“Who can say?” said Boldfield, rubbing his eyes now, exhausted and not enjoying the questioning, but maintaining his thin veneer of politeness. “Again, personally, my hunch is no. Everything about Caementum, including your remote visions, Mr Pointer, suggests some kind of distance-operated unit. At the very least, it’s some kind of environmental protection suit, perhaps with an E.T. inside … but that doesn’t seem right to me. Of course, that last part is just my opinion. I couldn’t possibly say for sure at this stage.”
“Okay,” I said, and held up two fingers. “Two. Why go all the way to Sheffield for it? If it just needed a specific type of DNA, or something within a certain bracket, why not find someone closer?”
Annoyingly, Boldfield looked at Straub again, who seemed to share my exasperation slightly.
“Full disclosure, Doctor, he’s going to lie to the world for us, for goodness’ sake,” she said, twirling her finger for him to get on with it.
“Right,” said Boldfield, putting his glasses back on with another sigh. “Again, this is just theory, but we believe that it was simply a matter of who it found first. Think about it. It arrives here, and begins to scan. It picks up a signal, and sets off. It doesn’t matter where it is; Caementum cannot be stopped, and we now know that it can remotely prevent its target from leaving whatever area Caementum detected them as being in. If the target were to be removed from the area and die, it could just find another one.”
“But that’s so … inefficient,” said Paul, frowning. Boldfield stiffened slightly, and shifted in his seat before he spoke. I got the feeling he thought we should already understand this.
“You have to remember, Mr Winter, that we have no idea how its people perceive time. Days to us could be experienced as mere seconds to them, or perhaps they seem so long that the idea of rushing for anything is absurd. We don’t know, so we can’t apply our methods of logic to their approach. Either way, what is unarguable is that Caementum didn’t need to rush. All it needs to do is pick the first target it detects, pin it, retrieve it, and then come home once the job is done. It seems to us that, for them, the retrieval itself is more important than the timescale.”
I shrugged, and help up three fingers to signal my third and last question, but Paul asked it first.
“What are you doing to prepare in case it comes back?”
Boldfield smiled bitterly at this, and I had the feeling that whatever it was they were doing to prepare, he’d done nothing but that since the moment the Stone Man had vanished.
“At the moment—and this is exactly what the media will be told about this too, but it’s the truth—we’re examining some of the unusual energy and radiation patterns that we detected from it. The work that we’re currently doing is all about understanding and perhaps disrupting these patterns; hopefully, to either affect its physical integrity or to break whatever remote control that’s influencing it, if any.” He looked at his watch again, and then showed it to Straub with a pained expression on his face.
“Yes, yes,” she said, sounding slightly exasperated. “Thank you, Doctor, you can go. Thank you for your time.” Boldfield rose, nodded to us both distractedly, and then headed out of the door. Straub reached under the edge of her desk, and the door was then opened by our two guards.
“Okay, gentlemen, thank you again for your patience,” she said, standing. “I’m not sure when we’ll speak next and, with the greatest respect, hopefully we never will, if you understand me.” She held out her hand for us to shake. We did, and so then she gestured to the guards.
“These two will sort out your transport. You’ll excuse me if I don’t see you out, but I’m extremely busy, as you can understand. But please, gentlemen, do let me stress this again, and I say this not only for your sakes, but frankly for those of your families: this conversation never happened.” With this last statement, all the breeziness dropped out of her voice, and her face became very stern indeed. The air that seemed to have permeated the room—the one that felt like the end of a successful job interview—had now disappeared, and we were left in no doubt as to the seriousness of the situation. Again, I was impressed by Straub; although she meant it, and her warning was as serious as possible, the timing and delivery of the statement had been deliberate and theatrical. The woman knew how to have an effect.
“Understood,” said Paul, and Straub nodded, holding her hand out towards the door. We left her office in silence.
