The God Particle (12 page)

‘I know about your promise to your father,’ said Deiter,
keeping his voice level. ‘He’s convinced you’ll keep your mouth shut. I, on the
other hand, am not so gullible. If I find out that you’ve been speaking to
anybody
about what you know, then I would have no option but to…’

‘Kill me? Like you killed Professor Morantz?’ Ajay blurted
out, his courage driven by anger. But he realised his error as soon as the
words left his mouth.

Deiter lunged. His reflexes were as fast as a coiled
cobra’s, grabbing Ajay around the neck with one hand and pushing him back
against the wall, knocking the wind out of him.

‘What do you know about that?’ Deiter demanded, his face
flushed, inches away from Ajay’s. The stench of alcohol on his breath would
have made Ajay gag if he wasn’t already struggling to inhale. Seeing he was in
distress and not wanting to kill him just yet, Deiter released his grip and sat
back in his chair. Ajay slumped on the bed, gulped in a lungful of air and
started to cough.

‘It’s of no consequence,’ Deiter said, regaining his
composure. ‘It just saves me the time and effort of impressing on you what I’m
capable of. You see, Morantz was a very weak man. I tried to persuade him to
join our cause, but he was insistent on going to the media. He left me no
option, really.’

Ajay managed to regulate his breathing. He looked up at
Deiter, who was inspecting his fingernails. His placid demeanour was betrayed
by the wildness in his eyes.
Was he really trying to justify what he’d done?

‘So you killed him?’ Ajay croaked.

‘Let’s just say I assisted him in reaching a conclusion to
our conflict.’

‘And now you’re going to kill me,’ Ajay sat up, nursing the
bruises on his neck.

‘Kill you? Kill you? What do you take me for? I’m not a
monster,’ Deiter replied indignantly. ‘I’m here to help you.’

‘Like you helped Professor Morantz?’

‘Now
that
is entirely your choice.’ Deiter reached
over to the desk to retrieve his bag. ‘I have here ten thousand Euros and a
one-way ticket to India.’ He unzipped the holdall and showed Ajay its contents.
‘You can either take the money and disappear for good, or suffer the
consequences. It’s up to you; I have no preference either way. Do I make myself
clear?’

Ajay understood completely the implications of Deiter’s
concealed threat and decided his best course of action would be to remain
silent. He was wrong.

‘Do… I… make… myself… clear?’ Deiter enunciated each word
separately with increasing intensity.

‘Yes,’ Ajay replied in a hoarse whisper.

‘Good. I’ll leave this with you then.’ Deiter stood up
abruptly and threw the case on the bed. ‘If you’re still here in the morning,
then I’ll have to assume that you’d like another one of our little chats, only
I won’t be able to guarantee it will be as friendly next time.’ With that, he
walked over to the door to let himself out. ‘I do hope you make the right
decision, for your sake,’ were his parting words, as he disappeared into the
corridor.

Lying back on the bed and breathing deeply, Ajay began to
contemplate his options.

He could speak to his father, but then he already knew the
two men were accomplices. Perhaps his father had even sanctioned Deiter’s
actions? Had his father also been involved in Professor Morantz’s murder?

He could go to the police, but would they believe him over
an eminent physicist like Deiter? Probably not. Besides, what could he tell
them? That Professor Morantz didn’t really commit suicide and that he’d been
given ten thousand Euros to keep quiet about a non-existent murder? If he had a
problem trying to comprehend what had just taken place, the police would have
no chance.

He could tell Professor sahib. At least
he
would
believe him, but it would also put him in danger. He already knew Deiter had
killed once, but by the look in his eyes earlier Ajay knew he was capable of
much more.

Or he could just carry on as normal and ‘suffer the
consequences’ as Deiter had put it. He was under no illusion what that meant.

No, he didn’t really have any options.

He dragged his blue canvas suitcase out from under the bed
and started to pack.

Tom awoke alone, much to his disappointment. He contemplated
whether that still would have been the case had the night gone differently.
Ajay’s appearance had certainly altered the course of any possible romance. He
looked at his alarm clock. It was seven-thirty.

Serena had fallen asleep on his couch after they’d exhausted
the discussions on the evening’s events. Tom was unsure whether the gentlemanly
thing to do was to let her sleep there with a throw over her, or wake her up
and offer her his bed while he slept on the couch. He had chosen the former.

He got out of bed, slipped on a pair of trousers and
tip-toed into the lounge, not wanting to wake her. He needn’t have bothered;
she was in the kitchen making coffee, wearing the cocktail dress that she’d had
on the night before, only it was slightly more crumpled than the last time Tom
had seen it.

‘Morning. Jeez, you look as rough as I feel,’ she said, taking
a bite out of a heavily-buttered slice of toast. ‘I hope you don’t mind, but I
helped myself to your bread, although I couldn’t find anything to put on it.’

