‘Check heat shields!’ Deiter was still shouting orders across the room.
‘Satisfactory.’
‘Increase power to seventy-five per cent.’
A technician tapped in the figure on his keyboard. ‘Power at seventy per cent.’
Tom checked the data screens again. The numbers were still increasing. He checked the CCTV images of the tunnel. He could see a group of four workers, dressed in protective suits, inspecting a pipe leading to one of the helium coolant tanks, with flashlights. He was trying to work out what they were doing when the camera flicked onto another part of the tunnel. He stood there, his eyes transfixed on the screen, waiting for the image to return. It took a full sixty seconds for it to come around again. This time, he could see the men slowly walking away from the pipe, obviously satisfied with their inspection.
‘Heat shields effective.’ This time the technician didn’t wait to be asked before volunteering the information.
‘Increase power to maximum.’
‘Power at maximum.’
‘Heat shields holding.’
Tom was still watching the group of men. They had just walked off the screen when the monitor flashed white and then went blank. He checked the other monitors, which were all working normally. He turned his attention to the data screens. He noticed that the figures on the far left monitor were descending whilst the others were still increasing.
And then the alarm sounded.
‘Code red! Code red!’ Deiter tried to make himself heard above the blaring siren.
Everybody, apart from Tom, seemed to know what to do. He managed to catch hold of a young woman’s arm as she scurried past him. ‘What is code red?’
‘Emergency shutdown and evacuate the complex.’ She didn’t wait around to be asked any more questions and hurried out of the room.
Tom surveyed the room. Some technicians were tapping frantically on keyboards, whilst others were collecting their belongings and disappearing through the doors at a brisk pace. Deiter was flitting from one workstation to another, issuing instructions. Everything appeared controlled but he could see the anxiety on people’s faces.
‘We’d better go.’ It was Serena who had sidled up beside him.
‘Shouldn’t I be the last man out or something?’
‘Like the captain going down with his ship?’ she teased. ‘That’s very noble of you, but not necessary. We’ve got a strict protocol for this type of emergency. “All extraneous members of staff should evacuate the complex immediately and report to the assembly point.” You should have read your emergency manual, Professor, tut, tut. I think that deserves a “D” minus. Come on, I’ll show you where we have to go.’
It was over four hours before they were allowed back into the complex, during which time four fire engines, three ambulances, one federal and two local police cars had arrived. The ambulances were the first to leave, two of them carrying the bodies of the two workers who had been pronounced dead at the scene of the explosion, the third carrying the other two badly-burnt workers. The fire engines had left after putting the fires out, but only when they were confident that there wouldn’t be a risk of the fires re-igniting by using their thermal imaging cameras. The police cars were still there.
A whole section of the complex where the explosion had taken place was cordoned off by police tape, not just from a structural safety standpoint but also because it was officially a crime scene.
‘…until they had conducted their enquiries and were satisfied that there was no criminal intent involved,’ as Tom was told by Inspector Gervaux, the senior officer in charge of the investigation, who had an air of aloofness about him.
‘We will need to interview everybody that was involved in today’s experiment,’ the Inspector added. It was obvious to Tom by the way he sarcastically emphasised the word ‘experiment’ that he wasn’t a huge fan of the organisation’s objectives. ‘Could you please arrange six interview rooms where my colleagues can conduct their questioning and identify the staff that we will need to speak to.’ Without waiting for a response, he left Tom to rejoin the other officers.
‘Something tells me this is going to be a long day,’ Tom muttered to himself.
CHAPTER 11
The sun was just rising over the Bosphorus on a cold, grey, November morning, when Hamil Sadik arrived at his ‘office’. Unlike the modern chrome and glass skyscrapers that could be found in the business quarter, his office was a sixth-century masterpiece of Byzantine architecture. With its golden mosaics, marble pillars and rich wall coverings, not to mention the impressive Grand Dome, the Hagia Sophia had long been considered by most art historians as the eighth wonder of the world, and Hamil Sadik tended to agree.
Hamil was a family man who often joked that his spreading girth was as a result of his wife trying to kill him with kindness by feeding him too much. His two children had flown the nest years ago, only to return most weekends with their own fledglings. He doted on his grandchildren, of which he had six, and always maintained that the prerogative of a grandparent was to spoil them rotten without having the guilt of parental responsibility.
But, at the age of 60, he was finding it more and more difficult to keep up with their energetic antics. His eyesight had deteriorated over the last few years to the extent that he now wore glasses all the time as opposed to just for reading. His hair had faired a little better. Unlike most of his contemporaries, who were either going grey or thin on top, his was still as full and dark as when he was a teenager, which he wore military style — short back and sides. Although he wouldn’t admit it, he often found the odd rogue silver hairs, which were dispensed of as soon as they were discovered. His bushy moustache was subjected to the same treatment, borrowing his wife’s tweezers to perform the operation.
He checked his watch. It was just before 7 am, two hours before the museum was due to open to the public and three hours before the dignitaries arrived. He had made good time from his home on the outskirts of Istanbul, despite having to take a detour over the Galata Bridge to avoid a traffic jam that had been announced on the radio.
As he let himself in through the Judas gate, set in the magnificent Imperial entrance at the front of the building, he reflected, as he had done so many times before, on how lucky he was to have been given the position as Curator — or ‘Guardian’, as he liked to think of himself — of this historic symbol of Turkey’s heritage. That was almost three years ago to the day and, ever since then, he’d been awed by the sheer size of the temple built by the Emperor Justinian nearly fifteen centuries ago.
He walked through the highly-decorated portal, stopping at the entrance to the nave to switch on the resplendent wrought iron chandeliers so he could survey his domain in all its glory. His thick-rimmed glasses had steamed up; he polished them on the lapel of his overcoat, before returning them to his ruddy face. So vast was the structure that he had to look at one section at a time to take in the whole shape of its interior. His eyes led from the monolithic blue, green, and blood-red columns of marble and stone brought from every corner of the empire, to the soaring vaults, then to the smaller domes, finally coming to rest on the great mosaic figure of Christ in the central dome that had taken almost two years to restore.
It had been a controversial decision at the time to allow the layers of the calligraphic medallion quoting the Light Verse from the Qur’an, which had adorned the prime position of the Grand Dome for over five hundred years, to be peeled back to reveal the Christian Messiah as judge and ruler of all, looking down as though from heaven itself. Heated discussions had taken place in parliament between the various religious sects, but it was the historians that had won the day led by an impassioned speech by Hamil, lambasting the Ottoman Turks for plastering over such important religious artefacts when they converted the temple into a mosque in the fifteenth century.