Walking down the corridor to the double doors, neither of us said a word, until we found ourselves once more in the warm night air. Immediately outside there were now two jeeps, and somewhere close, I could hear rotary blades starting up. One of us was getting the aerial treatment; I assumed (correctly, as it turned out) that it would be Paul. Given the length of the unseen drive here, I thought that we had to be some distance away from Sheffield now, and thus Paul’s home. I obviously wouldn’t be going too far; any hotel would do for me, and tomorrow I would be summoned for media prep. Media prep. The words shivered down my spine, carrying a little thrill all the way. I didn’t think that I’d be getting a good night’s sleep, no matter how much I needed it.
“This way, sir, and you’re going that way, sir,” said one guard, directing us each to our relevant jeep, and talking to us a little more politely than before, I thought. Perhaps because we’d been into the inner sanctum? Either way, Paul and I caught each other’s eye, realising (when we should have realised earlier) that we were about to be separated.
I found, to my complete lack of surprise, that I had no idea what to say. Were we friends now? Had we bonded? Did we even like each other? It had only been a day, but it felt like a week, and I had no concept of what the appropriate action was here. Paul seemed like a good bloke, and we’d been through a pretty damn mind-blowing experience together; we’d even had a fight, pretty much, and made up. All that meant something, surely, I just didn’t know what. Fortunately, Paul came to the rescue.
“You gonna be all right?” he asked, putting his hands in his pockets and drawing his arms against his sides, taking a deep breath. The man really was tired, but the concern on his face was genuine. It was an unexpected question—I’d perhaps anticipated a more token response—and it was sincerely asked. Again, I was touched.
“Yeah, you?” I said, not really knowing what else to ask. I did actually want to know though.
“Jesus, I’ve no idea,” he said, frowning. His eyes became distant, looking through me as he spoke. “What the hell do you make of a day like today? What does anyone make of it? And that guy. At least he wasn’t married or anything … but bloody hell … there’ll be nightmares, I think.” He sighed, looked off into the distance, then turned back to me. “Look, get your head down tonight, get through this press conference business, and if you have a spare five minutes at any point, give me a call, all right? You on Facebook?”
It sounded like a ridiculous question, given the surroundings, and what we’d been through—it was something you said to a girl you met on a night out, or to a new friend on holiday—but it made sense. Plus, as most things seem to be with Paul, it was sincere.
“Yeah, drop me a message on there with your number, I’ll send you mine,” I said. “Do it quick though, I think things might be about to blow up on my account.”
“Ah yes, the man of the hour,” smiled Paul weakly, perhaps wondering if he’d made the right choice. God knows I would have been. In his shoes, I’d have been kicking down the door of Straub’s office to tell her I’d changed my mind, dodging semi-automatic rifle fire as I did so. “Try not to get lost in it all. Listen, I think … I think I’m probably gonna need to talk to you about some of this stuff, okay? You were the only other one there, at least the only other one who saw it the same way I did. So just … just keep an eye on your phone, okay?”
“Of course,” I said, realising that I’d need a replacement handset now, but didn’t mention it. On impulse, I held out my hand. “I might well be the same. Take care then … and I will speak to
you soon. Okay?” Paul nodded, and took my hand in that bear paw of his, shaking mine warmly.
“She’s gonna be worried sick,” Paul said as he let go, shaking his head and looking at the floor, thinking about his wife. “Can we stop at a payphone on the way?” he directed this question to the guard, who shook his head.
“Unnecessary, sir. You’re going to be home extremely quickly, air transport has been arranged,” was the response.
“Mm, not quick enough,” Paul sighed, but it was the resolved sigh of a man too tired to argue. He gave me a lazy thumbs-up, and that weak smile again. “Take care, Andy, look after yourself. Hell of an adventure, hell of an adventure. Speak soon, mate.”
