‘And why would you want to destroy the collider?’ Charles enquired, his mood softening.
‘Not destroy, just to stop it from discovering the God Particle.’
‘Why would you want to do that?’
‘For the same reasons you do… I also work for SHIVA.’
Charles lowered the gun, placing it on the desk in front of him. ‘How did you know?’
‘Two things, really,’ replied Tom. ‘Something Frederick Volker said to me when we first met. He said that you sent me your regards, so I presumed you were either discussing my suitability for the position at CERN or my role in SHIVA. The ornament confirmed the latter.’ He indicated to the bookshelf on which sat a statue of Shiva in mid-dance.
‘I always was a bit of a sentimentalist,’ said Charles. ‘I picked it up whilst on vacation in India. How is the old dog, by the way?’
‘I think Deiter was the last to see him. Why don’t you ask him?’
All eyes turned to Deiter, who stood impassively staring at the gun on Charles’s desk. With no answer forthcoming, Tom went on to explain how they had only recently discovered that the collider was responsible for instigating a shift in the Earth’s polarity, reiterating that the only way to alter such a paradigm shift was by creating an opposing force using the RHIC, hence the reason for their trip. At no point did Tom make any reference to Deiter’s involvement in the whole scenario.
Charles looked from Tom to Serena as if trying to make up his mind. ‘Well, you’ll have to make your peace with the Swiss authorities,’ he said. ‘But, as far as the other matter is concerned, it doesn’t look as though we’ve got a second to waste. I’ll call Professor Campbell to see if he’s ready for us.’ He picked up the phone and dialled Jed’s extension.
With the agility of a gazelle leaping from the jaws of a lion, Deiter sprang forward and snatched up the gun, pointing it at Charles. ‘Put the phone down,’ he ordered.
‘You wouldn’t dare,’ Charles remonstrated.
Without missing a beat, Deiter shot the Director through the forehead. His body toppled forward, his head hit the desk and a pool of blood formed that expanded across its surface. The fingers of his left hand twitched and then were still, while his other hand held the phone in a death grip.
Serena shrieked and instinctively recoiled from the gruesome sight.
Tom watched Deiter as he made his way around to Charles’s side of the desk, the gun levelled directly at his head. Deiter pried the phone out of the dead man’s hand and replaced it in the receiver. Then he picked it up again and dialled zero for the reception.
‘Sir, are you alright?’ The voice on the other end of the line sounded agitated. ‘We thought we heard a gunshot.’
‘This is Dr Weiss. Quickly, call the police!’ He disconnected the call and threw the phone down on the desk. ‘I would estimate we’ve got about five minutes before the boys in blue come to the rescue.’
‘Why did you have to shoot him?’ Tom found his voice.
‘He’d served his purpose. I just wanted him to keep you talking until I arrived. Besides, he’s more useful to me dead than alive.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Let me tell you how this is going to play out,’ replied Deiter, smiling. ‘You escape from the police in Switzerland and make your way here. I follow you, intending to alert the authorities of your final destination, but by the time I’ve landed you’ve already cleared customs. Realising that you’re probably going to Brookhaven, in an attempt to destroy the RHIC, as you did the collider at CERN, I phoned Charles to warn him. My call to him will be logged at the switchboard, for verification purposes. When I arrive, I find that you’ve managed to relieve Charles of his own weapon and are holding him hostage. Charles makes a lunge for the gun and you shoot him dead. I manage to make a call to alert the authorities before you have time to stop me. You then make your way over to the door to lock it.’
Deiter acted out the plot, making his way across the room to turn the key in the lock, the gun never wavering from its two targets. ‘Seeing an opportunity, I grab Serena and use her as a human shield. You take a shot, but miss.’ He raised his hand and discharged the weapon, the bullet embedding itself in the wall to the left of the window behind Charles’s desk. ‘You fire again but, unfortunately, this time you hit Serena, fatally wounding her. Distracted by your aberration, I charge towards you. You manage to shoot another round, missing me by a whisper.’ Deiter raised the gun again and put a shot through the window. Glass exploded into the room, showering Charles’s lifeless body with shards. ‘I throw myself on you and we struggle. The gun goes off again, but this time it is you that is killed. Then the police arrive.’ He nodded to himself. ‘Perfect.’ A self-satisfied grin broke across his face as he assimilated the details of his game plan. ‘Okay everybody, let’s get into position.’
