‘Zero!’ said a young woman in the front.
‘Very good. See? You already know all the answers. We have just described another law of nature.’ Stolzfus paused again and pointed to the ceiling. ‘But where did all that negative energy go?’ he asked, lowering his voice. ‘Where is it today? Well, it’s all around us. It’s in the third building block needed to construct a universe: space. Space is an enormous storage device containing negative energy.’
Now Stolzfus became really excited. He explained that the universe had once been smaller than a proton and as such had to obey the laws of quantum mechanics and because of that, it could have spontaneously appeared out of nothing. He then went on to explain something mind-boggling about time, one of his favourite subjects and, he said, one of the last frontiers of science to be conquered before a unifying theory of everything was possible.
‘Come with me,’ said Stolzfus, and took his spellbound audience on a journey back through time, right back to the Big Bang itself until a point was reached where the universe was so tiny and so dense – like the smallest black hole imaginable – where something extraordinary happened: time stopped. Therefore, he argued, time did not exist before the Big Bang.
Stolzfus took a deep breath and looked again at the young woman who had asked the question about the existence of God. ‘If the laws of nature tell us that it is possible to have something that has no cause because there was no time for a cause to exist, then it must follow that there couldn’t have been a creator because there was no time for him to create in. Instead of answering the question for you, I will let you all answer it for yourselves. I think it is the best and fairest way by far. You may not be able to do this right now, but as we move forward and find out more about our universe and the laws of nature, the answer may become clearer and easier to find. Thank you.’
At the end of the lecture, Stolzfus was given a standing ovation by his adoring fans. After that, students crowded around him to get his autograph. With his tail-wagging dog standing patiently beside him, it was clear that Stolzfus was enjoying the moment.
‘I had no idea you were such a rocket star, Professor Stolzfus,’ said the major, walking up to Stolzfus as the last of the students were leaving. ‘This was quite something.’
‘A rocket star? I like that. I love giving these lectures,’ said Stolzfus, gathering up his notes. ‘When I look at these eager faces, I can see the future. And it’s looking good. I’m sorry to have kept you; we went a little over time, I’m afraid. I saw you sitting at the back.’
‘Don’t worry, I enjoyed every moment. You are a charismatic speaker. Can we go somewhere private to talk?’
‘Sure. As long as you don’t mind Gizmo and my bodyguard over there. Please follow me.’
Stolzfus took the major into a small room next to the lecture hall. ‘We could go back to my office, but you said it was urgent.’
‘There’s never enough time, but I wanted you to hear this from us.’
‘Us?’
‘The CIA.’
‘All right. What is it?’
‘We would like you to reconsider.’
Stolzfus looked surprised. ‘Reconsider? What exactly?’
‘Attending the Hawking service.’
‘Why?’
‘We’ve intercepted something ...’
‘Oh?’
‘Hackers, most likely operating somewhere in the Soviet Union or Eastern Europe, broke into various highly classified sites recently. Nothing unusual about that; it happens. It’s a constant problem. But we noticed a disturbing pattern.’
‘What kind of pattern?’ asked Stolzfus, his curiosity aroused.
‘They were obviously looking for something quite specific.’
‘And this is relevant because?
‘Because what they were looking for was about you and your upcoming trip to the UK.’
‘Are you serious?’
‘Absolutely.’
Stolzfus looked incredulous. ‘Why would someone take such interest in my—’
‘We have reason to believe that some kind of operation is planned involving you during your visit to the UK,’ interrupted Major Andersen, looking concerned.
‘What kind of operation? By whom?’
‘We are working on that.’
‘And this is the reason you want me to reconsider? I suppose you are asking me not to go, is that it?’
‘We would like you to think about it.’
‘But I haven’t been stopped from going?’
‘No. Not at this stage. The relevant decision makers have asked for more information.’
‘But you are here asking me now?’
