They switched their attention back to the monitors. There was a red banner running along the bottom of the bulletin with the words, ‘Warning! Viewers of a nervous disposition may find some scenes disturbing’ scrolling across it. The images showed a bulldozer laden with corpses, its giant steel caterpillar tracks trundling towards a deep trench. It stopped just short of the hole, raised its bucket and tipped the bodies into the mass grave before turning around to collect another load.
‘Can you prove it?’ Deiter cut in.
‘Our primary objective is to prevent anything like this happening again,’ Frederick replied resolutely. ‘This document empirically proves that the earthquakes are linked to the Collider, which is enough for me to recommend to the Council that we close down the facility immediately. The hows and whys can wait.’
He paused to gather his thoughts before addressing the group again. ‘Gentlemen, we have to face the stark realisation that we have failed in our mission to protect civilisation from itself. Our organisation was founded by our forefathers with the sole edict of preventing such a catastrophe taking place. Our myopic resolve to undermine the discovery of the God particle, by whatever means necessary, has resulted in bringing about the very disaster we were trying to avert. I take full responsibility for the part I played in allowing the Collider to be built in the first place, my only defence being that I truly believed that we would have been able to control it long enough to misdirect those dogmatists, determined to split open the smallest known particles with scant regard to the consequences.’
He paused again, letting out a brief sigh. ‘I will, naturally, be stepping down as head of this cell, but first I must convince the CERN Council to cease all future activity without alerting the media to our intentions. I couldn’t desert my post without at least trying to rectify some of the damage we have done.’
There were a few objectors around the table to Frederick’s announced resignation. Deiter wasn’t one of them.
Frederick ignored the protests. ‘None of us are getting any younger,’ he continued. ‘And, whilst maturity brings with it a degree of wisdom, technology is moving at such a rapid pace that it takes a younger mind to keep up with all the developments. It is to this end that I propose we approach Tom Halligan to join us.’
There were a few proponents around the table. Again, Deiter wasn’t one of them.
‘Look!’ one of the men facing the screens shouted. ‘If the Collider was responsible for causing the earthquakes and it is currently inoperative, how is this possible?’ He was pointing to the broadcast, which had replaced the earlier warning with a newsflash banner reading ‘Reports are coming in of a major earthquake in San Francisco’.
Everybody was perplexed — everyone, that was, apart from Deiter. If Frederick and the others hadn’t been so absorbed in watching the TV report, they would have been disturbed at the sight of Deiter, a triumphant glint in his eyes, mouthing the words ‘It’s started, it’s started’ over and over like some demonic chant.
CHAPTER 20
Tom and Serena had parted on the steps of the main building but had arranged to meet up later that evening, more for companionship than anything else. Tom said he needed to catch up on some emails, whilst Serena called it a day and went back to her apartment.
He made his way to his office through the control room. There were a handful of technicians still there, but very little work was being done — they were all watching CNN World News. Tom glanced at the screen; a wave of guilt and remorse swept over him as he saw the homeless survivors, their tear-stained faces, a portrait of shock and incredulity.
Then the images were gone, replaced by a helicopter’s perspective of what was once an extensive bridge over a vast body of water, with only the two supporting concrete and steel structures left at either end of the span. Tom assumed it was the First Bosphorus Bridge, but then couldn’t help thinking how similar it looked to the Golden Gate Bridge before rationalising that all suspension bridges would look the same if subjected to a massive earthquake.
Inspector Gervaux was sitting behind his desk again, much to Tom’s annoyance. This time, however, he didn’t wait to be asked to vacate his seat, as he saw Tom coming.
‘Ah, there you are. My officers have been looking for you,’ he said as Tom stepped into his office. ‘There have been some developments and we would like you to clarify a few points down at the station.’
‘Is that really necessary?’ Tom replied, a little bemused by the request.
‘I’m afraid so,’ the inspector said firmly. ‘I have a car waiting, if you would like to follow me. Do you want to get your jacket? It’s rather chilly outside.’
‘I don’t have one,’ replied Tom. ‘My clothes were vandalised, if you remember.’ His annoyance at having to accompany the inspector was showing through.
‘Ah yes, the break-in…’ The inspector left the words floating ambiguously mid-sentence. ‘This way, please.’
He led Tom out of the building and around the corner. A black Peugeot was waiting, the engine ticking over to enable its occupant to keep the heater on.
‘You two already know each other,’ Inspector Gervaux said, opening the rear door for Tom.
Sergeant Lavelle found it difficult to turn his bulky frame in the driver’s seat, so acknowledged Tom with a grunt as he got in the car.
‘Nice to see you again, too,’ Tom responded, but the sarcasm fell into the cultural divide.
Inspector Gervaux got in the back, beside Tom, who wondered whether this was hierarchical protocol or just in case Tom tried to make a break for it. I really will have to stop watching those crime thrillers, he told himself.
The short journey to the police station took place in complete silence. Tom watched out of the window as the landscape changed from countryside to suburbia. The wind had died down but there was a lot more snow in the air. A thin, white blanket covered the trees and rooftops, though it hadn’t managed to pitch on the ground yet. Tom hoped he’d be able to get back to the complex before it did.
They pulled up in front of an elegant four-storey building in the heart of Geneva’s old district. Its brown stone façade and wrought iron balconies were more befitting an upmarket hotel than a place where the city’s lowlifes were guests. The only architectural features belying its image as a luxury lodge were the bars on the ground floor windows.
As Sergeant Lavelle switched off the engine, Tom heard a distinctive click indicating that the rear doors were unlocked. If he was indeed a criminal and had wanted to make a run for it, now would be his chance. Instead, he waited patiently until the others had sorted out their paperwork and personal belongings before opening his car door and stepping out into the freezing night.
They made their way into the building in single file, Inspect Gervaux at the front, Tom in the middle and the sergeant bringing up the rear. Only the absence of handcuffs would affirm to a sharp-eyed onlooker that he wasn’t being arrested. They walked past the duty sergeant dealing with an early evening drunk, who had difficulty standing on his own two feet without the assistance of the other two officers flanking him, and up a flight of stairs to a suite of interview rooms.
Inspector Gervaux chose the nearest empty one, switched on the fluorescent lights and ushered Tom in. The room was large, about the size of Frederick’s office, but without the homeliness. Cream walls smelt of new paint. Tom wondered what had happened to prompt the make-over. A single white metal table sat in the centre of the room, its tubular legs bolted to the shiny tiled floor. Three uncomfortable-looking plastic chairs were haphazardly dotted around it. There wasn’t a two-way mirror covering one wall, as he had envisaged there would be; instead, two CCTV cameras hung from the ceiling at either end of the room to record both the interviewer’s and interviewee’s audiovisual responses.