by John Sneeden
“Perhaps your recent visions were a warning.”
“They were a warning,” snapped Marrese. He was irritated that the Russian, supposedly a powerful and fearless man, had suddenly gotten cold feet. “They were a warning that your men might get too trigger-happy because they hadn’t been properly prepared.” He locked eyes with Mironov. “I can’t emphasize enough that your men must show both restraint and respect when everything begins to unfold.”
Mironov was about to respond when he saw Navalny, the Serpent, approaching. The bald man was finishing up a conversation on the radio, and Mironov could tell from the expression on his face that something was amiss.
“What’s going on?”
Navalny tucked the radio inside his coat. “We just caught someone. A woman. She was armed, and it looks like the one we were following before.”
“What do you mean, ‘the one we were following before’?”
“She is…” Navalny was hesitant to bring up the failed chase across Lake Geneva, but now had no choice. “She is the one we chased by boat.”
“The one you let go. Bring her here at once. Then double the guard outside this room, and send a team out to get the rest of them. Go.”
“Yes, sir. Actually we already have a team—”
“I said to go!” shouted Mironov.
Without another word, the bald man bowed slightly, turned, and left.
“This is not good,” Marrese said once the man had departed. “Your men were sloppy at the banquet. Our plans could have come to an abrupt end right there in the river.” The former priest smiled suddenly. Nothing was going to dampen his mood. “But you were right to have her brought here. She needs to see what is about to take place. Come, let’s make sure the process has begun.”
And with that, they both strode over to the cubicle where Koehler was working. The German looked up at them as they arrived but then turned back to the screen in front of him, which had just darkened. A few seconds later, it reappeared, displaying the CERN operations home page. The background of the home page was a cutaway picture of the collider underneath the earth, and there were various icons representing the different systems that could be accessed. Koehler clicked on the one titled Operating System: Access Limited.
“You’re mad,” said VanGelder. “You’re all mad.”
As if on cue, Koehler stood up, grabbed the physicist by the shirt collar, and dumped him into the seat he had just occupied. He used a knife to cut the cuffs that bound his wrists. “Bring the system up. And don’t even think about being a wise guy. Remember that nice daughter of yours.” After bringing VanGelder out of unconsciousness, the German had shown the Dutchman pictures they had taken of his daughter leaving school in the Netherlands. The implication had been clear: if he didn’t comply with their demands, the girl would die.
And yet, the physicist hesitated for a moment, clearly aware that operating the collider in a way inconsistent with its design might endanger the lives of thousands.
The German, sensing the hesitation, pressed a pistol against VanGelder’s temple and shouted, “Now!”
VanGelder reluctantly placed his hand on the mouse. He made a few clicks, and the computer automatically ran a long list of user terms and conditions, including a detailed warning about inappropriate use.
A minute later, another login screen appeared, and VanGelder deftly entered his personal username and password in the two boxes at the top. The computer accepted his entry and then asked for CERN administrative approval in the boxes at the bottom of the screen. Realizing it was time to use the administrative information that had been taken from the CERN employee, Koehler took the flash drive out of his pocket and pushed it into the USB port underneath the desk. After a few clicking sounds, the administrative fields were automatically filled in by the software contained in the thumb drive, and the computer’s hard drive buzzed underneath the desk. A few seconds later, the screen indicated that Markus VanGelder had successfully entered the LHC operating system.
Just as VanGelder began to start the collider, Koehler grabbed him again, this time lifting him out of the seat and shoving him toward two guards.
“What are you doing?” asked the Dutchman. “I was just getting ready—”
“Did you think we’d trust you for everything?” asked Koehler, sitting back down in the chair.
“You’ve never used sophisticated equipment before,” insisted VanGelder. “And you certainly don’t realize the power that is in your hands right now; it’s power that has the potential to turn this building and others into a pile of rubble.”
“I doubt that,” sneered Koehler. “But that’s why you’re still alive, Dr. VanGelder… just in case I do run into any problems.”
Using information provided by the second flash drive that was taken from the CERN employee, Koehler moved fast through dozens of screens and protocols. Marrese watched the proceedings through squinted eyes, satisfied that they were so close to victory but a bit concerned that the German was pecking away at the keys in a reckless fashion.
After five minutes of entering information in the requested fields, a notice appeared on the screen indicating that hydrogen gas was being loaded into the source chamber of the linear accelerator.
*
Koehler knew that the source chamber was where the electrons would be stripped off the hydrogen atoms, leaving protons with a positive charge. The protons would be fed separately into the linear accelerator, the first in a five-step process of acceleration.
Once the protons were accelerated to sufficient speed, they would be transferred into a booster that consisted of four 157-meter rings. The rings constituted the second stage of the process, accelerating the proton beam to about ninety-two percent of the speed of light. But the acceleration process wouldn’t end there, because once the proton beam made it through the four smaller rings, it would be transferred to the Proton Synchrotron Booster, or PSB, the third stage. By the time the protons exited the PSB, they would be traveling at nearly the speed of light.
