The God Particle (26 page)

Jed had made his way directly from the hospital to his
favourite drinking hole, where he knew he’d get the type of solace he was
looking for.

‘What the hell happened to you?’ was the greeting he’d
received from Cherie as he walked into the bar. ‘You look like you’ve been hit
by a truck.’

‘Ya should see the state of the other fellah,’ was his
response.

He was already on his fourth pint of Steel Reserve High
Gravity Lager, when Cherie shouted across the bar to him that he had a phone
call from a colleague who wouldn’t give his name. Puzzled, he reluctantly left
his drink and slid off the stool, wincing at the pain, the anaesthetic
qualities of the lager not yet having worked their magic. In the ten years he’d
been coming to Stars ‘N’ Bars, not once had he divulged his recreational
whereabouts to anyone, not least the people he worked with. He made his way
over to the waitress, who was impatiently holding the phone out for him.

‘Aye,’ he said into the phone, annoyed that he’d had to
leave the second love of his life on the bar getting warm.

‘Jed? It’s Tom.’ A note of urgency was evident in his voice.

‘Tom, ya wee shite. How did ya know I was here?’

‘Trust me, Jed. It wasn’t difficult to work out. Sorry I
didn’t give the barmaid my name, I’m getting a little paranoid in my old age.’

Tom then told him how Deiter had stabbed one of the deputies
before disarming the other one. He’d then taken a doctor hostage with the
deputy’s gun and used him as a human shield whilst he made his escape, shooting
him dead once they were off the hospital premises.

‘The Sheriff’s adamant that he’s going to flee the country,’
he continued. ‘He says in his experience
that’s what they always do
.
Probably head to Canada first before boarding a flight to Europe. He’s deployed
most of his men to search for him between here and the border.’

‘Let me guess,’ replied Jed. ‘You’re not so convinced.’

‘No,’ Tom said resignedly. ‘Knowing Deiter, he’s going to
head for Brookhaven and try to destroy the collider. It’s the only way he can
stop us from slowing down the field. Can you meet me at the facility? We need
to get the collider up and running before Deiter has a chance of sabotaging
it.’

Jed looked longingly across the bar at his pint. ‘Aye,
she’ll jest have to wait for me,’ he replied, as if to himself. ‘I’ll see ya
there in two shakes of a lamb’s tale.’

***

Jed was already in the control room by the time Tom arrived,
having made a detour via Charles’s office. He got an eerie feeling crossing the
police barricade tape and seeing the room where he could quite easily have lost
his life. He didn’t want to spend any more time there than was necessary; so,
being as there were no police guards present, he hastily retrieved the laptop
from the desk, tucked it under his arm and scurried out of the door.

The distinct lack of police presence around the campus
worried him. He had tried again to convince the Sheriff of Deiter’s mission,
but had been condescendingly put in his place by the insularity of the officer.

‘Stick to what you know best, son, and I’ll do the same,’
the Sheriff had said.
He had conceded to increase the frequency of
patrol cars passing the facility, but that was as far as it went.

‘How’s Serena?’ Jed asked, as the two men sat side by side.

‘She’s fine. They’re keeping her in overnight for
observation.’

‘Any more luck with Deputy Dawg?’

‘If I’m right about Deiter,’ replied Tom, ‘we’re pretty much
on our own.’

‘We’d better get this show on the road then,’ said Jed,
turning to face the computer screen in front of him. ‘I managed to get the
beams calibrated and aligned this afternoon before our run-in with Doctor
Death. So all we have to do is start up the primary particle accelerators, wait
until they’re up to speed, then release the beams.’

Tom knew from his time at CERN that it took at least twenty
technicians to run a full experiment, but that was mainly down to the four
monitoring stations equispaced around the ring, each of which had to have its
own team to ensure their equipment was functioning properly and to analyse the
results. All Tom was interested in was running the collider to its maximum
potential for as long as possible to generate the strongest magnetic field it
was capable of producing.
That
would normally require at least four
people to ensure safety limits were being adhered to; today however, they would
have to manage with just the two of them.

‘How long do you think we’ll be able to run the collider
for?’ Tom enquired.

‘The thermal shields are effective for about ten hours,’
replied Jed. ‘After that, the collider reaches critical temperature and the
system automatically shuts down, dumping the beam’s energy.’

Whilst Jed went through the initialisation sequence, Tom
powered up the laptop he had retrieved from Charles’s office. He found the
programme he was looking for – aptly named ‘
Armageddon’,
presumably by
some smart alec at NASA, and opened it up. The red line that they had seen
earlier had continued its steady progression south, but had increased its
speed; it was now travelling at thirty miles per hour. Tom did a quick mental
calculation: seventeen days until total polar reversal. He checked the figures
in the last column; over the last twenty-four hours, there had been a
continuous acceleration.

