The Doomsday Testament (36 page)

‘What’ll you have? Mike Oliver, this is Sarah. Mike is a mad scientist.’

They shook hands while Jamie went to the bar. ‘Have you known Jamie long?’ he asked.

She stared at him and he wondered if she was reading more into the innocent enquiry than he’d intended.

‘About a month, but it seems like years. Every day with Jamie is one big adventure.’

Caterpillar brows elevated in surprise. ‘Then you must be good for him. It’s only about eight months since I last met him and he looks about five years younger. How did you get him out of his tweed jacket? Actually, forget I said that. What I mean is you’ve improved his clothes sense, er, made him more fashionable.’

‘Why, thank you, Mike,’ she said, giving her drawl the full works and studying his own cherished, but well-worn leather bomber in a way that made him blush. ‘Like all you men, all he needed was a little push in the right direction. Come to think of it, you don’t look like my idea of a mad scientist. I imagined a little more hair and a white coat. What is your speciality?’

He grinned, accepting the gentle mockery in the spirit it was intended. ‘I keep my madness well hidden, madam. It only comes out when there’s a full moon.
Then
again, I’m a humble jobbing astrophysicist and it is a well-known fact that all astrophysicists are certifiable.’

‘Don’t let him kid you.’ Jamie appeared, grinning, with two pints and a glass of white wine. ‘There’s nothing humble about Professor Michael Oliver MSc and bar. The man’s a genius. Certifiable, yes, but never humble.’

Mike accepted his pint.

‘So what can I do for you? You said you wanted to bend my ear. Sarah tells me you’ve been having a few adventures and I have some questions of my own about that giant burrow you stumbled across in Germany, but you have the honour.’

Jamie looked at Sarah and chewed his lip. He hadn’t been joking about Mike being a genius. The scientist was one of the cleverest men on the planet, with more degrees than Jamie had GCSEs. What to reveal and what not?

‘We were musing on the subject of celestial objects, as you do of an evening.’ He ignored the other man’s scowl of disbelief. ‘I know it’s in the realm of science fiction, but what are the chances of finding something previously unknown from a meteorite?’

Mike shot him a tight smile. ‘You’re taking the piss, right?’

Jamie shook his head.

The scientist sighed. ‘Something tells me we’re not a million miles away from the hole in the Harz. What do you mean by
something
? Are we talking bacteria or
something
more substantial?’

‘More substantial.’

‘A
material
, right?’

‘Right,’ Jamie and Sarah said simultaneously.

Mike sat back in his seat and his voice took on the formal tone that Sarah guessed he usually kept for the lecture theatre. ‘Science fiction has a curious tendency to become science fact. Look at Jules Verne and H.G. Wells. You can follow a direct link between what Wells wrote through to the development of the V2 rocket and the Americans putting Neil Armstrong on the moon. What we know now is most definitely not what we will know in ten years. Has anything been found? No. Is there a possibility? That’s different. Maybe we’re looking in the wrong place or in the wrong way. Maybe we don’t yet have the tools to understand what might be there. But we
are
looking and the possibilities are interesting enough to have the Yanks and the Russians sending out teams to study impact sites all over the world. The Chinese, too, more recently; that’s one of the reasons why they’re investing so heavily in Africa.’

‘What about the practical implications?’ Jamie asked.

Mike gave him a shrewd look. ‘So that’s what this is all about. The rumours have been flying about that place you found in Saxony. Obviously, the practical applications depend on exactly what it is you discover. But whatever it is, it will open up whole new areas of scientific study. Maybe even whole new branches of science. Science spawns research, which spawns development, which spawns technology, which spawns
industry,
which spawns profit.’ The possibilities were reflected in his voice, which grew in power as he spoke. ‘The current big thing is nuclear fusion. It’s a pipe dream at the moment, but think of it as harnessing the power of the sun. A perpetual source of energy. Enough output from a swimming pool full of sea water to fuel the entire planet for a year. Of course, like nuclear power it would have weapons applications as well. There were stories during the war of some kind of German breakthrough, but they turned out to be as real as Mr Hitler’s wonder weapons. Unless . . . ?’

Jamie shrugged and kept his voice low. People were staring at them. ‘It looked like a scrap metal yard to me, Mike. We were more interested in the painting.’ He could see that Mike didn’t believe him.