Tom and Serena sat deathly still, transfixed by the depth of insanity to which this person had sunk.
‘I said move!’ Deiter bellowed.
Both flinched, but neither complied. It was like asking a condemned man to put his own noose around his neck. Deiter marched over to Serena and dragged her out of her seat, the gun pressed firmly to her temple. He stood her behind the slumped body of Charles and between the two bullet holes he’d just made. He checked the angle to the door. Satisfied, he went back for Tom.
‘I’m not going along with your absurd plan,’ Tom said obstinately, planting himself firmly in his seat. ‘You’re going to kill us anyway, so why should I help you?’
‘Fine, I’ll kill you where you sit. It makes no difference to me.’ Deiter pointed the barrel at Tom’s head.
‘Won’t that screw up your well-rehearsed pantomime?’
Deiter thought about it for a moment. ‘You’re right.’ He turned the gun around and brought the butt of it crashing down onto Tom’s head, opening up a two-inch gash at his hairline.
Serena screamed and made to go to his aid, but Deiter held her back.
Blood gushed out of the wound on Tom’s head, streamed into his eye and ran down the side of his face.
‘I’ll think of a way of incorporating that into my scenario, when you’ve gone,’ he said, hauling Tom’s dazed frame out of the chair and depositing him on the floor by the entrance to the room.
Deiter backed up to the door to inspect the crime scene and to ensure that all his players were in position. Happy with the result, he aimed the gun at Serena’s face and pulled the trigger. Her head jerked to one side, blood splattered against the wall and she hit the floor like a sack of potatoes. Tom’s outcry at seeing the motionless body on the floor was drowned out by the sound of the blast echoing around the room.
CHAPTER 36
The exact millisecond the bullet was about to leave the gun barrel, Deiter’s arm had been involuntarily nudged up and to the left by the door crashing into his back. It was only a fraction of an inch but, over the distance the bullet had to travel, it was enough to save Serena’s life.
Jed burst through the doorway, his mind taking a snapshot of the carnage before him. He saw Serena lying immobile underneath the shattered window, blood splatters on the wall, his boss, Charles, slumped over his desk, more blood, his friend on the floor in front of him, half his face covered in blood, a man hunched over him holding a smoking gun...
He launched himself forward, but the figure had regained its composure. Straightening its posture, it turned towards him, firing indiscriminately. Jed had decided that a rugby tackle would be his best option and the bullets flew innocuously over his head, lodging somewhere in the wall behind him.
He caught Deiter just above the calves, his knees buckled under the weight, bringing them both crashing heavily down to the floor next to Tom. The gun went clattering across the room.
Deiter managed to free one of his legs from the grip and lashed out, the heel of his shoe connecting with Jed’s jaw. His head snapped back but he clung on, clawing his way up Deiter’s torso. Another kick, this time aimed at Jed’s
face. It landed on the bridge of his nose, fracturing it. Blood flowed from his nostrils. Momentarily stunned, he loosened his hold on Deiter’s leg, who scrambled towards the gun.
Tom tried to clear the fog that was clouding his head; he could see that Jed was no match for his opponent’s superior physical fitness and knew they had to join forces if they were going to overpower him. He willed himself to stand, but the connection between his brain and his leg muscles was impaired. He staggered to his feet but was unable to keep his balance, instead wheeling drunkenly in the opposite direction that he wanted to go. He managed to make it to the desk and held on to steady himself.