‘Primary particle accelerators activated,’ said Jed.

The notification drew Tom’s attention back to the schematics
Jed was studying on the screen in front of him.

‘Seventy… eighty… ninety… one hundred per cent. Primary
accelerators at maximum capacity. Releasing the beams now.’

Jed keyed in an instruction on the console and the image
changed from a diagram of the collider to a series of scrolling numbers.
‘That’s odd.’

Tom could tell by the intensity on Jed’s face that something
wasn’t quite right. ‘What is it?’

Jed pointed to a column of figures that were increasing in
value. ‘That’s the temperature generated by the collider. I wouldn’t have
expected to see anything like those values until nearer the end of the run.’ He
pressed some more buttons on the keyboard and the screen changed again, this
time to a line-graph showing an upward trend. ‘Looks like we’ve got a wee
gremlin in the system.’

‘What’s happened?’ Tom’s concern was apparent in his voice.

‘Somebody, mentioning no names, seems to have manually
deactivated the thermal shields.’

‘How’s that possible?’

‘There are override panels dotted around the length of the
tunnel. Maintenance use them all the time whenever they’re working on a
section. I should have checked they were fully operational before releasing the
beam. That’s the protocol. Sorry.’

Tom was at odds with Jed’s calm demeanour. ‘What are we
going to do about it?’

‘Nothing,’ replied Jed. ‘Without the heat shields, the
system will reach critical temperature in a matter of minutes and the failsafe
will kick in. Then we’ll have to find out which panel that bastard has pressed
and reactivate it. It’s an inconvenience and a waste of our time, but nothing
more. The problem is, if he keeps doing it we’ll never be able to operate the
collider long enough to generate a magnetic field. We’ll have to find him. Why
don’t you call our friendly local Sheriff and ask him to send his boys round?’

Tom placed the call and told the Sheriff what had just
occurred. At first he was sceptical, but eventually agreed to send in a posse
to search the tunnel for any signs of Deiter. When Tom had finished, he put the
phone down and turned to his friend. Jed’s face was ashen.

‘Houston, we may have a problem.’

The core temperature had already reached the point at which
an automatic shut-down should have occurred and was still rising.

‘Why hasn’t the fail-safe triggered?’ Tom asked anxiously.

‘Ya cunning bastard,’ Jed said to himself and then looked at
Tom. ‘Looks like our wee gremlin has also been buggering around with the fast
kicker magnets.’

Tom recognised the terms, but couldn’t place their
significance.

‘They redirect the beam into the dumping tunnel,’ Jed
explained.

Tom remembered from his days as a student: the beams
themselves are made up of two hundred and eighty trillion protons squeezed into
a stream much thinner than a human hair. Each hair-thin beam of protons that
races around the collider contains as much energy as an express train going at
over two hundred kilometres an hour. During any one cycle, there would be thousands
of these, smashing head-long into each other. When it is time to shut the
machine down, that energy, which is so concentrated that it could liquefy
anything directly in its path, must be safely disposed of.

The fast kicker magnets deflect the beam into a straight, six
hundred metres long, tunnel that runs at a tangent to the collider. Like
throwing the points on a rail track, it directs the beam from its circular path
into a siding. Once inside the tunnel, other magnets cause the beam to spread
vertically and horizontally so that, when it hits the dump, its destructive
energy is dissipated over a larger area. At the end of the tunnel is a cylinder
of graphite composite, eight metres long and one metre in diameter, encased in
steel and concrete, which is designed to absorb the beam’s energy. The beams
smash into their target with the sound of one hundred and fifty kilograms of
TNT exploding.

‘So, what happens now?’ Tom asked.

‘If we can’t dump the beam, then the system won’t shut
down,’ Jed replied.

‘And if that happens?’

‘The temperature within the core continues to rise, until…
boom! We create our own personal black hole, right here on Long Island.’

‘So what do you suggest?’

‘We need to realign the magnets so we can dump the beam. But
somebody needs to stay here to monitor the system.’

‘Okay, you stay here and I’ll sort out the magnets,’ Tom
volunteered.

‘No way, wee man,’ replied Jed. ‘That nutter’s still on the
loose. I’ll have more of a chance against him than you.’

‘Look,’ said Tom beginning to lose patience, ‘we could
debate this all night, but the fact is we’re running out of time…’ As if on
cue, an alarm bell sounded. ‘You know the system better than I do, so you
should stay,’ Tom shouted over the top of the ringing.

