by Tim Heath
He didn’t want to go far as his guess was that Austin had stationed somewhere around there that very first Door. His car though was now the problem, no doubt its registration number recorded by the cop when he’d pulled over. The discovery of the broken door meant it was obvious the car’s occupant would be the main suspect, and while it was probably no great crime, he couldn’t risk being spotted, so he drove back down to Route 9, moving on until he got to a suitable area. He parked his car in a place that he could remember but where it could easily be hidden, maybe thinking that he could always call a cab back up to the village some time later, if that was needed. Now though he just waited in the car a little, letting the torch recharge, scanning through the paperwork looking for any further clues. Thirty minutes later he’d looked through everything. It was after midnight and he’d figured that with quiet roads he should be able to make it back to the airport in around an hour, the first flight back to England leaving at just before eight. The latest he could arrive he’d thought was about half past six, which meant he’d need to leave from there no later than five fifteen, bearing in mind he then also had to take back the rental car. It therefore gave him five hours to get back up there, search around and then get back to the car. The torch would need a little more charge and he could do with some sleep. So allowing things to return back to the calm idyllic life again up in the hills, hopefully giving the policeman time to leave, Robert chose to take fifty minutes’ rest before heading back up, still planning maybe to catch a taxi up there and back, but he’d work out the details when he awoke. He set his alarm and closed his eyes, knowing that in the next twenty-four hours anything could happen.
When he awoke at one, everywhere now quiet, he figured that he’d have to take a chance and drive back, stopping somewhere else, expecting the policeman to be long gone, a report no doubt waiting to be filed in the morning, when he’d be far from there. And indeed, on his approach, he didn’t see a soul, though taking no chances he pulled the car over early, walking the last bit.
In the papers he had from Austin Wentworth, there were references to several outbuildings of the sort which sounded like suitable places to house such a thing as the Door. Austin seemed to make constant reference back to his own notebook as well, adding comments that seemed to imply he only put the main details in that book. If it had been in those boxes, Robert had missed it, but he was quite certain it wasn’t. What he’d never been able to work out in all his research over the last months is where Austin had gone afterwards. There were no records of his death there, in a time when the vast majority of the home’s patients never left, and those that did seemed only to be the ones taken to a special prison due to a crime they’d gone on to commit. But Austin had seemed to disappear without a trace and that was all the more evidenced now by the absence of his notebook, something he clearly treasured so much that it never left his person. How he’d managed to get away from such a place as the asylum, Robert would probably never know. Not that it really mattered much now, it would just be an unsolved piece of the puzzle, something that, deep down, Robert hoped he would have been able to work out as he was a man who didn’t like unresolved problems.
**********
Awoken in his sleep by another nightmare, Nigel sat up, sweat on his face, the same recurring dream about this figure whom he assumed to be Robert, grabbing him, trapping him, stopping him. He felt sick to his stomach, and taking a drink of water, focusing his mind again as he always did, he reminded himself that it was just a dream. This time though the dream had been slightly different, with Brendan, Tommy and Jessica all standing there, watching him, laughing.
In his state of mind, which had gone way past rational already, he reached for the phone, dialling Brendan Charles’ number, knowing that though it was quite late there, he’d still be up, and when Brendan answered it after a few seconds, Nigel said he’d like to meet him sometime tomorrow, inviting him to come to his house where he’d show him around.
Putting the phone down, a smile set in that said it all. He was cutting all threats off now, he was going to play it his way. Picking the phone up one last time, he called the man he’d spoken to, to get the weapons in place, simply saying:
“It happens tomorrow. Let me know the second you have things ready and I will take things from there.” He threw the phone back onto the bed. Nigel whispered under his breath: ‘Tomorrow I hold the nation in my hands. Tomorrow will herald a new beginning. Tomorrow!’
He lay back on the pillow and tried to sleep, all the time thinking how things would soon be over, how he’d soon be free!
Chapter 30
It was just before three in the morning, when Robert found what he was looking for, the light of the torch again failing so that he was now using it as little as possible. Further down the hill from the asylum, deep in the cover of the trees and shielded from the village by a rocky shoulder that meant it was as private a little haven as you could hope for, sat a number of small workshops. They were so unused and old that much of their structures were falling down, but their shape and design matched that of something Austin had once drawn, and its proximity to the main asylum coupled with its seclusion made it a perfect workshop area for someone such as Austin. It was in the fourth such shed, flashing his torch with one final burst of light before it faded, that Robert finally laid his eyes on the distinctive metal framework, the light reflecting back at him from the shiny surface.