Deiter knew that if he could just get to the gun he would be able to regain control of the situation. Dislodging his assailant with his second kick gave him the opportunity he needed. He could see where the gun had landed some twenty feet to his left and belly-crawled towards it. His breathing was laboured, having been winded by the impact of the tackle, but his focus remained resolutely on the weapon.
Less than two feet away, he felt a vice-like grip around his ankle. He lunged for the firearm but he was inches short, the gap widening as Jed dragged him back away from it. He twisted his body over, trying to break loose, but Jed held firm, drawing him in like a fisherman reeling in his catch. He kicked out with his free leg but failed to connect with anything solid.
The force of the blow to Jed’s nose had made him see stars, but he quickly recovered his cognitive powers when he realised his adversary had broken free and was making for the gun. He shook his head to clear his thoughts further, the blood from his nose dripping liberally onto the floor. He half crawled, half slithered after the retreating form, knowing that if he didn’t manage to catch up in time it would be the last thing he ever did.
He was gaining, but he could tell it wasn’t going to be enough to prevent the other person reaching his objective. Risking everything, Jed got unsteadily to his feet and pounced at the flailing legs, managing to latch onto an ankle. His rival squirmed underneath his grasp like an alligator performing a death-roll, but Jed had no intention of letting go. He pulled him away from the revolver and, having studied his opponent’s form, was ready for him when he lashed out with his foot, dodging the kicks with ease. He drove his fist hard into the other man’s groin, promptly stopping the thrashing limb and replacing it with a low, guttural moan, followed by a whimper.
Tom pulled himself upright using the desk as a crutch; Charles’s blood was now spilling over the edge. He looked beyond the body to the window where Serena lay, expecting the worst. He could see where the bullet had grazed her forehead; it looked bad, but not bad enough to be life-threatening.
He manoeuvred around the desk, almost slipping on a congealed puddle on the floor. Still a little shaky on his feet, his mind had started to clear. Kneeling down next to her, he felt for a pulse. He hadn’t realised until that point that he had been holding his breath and exhaled at the relief of feeling the faint rhythmic beat on his fingertips indicating that life was coursing through her veins. Her breathing was shallow, but steady. He inspected the crease above her eye more closely; it didn’t appear to be that deep and had stopped bleeding. A commotion on the other side of the room drew his attention back to the immediate threat. Unsure of who had the upper hand, he looked around for a weapon. His eyes rested on a familiar object and he gingerly made his way over towards it.
Deiter knew that he was at a disadvantage. One leg was incapacitated and he was lying on his back, like a turtle with its underbelly exposed. He was vulnerable to any attack that his advisory wanted to deliver, so it came as no surprise when he felt the searing pain in his groin; he had half expected it and, as such, had mentally prepared for it. But, to catch his opponent off-guard, he needed to make him think he had delivered a killer blow. The moan that elicited from the punch was genuine, but the whimper after it was pure theatre.
As he continued the charade, he could feel the grip on his ankle slacken and the weight transfer to both legs as the person sat astride him. Timing was the key; if he made his move too soon the other person would be in a position to counter it. He waited, eyes screwed up as if in agony, hands clutching his crotch, moaning softly to himself. He could feel the hot breath on his chin as the victor leant over to inspect his kill.
Now! He launched himself into a sitting position using the weight on his legs as leverage. His forehead connected with the already shattered cartilage that was once a nose, obliterating it. This time it was his opponent’s turn to cry out. As his hands flew up to protect what was left, Deiter pushed him backward, toppling the weight off his legs.
He was on his feet in an instant, delivering a barrage of kicks to his adversary’s head and torso, like a man possessed. Even when the person stopped moving, he carried on remorselessly. It was only when he himself was exhausted that he relented. He quickly retrieved the gun from where it lay and walked back to the vanquished form on the floor. He pointed it at the bloody mess of a face and cocked the trigger, hesitating only because he caught a glimpse of something out of the corner of his eye.
Tom had worked his way around the perimeter of the room using the walls to prop him up, like a novice at an ice rink. He was relieved to see his friend had the situation under control. Jed was sitting on top of Deiter, who was crying like a baby, his manhood apparently being the object of his anguish. He was about to call out to his friend, when Deiter suddenly sprang up, delivering a crushing blow to Jed’s nose with his forehead.
