by Tim Heath
Situated not more than five or six miles further up the same mountain road, just through the next gathering of houses that you could call a village, was the crystal clear mountain pool where Christopher Wentworth, the oldest son, had drowned in a boating accident. This lake’s proximity to the only mainland asylum on the continent to have taken in an Englishman within a few weeks of Austin leaving the village back home, only made the case stronger.
Robert went around the back of the wooden framed building, parts of the outer wall rotting, large pieces just falling off with his touch. From the look of things, it had been many years, if not decades, since the place was open, the sad story of such institutions being that the money would just run out and the patients would then be thrown out with nowhere to go and no one to take them.
Robert forced the back door, which gave no real defence as it was so old and rotten. The force cracked the lock right through the timber, and the door swung open very quickly. Robert walked into what appeared to be some form of a storeroom. Piles of boxes stood around, no doubt crawling with insects, something which Robert would keep in mind. He flashed the torch around and found the door open on the far side, which led out into a corridor area. Small rooms fed off each side further down the corridor, and the other way he presumed led back towards the entrance, with maybe some waiting room and secretarial office there. What got to him right away was how small the overall place was, bearing in mind that in its day the patients would have lived there all the time. ‘Some life’ he thought to himself. They no doubt spent hours alone in their small rooms.
What Robert was after really was the records room, which he soon found, its doorway partially obscured by a filing cabinet. He hoped, going by the state of the rest of the building’s contents, he would discover the records remained. They did, and more than that, there were many personal possessions as well, such as old black and white photos and children’s colouring pads which he could only imagine some of the adults used, for he was aware that no children, as far as he had researched, had ever stayed there.
Robert went at speed through the boxes, some of the top ones starting to rot due to the damp in the air, water no doubt coming through the roof in winter when it would be covered in inches of snow. He didn’t bother with keeping things tidy; there just wasn’t time. What he needed, and hoped for, was anything from Austin’s era, and more hopefully, anything from the man himself. Robert had gone through all five boxes that sat there, but they related to a later period, and he was about to turn around when he spotted three further boxes, tucked well away under the metal racks attached to the wall, their shelves stuffed with all sorts of rubbish.
Getting to the boxes and resting his torch down, he knew straight away that this was what he wanted, the first box showing the dates just before Austin had been there, and Robert felt a buzz of excitement rising again as he went through pieces of history. He finished the first box but there was no sign of what he was looking for, so he went through the other two. Robert finally found what he wanted in the last one, a bunch of papers in a scribbled format, but straight away, on one large sheet of paper, Robert knew he’d found something. The nurses here had probably merely taken this as Austin’s madness showing itself, but looking up at him as Robert held the sheets in the light of his dimming torch, its charge now fading, were pencil drawings of a Door, loads of them from every angle. Robert picked them up, with the torch, knowing he needed to get back to the car. As he got to the door of the room, he heard noise from the back of the building, then a clear voice in French, the beam from a torch sweeping the hallway area. The man, apparently alerted by something, starting to walk in and shouted again, before walking past his door and towards the entrance. Robert knew he had no option but to make a run for it now, staying low and weaving his way back through the corridors and getting out again through the broken back door as quickly as he could. He kept running down the track, not even stopping to look behind, slowing as he got back up to the main road, a police car parked against his side of the road, telling him who the visitor was. Robert crossed over the way quickly and got into his car, pulling the handbrake off so that he could slide down the road a bit, struggling to turn very much with the lack of power steering. He only started the car when he felt he was far enough away from the policeman so as not to attract his attention.
Robert didn’t want to go far as he guessed that Austin had stationed somewhere around there that very first Door. His car though was now the problem, no doubt its registration number recorded by the cop when he’d pulled over. The discovery of the broken door meant it was apparent the car’s occupant would be the primary suspect, and while it was probably no high crime, Robert couldn’t risk being spotted, so he drove back down to Route 9, moving on until he got to a suitable area. Robert parked the car in a place that he could remember but where it could easily be hidden, maybe thinking that he could always call a cab back up to the village sometime later if that were needed. Now though he just waited in the car a while, letting the torch recharge, scanning through the paperwork looking and for any further clues. Thirty minutes later Robert had looked through everything. It was after midnight, and he’d figured that with quiet roads he should be able to make it back to the airport in around an hour, the first flight back to England leaving at just before eight. The latest he could arrive would be about half-past six, which meant Robert would need to go from there no later than five fifteen, considering that he also then had to take back the rental car. It therefore gave him five hours to get back up there, search around and then get back to the car. The torch would need a little more charge and he could do with some sleep. So allowing things to return back to the calm idyllic life again up in the hills, hopefully giving the policeman time to leave, Robert chose to take fifty minutes’ rest before heading back up, still planning maybe to catch a taxi up there and back, but he’d work out the details when he awoke. He set his alarm and closed his eyes, knowing that in the next twenty-four hours anything could happen.