‘Yes, sorry,’ replied Tom. ‘Funnily enough, I just haven’t
had the time to go to the grocery store. I’ll make a note to go at the weekend
for you.’

Serena smiled over at him and took another bite of her
toast.

‘By the way,’ he continued, ‘you’re the second person to
have commented on how rough I look since I’ve been here. It must be catching.’
He folded his arms across his chest, self-conscious of his naked top half.

‘Oh! And who else have you managed to lure back to your
apartment in such a short space of time?’ she said in mock indignation.

‘It was Frederick,’ he replied solemnly.

‘Oh! I see. I didn’t know you were that way inclined,’ she
replied, unsure whether or not he was being serious.

‘I’m not. He came to collect me after I’d had an afternoon
nap.’

‘Or that’s the story you’d
like
everybody to
believe,’ she said. ‘I’m fairly broad-minded about these things. You can
confide in me.’

This time it was Tom’s turn to wonder whether she was joking
or not. She could read the expression on his face and laughed. ‘I’m joking, of
course… I’m not broad-minded at all.’

‘I think we’ll call that a draw,’ replied Tom. ‘Any chance
of a coffee?’

‘Sure, I’ve just made a pot. Help yourself.’

‘So, what are your plans for today?’ he asked, pouring
himself a cup.

‘Well, firstly I’ve got to get back to my apartment without
anybody seeing me. I look like something the cat dragged in,’ she said
finishing her toast.

She looked absolutely perfect to Tom. She had let her hair
down and wiped off her make-up, but that didn’t detract, in the slightest, from
her natural beauty.

‘And then after I’ve had a shower and made myself look
presentable,’ she continued, ‘I’ll make my way into the office. See if I can
dig up any more information on the Collider’s electromagnetic radiation
readings. What about you?’

‘More interviews, I’m afraid. I need to be around in case
the police need to ask me anything. But at some stage I need to catch up with
Frederick to discuss Professor Morantz’s folder. Let me try him now, to see if
we can set up an appointment.’

He reached for his mobile phone, which was charging on the
kitchen worktop, and dialled the number from memory. The phone connected but it
went straight through to voicemail. He left a message.

‘Hi Frederick, this is Tom. I was hoping we could meet up
today to discuss a rather interesting file that I have in my possession.
Without giving too much away over the phone, I believe it could be the missing
evidence that we discussed over dinner the other night, or I may just be the
butt of a rather elaborate practical joke. Either way, let me know when you’re
available. Thanks. Bye.’

Tom pressed the end button and set the phone back in its
charger. He didn’t know why he felt the need to be cautious, but he did. He
just hoped his message wasn’t too cryptic for Frederick to understand what he
was talking about.

‘You don’t think it could be fake, do you?’ Serena asked.

‘I don’t know. Perhaps you could verify the readings against
your data, and then we could meet up for lunch to discuss your findings? I’ll
make sure I see Frederick after we’ve spoken. Why don’t you take the file with
you and make a copy of it? I’m not sure why, but I think we should keep this
between ourselves for the time being, or at least until I’ve had a chance to
discuss it with Frederick. He’ll know what to do.’

‘You know, you don’t always have to use work as an excuse to
see me.’ Serena crossed the living room and retrieved her shoes from where
she’d kicked them off the night before. Carrying them in one hand, her clutch
bag in the other and the folder under her arm, she presented herself to Tom.
‘How do I look?’

‘Put it this way,’ he replied, grinning. ‘That cat that
dragged you in had great taste.’

‘You old smoothie,’ she walked back to him and kissed him on
the cheek. ‘Wish me luck. I wouldn’t want to give the office gossips something
to talk about.’

‘Where is your apartment, by the way?’

‘Next door.’ She left him standing in the kitchen, the heady
scent of the perfume she’d worn the night before lingering after her.

Tom arrived at the main office an hour later. The police
were already there, ticking the names of the workers off a list as they
entered. He noticed that fresh flowers lay at the feet of the statue as he made
his way up the stairs.

His passage into the building was blocked by an unsmiling
uniformed officer. ‘Nom, m'sieur?’

‘Pardon?’

‘Your name please?’ the officer repeated in heavily accented
English.

‘Professor Tom Halligan.’

The official scanned down the first page of his manifest
with his pen, then the second page, the third, fourth and fifth, by which time
Tom was feeling the cold wintry morning nip at his fingers and toes. He hadn’t
bothered to put on a jacket because he had no reason to think he’d need one. He
was only going from the accommodation block to his office, or so he thought.

‘Is this going to take long? Only I’m freezing my nuts off.’

There was no reaction from the officer until he finished
checking the last page. ‘Non,’ he said looking up at Tom.