He edged his way closer as his friend was being pummelled on the ground. He thought about calling out for Deiter to stop, but he knew that that would only put the focus on him and he was in no position to defend himself. If he was going to have any chance of saving them, he would have to disarm Deiter once and for all. He was in the shadow of the corner of the room when Deiter went to pick up the gun. Tom had the disturbing feeling from the frenzied look in the man’s eyes that he wouldn’t have been noticed, even if he had stood next to him. His blood was up and he only had one thing on his mind.
He saw Deiter raise his arm and prime the weapon, the gun pointing directly at Jed’s head. He was under no illusion that if he didn’t act now his friend would be dead in less than a second. He left the shadows and moved stealthily behind Deiter, raising the object in his hand high above his head as he did so. Deiter half turned as if sensing him coming, but it was too late; Tom brought the statue of Shiva the Destroyer crashing down onto the back of his head.
CHAPTER 37
‘Looks like I saved ya sorry arse, again.’ Jed had regained consciousness and was being stretchered out of the room on a gurney to a waiting ambulance.
‘We both owe you our lives,’ Tom replied, walking by his side. ‘How did you know to come in all guns blazing?’
Jed winced at the pain in his ribs as he tried to laugh. ‘When Charles rang me, the call connected so I heard the shot. I have to admit, my first thought was to get the hell out of Dodge as fast as I could and then phone the police.’
‘Well, I’m sure as hell glad you didn’t.’
The police had arrived, as Deiter predicted, within five minutes of being called. They, in turn, had alerted the medics on the complex who were able to stabilise the injured before ferrying them to the local hospital in the only ambulance they had available. Serena, who they deemed the most seriously hurt, was the first to go, followed by Deiter accompanied by two deputies, and then Jed, who insisted he’d been in worse fights.
‘Out on the piss on a Saturday night, in Glasgow,’ he’d said, apparently referring to when he was younger. Tom didn’t doubt this.
One look at the state of the room had convinced the on-site police officer that it was way out of his league and had called in reinforcements from the Suffolk County Sheriff’s Department. They arrived en masse; clearly, nothing as juicy as this had happened in their jurisdiction for a very long time, if at all.
Statements were taken from those able to give them – which, as the only two still consc
ious at the scene of the crime, meant principally Tom and Jed. Receptionists and security guards were interviewed; however, as they’d had only limited contact with those involved, they were only able to confirm arrival times and calls transferred.
A forensic team was duly called in to dust for fingerprints and to take DNA samples. The murder weapon was ‘bagged and tagged’, as one of the Sherriff’s Deputies put it, along with the statuette. Photographs were taken of everything from every conceivable angle, including Charles’s body. He was the last of the whole shooting match to leave the office, his journey to the hospital being considered not as urgent as the others.
The Sheriff in charge of the investigation was in his late fifties. Having completed twenty-four of his twenty-five years in service, he was looking forward to retiring next year. He was a rather rotund man with a snow-white thatch and matching facial hair, making him look like Colonel Sanders on a diet of too much of his own Southern fried recipe.
Sheriff Pete Watkins told Tom that he was obliged to call in the FBI, as was de rigueur in murder cases involving a foreign national. However, he would postpone the call until after he’d had a chance to interview the prime suspect – and, given the condition Deiter was in, that could be several days away. Tom suspected the Sheriff had his own agenda for not wanting to involve the FBI, possibly because he wanted to have the case sewn-up by the time the suits arrived, or he didn’t appreciate external agencies trampling on his turf. Either way, it suited Tom, as the last thing he needed was anybody making the connection back to the Swiss authorities.
‘How’s Serena?’ Jed asked.
‘The medics say she’s stable,’ replied Tom. ‘But they won’t know for sure if there’s any brain damage until she regains consciousness.’
The God Particle Page 27