When Robert awoke at one, everywhere now quiet, he figured that he’d have to take a chance and drive back, stopping somewhere else, expecting the policeman to be long gone, a report no doubt waiting to be filed in the morning, when he’d be far from there. And indeed, on his approach, he didn’t see a soul, though taking no chances he pulled the car over early, walking the last bit.
In the papers he had from Austin Wentworth, there were references to several outbuildings of the sort which sounded like suitable places to house such a thing as the Door. Austin seemed to make constant reference back to his own notebook as well, adding comments that seemed to imply he only put the main details in that book. If it had been in those boxes, Robert had missed it, but he was quite sure it wasn’t. What he’d never been able to work out in all his research over the last months is where Austin had gone afterwards. There were no records of his death there, in a time when the vast majority of the home’s patients never left, and those who did seemed only to be the ones taken to a particular prison due to a crime they’d gone on to commit. But Austin had seemed to disappear without a trace, and that was all the more evidenced now by the absence of his notebook, something he treasured so much that it never left his person. How he’d managed to get away from such a place as the asylum, Robert would probably never know. Not that it mattered much now, it would just be an unsolved piece of the puzzle, something that, deep down, Robert hoped he would have been able to work out as he was a man who didn’t like unresolved problems.
Awoken in his sleep by another nightmare, Nigel sat up, sweat on his face, the same recurring dream about this figure whom he assumed to be Robert, grabbing him, trapping him, stopping him. He felt sick to his stomach, and taking a drink of water, focusing his mind again as he always did, he reminded himself that it was just a dream. This time though the dream had been slightly different, with Brendan, Tommy and Jessica all standing there, watching him, laughing.
In Nigel's state of mind, which had gone way past rational already,
he reached for the phone, dialling Brendan’s number, knowing that though it was quite late there, he would still be up. When Brendan answered it after a few seconds, Nigel said he would like to meet Brendan tomorrow, inviting Brendan to come to his house where he would show him around.
Putting the phone down, a smile set in that said it all. Nigel was cutting all threats off now, and he was going to play it his way. Picking the phone up one last time, he called the man he’d spoken to, to get the weapons in place, just saying:
“It happens tomorrow. Let me know the second you have things ready, and I will take things from there.” He threw the phone back onto the bed. Nigel whispered under his breath: ‘Tomorrow I hold the nation in my hands. Tomorrow will herald a new beginning. Tomorrow!’
He lay back on the pillow and tried to sleep, all the time thinking how things would soon be over, how he’d soon be free!
30
It was just before three in the morning when Robert found what he was looking for, the light of the torch again failing so that he was now using it as little as possible. Further down the hill from the asylum, deep in the cover of the trees and shielded from the village by a rocky shoulder that meant it was as private a little haven as you could hope for, sat some small workshops. They were so unused and old that much of their structures were fallen, but their shape and design matched that of something Austin had once drawn, and its proximity to the asylum coupled with its seclusion made it a perfect workshop area for someone such as Austin. It was in the fourth such shed, flashing his torch with one final burst of light before it faded, that Robert finally laid his eyes on the distinctive metal framework, the light reflecting back at him from the shiny surface.
Everything within him raced because to find such a thing, which for so long had been hidden from a world ignorant of the genius of Austin Wentworth, could turn out to be the most amazing thing he’d ever do. The fact that it even existed meant everything had changed, assuming that it in fact worked, but Robert felt confident it would. Clearly, it was this that had been the prototype which Christopher and then Nathan Wentworth had gone on to replicate by producing their versions. The world had stood and watched, acclaiming the excellence of Christopher for making so many different breakthroughs, and yet something far more incredible had been dreamed up all along, and that not by the great Christopher Wentworth or his equally impressive brother Nathan, both Nobel prize winners. Instead, it was the work of their supposed forgotten brother Austin, a genius now in Robert’s eyes, but written off in a time when the world just couldn’t understand him or tolerate such different behaviour. Clearly, the brothers were aware of his work. They had visited at least twice, and something they talked about due to the existence of their doors, the science of which was a jump in logic even for them. That had not escaped Robert’s attention, even if no one else had noticed. He’d always been suspicious of the breakthrough, believing that there had to be an Alpha version which the brothers had based their Doors on, such was the shift that they’d taken from the studies they’d done up to that point.
Standing there in the light of the moon, Robert came back to himself and started towards the car, knowing that he now had to make that first flight back to England, pleased he wasn’t cutting it as fine as he could have, new energy pouring through his veins like never before. Robert had refused the urge to touch the Door or to look at it and marvel at it. He’d resisted the impulse to stay longer there than he needed, because as fantastic a find as it was unless operated in the future, it was just a piece of metal. Waiting longer than otherwise required was just asking for trouble in his book. He got back to the car without being seen and a moment later was pulling away down the road, just another motorist going about his business.
