by James Flynn
The door was unlocked; they are not expecting any visitors. The building could not have been sparser; there was no furniture anywhere in sight. He moved quietly to his left where a doorway opened into another room. Inside was a wooden table that had on its top a phone with a wire running off under the wall. Luke acted fast; he grabbed the wire and ran the blade hard underneath to cut it. He couldn’t take any chances, and for all he knew the line may go directly to the underground laboratory.
He moved back into the entrance room and walked through into the final downstairs room, a very small space that had mould all over the walls. In the corner there was a set of wooden stairs that led up to the next floor. He glanced out of the window by the foot of the stairs that looked out north. He saw the man moving back across the snow and heading for the building.
Testing each step Luke started up the stairs. They turned back on themselves and before his head broke through onto the floor above he stopped to listen. There was a heat source that was pumping out, and he could hear someone humming; it was a deep-toned tune. Luke tensed his body to control his muscles as he peered above the top of the stairs. The upstairs floor had been made into one long room. Sat over at the far west end was a man sitting on a dilapidated-looking chair staring out the window. He had short black hair, and wore a jumper and trousers that had suspenders hung down from his waist. Luke scanned for weapons and saw a serious-looking bit of kit propped against the wall. It was a US M16 assault rifle, but the man, not expecting any threat, had left it too far away from him and Luke knew he could make the distance. Luke was confident it was only the two men, the one returning and the one sat in front of him. The time for stealth was over; he pounced.
He bounded up the remaining stairs and shot across the room. The man growled something and tried to jump off his chair as he turned to face the explosion of movement approaching him, but it was too late, the blade dug deep into his throat, the momentum forcing it right back to the spine. Luke then sliced it sideways, spraying blood and pieces of windpipe over the wall. The man dropped to the floor, crashing down on the wood. The blood poured from his wound, being pumped out by the dying heart.
“Anoush?”
Luke swung round; the voice had come from downstairs. The wanderer was back …
Moving lightly across the wood, Luke passed the stairs and took up position.
“Anoush?” the man called again.
Luke heard the heavy boots start up the stairs. They were cautious steps, slow and definitive. It was the barrel of an M16 that Luke saw first; the rifle was an awesome weapon and in this small space would tear him to shreds.
“Anoush?” The man’s voice was quieter.
Next came his head. As Luke had hoped he was looking over in Anoush’s direction. He then whispered an expletive in Arabic.
In a flash, Luke grabbed the muzzle of the rifle and swung his leg round to connect hard with the man’s face. The man let out a cry, but did not let go of the weapon. Luke now used the full force of his higher position to drive his foot down, pushing the man back down the stairs, screaming as he fell.
Luke threw away the gun and bounded down the stairs after him. The man was sprawled on the floor but did not appear hurt; his giant coat had cushioned the fall and he was already recovering. Luke drew level and saw he was young. His eyes were narrow and as black as the winter sky, but they were wide with panic; his dislodged hat showed dark stubble running across his scalp.
Luke smashed the hilt of the knife onto his nose, breaking it and blurring his vision. The man offered no resistance.
Luke flipped the blade round and lodged it under his chin. “Who do you work for?”
The young man didn’t answer, his eyes were streaming and his nose was trickling blood and swelling. Luke pressed the blade against his neck. “How many of you are there?”
The youngster still didn’t talk, he was shaking from fear but he said nothing. Luke pressed the blade tip so that it drew blood; the youngster whimpered but held his ground. “How do I get inside the laboratory? TELL ME! How do I get inside?”
The youngster gently straightened himself; Luke pressed the blade harder, indicating he wanted no further movement. Then the man spoke; it was broken English and his voice was a lot thinner and higher than Luke expected.
“I work for one man, and Insha’Allah He will welcome me with open arms.”
Then without warning the boy who could have been no more than a teenager jolted forward, putting all of his weight on the blade. It slipped in effortlessly to find his throat and Luke watched eye to eye as the life left his body. That was not a kill he would forget.
Come on Luke, don’t lose focus.
Moving back up to the top floor he moved past the blood-drenched body of Anoush and pressed against the window. He had a clear view south and west; there was nothing of note, just a long stretch of countryside, draped in snow and ice. The metal entrance still looked painted onto the hillside. The light was beginning to fade; the grey was turning imperceptibly into darkness. Luke moved to the body; the man was wearing a leather-strapped watch; he lifted the dead weight of his arm and roughly undid the strap, taking the watch and strapping it to his own wrist. The dead man’s arm dropped like a lead weight onto the wood. Luke eyed the M16, but decided he didn’t need the bulk or extra weight.
It was already past 5 p.m.
It would be easier finding a needle in a haystack than finding a ventilation shaft in the countryside at night; Luke banged his head against the glass. Then as he looked out at the mocking silver entrance that Beltrano had used, his eyes caught something directly up the hill from it.
Luke let out a rare smile, son of a bitch. He shot away from the window, sprinted out through the compound and tore across the snow-laden expanse. What he had seen was a patch of land completely untouched by the snow about 100 metres up the hill from the tunnel entrance. There was no shelter or reason for the snow not to have gathered, except one.