‘What do you mean, “non”? I work here.’ Tom was stamping his
feet, trying to regain the circulation he’d lost in his extremities.

‘Il n'est pas possible.’

‘Sorry?’

‘It is not possible,’ the officer said with a sigh, the
translation obviously an effort for him.

‘It’s very bloody possible! I am the Director General,’ Tom
snapped, losing his patience more with the bureaucracy than the individual.
‘Let me speak to Inspector Gervaux.’

The policeman turned his back on Tom and spoke into his
walkie-talkie. Tom couldn’t quite hear the exchange and, even if he could, he
wouldn’t have been able to understand it. After several minutes, the young
officer half-turned to face Tom and looked him up and down, before turning away
again to resumed his conversation with his superior. It was another five
minutes before the officer finished talking. He turned his focus back to Tom,
who was rubbing his hands together frantically in an effort to keep warm.

‘You may go in, but Inspector Gervaux would like to see you
immediately. He is waiting in your office.’

I bet he is
, thought Tom.
And he won’t be as
bloody freezing as I am.

Without a word, he went through the revolving doors and into
the building, the warmth of the reception making his fingers tingle
immediately. He hadn’t felt that sensation for a long time and it evoked
childhood memories of snowball fights and sledging, and then warming frozen
hands and feet in front of an open fire.

***

‘Ah, Professor Halligan, apologies for delaying you outside.
Your name wasn’t on the payroll list we obtained from your wages clerk. I
understand that you have only recently joined CERN?’

Inspector Gervaux peered over the top of his glasses, which
were perched on the end of a large, aquiline nose. He was clean-shaven apart
from a pencil-thin moustache, which seemed to underline his beak, making it
more conspicuous. His hair was mousy-brown and had started to recede, which he
compensated for by growing it slightly longer than fashionable and combing
forward.

He wasn’t quite in the same class as Donald Trump, but Tom
suspected that it wouldn’t be much longer before he could give him a run for his
money. Tom guessed that they were probably about the same age. He had his
jacket off with the sleeves of his crisp, white shirt rolled up and his tie
thrown over one shoulder. But what bothered Tom the most about him was that he
was sitting in Tom’s chair.

‘Yes, I’ve only been here a couple of days,’ he replied.
‘And thanks for letting me know I’m not on the payroll. That may affect how
much work I do around here.’ The pun went straight over the inspector’s head.
‘May I?’ Tom said pointing to his own seat.

It took the inspector a few seconds before he realised what
Tom was referring to and apologised, moving himself and his papers to the other
side of the desk.

‘Your man on the door said you wanted to see me,’ said Tom,
sitting in the warm seat recently vacated by the inspector.

‘Yes, I have the initial report from our forensic team.’ The
inspector looked through his glasses at a sheet of paper on the desk. ‘It
appears they have found traces of an explosive device.’

‘A bomb?’ Tom said incredulously. ‘I don’t believe it. Who
would want to sabotage the project?’

‘The motives for planting such a device could range from a
disgruntled employee to an extremist group and anything in between,’ Inspector
Gervaux informed him, leaning back in his chair and taking his glasses off. ‘We
are now treating this…’ he paused for dramatic effect, ‘…as a murder
investigation.’

Tom surmised the inspector had been reading too many Agatha
Christie novels. ‘Do you have any suspects?’ he asked, knowing that was the
customary response.

‘Do you know a man called…’ said the inspector, referring
back to his paper, ‘…Anjit Gopal Bose?’

‘Ajay, yes. Why?’

‘We received an anonymous tip-off suggesting he could be
involved.’

‘Ajay? No way. He wouldn’t hurt a fly.’

‘Do you know this man well?’

‘I know him, but I wouldn’t say I know him well.’

‘Then how do you know what he’s capable of?’

‘Well, I don’t,’ replied Tom, baffled. ‘But he’s just a
messenger boy.’

‘Professor, some of the most notorious murderers in history
had menial jobs. The Yorkshire Ripper in the UK was
just
a delivery
driver, Harold Fritzl in Belgium was
just
an electrician, Jeffrey Dahmer
in your own country killed at least seventeen people and he
just
worked
in a chocolate factory. I could go on.’

‘Okay, okay. I get the point. But Ajay’s not a serial
killer.’

‘We will follow up any leads we have,’ replied the
inspector. ‘Most of the time they turn out to be nothing more than an
over-zealous do-gooder playing detective, or a vindictive colleague trying to
exact revenge on a workmate. But we have to take them all seriously.’

‘But Ajay was liked by everybody,’ Tom protested.

‘Obviously not, otherwise we wouldn’t have had the tip-off.
Do you know where we can find Anjit? Only he hasn’t shown up for work yet, and
the officer I sent to his room reported there was no answer.’