Robert was at the airport by six, ticket in hand, waiting for the gate to be announced. The past few hours had been unusual though the next few could prove equally challenging as he would somehow need to get back into the house in the village, everything in him now hoping that the beast of a man that was Katie’s husband hadn’t burned the place down. It would be daylight before Robert would get there, and not being able to wait until darkness, Robert had no choice but to take his chances, knowing at least that he would have Tommy and, he hoped, Jessica along with him. Robert was yet to work out if her presence there would be advisable but that didn’t matter now anyway. Pulling his phone out and not wanting to wake them, he sent them a text message telling them of his progress and asking them to meet him at the airport, the need to move as quickly as possible south, now the only priority.
Robert thought about speaking somehow to Brendan, sounding him out but figured he would have some time to do so later anyway; clearly, Tommy would not be meeting with him once he had got the message to be at the airport for Robert's arrival. Maybe getting Brendan back onside meant very little anyway, it was all in Robert’s hands now.
The goal, however, was finally in sight, everything in him wanting to get nearer to things again, suddenly feeling frustrated by just sitting in the airport, another hour to go before he was gone.
The call back from Nigel was due sometime in the morning, by which time he hoped to be well on his way to the village, maybe already safely through the door. Once there, a few potential problems aside, it was just a matter of getting to Switzerland again, powering up the Door and going back through it, leading him to a time before even then, making sure what Nigel changed would never happen.
Just before boarding, Robert got a message back from Tommy to say that he’d meet him, along with Jessica, who still felt rough but seemingly the worst had passed. He then said he’d move the meeting with Brendan, stating that he wouldn’t tell Brendan why but figured Brendan probably would work it out.
Robert smiled as he handed his boarding pass over, getting onto the plane and finding his seat in first class. ‘Things just might work out after all,’ he thought to himself, and after a few minutes the plane sped down the runway, and into the skies of Europe, heading north.
Nigel had awoken early and was fully dressed and had eaten breakfast by seven. He’d then checked up on his weapons contact at the first opportunity, the confirmation given that within the hour everything would be in place, no corners cut as they’d tried hard to complete everything on time, working through the night to impress, though Nigel paid no attention to the fact.
At around half past eight he’d had confirmation from Brendan that they could meet earlier that day if required, as some time had been freed up in his morning. Nigel confirmed by a reply text that he would send a car for him which would bring him to the house. The staff would then be able to show him in through the main front door, and Brendan was then to proceed down the hall to meet him, all the time of course walking to his death, the explosives in place to kill him as soon as Nigel's bedroom door opened. Brendan had outlived his usefulness to Nigel now and posed the last remaining threat. Without Brendan, there was no way that Tommy or Jessica could get to Nigel, who now assumed the couple had already been turned by Robert, as Nigel was well aware they had hosted Robert for the night.
It was just before a quarter to nine when the confirmation came that the weapons were in place, Nigel thanking the caller before taking over responsibility, aware of the power and damage that could be done if he allowed anyone else to use them.
Nigel took a moment to compose himself, before he picked up a coin, tossing it into the air to land on ‘Heads,’ which meant he’d start north of London, unaware as he was as to the exact location of the village that housed the other Door. Pulling over a map that detailed GPS locations as well as town names, he picked the areas of Wendover, Tring and Whipsnade as his starting point for the outer ring of fire, Amersham and Abbots Langley forming the inner wheel. When combined they would put a six to ten-mile ring of destruction around the entire city, destroying all buildings, plants, homes and trees within it, including of course any Door that Nigel hoped would exist somewhere in one of the houses. Opening up his laptop and typing in the coordinates
, without any hesitation he pressed the button that started the process, launching the weapons that would take about twenty minutes to hit their target, starting what would be the war to end all wars. The victory won before the country would even know what had hit it. Nigel searched out the next coordinates, to sweep around the city clockwise, as if playing some computer game, completely detached from the fact that hundreds of thousands if not millions of people would die within the next few hours.
The explosions were heard for miles around, the early morning sky illuminated by the fires that raged, the complete desolation that each bomb created spreading at least a mile and a half in every direction. The first six bombs had fallen within seconds of each other, and the people who were in the strike zone knew nothing of it, their place on earth taken from them in a split second after the explosion. Whole office blocks were reduced to nothing in no time, cars melted in a moment, leaving barely any evidence that they’d even existed.
Central London, after the first ten bombs had landed, looked out in horror and the images were being carried around the world, terror filling the eyes of those who watched. All who saw the destruction were utterly taken aback by what they witnessed, the level of attack unprecedented in the modern world.
Soldiers were deployed everywhere, though one base within the strike zone had already been destroyed, all two thousand soldiers stationed there gone. Within the hour and the strike zone reaching Hatfield and Potters Bar, martial law was declared by the panic-stricken government, caught completely unaware. As radar was not reporting anything coming in, it was thought that ground bombs were being set off. Before long though, when television news channels had shown slow-motion replays, reports were coming in that missiles had been spotted landing just before they exploded. The realisation dawned that the country was under attacked from overseas.