‘Yes. As the officer responsible for your safety during this trip, I wanted you to hear this from me first. I consider this to be a serious threat and would like you to take this into account when making your decision.’
‘Based on what? Some hackers looking for information?’
‘You may not know this, Professor, but I have been in the navy for many years and I have extensive combat experience. I was one of the youngest fighter pilots on aircraft carriers before joining the CIA. I know danger. I can sense it; I can feel it,’ said the major, raising her voice just a little to make a point. ‘And I can feel it now; gut feeling if you like. You too are a man of intuition, following your instincts, right?’
‘Yes, but surely this is different.’
‘Is it? I don’t think so.’
Stolzfus shook his head. ‘No, Major Andersen, I will not slink away like a coward because of some vague, perceived threat. You can take it that I will attend Professor Hawking’s memorial service unless I am formally forbidden to do so by my superiors.’
For a while the major looked at Stolzfus, the concern on her face remaining. ‘I was afraid you would say that, Professor. With that in mind, I have rearranged your travel schedule with MI5 and the Metropolitan Police in London, who will be responsible for your security in the UK.’ The major opened her briefcase, pulled out a sheet of paper and placed it on the table in front of Stolzfus.
‘These are your travel arrangements,’ she said quietly. ‘The memorial service is due to start at noon on Friday June fifteen. I would like you to memorise this. You will only be in the UK for a few hours. This is how it will all work ...’
10
London: 14 June
Teodora and Silvanus arrived first and settled into their room in the modest hotel in East London. Nadia and Aladdin were due to arrive a little later to avoid them all being seen together. Looking like a carefree couple on holidays about to enjoy the sights of London, no-one would have suspected that Spiridon 4 was about to launch its most ambitious project ever, which would send London and its security forces into a spin, and send ripples of tension and discord across the Atlantic, right up to the White House.
There was a very good reason why Teodora had chosen this particular hotel. The person who would play a pivotal role in the assignment – Father Christos Alexopoulos – was staying there too. Spiridon 4 had spent the past three weeks in London finalising their preparations. As usual, meticulous planning with painstaking attention to detail was carried out, and checked and rechecked many times to ensure there were no mistakes and nothing had been overlooked. Contingency plans and emergency escape routes – should the unexpected happen – were put in place and a secure line of communication established. As skilful professionals who left nothing to chance, each member of the group had their own tasks and areas of responsibility. At the end of each day, there was a meeting with reports and checklists, and even trial runs of certain parts of the detailed plan, including an inspection of the secure vehicles that had been obtained through trusted third parties without leaving a trail.
The intelligence provided by the hackers in Ukraine had been invaluable and had provided vital information and insights into the official planning and logistics of the high-profile event that would be attended by more than a thousand dignitaries from around the world, and involve
an almost equal number of security personnel.
Teodora looked at the diagram spread out on the bed showing Westminster Abbey and its surrounds, and smiled. It was all coming together and best of all, they could do it all themselves. Engaging outsiders had always made her nervous. Most of their problems in the past had been caused by that.
‘What do you think?’ asked Silvanus, looking over Teodora’s shoulder.
‘Looks good. Complex, yes, but I think we’ve got it all covered. All five phases of it. We’ll go over everything again tonight as soon as Aladdin and Nadia get here. We have to know this stuff inside out with nothing left to chance.’
‘Nothing new about that. Do you really think this will be our last assignment?’ asked Silvanus, watching Teodora carefully.
Teodora turned around and faced her friend. ‘I do. What you said at Como was right. We are getting too old for this and when that happens, mistakes creep in, and we cannot afford mistakes. Not even small ones. I sense we are just not sharp enough anymore. So, quit while you’re ahead, I say.’
‘What will you do? After, I mean.’
Teodora stared pensively at the plan in front of her. ‘Hunt down that monster ... he will be my last assignment.’
‘Dr Death from all those years ago?’
‘Yes. I promised myself. If he’s still alive and out there somewhere, I’ll find him and I’ll get him, of that I’m sure.’