Seeing the logic in Tom’s argument, Jed reluctantly agreed
and fished the electronic pass key out of his pocket.

‘The magnets are located at the entrance to the dump tunnel,
Sector 4H,’ Jed shouted in reply. ‘You’ll need to gain access to the tunnel via
the inspection chamber. Once you’re in, set the computer coordinates to thirty
degrees, then get the hell out. You’ll have three minutes before the system
resets and dumps the beam – and, believe me, you won’t want to be on that
station when the train passes through.’

‘Got it, 4H,’ Tom replied. He took the pass from Jed and
headed for the door.

‘And watch out for that feckin nutter,’ Jed shouted after
him, but he had already gone.

***

He made his way cautiously into the service tunnel that ran
concentric to the collider, his faculties on high alert. If Deiter had any
sense, he would have set the collider to self-destruct, then escape to the
border as the Sheriff predicted. But Tom knew that Deiter wasn’t the sensible
type; his obsession to stop them slowing the polar reversal down overrode any
cognitive reasoning.

He climbed into one of the golf carts used by the
maintenance crew and set off in the direction of the dump tunnel. He had a
vague recollection from his student days at the complex where it was located,
but the signage was so clear it didn’t take him long to find it.

The vacuousness of the deserted service tunnel belied the
crisis that was unfolding in the accelerator ring just feet away from him. The
alarm bells had been silenced, but he knew that that was no indication of a catastrophe
being averted; they had probably just got on Jed’s nerves.

Through the reinforced concrete and steel walls, Tom could
hear the beams circulating at almost the speed of light, completing over twelve
thousand laps every second. It sounded like a cross between an angry nest of
hornets and a light aircraft taking off.

He parked up at the spur that doglegged out of the main
structure. The proliferation of warning signs confirmed that he was in the
right place: Danger, Radiation Risk, High Temperature, Electromagnetic
Radiation, Wear Protective Clothing. The last one made him smile: Mind your
head.

His hearing was tuned in to detect any sound that would
indicate he wasn’t alone; but, apart from the drone of the beams, his sensors
didn’t pick anything else up.
Perhaps he had misjudged Deiter? Perhaps he
had valued his own life above the satisfaction of personally overseeing his
plans come to fruition, after all?

Tom retrieved the pass key from his pocket and swiped it in
the electronic lock; it was similar to the ones used by most hotels to allow
guests access to their rooms. The red light remained on, unblinking. He tried
again. Nothing. He was about to try a third time when he noticed the panel on
the front of the lock was cracked. He pulled at it and it came off in his hand,
revealing a circuit board underneath. A wire had been hastily attached from one
part of it to another with chewing gum. He removed the makeshift modification,
replaced the cover and tried again. The light flicked from red to green, followed
by a resounding clunk as the door unlocked.

He stepped over the threshold and found himself in a small,
brightly-lit chamber. The fast kicker magnets that diverted the beam were
located in the collider ring itself, which was separated from the ante-room, in
which Tom stood, by a set of steel doors two feet thick. A similar pair of
doors was located to his right, which would simultaneously open to allow the
passage of the beam into the dump tunnel.

In the centre of the room was a metallic silver podium,
similar to the lecterns Tom had used onstage when addressing a large group of
students or visiting dignitaries in one of the auditoriums back at MIT. On top
of it sat a control panel and screen.

He made his way over to it. Initially, his heart sank when he
noticed the bullet holes that peppered the screen; but, as he got closer, his
despondency faded. Behind the spider-web of cracks emanating from the holes he
could see a faint image, disjointed as it was, where the schematics of the
collider ring and dump tunnel could still be made out.

Sweat peppering his top lip, he keyed in the word
‘elevation’
as an instruction and the screen changed to display a set of figures; the
elevation of the fast kicker magnets was set to zero degrees. He let out a sigh
of relief; everything seemed to be functioning properly. A few more keystrokes
and he had changed the angle to thirty degrees as instructed by Jed.

Pressing the
‘enter’
key took him to another set of
instructions:
‘operate, Y or N
’. His finger trembled as he pressed the
affirmative key. Immediately, he heard the distinct hum of an electric motor
starting up, above the sound of the beams. The screen changed yet again to a
diagram depicting the magnets being tilted to the programmed angle. It took
several seconds to complete the procedure, after which the screen changed a
final time to show a digital clock, its luminous green digits counting down
from one hundred and eighty in second intervals: his three-minute warning to
evacuate the chamber.