Everything within him raced because to find such a thing, which for so long had been hidden from a world ignorant of the genius of Austin Wentworth, could turn out to be the most amazing thing he’d ever do. The fact that it even existed meant everything had changed, assuming that it in fact worked, but Robert felt confident it would. Clearly it was this that had been the prototype which Christopher and then Nathan Wentworth had gone on to replicate by producing their own versions. The world had stood and watched, acclaiming the excellence of Christopher for making so many different breakthroughs, and yet something far more incredible had been dreamed up all along, and that not by the great Christopher Wentworth or his equally impressive brother Nathan, both Nobel prize winners. Instead it was the work of their supposed forgotten brother Austin, a genius now in Robert’s eyes, but written off in a time when the world just couldn’t understand him or tolerate such different behaviour. Clearly the brothers were aware of his work. They had visited at least twice and something must have been talked about due to the existence of their own doors, the science of which was a jump in logic even for them. This had not escaped Robert’s attention, even if no one else had noticed. He’d always been suspicious of the breakthrough, believing that there had to be an Alpha version which the brothers had based their own Doors on, such was the shift that they’d taken from the studies they’d done up to that point.
Standing there in the light of the moon, Robert came back to himself and started towards the car, knowing that he now had to make that first flight back to England, pleased he wasn’t cutting it as fine as he could have, a new energy pouring through his veins like never before. He’d refused the urge to touch the Door, or to look at it and marvel at it. He’d resisted the impulse to stay longer there than he needed, because as wonderful a find as it was, unless operated from the future, it was just a piece of metal. Staying longer than he needed was just asking for trouble in his book. He got back to the car without being seen and a moment later was pulling away down the road, just another motorist going about his business.
He was at the airport by six, ticket in hand, waiting for the gate to be announced. The past few hours had been amazing though the next few could prove equally tough as he’d somehow need to get back into the house in the village, everything in him now hoping that the beast of a man that was Katie’s husband hadn’t burned the place down. It would be daylight before he’d get there, and not being able to wait until darkness, he had no choice but to take his chances, knowing at least that he’d have Tommy and, he hoped, Jessica along with him. He was yet to work out if he
r presence there would actually be advisable but that didn’t matter now anyway. Pulling his phone out and not wanting to wake them, he sent them a text message telling them of his progress and asking them to meet him at the airport, the need to move as quickly as possible south, now the only priority.
Robert thought about speaking somehow to Brendan, sounding him out but figured he’d have some time to do so later anyway; clearly Tommy would not be meeting with him once he’d got the message to be at the airport for his arrival. Maybe getting Brendan back onside meant very little anyway, it was all in Robert’s hands now.
The goal, however, was finally in sight, everything in him wanting to get nearer to things again, suddenly feeling frustrated by just sitting in the airport, another hour to go before he was gone.
The call back from Nigel was due sometime in the morning, by which time he hoped to be well on his way to the village, maybe already safely through the door. Once there, a few obvious potential problems aside, it was just a matter of getting to Switzerland again, powering up the Door and going back through it, leading him to a time before even then, making sure what Nigel changed would never happen.
Just before boarding, Robert got a message back from Tommy to say that he’d meet him, along with Jessica, who still felt rough but seemingly the worst had passed. He then said he’d move the meeting with Brendan, stating that he wouldn’t tell Brendan why but figured Brendan probably would work it out.
Robert smiled as he handed his boarding pass over, getting onto the plane and finding his seat in first class. ‘Things just might work out after all,’ he thought to himself, and after a few minutes the plane sped down the runway, and into the skies of Europe, heading north.
**********
Nigel had awoken early and was fully dressed and had eaten breakfast by seven. He’d then checked up on his weapons contact at the first opportunity, the confirmation being that within the hour everything would be in place, no corners cut as they’d tried hard to complete everything on time, working through the night in an effort to impress, though Nigel paid no attention to the fact.
At around half past eight he’d had confirmation from Brendan that they could meet earlier that day, if required, as some time had been freed up in his morning. Nigel confirmed by a reply text that he’d send a car for him which would bring him to the house. The staff would then be able to show him in through the main front door and Brendan was then to proceed down the hall to meet him, all the time of course walking to his death, the explosives in place to kill him as soon as the door was opened. Brendan had outlived his usefulness to Nigel now and posed the last remaining threat. Without him there was no way that Tommy or Jessica could get to Nigel, who assumed that they’d already been turned by Robert, as he was well aware that the couple had hosted Robert for the night.
It was just before a quarter to nine when the confirmation came that the weapons were in place, Nigel thanking the caller before taking over responsibility, aware of the power and damage that could be done if he allowed anyone else to use them.
Nigel took a moment to compose himself, before he picked up a coin, tossing it into the air to land on ‘Heads,’ which meant he’d start north of London, unaware as he was as to the exact location of the village that housed the other Door. Pulling over a map that detailed GPS locations as well as town names, he picked the areas of Wendover, Tring and Whipsnade as his starting point for the outer ring of fire, Amersham and Abbots Langley forming the inner wheel. When combined they would put a six to ten mile ring of destruction around the entire city, destroying all buildings, plants, homes and trees within it, including of course any Door that he hoped would exist somewhere in one of the houses. Opening up his laptop and typing in the coordinates, without any hesitation he pressed the button that started the process, launching the weapons that would take about twenty minutes to hit their target, starting what would be the war to end all wars. The victory won before the country would even know what had hit it. Nigel searched out the next coordinates in order to sweep around the city clockwise, as if playing some computer game, completely detached from the fact that hundreds of thousands if not millions of people would die within the next few hours.