‘War crimes tribunals have tried and failed,’ Silvanus reminded Teodora. ‘Even the tenacious Carla Del Ponte couldn’t find him, remember?’
‘I remember. She was the chief prosecutor for the International Criminal Tribunal for the former Yugoslavia – ICTY as they called it. We are better than she could ever be, but her book could be useful. I will use that as my starting point.’
Del Ponte’s controversial book – The Hunt: Me and the War Criminals published in 2008 – claimed to have seen evidence to support that Kosovo Albanians had carried out widespread organ-harvesting operations after the armed conflict that ended in 1999, involving kidnapped ethnic Serbs. This astonishing accusation had been backed up by several eyewitness statements and by her own visits to various sites where atrocities were supposed to have been committed. There was even a witness who claimed to have made an organ delivery to an Albanian airport from a remote house known as the ‘Yellow house’ in Albania. After Kosovo’s declaration of independence, Del Ponte, a Swiss national, was ordered by her government to stop her investigation and not to discuss the case any further. Pursuing horrendous claims like that was no longer politically desirable and steps were taken to discredit her and her book.
‘Doesn’t she also talk about a Kosovar doctor from Pec, who eyewitnesses said had removed organs from more than fifty prisoners?’
‘Yes. She also mentions the involvement of local villagers. They objected to having graves opened. According to witnesses interviewed by Del Ponte, the bodies of victims were buried in local cemeteries under false Albanian names to hide the evidence. They were all in on it.’
‘And didn’t she present all this to the UN?’
‘She did. But by then, no-one was interested,’ said Teodora quietly with sadness in her voice. ‘But I am ... even after all these years.’
‘Forget the past and move on isn’t for you, is it?’ said Silvanus.
‘Certain things cannot be forgotten. Both of us know that only too well, don’t we?’
‘We sure do. You would have made an excellent war crimes prosecutor.’
Teodora shook her head. ‘Executioner, more likely,’ she said and began to trace the outline of Westminster Abbey with the tips of her fingers on the diagram in front of her. ‘We’ll do it right in here tomorrow,’ continued Teodora. ‘Sounds almost insane, doesn’t it? Are we perhaps a little too ambitious this time?’
Silvanus was taken aback. He had never heard Teodora second-guess a project before. ‘Doubts? Cold feet? You?’ he said.
‘Cold feet no, but listen to this: we are staying here in this shabby little hotel because a certain Eastern Orthodox priest, Father Christos Alexopoulos, is staying here too. Room twelve. Early tomorrow morning, we’ll break into his room, drug him, and Aladdin will take his place. No, he will have to do more than that, he will have to become Christos Alexopoulos, complete with long beard, flowing black cassock, chain and gold cross and a funny hat called a kamilavka. He will then catch a cab to Westminster Abbey, present his invitation and then enter the Abbey as Father Alexopoulos, the famous astronomer from Athens, making sure that he somehow gets to stand close to Professor Stolzfus, who will also be attending together with several hundred dignitaries protected by one of the most sophisticated security forces on the planet. And this is only phase one. How does this sound to you?’
‘Daring and ingenious, and completely in line with our usual modus operandi. In short, classic Spiridon 4,’ replied Silvanus without hesitation.
Teodora turned around and gave her friend a hug. ‘I was hoping you would say that,’ she whispered. ‘Now I know we’re ready.’
Nadia and Aladdin arrived half an hour later and Spiridon 4 began their final briefing session during which every detail of the complex plan was carefully examined, watches synchronised and encrypted communication channels put in place and tested. As usual, surprise and split-second timing were at the very heart of the project. The briefing took several hours, but by now everyone was running on adrenaline and sleep was out of the question. Instead, each segment of the plan was pulled apart and then put together again to make sure that nothing was forgotten or overlooked.