He hastily turned to leave, but his passage out of the room
was blocked by a figure standing in the doorway – Deiter. The gun he’d taken
from the deputy at the hospital was pointed directly at Tom’s chest. He had
been so engrossed in trying to get the magnets to operate that he hadn’t heard
him sneak up. Tom wondered how long he’d been standing there. His intuition had
been right the first time; Deiter was going to see this through to the bitter
end, even if it meant he would lose his own life in the process.

‘I have to admire your tenacity, Professor Halligan,’ he
said. ‘But it takes a better man to realise when his actions are futile.’

It was obvious to Tom that Deiter believed he’d disabled the
control panel permanently.

‘I’ve finally reached that conclusion,’ replied Tom. ‘Looks
like you’ve won.’

The gloating expression on Deiter’s face said it all. ‘No
hard feelings, I hope?’

Tom looked at the gun in Deiter’s grip, trying to judge
whether he could surmount the three-foot gap between them and disarm him before
he had a chance to discharge the weapon. It was possibly suicidal; but then
again, what option did he have left? He glanced back at the display; its
numbers indicated that a third of the time had already been used up.

Deiter noticed the gesture and looked past Tom’s shoulder.
‘What have you done?’ he bellowed. ‘Move away from the controls.’ Deiter waved
the gun in the direction he wanted Tom to go.

That was all the distraction Tom needed. He closed the
distance between them in a single stride and lunged for the gun. Gripping
Deiter’s wrist, he pushed his arm upwards so the muzzle pointed innocuously at
the ceiling and held on. Deiter reacted by trying to bring it down so he could
get a clear shot at Tom. The two men’s strengths were equally matched as they
strained, while the gun’s aim was balanced somewhere between each of their
objectives, just above Tom’s head.

As Deiter reached up with his other hand to reinforce his
grip, he exposed his flank. Tom wasted no time in delivering a well-trained
body blow to Deiter’s ribs. The air was forced out of Deiter’s lungs and he
slackened his hold on the gun, giving the advantage to Tom.

But Deiter wasn’t playing by the Queensbury Rules; he took a
step back and launched a kick in the direction of Tom’s groin. The foot landed
at the top of Tom’s thigh, missing his vital parts by inches. However, the
force of the blow knocked him off-balance and he went careering into the podium
in the centre of the room, dropping the gun in the process.

Deiter made a move for it, but Tom quickly regained his
composure and landed an uppercut on his opponent’s jaw as he bent down to pick
up the gun. Deiter reeled backwards. However, as Tom made for the gun, Deiter
kicked out, his foot failing to make contact but forcing Tom to take a step
back, empty-handed.

They circled the weapon, their eyes locked, never wavering,
like two male lions fighting over a kill. Deiter broke rank and darted for the
gun, but Tom sprang forward and hit him on the shoulder before he had a chance
to grab it. Closer now, they traded blows, each giving as good as he got.
Deiter’s nose was bloodied and the stitched cut above Tom’s eye had opened up.

Exhausted, their punches were becoming less effective. Tom
threw a right cross at Deiter, who blocked it easily and parried it with a jab
to Tom’s stomach. Winded, Tom let down his guard. Deiter seized the opportunity
and went for Tom’s throat, clasping both hands around his neck. He tried to
squeeze the life out of him, but Tom still had some reserves left.

Reaching up, he clawed at Deiter’s face, managing to hook
his fingers in the fleshy part at the corner of his mouth. He pulled down with
as much strength as he had left, ripping a tear an inch long in the other man’s
cheek. Crying out in agony, Deiter released his strangle-hold and took a step
back, blood gushing freely from his extended smile. Tom took a second to catch
his breath as Deiter tried to stem the flow.

They were about to go for round two when the siren went,
distracting them both. The huge, stainless steel doors behind and to the left
of Deiter started to open. Tom, being the closest to the exit, made a run for
it, while Deiter went for the weapon. He picked up the gun and aimed it at the
centre of Tom’s back. His fingers tightened around the trigger, but he was
unable to drop the hammer as a beam of super-charged energy bore through his
torso, cauterising the blood vessels instantaneously and leaving a perfectly
formed hole the size of a grapefruit.

As Tom made it to the doorway, the stench of burning flesh
caught in his throat making him look back at Deiter, who was staring with
incredulity at the void in his chest. Tom wanted to avert his eyes, but he was
transfixed. As Deiter sank to his knees, the beam travelled up his back towards
his head, vaporising skin and bone. Tom already knew that the image, so vividly
emblazoned in his mind, would haunt him for the rest of his life.