Jed himself was no oil painting. Now in his mid-fifties the once tall, broad-shouldered, lithe frame had turned flabby thanks to years of over-indulgence. The broken nose he’d received as a young firebrand in his native city of Glasgow hadn’t quite set right, giving him the appearance of an ex-boxer. His unfashionably long, strawberry-blond hair, tied back in a ponytail, was starting to recede and turn grey.
But there was something about him that seemed to attract the opposite sex. Perhaps it was the rebel in him, still evident behind his watery blue eyes, or his free spirit which, mistakenly, drove women to think that they could be the one to tame him. Many had tried, all had failed.
Tom couldn’t recall a day he’d seen Jed wearing anything other than his battered brown leather bomber jacket, jeans and sneakers, regardless of occasion or the weather outside. Today was no exception.
They had first met when Tom came to Brookhaven to conduct research for his doctorate and Jed was head of the physics department. Despite the age difference, they had bonded immediately, mainly due to Jed’s youthful outlook on life rather than any maturity on Tom’s part. For over two years they were inseparable, both socially and academically, and it was in no small part thanks to Jed, and despite the alcohol-fuelled nights, that Tom graduated summa cum laude, the highest distinction achievable at MIT.
‘Remember that time in Tijuana, when I saved ya sorry arse?’ Jed was about to recant one of his favourite anecdotes, one that Tom had heard a thousand times and never failed to embarrass him.
‘Jed, I don’t think we’ve got time for this,’ he replied. ‘We’d better get going.’
‘What’s the rush? Trying to save the world?’
Tom caught Serena’s eye. ‘As a matter of fact…’
‘Aye, well, that can wait, laddie.’ He cut Tom off mid-sentence before turning to Serena. ‘Ya see, wee Tom here had just bought this clapped-out Beetle, so we decided to go on a road trip over the border into Mexico.’
‘There was nothing wrong with that car,’ Tom interrupted indignantly and resigned himself to the fact that he’d have to hear the story one more time.
‘Aye, apart from the three times it broke down on the way there and four on the way back. Anyways, we eventually get over the border. On our way to Tijuana, we spot these two young lasses hitchhiking. Well, being the gents that we are, we stop and give them a lift. Turns out they live there. When we get to the town, they want to show their appreciation and offer to buy us a drink in the local cantina. Being parched from the dusty road, we kindly accept their offer. To cut a long story short, after several large cervezas, poor Tom here is feeling a little the worse for wear and asks the bartender if they have any rooms available so he can sleep it off. Luckily, they had two left so I take one and Tom has the other.’
Tom gave Serena an embarrassed smile and raised his eyes skywards, as there was no hope of stopping Jed now.
‘By this stage,’ continued Jed, ‘the poor wee lamb can hardly walk, so one of the girls helps him up the stairs. She must have been tired herself because she didn’t come back down, leaving me in the bar to entertain the other young lady — out of politeness, of course. After about an hour or so, me and the gal are getting on famously, hitting the tequila, when suddenly in barges this middle-aged, fat, sweaty bloke carrying a shotgun and dashes upstairs. He kicks open the door to Tom’s room and disappears inside.’
‘Oh no!’ said Serena, obviously enjoying the story.
‘Well,’ said Jed, ‘I can’t speak the lingo, but I can tell straight away from the raised voices that this guy’s not too pleased. So I excuse myself from the young lady and go to find out what all the commotion is about. I can hear through the door that Tom and his new friend have found the intrusion a little distressing, to say the least. She’s rambling on in Spanish, he’s wailing like a banshee, while the only word I can make out is Papa. By now I’ve sussed out that Tom may need a little help, so I kick open the door, not realising that the fat bloke’s behind it. He goes sprawling and the shotgun goes off, taking half the ceiling down with it. Well, ya can imagine the look on everybody’s face.’ Jed let out a huge belly laugh and took a sip or two of his drink.
‘Anyway, thinking we’ve probably outstayed our welcome, I grab Tom by the arm and yank him out of bed, only to discover he’s stark-bollock naked — excuse ma French. Our boy here had the good sense to take his clothes off before going to sleep, but he’s thrown them all around the room. I grab a couple of items I can see and we run like hell before the fat bloke realises he’s got another shot left in the barrel.
‘Halfway back to the crossing, Tom’s in the passenger seat struggling to put on his jeans, only to realise they’re five sizes too small for him. I must have picked the wee lass’s up by mistake! Ya should have seen the looks we got from the immigration officials when we tried to explain our predicament. Can ye imagine what they must have thought: an older man driving a half-naked young boy over the border from Mexico in a beaten-up VW Beetle. I’m surprised they let us back in at all.’
‘Did you hear from the girl again?’ Serena asked Tom.
‘Just the once,’ he replied meekly. ‘It turned out that she was the Mayor’s daughter. Her father, the one with the shotgun, swore that if he ever saw me again he would “hunt me down like a rabid dog and have me castrated”. I think those were her exact words. Funnily enough, I’ve never had the urge to go to Mexico again.’
Jed barked out a laugh and slapped Tom on the back. ‘C’mon, wee man, we can’t sit around here gassing all day. I need to get you back to Brookhaven so ya can save the world.’
CHAPTER 34
On the short journey to the laboratory, Tom gave Jed a potted version of the events leading up to their arrival.
‘Sounds like a right nutter, this Deiter,’ Jed commented when Tom had finished.
‘That’s putting it mildly,’ Tom replied.
‘So, let me get this straight. You think by using the RHIC as a bloody big magnet we can pull the Earth’s electromagnetic field back into line?’
‘Succinctly put, as ever, Jed,’ replied Tom. ‘But no, I don’t think we’ll achieve equilibrium, just a slowing down of the Polar reversal.’
‘And if ya cockamamie theory doesn’t work?’
Tom shook his head slowly. ‘Best case scenario: we ride out the effects of the reversal. Worst case: we bring on another Ice Age.’
Jed gave a low whistle. ‘Let’s feckin hope it works, then.’
They arrived at the security entrance to the complex just as dusk was descending. The purple mist of nightfall enshrouded the definable shapes of the buildings around them. It was cold; the sun setting in a cloudless sky belied the crispness of the evening air. Jed handed over his pass to the gatekeeper, whose breath fogged as he gave it a cursory inspection before giving it back. Tom and Serena presented their passports. The guard checked their ID against the visitors’ log and ticked off their names. The barrier rose, allowing them through.
Like CERN’s sprawling campus, the site of the RHIC covered the area of a small town, having been built on a former US Army base. It had its own police station, fire department and postal code. Funded primarily by the US Department of Energy, Brookhaven National Laboratory was designed as a multipurpose research institution covering a number of scientific disciplines from physics to medicine. Over three thousand scientists, engineers and support staff made Brookhaven one of the largest scientific establishments in the world.