At six am sharp, Silvanus and Aladdin knocked on the door of room twelve at the end of the dimly lit, deserted corridor on the first floor. When a sleepy Father Alexopoulos finally answered the door and Silvanus and Aladdin burst into his room, Spiridon 4 had begun their final assignment.
A short distance to the north, the US Air Force plane carrying Stolzfus and Major Andersen had just touched down at Stansted Airport and was taxiing towards a small terminal that was off limits to the public. Stolzfus would remain in the terminal until it was time to travel to Westminster Abbey to attend the service scheduled to begin at noon. The major had arranged transport – which would be provided by the Metropolitan Police – to pick them up at eleven am, which should give them ample time to travel from Stansted to the Abbey without cutting it fine. In the meantime, Stolzfus would be served breakfast, given an opportunity to have a shower and get changed, and then relax in a comfortable lounge until it was time to leave.
Until then, the major knew she could relax too. After that, it was game on. Even after the visit had, on her recommendation, been cut down to the bare minimum for security reasons and Stolzfus would only remain in the UK for a few hours, the major was still feeling uneasy about the trip.
The disturbing hacking pattern the CIA had first noticed a few weeks ago had recently become even more pronounced and focused. What was particularly worrying was a recent report received from MI5 during an intelligence exchange, stating that similar hacking incursions had been detected regarding the Stolzfus visit, and security arrangements surrounding the Hawking memorial service generally. To an experienced operator like the major, this could mean only one thing: something was up. Something big!
11
Stansted Airport, London: 15 June
‘Don’t you look suave,’ said Major Andersen as Stolzfus sat down next to her in the exclusive airport lounge reserved for visiting dignitaries. Apart from the security guard standing at the door, the lounge was deserted.
‘My only suit,’ replied Stolzfus, laughing. ‘Can I get you some coffee?’
‘Yes please. Let’s have some breakfast. I’m starving. We’ll be here for a while.’
Stolzfus had just taken a shower and got changed after their night flight from Joint Base Andrews, Maryland. He had slept through most of the flight and felt refreshed and exhilarated. It was just after seven-thirty in the morning and they were not due to leave the airport unt
il eleven. Stolzfus was particularly looking forward to meeting some of his colleagues from around the world he knew would be attending the service. To someone like Stolzfus, who rarely travelled and hadn’t been outside the United States for years, the trip was turning into a real adventure, much more so than he had expected.
What a remarkable man, the major thought as she watched Stolzfus put lashings of jam on his second croissant. A mathematics genius who played the cello and dreamed about solving the mysteries of the universe. Amazing.
During the flight, Stolzfus had told her about his love of music and how music helped him to focus and transport himself to the far reaches of the universe because it stimulated his imagination. Having spent the past twenty-four hours in his company, she was slowly beginning to glimpse the man behind the carefully erected eccentric scientist facade protecting a sensitive and, she thought, vulnerable genius, torn between his intellect and his Amish family and past.
‘That lecture you gave to the students at the Space and Rocket Center was really something,’ said the major.
‘Oh? It struck a chord then, I take it?’ replied Stolzfus, munching happily. ‘What did you like about it?’
‘The way you approached the question of the existence of God.’
‘You mean how I sidestepped the question and let the students find the answer themselves?’ asked Stolzfus, a glint in his eyes.
‘Yes, I thought that was very clever and respectful. It showed great sensitivity and tact. You didn’t use your authority to overwhelm them with a carefully constructed argument, leaving no room for faith or doubt. That’s what I thought was very clever.’
‘Very perceptive of you, Major. It’s a very thorny question. I always have difficulty answering it in public.’
‘But in private, you have no such difficulty?’
‘Not anymore.’
‘May I ask why?’
‘The evidence is overwhelming. The facts speak for themselves. The laws of nature we have discovered during the past, say, one hundred years – certainly since Einstein – are irrefutable. I am a scientist. My language is mathematics and reason. And once we speak that language, there is no room or need for faith.’
The Curious Case of the Missing Head Page 9