom’s medical history and noted the details of the accident. Tom did not admit to having suffered from the recurrence of the darkness as he was worried that this might affect his continued employment. He was eventually seen by a doctor, had an X-Ray and was then released. He did not need any stitches and, apart from the yellow sterilising solution over the small bump on his head, Tom was as right as rain. This was not the case for the Professor. He was deeply upset, very embarrassed and could not stop apologising. Tom had to calm him down as his driving was diabolical. “James, please don’t be silly. Slow down James. I was equally to blame. Woa! Watch that car pulling out.” They stopped at the service station at the roundabout where the Amesbury road joins the A303 and bought sandwiches for lunch. The Professor continued apologising all the way back to the Dagger building.

  Tom put the kettle on. “James. You must stop saying sorry. I am perfectly okay. You did not push me. I just lost my balance and fell. Thank you for buying my sandwich, it was delicious. Tea?” They were soon their old selves and work was resumed. “It’s only the last two runs that need to be repeated, James. The tape rule was in my toolbox before that.” As Tom said this he picked up the tape rule and with a mock show of ceremony returned it to the toolbox. For some reason there was an uneasy silence during which Tom just sat in front of the main computer and waited. Perhaps his attempt at humour when replacing the tape rule was in bad taste.

  The Professor came to life. “Alright, let’s get on with it. Reload the parameters, set the Purge going and put a few more ties on those power cables on the right hand side.” Tom was happy now and the Professor felt better and was back in control. Tom re-loaded the parameter data and then went into the Beast with a handful of plastic cable ties. He was unable to reach the ones needing attention as the wooden instrument table was in the way. He carefully lifted it out and then, on his hands and knees, set about fixing the ties. The Professor was sitting at the bench next to the computer looking at some of the printed results from a pr
evious run. Tom called out “James, I’m sorry to be a nuisance. I forgot to start the Purge would you set it running please. Either click on ‘Purge’ on the screen or press Control P.” The Professor took his attention away from the printed results and grunted in compliance. He then returned to the pages of figures.

  He did not realise his mistake straight away as both a Purge and a Run cause the power supplies to hum. He realised his mistake when the computer terminal beeped, there was a flashing alarm and the error messages, ‘Power failure’ followed by ‘Reset Required’ appeared on the screen. These had not been seen this week at all. He put the printed results down. “Sorry about that Tom. I set it to Run by mistake. I’ll do the Purge after you reset the power supplies.” The Professor glanced up to check that Tom had heard. Tom did not reply. He was not in the Beast. “Gone to the loo I expect.” He thought. He returned to the printed results and it was another half an hour before he realised that there might be a problem. Tom was not in the lavatory, he was not in the office at the side of the building and the Professor could not find him at all.

  The Professor remembered that people with concussion sometimes do strange things, often wanting to be in the open air. Tom might have delayed-concussion. He checked the immediate area outside the Dagger building, nothing. He questioned two young soldiers who were passing by, they had seen nobody. He went back inside the building and checked the lavatory, office and the main garage area again, nothing. At this point he was at a total loss. He had an idea. He found his mobile phone and rang Tom’s number. To his dismay he could hear the ringing of a phone in Tom’s leather motorcycle jacket. The motorcycle – he ran outside but it was still there. His next idea was to get in his car and search the camp in case Tom was wandering around in a daze. This took a long time and was probably not done very methodically as the Professor was not familiar with the whole of the huge Army base and there were several roads from the camp leading out on to Salisbury Plain. He returned to the Dagger building for one more check and then he went to the Guardroom. The soldiers on duty had seen nobody leave on foot but said that they would keep an eye out for Tom. The Guard Commander suggested that the Professor should report the matter to the Military Police. The Professor thanked the young Sergeant and went back to the Dagger building. He was not sure what the best course of action might be and so he rang the police number.

  In less than two minutes, a Royal Military Police car pulled up. The Professor went outside to meet the Sergeant and Corporal, both dressed in immaculate uniform with their red berets and highly polished boots. He took them inside the Dagger building and explained why he was there and that the project was classified. The soldiers made some notes and then searched the building themselves. It was not long before the Corporal spotted the small pool of blood on the floor not far from the bench.

  “Oh, I can explain that, Corporal,” said the Professor. “I said that Tom might be concussed. Well that is his blood from this morning when he banged his head.” The Sergeant made a note. “Your chaps from the Medical Centre took him to Salisbury Hospital and I brought him back at lunchtime.” More notes were written. The Corporal continued looking around and the Sergeant asked some questions. “How did Tom come to fall over Professor? Did he fall or was he pushed?” The Professor’s heart raced. He was not given to lying and so he hung his head low and said, “We had an argument. I pushed him and he fell backwards. It was a silly thing to do and I really did not mean to hurt him.” The Sergeant noted what was said. “How did he seem when you got back? Was he acting odd in any way?” asked the Sergeant. “No. He was perfectly okay. We were getting ready to repeat some of our tests,” said the Professor.