‘So why have you suddenly become so interested in my, albeit fascinating, branch of science, Jamie? And don’t give me that musing bullshit. You know something. Well, if you tell me what it is, maybe I can help you.’

Jamie opened his mouth; why not tell Mike about the sphere? But the warning look in Sarah’s eyes forced a change of direction.

‘Believe me, Mike,’ he said regretfully, ‘if we knew anything solid we would tell you, but this is all entirely theoretical.’

‘Then why do I have this feeling that somebody’s tugging on my chain? If we didn’t go way back I’d be out of here and you and your new girlfriend could go to hell. But since we do I’ll have another pint.’

Sarah picked up the glasses and Jamie carried on as if nothing had been said.

‘Let’s just say this pipe dream is a possibility: who would be the big winners?’

Mike shook his head. ‘Jesus, Jamie, what happened to old, boring, non-confrontational, wouldn’t-sayboo-to-a-goose Mr Jamie Saintclair? I think I liked him better.’

Sarah reappeared with the drinks. ‘Why, he fell under a train, Mike. This is the new improved version.’ Her laughter was so infectious that Mike couldn’t help joining in.

‘Ach, to hell with it. Who’d win? Whoever got there first. The Yanks, the Russians, who’ve already got us by the balls with their big gas reserves, or, God help us, the Chinese. They’re way ahead on research, but they haven’t made the big breakthrough yet. So, governments. And corporations. One of the big global industrial companies would, literally, pay the earth for something like this.’ He sobered. ‘In fact, they’d kill for it. Any of them. So maybe you’re right and your Uncle Mike doesn’t need to know. Then, of course, there is the potential down side. You’ve heard of the Hadron Collider?’

Jamie shrugged. ‘Vaguely.’

‘Christ, where have you been? Cern. A four-
billion-
dollar investment. A seventeen-mile tunnel dug through France and Switzerland to bury the biggest particle accelerator ever created so that they can mimic the conditions of the day the universe was born. The Big
Bang.
And if that bang isn’t big enough they’re also hoping to find the God particle and shed light on what we know as Dark Matter. Taken all together, it could open the door to what we’re talking about. Sustainable nuclear fusion.’

Jamie frowned. ‘So if they’re already doing this, what’s the big deal about it all?’

‘Because no one knows whether it will work and there’s that teeensy-weensy down side.’

‘Teensy-weensy?’

‘The very small matter of it going out of control and creating a Black Hole that could swallow the planet.’

‘And you really think that’s a possibility?’ Sarah demanded.

Mike smiled at her naivety. ‘The whole point of scientific experiment is to push back the boundaries of our knowledge. To do that, scientists have to stick their noses in some dark and sometimes dangerous corners. Just ask Marie Curie. How likely does a global catastrophe have to be for a scientist to back off from a big experiment? A couple of guys, including the president of the Royal Society, looked at the Collider and worked out that, based on astronomical evidence and assumptions about the physics of a few hypothetical particles called strangelets that we don’t really understand, the odds of turning the earth into a dead planet were about fifty million to one. Good odds, eh? About the same as my chances of winning the lottery. Only someone out there wins the lottery most weeks. Scientists are as fallible as the next man, Sarah. The Hadron Collider is playing
with
the building blocks of the universe, and the truth is that nobody has the slightest idea what the true risk is. Hell, they must cross their fingers every time they press Start.’

THEY REACHED THE
landing outside Jamie’s flat just as an elderly woman was disappearing through the door opposite and the atmosphere lay heavy with the scent of freshly sprayed air freshener.

‘Hello, Mrs Laurence,’ Jamie greeted his neighbour.

She turned to glare at him. ‘I don’t know how you dare show your face after all that noise the other night.’

‘What was that all about?’ Sarah said after the door had slammed shut.

Jamie shrugged. ‘Search me. I thought we’d always got on pretty well.’ As he put his key in the lock an unsavoury odour caught in his throat. He groaned. ‘The fish. That dozy bugger Simon has forgotten to feed them.’