Unable to make the beam travel any faster, the system would increase the mass of the protons to twenty-five times their mass at rest. The beam would be transferred to the fourth stage, the Super Proton Synchrotron, or SPS, whose purpose was to increase the energy of the beam prior to transfer into the collider itself. The higher the energy, the greater the collision.
The first four stages would increase speed, mass, and energy. After that, the proton beam would reach its final destination: the collider itself. The Large Hadron Collider resided in a circular tunnel twenty-seven kilometers in circumference, stretching under Switzerland and France.
Prior to the shutdown, CERN scientists had run collisions at eight teraelectron volts, or TeV. But sitting at the CERN computer, Koehler was making the necessary entries to run collisions at fourteen TeV, something previously unheard of.
A chime from the computer caused Koehler to focus on the screen again. A new message had appeared, telling the user that the protons had been stripped from the hydrogen atoms and were beginning the process of acceleration.
Despite the bravado written on his countenance, the German’s stomach was churning, and his palms were sweating. He knew that they were entering untested waters, colliding subatomic particles with a ferocious energy not unlike that experienced in the moments just after the Big Bang.
And he also knew that the Italian priest really had no idea what would happen after that.
CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
“WHO WAS THAT?” asked Konstantine without turning around. He was standing just inside the glass door, staring out at the blizzard that intensified with each passing moment. He wasn’t sure he had ever seen snow coming down this hard, even in his native Russia. In fact, the only thing he could see were a few lights in the parking lot, and even those were mostly obscured by the swirling gusts of white powder.
“The Serpent,” replied his partner Boris, tucking the radio back into his jacket.
“And what did he want?”<
br />
“The usual. To make sure we were in place and that we hadn’t seen anything.”
“In other words, he’s trying to show Koehler he’s on top of things after what happened.”
“Exactly.”
Konstantine heard a soft click and then smelled the distinct scent of tobacco smoke. He swiveled around and snapped, “Put that thing out now! The German is looking for any reason to put a bullet in someone’s head, and if you set off an alarm, it might be us.”
“I couldn’t care less what he thinks.”
“At least go outside.”
Boris shrugged, mumbling something about Konstantine being paranoid, and opened the door. A gust of flakes exploded into the building as he exited. Quickly flipping the hood over his head, the Russian stepped out onto the walk and took a long draw on his cigarette, letting the smoke fill his lungs. He savored the moment, exhaling slowly. The entire security detail was on edge after the events earlier in the evening, and nicotine was one small way to escape the stress that had settled over the group.
In a fit of rage, Koehler had screamed at the Serpent for what seemed like a half hour. The Serpent had been responsible for scouting and security at the Christmas gala, and yet he had somehow managed to allow the dark-haired woman and her partner to crash the event and cause trouble on the dock. Koehler found it unthinkable that the Russian could have missed the very person he had followed across Lake Geneva.
The Russian took another draw, this time blowing a ring up into the falling snow. He was enjoying his smoke so much that he barely noticed the freezing temperatures.
Two minutes later, Boris used his index finger to flick the butt of the cigarette out into the snow. The red orb disappeared immediately in the midst of the moist flakes.
Reaching down, he lifted up his rifle, which had been propped against his leg, and slung it over his shoulder. Just as he was about to turn around, he spotted a light shining horizontally across the parking lot. He frowned and took a few more steps down the sidewalk. As he drew a bit closer, he could see that it was indeed a light, but he was unable to determine the source.
The Russian continued walking but with his rifle pointed directly ahead. When he was halfway down the sidewalk, he finally determined that the headlights of a car in the parking lot had been turned on. The hairs on the back of Boris’s neck stood on end, because he knew that he and two other members of the security team had cleared the vehicle when they arrived. There had been no one inside, nor was the driver anywhere in the building. The car appeared to have been sitting there for quite some time.
His senses on high alert, Boris fished into his jacket and removed the radio. Pressing a button on the side, he said, “Konstantine.”
There was a crackle and then his partner responded. “What are you doing? Get back in here before you get us in trouble.”
“There is something going on out here.”
“What?”
“Aren’t you listening? I said there is something going on out here.”
“And I’m asking you what you’re talking about.”
Boris realized that he was getting snappy, so he lowered his voice. “Remember the car, the one we examined earlier?”
“Yes.”
“Well, the headlights are on now.”
“That’s not possible.”
“I’m looking at it with my own eyes.”
Boris could hear movement on the other end. Finally, Konstantine said, “I’m looking out the window now, and I see what you’re talking about. Is there anyone inside?”
“I can’t tell from here, but I’m going to take a closer look.”
“Do you need me to come out?”
“No. I’m just going to get close enough to see if anyone is still there. Don’t radio anybody yet. You yourself said the German is ready to shoot someone. Let me find out what’s going on first.”
Boris placed the radio back in his jacket and started moving again. As he left the sidewalk, he noticed that the light only appeared to be coming from one headlight. Was the other one out? Perhaps, but it still bothered him. Something just didn’t smell right. After all, how had it come on in the first place? None of it made sense.