Paul waved goodbye with another sad smile, and then turned to get into the jeep. I returned the wave and headed towards my own jeep, a weird feeling of sadness creeping into my bones. I’ve never liked goodbyes of any kind, and going back to being alone in all of this was suddenly very unpleasant. As the jeeps’ engines started up, I looked across at Paul, sitting in the backseat. His face was hidden in his hands, and stayed that way as he began to be driven away, but at the last minute I saw him raise one hand in my direction. His revealed face was without expression, and then he was gone, disappearing into the darkness.
I wouldn’t see him again for three months.
***
A lot of what happened next you’ll already know. You saw it on TV, you read the papers. You know who I am. But you won’t know it from my side. You won’t know how it really all went down, won’t know the proper timeline of things, so I’ll give you the short version here.
Was it shallow? Was it an embarrassment of excess? Would I have gotten tired of it all in the end? Yes, yes, and probably. A lot of it I’m embarrassed by, when I think about it now. But at the same time, fuck it; it was simultaneously the most fun and the most lonely time of my entire life. I wish it had never ended.
This is what I remember of it.
—The early wake-up call at the hotel, head pounding, exhausted from a restless night of excitement about my glorious new future. A knock at the door to deliver some toiletries and some comfort clothes for the day: jeans, a T-shirt, clean boxers and socks. Being told a car would arrive for me in twenty minutes. The buzz kicking in through the tiredness, knowing I was about to become the centre of the world. It was … indescribable.
—The drive to a small field nearby, getting into the waiting chopper. Landing on top of a London skyscraper and being met by David, who was to be my liaison for the day, carrying a clipboard and wearing, of all things, a headset, like a TV show-runner. David doesn’t talk much, is middle-aged, always wears a grey suit. Stern faced, even more businesslike than Straub, if that’s possible.
—David escorting me down into the building, which looked like an ordinary office block, with people dashing here and there and working at computers in cubicles. Asking where we were, and David saying that it was a government department and not telling me anything more.
—Being taken into a blank waiting room and left alone for several minutes, then being fetched again by David and taken into a larger room with a desk and two more people, a man and a woman, whose names I never get because that is the point at which the speed of the day ramps up to ridiculous levels.
—Bullet points, diagrams, diversionary tactics for difficult questions, a list of twenty likely questions to memorise and the appropriate responses for each (there would be four questions allowed of me before the conference would be wrapped up). Q and A practice sessions, at one point occurring whilst a woman with a tape measure takes down my vitals for the making of my bespoke suit. I was to look good on TV. Being told to make sure I mentioned the destruction of my home, regardless of the questions, to help shore up my credibility. Protocol for meeting the Prime Minister, where to stand. Documents to sign, waivers, disclosure agreements. Realising that I don’t have a phone. Asking about this, and being told I would be given one. Later, being given a Blackberry. It’s not as good as my old one. Eating somewhere in the middle of all this, being brought a tray of rather nice sandwiches and juice.
—The end of an exhausting afternoon, head bursting from all the things I had to remember, and departing around 5:00 p.m. in a car with blacked-out windows that takes me to Downing Street, sitting on the backseat with big men in suits who sit either side of me, also wearing earpieces. The wait in the car seeming to go on forever, even once we’d arrived. Half an hour before showtime, being brought inside Number 10 and meeting the Prime Minister. It seems unreal, as does the whole day so far. His greeting is friendly, but short and businesslike, and then he goes back to his team of advisers. A makeup artist attends him, then me.
—The press conference on the steps of Number 10, dazzled by the hundreds of paps and journos gathered in front of us; national-level guys with faces I recognise, faces I once envied but now I know that I am about to surpass them utterly. I wear my new suit, and it fits like a glove.
—The Prime Minister delivering the PR account of the Stone Man story, with the delivery and assuredness of a pro. Then I am presented, not quite as a hero—what did I actually do in the end, even in this version of the story, other than simply being at the heart of it—but with a tone suggesting that I am very important indeed. Feeling deeply nervous as the hands go up and the voices start. I am not a TV reporter, but I handle the questions well. They are all within the list of twenty likely questions, and I’ve been prepared well.