His injured leg burned as he ran full pelt up the hill and approached the patch. Stuck on the hillside pumping out warm air was a five-by-five-foot ventilation shaft. The warm air would be carried away by the system and cool, fresh air sucked down.
He stood up and examined it. It had a grated covering, but it was only held in place by screws; it was only designed to stop animals and birds falling down. He got to work unscrewing it with the edge of his blade. He lifted the cover off and leaned in, it fell away into nothingness, the black swallowing up the shaft.
He brushed away the snow on the ground around him and found a little frozen pebble. Not the most scientific test but all he had. He dropped the rock inside.
1,000, 2,000, 3,000 …
He had only got to just past three seconds when he heard the faint bang of the rock hitting metal.
Someone likes me today.
There was clearly some kind of ledge not far below. The plan was flimsy; he may just get to that ledge and then have nowhere to go. But he had nothing else. He threw his bag on the floor and began unloading the rope; he already wore the protective gloves. Most industrial ventilation shafts worked in stages to aid the filtering of air; he would try and abseil down as many of those stages as he could. He could just hear what Davison would say: We appreciate our men have an element of crazy … but we never want crazy stupid.
Davison … Luke had a flash that he should have made contact with Davison to inform him of the situation. Luke sniffed at that thought. Even if he had made contact, Davison wouldn’t send in any back-up, it was not Group 9’s way.
He shrugged off the doubts and began securing the rope. He would have to use the most basic method of abseiling, no equipment, just rope and gravity.
First, anchoring; seeing as he had no proper equipment he needed to loop the rope around a large piece of rock that was held hard in place by a layer of ice creeping up from the ground. It was not ideal but it seemed to be sturdy. Luke took the first coil of rope and looped it around the rock; he placed the others back insid
e the dry-bag and threw it across his chest. He then positioned himself on the edge of the shaft. He passed the rope between his legs and pulled it round to the front of his torso, up and over the back of his head, then on his leading arm which would be his right he performed one twist of the rope which helped in improving friction. He was ready.
Luke looked up at the darkening sky; the ghostly moon could now be seen along with the sun, a changing of the guard. In that moment Luke did not know if he would get to see the celestial bodies again. He shook his head and leant back.
The rope dug into his groin but it held; his right arm stretched out as far as it could in the narrow shaft. He took the death step and went over the edge, leaning hard back into the rope. He took each step slowly and surely with the jagged motion that comes with abseiling without a harness or fall-arrester. With each step his left hand let out the rope to keep it clean. He expected at any moment for the rock to give way above. The entrance hole gradually became smaller and smaller overhead. His hair brushed against the opposite wall of the shaft, reminding him how narrow the space was.
Eventually the light from above was no longer enough to illuminate the shaft and Luke descended into the heart of the earth.
86.
Chung Su felt the sickness building in her stomach, she was dumbstruck. The shock sent her mind into a spin, and she wanted to vomit.
It can’t be …
The man in front of her gazed sympathetically at her, his dark eyes taking in every inch of her face. His hair was dark with flecks of grey and cut short around his ears, and his face was freshly shaved. A green tank-top was worn over a well-pressed white shirt, and his light cream-coloured chinos fell down to black synthetic leather shoes. It was a face she knew so well. The shock was blocking rational thought, her brain refused to comprehend it.
“I can see you may need a minute, Miss Chung …” He spoke English; his voice was soft and reassuring. There was an accent but it was unobtrusive.
“Ho … how … it’s you.” In the confusion, Chung Su was struggling to find the words.
The man rested on the corner of an instrument panel and folded his arms. “It is me, yes …”
Chung Su couldn’t answer; she fought the urge to retch.
The man stepped forward; he reached out a hand and placed it gently on her shoulder. “It is me …”
Chung Su looked up at him. “Professor Vittorio.”
The professor straightened and removed a small piece of cloth from his trouser pocket; he dabbed it on Chung Su’s cheek; she had not even noticed that one of the cuts from the blast had reopened.
“But … you are dead,” Chung Su managed.
Vittorio sniggered. “I certainly hope not.”
I don’t understand, the words rattled around her head. It all seemed so impossible, but yet stood in front of her, in flesh and blood was Professor Vittorio. “I don’t understand.”
“Come now, Miss Chung, I appreciate it was a shock, but I believe if you look hard enough you can understand quite well.”
She could not, and Vittorio’s words confused her even more. But then as he tucked the cloth back in his pocket she felt a pang of familiarity, something surreal in his appearance, beyond mere recognition.
He continued calmly. “Firstly, I must apologise for my brother. He relishes the harsher side of our work, but please don’t take it as anything more than passion.”
Chung Su had a cold tingle run down her spine. In his face she saw a ghostly overlay taking shape. He became familiar in his features, the dark-ringed eyes, the grey flecks … all that was missing was the thicker beard. Beltrano is his brother?
“Well, where do I start?” Vittorio grabbed a wheeled chair and positioned it so that he was sat facing her. “This is all so much to take in, isn’t it? And believe me, not just for you, but for me also. I am a tremendous fan of your work. With the resources you have had to make do with, you have been incredibly inventive in the research you have been undertaking.”