**********
The explosions were heard for miles around, the early morning sky illuminated by the fires that raged, the complete desolation that each bomb created spreading at least a mile and a half in every direction. The first six bombs had fallen within seconds of each other and the people who were in the strike zone knew nothing of it, their place on earth taken from them in a split second after the explosion. Whole office blocks were reduced to nothing in no time, cars melted in a moment, leaving barely any evidence that they’d even existed.
Central London, after the first ten bombs had landed, looked out in horror and the images were being carried around the world, terror filling the eyes of those who watched. All who saw it were completely taken aback by what they saw, the level of attack unprecedented in the modern world.
Soldiers were deployed everywhere, though one base within the strike zone had already been destroyed, all two thousand soldiers stationed there gone. Within the hour and the strike zone reaching Hatfield and Potters Bar, martial law was declared by the panic-stricken government, caught completely unawares. As radar was not reporting anything coming in, it was thought that ground bombs were being set off. Before long though, when television news channels had shown slow motion replays, reports were coming in that missiles had been spotted landing just before they exploded. The realisation dawned that the country was being attacked from overseas.
**********
The first Robert heard of the sinister turn of events was when the captain announced the aeroplane was being redirected to land in Paris due to terrorist strikes in England. Grounded now at Charles de Gaulle airport, Robert, like thousands of other stranded passengers, watched in horror at the scenes being shown from London on the large television screens suspended high up on the walls. Knowing at once what it was, the only person other than Nigel who did know, Robert left the airport, desperate to get out to the coast. He realised there was no way he’d be getting into the UK by plane or train, as the country was probably already shut down with borders all closed. What he needed was a fast boat which he’d use to get him into one of the small coves on the South coast, and then he needed Tommy to somehow meet him down there, if that was at all possible.
Having hailed a cab, he pulled out his phone to call Tommy:
“Hi, it’s me. Have you seen the news?”
“Yes, the whole nation is in uproar. Where are you?”
“Grounded in Paris. I’m heading for the coast. Are you driving?”
A moment later, having stopped, Tommy answered:
“Yes, we got moving as soon as we heard the news. We figured there would be no way that you’d be coming in by plane so we’re heading south, aiming to skirt down through Oxford and around, picking up the M3 and then along the coast. You planning to come in by boat?”
Robert was impressed with their forward thinking, the brains of that once great football manager clearly there, showing what a great tactician he really was.
“Brilliant, I’ll call you when I’m moving. Stay safe Tommy, send my regards to Jessica. I’ll see you some point later today.”
“You can count on it.”
**********
The cab driver had made great progress, pulling into the seaside town of Dieppe on the north-western coast of France. The Newhaven to Dieppe ferry route worked from the harbour there and Robert knew that many private boats were at anchor on the Quai Henri IV, which was a playground for the rich in that part of France, as it gave great access to the Channel. At speed in the right boat the journey time to somewhere along the coast between Hastings and Brighton would be around two and a half to three hours. As he paid the cab driver, leaving a generous tip, he was pleased to find the place reasonably quiet, the day’s events in England meaning that the normally busy streets and harbour were
much quieter while people watched their screens, wondering what it all meant.
Sizing up the boats, he selected a small seagoing speedboat that sat on its own on the far end of the quay, a new-looking Grew 200 GRS Cuddy, which at just under twenty feet in length would suit his requirements fully. Nobody was around as Robert worked the lock easily with a state of the art penknife, yet to be released, which he’d brought back with him and now carried around all the time. He was also then able to use it to get the thing started, the engine racing into life with no effort at all.
He was off out within ten minutes, the coordinates set on the boat’s built-in mapping device that would guide it all the way. Life seemingly carried him along now, as if he had no choice in the matter, instead simply playing along with where it took him. He gave Tommy a call after a few minutes to check on his progress, which had been good up to then, finishing the call before he turned on the boat’s radio to catch the World Service report from the BBC. The sea was calm. He hoped if things remained that way to be somewhere off the English south coast within two hours.
**********
‘This is the BBC World Service,’ the lady said, the voice coming through crystal clear from the radio mounted into the expensive-looking control panel. ‘The attacks have continued in the south of England, a circle of destruction it seems sweeping around the capital in what has already become the worst terrorist attack of all time. Since starting at Amersham and Wendover just after half past seven this morning, twenty-five separate explosions have been recorded, working their way clockwise around London so that destruction has nearly reached the Thames crossing. The towns of Brentwood and Billericay were the last to have been struck, with total devastation everywhere between the two towns. The populations of all the towns and villages struck so far are estimated at anywhere between one million and three million, bearing in mind the morning commute with people making their way into or out of the capital. Twelve commuter trains have already been confirmed destroyed and the country’s transport routes have all been closed down, planes grounded both in the UK and right across Europe and further afield.