Describe the mental sensation. When did you first have your vision. What do you say to people that call you a fraud. Do you think it will come back. And that’s when everything is wrapped up and we’re done.
—Being taken to a different hotel, under guard for my own protection, where the arrival is totally different to the previous night: a mob of press are somehow waiting at the other end, and my two burly minders bully me through them and into the elevator. They wait outside my room at night.
—Ringing flatmate Phil and getting him to gather every newspaper he could that mentioned me. Steve going nuts with questions, asking why my phone had been off, how the hell I got mixed up in this, where I’d gotten the suit from. Apparently he’s been telling everyone that I was his flatmate, and I think that maybe his tone sounds friendlier than I’ve ever heard it.
—Lying in bed, exhausted but still browsing online, reading every online article about myself that I can find. Egotistical? Perhaps, but wouldn’t you do the same in my shoes? Annoyingly, every one is merely about my account of events, with almost no assessment of me as a man. The only objective description of any note is that I was ‘confident’ at the podium, and one article adds the word ‘local’ to the word ‘reporter’ when mentioning my job. I wince when I read it, and silently curse the jealous little toad that wrote it.
—Being collected early the next day for my examinations, and taken to a private room in a London hospital. We start with an MRI and blood work. We do ESP tests, Zener cards and the like. Visual exams, personality profiling. Halfway through the day I meet my cabinet-appointed agent, Bryan, who will be talking to me later about various offers. He will negotiate the best deals and look after my interests, but also make sure the government’s take priority, and ensure that the boat isn’t rocked, as he puts it. The treasury get thirty percent, too, which stings a great deal, but I am not in a position to argue. Plus, when I hear what Bryan has to say about my potential earnings, even losing such large portions of it seems insignificant. Bryan says that so far, it looks like TV is the way to go, as expected, and that all of the networks—US, of course—are fine with me being the one to write and present it. The highest offer so far is eight million dollars, and Bryan expects it to go way beyond that. The base rate of advertising for the Superbowl is four million per ad, and my report of my experiences with a confirmed extraterrestrial will have ratings far higher than the Superbowl. Legitimate alien experience? Massive. Worth at least one hundred million in advertising revenue, if the Superbowl generates seventy-five. He expec
ts to get me twenty million as a minimum. I’m stunned. This all has to be a dream.
—Facebooking Paul once I’m back at the hotel at night. I find that he’s already added me, and messaged me with his number. Watched your performance, he says. Looked good. All well this end, once she’d calmed down. Get in touch when you can. PS Love the suit. I send him the new Blackberry’s number.
—Being flown to America on day three, with government representative David and agent Bryan in tow. David still hardly ever speaks, but he’s here to vet proceedings. I begin to think that David might actually be some kind of high-ranking spook. We fly business class, and I drink champagne. I pass out during the flight for several hours, and it’s good, but my headache is back when I wake up.
—Meeting the producers in LA. Bryan has already told me that NBC will be paying me twenty-one million dollars. Even after the treasury’s cut, I am a multimillionaire. I am wined and dined and asked to cowrite a one-hour-long script with their writing team. David insists that I am allowed to write it alone, then turn it in for editing. He also demands that we have final cut approval of the finished programme; he doesn’t say it, but I know that by ‘we’ he means himself and his superiors. He’s given what he wants, of course.
—Spending three days in a luxurious LA hotel, writing the script based on the government’s timeline of events and writing Paul out of it as requested. I no longer went to Sheffield solo; I went with the military and government reps after convincing the local police that I was legit (saying exactly what was happening with the Stone Man on TV whilst an officer watched it on his phone in another room. Describing the cars and surroundings onscreen with no way of seeing them. This was supposedly enough for the Coventry police to grant me access to the higher-ups, who at that point, due to Coventry being ground zero for the Stone Man, were in contact with the military. Not my story, the government’s.) David analyses the final product, then sends it back to the UK for assessment. With some minor edits, it is approved.
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