Within fifty feet of the car, the Russian stopped dead in his tracks and frowned. The light hadn’t been coming from the headlights after all. Sitting on top of the hood was a flashlight, partially buried by a gathering layer of snow.
His heart thumping in his chest, Boris tightened the grip on his rifle and swung it around in all directions. Someone was trying to trap him. They had wanted him to come out to investigate the light, pulling him away from the relative safety of the building. But no matter which way he turned, the Russian could see nothing. The storm was reaching its full fury, and visibility was almost zero.
And then he heard a shuffling behind him. He spun, recognizing that someone or something was approaching. He saw movement in the swirling snow, and just as he prepared to pull the trigger, there was a zapping sound. A projectile hit his abdomen, sending an electrical wave through his body and knocking him to the ground. His body contorted in spasms for a moment before his muscles locked up completely. And then, as he lay there unable to move, a shadow appeared above him. The shadow moved, and Boris felt a hard blow delivered to the side of his head.
*
Zane, having jumped out from behind the car at the sound of the Taser, arrived just as Skinner landed a blow across the Russian’s head. The man was out cold, and likely would be for quite some time.
Having made sure the partner hadn’t followed him out, they wasted no time in binding the man’s hands and feet with flex-cuffs. They also cut the conductive wire that connected the electrode projectile to the Taser gun. Once the man was secure, they dragged him behind the car.
Skinner pulled out his monocular and pointed it at the door. “The other tango is still there. You say you know how to get him out here?”
“I think so,” Zane replied.
“You think so? You don’t sound as sure as you did before.”
“This will be a little tougher, so we’ll have to see.”
Zane reached inside the man’s coat and pulled something out of one of the pockets. He turned on his flashlight, which was dimmed by a red filter, and confirmed that it was the Russian’s radio.
Zane lifted a finger to his lips, indicating Skinner should remain silent. He depressed the button on the side, but instead of talking, he used a gloved finger to lightly brush across the mouthpiece.
After a short pause, a man—presumably the one inside—responded in Russian.
Zane then repeated the process, depressing the talk button and sliding a finger across the mouthpiece, and once again the man on the other end barked out something in Russian.
“Now let’s see if he takes the bait,” said Zane, standing up and turning off the radio completely. He pulled out his own monocular, and using the car as a brace, he focused it on the entrance. The other Russian was holding the radio in front of his mouth, probably an indication that he was still trying to reach his partner. A minute later, he put the radio away and walked right up to the glass, cupping his hands around the sides of his face in order to see better.
“He’s debating,” said Skinner.
“Yes he is,” Zane replied. “If my guess is right, and these guys are cowboys, he’ll likely come out here before calling anyone else in.”
As they watched the man, he suddenly pulled back, and Zane wondered if he might retreat into the building to find help. But several seconds later, the man pushed through the doors and walked in their direction.
“Here he comes,” Zane said. “Let’s get in place.”
Skinner moved back to where he had been positioned before, behind a tree in a concrete median a few feet away. Zane set up behind the Renault, making sure his feet and legs were shielded by the rear tire. He lifted his head slightly so that he could watch the man approach.
“Boris?” asked the voice when the man had covered about
half of the distance to the car. “Boris?” he asked again, this time a little louder.
There was a click, and the man turned on his flashlight. Zane’s heart pounded. Even though the light might actually reduce the man’s ability to see at a distance due to the fogging effect of the snow, he might still be able to see Skinner if he happened to point it in his direction.
“Boris?” the man asked again, waving the light back and forth.
Zane stopped watching and ducked down, on the off chance the bouncing beam might find him.
Suddenly, there was a shuffling noise followed by a zapping sound. Zane sprinted around the rear of the car. The man had been knocked down but still seemed to have some residual strength. As he raised his rifle toward Skinner, Zane dove, pushing the rifle as he rolled across the man’s body. One shot popped harmlessly into the air.
Zane came to rest a few feet away, but Skinner was already on the Russian, flipping him over and pressing a knee into his back. The man tried to fight back, but Skinner was too strong.
When Zane returned, they bound the man’s wrists and ankles. After a quick search of the Russian’s coat, Zane found his radio, turned it off, and then flung it out into the storm.
“Let’s move them inside.” Zane grabbed one Russian around the chest, Skinner did likewise with the other, and they dragged them across the snow.
When they arrived at the door, they noticed that the man who came out last had propped it open with a cell phone. Zane picked it up and launched it out into the snow as well.
“Where do you want these guys?” Skinner asked.
“Over here.” Zane pulled his man into a room along the right side of the corridor and set the body down. He felt around until he found the light switch. After flicking it on, he saw that the room was some sort of lab, with an assortment of desks, tables, and computer monitors scattered throughout. Zane carried his man to the far end of the room and laid him on the floor behind a large desk. Skinner did likewise, while Zane proceeded to search through one of the drawers.
