Not satisfied with having averted a holocaust, the likes of which the world had never witnessed before, he had one last heroic act to perform. He believed that he could foreshorten the war, saving thousands of lives, if he could pass his findings to the Allies, on the proviso that they would never detonate the bomb but use the device as a deterrent to force Germany into an armistice. Having received the assurances via a highly-respected neutral intermediary, he handed over his entire research.
‘…and the rest, as they say, ladies and gentlemen, is history.’ Deiter stood his ground, waiting for the audience to burst into rapturous applause. Instead, he was greeted by three blank faces and a rather bored-looking security guard.
‘Your father was Reinhardt?’ Volker asked incredulously, breaking the silence.
‘Yes, Professor Viktor Reinhardt,’ Deiter corrected. ‘A brilliant scientist who saved the world, but couldn’t even get a job teaching physics in high school when the war ended. He was ridiculed by his so-called peers, who insisted that the errors he made when calculating the amount of radioactive material required to make a bomb weren’t deliberate, but were the actions of an incompetent fool. He took his own life — a broken man, destitute and riddled with guilt for passing his research to the Americans. And all because of some misguided loyalty to the human race.
‘And that’s why you’re doing this?’ Serena’s face was a mask of contempt. ‘Out of some kind of twisted revenge for you father not having received the recognition you think he deserved?’
Deiter’s face flushed. ‘My father was a weak, pathetic man,’ he barked. ‘I was ashamed to carry his name through life, so I changed it to my mother’s maiden name. He should have stuck to his principles as a physicist and developed the bomb for the Nazis. As scientists, it is not in our remit to be morally judgemental. We push back the frontiers of knowledge and let others decide what they do with the results… that’s what we do.’
‘Even if it means hundreds of thousands of innocent people could die?’ Serena interjected.
‘Yes, and that’s exactly what happened as a result of my father doing the right thing. The only difference is that the innocent victims, in his case, changed from Western to Asian. Does that make it easier for you to digest?’ Deiter sneered back at her.
‘I’d love to know what Freud would have made of this guy’s father complex,’ Tom whispered to Serena as Deiter turned away from them.
He must have caught the gesture out of the corner of his eye, because he suddenly snapped his head round to face Tom. ‘If you’ve got something to say, Professor Halligan, why don’t you share it with the rest of us?’
Tom hadn’t felt this admonished since he was a schoolboy. Furthermore, he could feel his face colouring with embarrassment. ‘Er… I was just saying to Serena that you can’t keep us down here forever. Sooner or later, we’ll be missed.’
‘I have no intention of keeping you here for long,’ Deiter replied, icily.
‘Then what do you intend doing with us?’ A nervous edge had crept into Serena’s voice.
‘I’m glad you asked, Miss Mayer,’ Deiter smiled benignly, picking up on her anxiety. ‘The Collider is due to be tested tomorrow to ascertain what damage was done during the explosion. You three will have front row seats. Only, I fear you may be a little too close for comfort.’
‘You’re insane,’ Serena blurted out.
‘In a mad world, only the mad are sane,’ Deiter quoted. ‘The human race’s voraciousness to destroy itself is matched only by its ingenuity in achieving it. Well, this time they may have just realised their goal and scientists will not be there to put a stop to it. In fact, the experiment will be brought to the doorstep of millions — literally. Unfortunately for them, they won’t be around to share the results with the rest of us who are left.’
‘Is that all this is to you? Just an experiment?’ Serena asked, provokingly.
‘Not just an experiment, my dear,’ replied Deiter. ‘The greatest experiment the world has ever seen.’
‘And what makes you so certain you will be one of the survivors?’ Volker queried.
‘There’s an element of uncertainty in every experiment we do,’ replied Deiter. ‘That’s what makes it interesting — but what we do is balance those risks against the probable outcome. Take where we are, for example. Switzerland is a land-locked country, so there is little danger from tsunamis. If there were a mega-quake in the Mediterranean, then we have some of the highest mountains in the world where we can take refuge until the flood waters subside. There have been no reports of earthquake activity here since the fourteenth century, so it’s a fairly safe assumption that there are no active fault lines in the region.’
‘You’ll never get away with it,’ Tom ventured.
Deiter ignored his protestation, gesturing to the security guard to leave the room.
‘It’s been a very…’ Deiter searched his mind for the right adjective. ‘Cathartic experience, and I would have liked to discuss my hypotheses further. Unfortunately, time is not on my side. In the meanwhile, I’ll leave you with your handiwork, Professor Volker.’
He pressed a button on the remote control and the TV flicked to life, showing the havoc caused by the San Francisco quake, before following the guard out. They all flinched in unison as they heard the metallic clang of the tumblers clicking into place as the door locked with some finality.
CHAPTER 28
The warm waters lapped at his bare feet as Chad lay prone on the surfboard, waiting for the right time to paddle. Timing was everything. The difference between catching the wave and a total wipeout… or, on this occasion, death.
In his short career, he had never been daunted by the size of the swells and had competed at most of the big wave locations around the world — California, Hawaii, Tahiti, even the UK. The opportunity to travel whilst doing something he really enjoyed was the reason he turned pro in the first place.
He wasn’t academically bright; even so, it hadn’t been easy for him to tell his father that he was dropping out of his final year at High School. He’d expected some resistance, but not on the scale that ensued after he’d told him that he’d got a sponsor and wanted to become a professional surfer. During the blazing row, his father had called him a moron — or, at least, that’s what he thought he’d said. It wasn’t until much later, after he’d stormed out of the house and met up with his buddies, that they’d explained to him the definition of an oxymoron and he realised his old man was referring to the words ‘professional’ and ‘surfer’ being contradictory as opposed to him being one. It didn’t matter by then, however. They had both said things in the heat of the moment they couldn’t go back on. Besides, anybody who dissed his passion, dissed him.
Growing up in San Diego meant that he was never far from the love of his life.
He started surfing at the age of 6 when he was given his first board — a five-foot Liquid Shredder soft board — by his parents as a present after writing a letter to Santa. He quickly outgrew it (and the need for Father Christmas) and traded it in for a seven-foot hardboard, which had the ability to turn more easily.
By the time he’d reached High School he was spending more time on the beach than he was in classes. On more than one occasion he found himself grounded and his board confiscated by his parents after receiving a visit from the truancy officer.