The moment he pushed open the door the smell hit him like something solid, instantly reacting with his gut to fill his mouth with bile. Someone had closed the thick velvet curtains and it took time for his eyes to adjust to the gloom. When they did, they were drawn to a bulky
object
in the centre of the room that shouldn’t be there. His brain seemed to fragment into a thousand pieces, but somehow he managed to grope for the light switch and Sarah stifled a scream as the full horror of what they’d walked into dawned.

‘Oh, fuck.’ Jamie’s legs threatened to give way and he crouched down with his hand over his mouth. The sound of his thundering heart almost overwhelmed the buzz of the hundreds of flies that had risen from the alien object and now filled the room.

Blood everywhere. Old blood that stained the walls and the carpet a deep brown. But that must have come at the end.

He forced himself to study the scene as if the central figure was not his friend. They had tied Simon – yes, Simon was present somewhere in that bloated, heavily marbled caricature of a human being – to a kitchen chair. He was naked to the waist and his feet were bare. That must be one of his own socks stuffed into the thing’s mouth. Internal gases had inflated the body until the darkened skin threatened to split and vile black fluids flowed from his nose, ears and where the eyes should be. Despite the decomposition it was possible to work out what they had done to him. The faint cooked-meat smell just detectable beneath the overpowering stench of death must have been caused by the blow torch or soldering iron they had used on his nipples and chest. At least four toes, and as many fingers, were missing, which presumably meant they were lying around somewhere among the mess of papers and household items strewn
across
the carpet. Once they had what they’d come for they had slashed his throat with an obscene, terrible violence that had splattered his life blood across the room, but which must have come as a blessed relief to its victim.

‘They were looking for us.’ Sarah’s voice shook.

Jamie nodded, not trusting himself to speak. He tore his eyes away from the horror that had been his friend and surveyed the rest of the room. Every drawer had been ripped open and turned out on to the floor. The cushions of the sofa were sliced apart and the stuffing scattered. Even the furniture itself had been gutted, leaving the springs sticking out of the cloth. He glanced through to the study and saw a similar picture. In addition his computer had been taken apart and he knew that the hard disk would be missing.

‘I’m to blame for this. I underestimated how much the Sun Stone meant to Frederick and his thugs. When we vanished from Braunlage this is the first place they would have looked for us.’

‘No. You could never have predicted this. No one could. These people are psychopaths; they’ll kill anyone who gets in their way. Maybe we should just give up now?’

Jamie forced himself to look at Simon. Frederick and the Vril would never give up while he and Sarah were still alive. The only way they would ever be free of them was to find the Sun Stone.

‘No.’

Three days passed before the police were satisfied with their statements. It seemed clear to the inspector in charge of the investigation that Simon’s murder was linked in some way to the find of the Raphael in Germany. Jamie had spent two of those days convincing him that he wasn’t trading in stolen artworks from a secret warehouse that the dead man had been tortured to identify.

When they were allowed to leave, Jamie decided to set up home at his grandfather’s house on the grounds that it would be much easier to spot any watchers in the leafy lanes of north Welwyn than in central London. It turned out to be a good decision because a hand-delivered letter was waiting for him inviting him to visit the family lawyer, which presumably meant there was some movement on the sale of the house. While he walked into the town centre, Sarah continued her research.

‘This stuff on Operation Paperclip is incredible,’ she called as she heard the front door opening an hour later. The lack of reply puzzled her and when she went to investigate she realized instantly that something was very wrong. Jamie’s face wore the haunted look of a man walking away from the fatal accident he’d just caused.

‘What’s happened, Jamie? Is it about the house?’ She saw he was clutching two envelopes, one larger and white, but the paper so aged as to be a faded, marbled yellow, and the other a narrow dun-coloured oblong that might have been from the tax man. He brushed past her into the lounge and collapsed in a chair at the
table
. He put the larger of the two envelopes on the table in front of him and laid the second aside.

Sarah sat opposite him. She noticed that the yellowing envelope had words written on it in a tight, almost archaic script and she understood instinctively that it wasn’t the solicitor’s writing. With a little effort she made out the inverted words.
For the attention of Master James Sinclair
. The use of Sinclair proved it had been written and deposited before Jamie’s mother had changed their name to the more upmarket version. It was padded, but not bulky, and clearly contained more than a single sheet. She knew better than to reach for it. Instead, she waited while the silence lengthened to the point where it became unbearable.