The God Particle

by Daniel Danser

  He pushed open the frosted-glass double doors expecting to see a hive of activity. However, he was taken aback when he saw that there was just one person wiping down the tables and refilling the salt and pepper pots.

  ‘We don’t open until twelve,’ the woman shouted across the room when she saw Ajay standing in the doorway, staring at her.

  ‘I’m looking for Jasmine. Is she working today?’

  The woman put down her cloth and walked over to him. He recognised her as the ringleader of the group who teased him. He read the name on her lapel badge: Mary. She was in her mid-forties with a face that looked older due to too many package holidays and cigarettes. Her teeth were crooked and yellowing from the effects of the nicotine. Ajay could smell the smoke on her breath as she stood in front of him.

  ‘You not heard?’

  ‘Heard what?’ Ajay replied.

  ‘She’s been deported.’

  ‘Deported?’ Ajay repeated. ‘But why? How?’

  ‘Something to do with her dad’s visa,’ the woman replied. ‘The police said it wasn’t legal. They came yesterday and arrested her. Apparently, they took her and her family to the airport and put them on the next plane to India. Can’t say I’m surprised.’

  Ajay was speechless. Only two people knew that the real reason Jasmine’s family had to leave the country was to prevent him forming a friendship with somebody he could confide in. But Ajay couldn’t work out how his father had the power or authority to deport people at will.

  ***

  As he sat in his room, the thought crossed his mind again. It had been over a month since the incident and he was still no nearer to finding out. He had confronted his father about the extradition, but he had denied all knowledge or involvement in it. That was the first time in Ajay’s life that he knew his father wasn’t telling him the whole truth, and the fragile bond between father and son, that was so dependent on trust, broke.

  He had kept his side of the bargain by not telling anybody about what he’d seen or heard and would continue to do so, not out of any respect or duty to his father, but because he owed it to himself. However, his vow didn’t prevent him from passing documents onto somebody else who could discover the truth.

  A sharp rap on the door interrupted his reverie. He opened it to find Deiter standing there, a black leather holdall slung over his shoulder.

  ‘Mind if I come in?’ Without waiting for a reply, Deiter barged past him and entered the room. Ajay could smell the alcohol on him. ‘Close the door. I think you and I need to have a little chat. We wouldn’t want anyone to overhear us, would we?’

  Ajay reluctantly complied. He was fearful of Deiter and went out of his way to avoid him at all costs.

  Deiter stood in the centre of the small room and put his bag down on the table underneath the window. ‘I see you’ve been taking a keen interest in my handiwork,’ he said noticing the newspaper cuttings on the wall. ‘I didn’t realise I had such a big fan.’

  Ajay shot him a quizzical look and was about to ask him what he meant, when he was silenced by a dismissive wave.

  ‘We can talk more about that later,’ continued Deiter. ‘But at the moment there are more pressing things we need to discuss. Please take a seat.’ He gestured to the single bed.

  Ajay perched on the edge of the mattress, his hands folded in his lap. Deiter pulled the chair from under the table and positioned it directly in front of Ajay. He sat down and crossed his legs, as if they were old friends discussing the latest sports results.

  ‘It has been brought to my attention that you’ve been spending rather a lot of time in the company of our new Director General. Can I ask why?’ Deiter’s tone was level, but Ajay could detect a menacing undercurrent.

  ‘He was… he was… erm… interested in my grandfather,’ Ajay replied, thinking back to the first time he’d met the professor.

  Disbelief showed on Deiter’s face. ‘Satyendra Bose? Why would he be interested in him?’

  ‘He said that he was inspirational and had a big influence on his career.’

  Deiter didn’t look convinced.

  ‘And I showed him my scrapbook,’ Ajay added, retrieving it from the side of his bed.

  He handed the book to Deiter, who gave it a cursory inspection then tossed it irreverently back onto the bed. ‘What else did you talk about?’

  ‘Nothing.’ Ajay had no compunction in lying to this man.

  ‘I don’t believe you.’ The menace in Deiter’s voice began to surface.

  ‘It’s the truth,’ Ajay replied, staring defiantly at him.

  Deiter returned his gaze, trying to detect any hint of dishonesty in his eyes. Ajay was the first to look away.

  ‘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.

  CHAPTER 15

  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.

  CHAPTER 16

  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.