My work? Her mind went to her colleagues. The web of deceit seemed so tightly wound that she had no clue as to what was real and what wasn’t anymore.
Vittorio continued: “You are here, at the heart of all that you have been searching for. I suspect that Roland may have brought you up to speed a little on what we have achieved?”
Chung Su just stared; the light in Vittorio’s eyes flickered and flashed. She was in the presence of greatness, but a dark shadow clouded the room, as though she were sat with a fallen angel.
“Professor Brun would no doubt have wanted you to know the full story,” Vittorio nodded. Chung Su thought she saw a momentary flicker of pain run across Vittorio’s face as he mentioned his old colleague, but it vanished as quickly as it arrived. “Well, here it is.” Vittorio gestured around the room with his hand.
Come on Chung Su, be strong, be strong. But all she could muster were four words: “You killed Professor Brun.”
The pain again flashed across Vittorio’s face. His leg began to bounce up and down incessantly. “Roland was a good man, none of this could have been possible without him, but we are called upon to take tough decisions, and unless we make them we cannot raise ourselves out of the darkness. He went too far, Miss Chung … the speech at the gala was only ever meant to include the speed of the neutrino, but as you saw the misguided morals of my dear friend overran him. It is not a decision I regret, but it is one that saddens my heart. He was a brilliant man, a fantastic partner, but he could never have shared our dream. He is one of them, it is in his soul …” he trailed off.
“I don’t understand.” Chung Su was lost. “But … but …” the mixture of thoughts overwhelmed her, and then one memory struck her. “But your brother interrogated the professor?”
Vittorio smiled. “All part of the charade, actors on a stage.”
Chung Su ran it through her mind. The young Carabinieri floated through, pieces falling into place. “You needed his colleagues to think he was really searching for you …”
Vittorio nodded. “It was vital. By treating my disappearance as genuine it allowed my brother to eliminate anyone who got too close. He was interrogating people to understand what they knew, all under the guise of a good Carabinieri officer.”
My colleagues, she thought.
As if reading her mind, Vittorio spoke solemnly. “That included your countrymen, Miss Chung.”
Chung Su convulsed.
“Now, now. Come on. You put them into danger, it was inevitable. We knew about them for a very long time. It was in fact my brother who felt that we could use them, and it seems as though he was right.”
“Use them?” Chung Su snapped.
“Yes, once we knew they were attempting to supply you with data, we felt we could begin to make sure they fed you the wrong data, all very subtly of course. We kept them on the primary OPERA experiment; they never even knew what we were undertaking here. That is the joy of Western orgainisations such as CERN; they are afforded the luxury of freedom. Money is their key to doing what they want. That freedom allowed us total secrecy. Your countrymen were consistently fed incorrect data by Professor Brun after tests and calibrations. All very masterful. We felt that it would slow you down much more effectively than simply eliminating your colleagues.”
Chung Su wanted to scream. The pain and embarrassment were unbearable. She had been completely and utterly manipulated, along with her whole team. They never had any hope of replicating OPERA; the shame was born from the irony that her team should have just followed her own studies; they became so reliant on the data they applied it verbatim … and they lost.
Vittorio took a deep breath. “Roland rode the journey with me, but our tracks would always diverge.”
Chung Su hardened. She had felt such a loving connection for Professor Brun, and Vittorio had betrayed him. The tears came, but they fell silently.
“Come now, Miss Chung, you are stronger than this.”
“Why?” she asked.
“Why?�
�� Vittorio seemed shocked. “That is not a question I was expecting.” He leaned in close. “Why did you carry out the work you did? It was for the same reason I did. We are so very similar.”
“I never wanted to hurt anyone,” she said feebly.
“Oh please, Miss Chung, you are disappointing me. You surely are not that naive? Your leaders want to crush them as much as we do … we simply serve different masters. I must say it took a while to learn what was happening, the men you sent were good at their job.” Vittorio looked down at the floor. “But for us … for you and I, Miss Chung, there is more, isn’t there? This is not about power or control … what really fires us, burns inside our hearts is the discovery! Standing on the shoulders of great men and forging our own path.” Vittorio’s eyes burned brightly.
Chung Su felt utterly ashamed to see a great man transformed into a psychotic maniac … and to feel so connected with him. The pain and suffering of so many was brought into sharp focus by the events of the past week. Her mind jumped to her countrymen, the horrors she feared they went through … all for my work. Her pulse rate shot up as she thought she would be subject to the same horrors when Beltrano finally got the chance to interrogate her.
Chung Su groaned. “The invite to the gala?”
“Oh that was merely the means to get you here; after my brother had drained every last drop of truth from your countrymen, we knew we had to speak with you, and it just so happened that this year’s gala had fallen to me … we take the opportunities when they present themselves. My brother was confident that after your masters had not heard from their little spies such an invite would be too good an opportunity to pass up. “He smiled.
Chung Su felt ashamed that she had thought the invite had come to her by merit alone.