  “And just how…” the Sergeant was interrupted by the Corporal. “Sarge. Take a look at this.” The Corporal was standing at the entrance to the Beast. He was looking down at the toe end of a shoe. It looked as though it had been sliced through with a very sharp knife. There was a small piece of rubber sole with part of the leather upper still joined to it. Inside was the bloody end of a big toe. “Shit. Professor, what do you have to say about this?” the Sergeant asked. The Professor moved closer and then drew away. “My God, what the hell is that?”

  The Sergeant looked towards the Corporal and he did not need to say anything, yet he communicated his suspicions in that glance. “I think Professor that you need to tell us a little more about how Tom Brooker came to disappear. I am also going to have to call the civilian Police as this is now not a simple Military matter.” The Professor sat down, put his elbows on the bench and rested his head in his hands. He just did not know what to say. Meanwhile the Corporal walked across to the military telephone on the wall and made a call to the Guardroom. “I need two guys to secure the Dagger building ASAP.” He then called the Adjutant’s number. “Sir, its Corporal Townsend RMP. I’m at the Dagger Building with Sergeant Laker. We think there has been a serious incident. The guy working with that Professor chappy has disappeared and we have found blood and a severed toe. Doesn’t look good, does it Sir? Perhaps we need to inform the Civvy Police Sir.” The Corporal moved to the side of the Professor where he stood comfortably at ease but ready to move quickly, just in case.

  A few minutes later there was a loud banging on the door. Nobody could enter unless they knew the access code, and due to the security measures in place for the project only the Professor and Tom knew that code. Sergeant Laker moved across and opened the door. Outside stood the Adjutant and the Quartermaster. They entered and were briefed by the Sergeant. The Adjutant agreed that the civilian police should be called and the Sergeant made the call. The Professor had been quiet for a while but suddenly said. “I need to make a telephone call.” The Adjutant responded. “I think that we should wait until after the Police have been, if you don’t mind Professor.” The Professor stood up. “No. You don’t understand. This is a highly classified project and I need to let the MoD security people know what is going on. They will want to protect the work that we are doing.”

  The Adjutant had a whispered conversation with Sergeant Laker and the Quartermaster. “Very well Professor.” He moved to the telephone on the wall. “Do you have the number?” The Professor reached inside his pocket and took out his mobile phone. “It’s here. I can call him on this if that’s okay.” He made the call to Inspector Morton-Farrell. “Inspector, it’s Professor Gordon. I’m phoning from Larkhill Camp. I am in a spot of bother. Something awful seems to have happened and I need your help. My young man, Tom Brooker, has disappeared and I have Military Police and all sorts of other people here inside the building and I,” he hesitated and sat down with a crash, “and I just need help.” The Inspector asked to speak to one of the Military Policemen or MPs as they were usually called. The Professor handed the telephone to the Sergeant. The Sergeant was a little unhappy talking to the Inspector as he actually had no way of telling whether the person on the other end of the telephone was genuine or not. The Inspector said something that convinced him immediately and he was then fully briefed by the Sergeant. Morton-Farrell then asked to speak to the Adjutant, Captain Mark Davis. “I cannot impress on you enough just how sensitive this project is. I will call the local police now and ask them to allow the Metropolitan Police to have jurisdiction. With my Home Office connections, I am sure that they will agree.”

  The whole situation had just become more complicated and both the Adjutant and the Quartermaster knew that they were going to be late home. Corporal Townsend briefed the two sentries who had arrived from the Guardroom. In reality, their presence was superfluous due to the security of the building but it was good Military practice and it made the MPs and the two officers happy.

  Morton-Farrell wasted no time and was on a small military helicopter within twenty minutes of finishing the conversation with the Adjutant. He had spoken to the Deputy Chief Constable for Wiltshire and had his full cooperation. There would be no local police involvement at all. His flight to Larkhill Camp took fifty minutes and he was met at the Helicopter Landing Site
by the Adjutant. It was a short drive to the Dagger building which was now beginning to look like the drawing room scene from an Agatha Christie novel. Nothing had been touched inside the building, although from a police forensic perspective, the area had become contaminated by the constant shuffling around of visitors.

  The Adjutant had to be there as he would be expected to produce a report for the Commanding Officer. The Quartermaster stayed on more out of curiosity but nobody was going to question his presence. The two MPs would have to be there until the Inspector was satisfied and allowed them to leave. They too would be expected to produce a report for their chain of command and therefore needed to know just what view the civilian police took of the matter. Morton-Farrell was resigned to being in the area until some conclusion was reached. He sat down next to the Professor. “Professor, I am aware of the little argument that took place today and I believe you when you say that it was a silly episode, and that you and Tom were the best of friends afterwards. Do you have any idea or suspicion what might have happened here?” The Professor looked as though he was close to tears. “I haven’t a bloody clue.” He immediately regretted that particular expletive. “At one point, I thought that Tom might have concussion. Then I thought that he might be playing a trick. Now I just don’t know. I feel so awful.” The Quartermaster overheard the latter part of the conversation and suggested to the Corporal that he should make the Professor a “nice cuppa” which he did.