The Eidolon (18 page)

“For essential communication purposes only. Mr Lambert will be your contact – his email particulars are already programmed for you along with some of the CERN software, to continue your familiarisation. You’ll also find a plane ticket to Geneva, a UK passport, your security documents for CERN, details of your Swiss bank account and enough funds to make your trip more than comfortable.” He pauses. “The only thing outstanding is security access to the Operator’s Room in the Computer Centre. I understand that is where you will embed the worm?”

“Yeah, that’s right. There’s only one person on duty there at any one time. Less chance of attracting attention.”

“A wise choice. Your father will help you with access, once you are established.”

Anticipation ripples through me. I am going to meet him – this is real.

Looking back into the envelope, I retrieve the small maroon book that confirms who I am, with hands that are shaking like they’re someone else’s. “Passport? How did you get hold of my passport?”

He smiles. “I had a new one made for you.”

I open it and see my face staring back, I place the book aside and reach into the envelope again. My fingers touch something metallic that clinks as I lift it out.

“Keys for the apartment I have arranged for you in Geneva. I believe it has a wonderful view of the Jura Mountains. The address is inside, as is the security code to let you into the building.”

“How long I am going to be there?”

“There are only a few days left before the launch. You can stay as long as you wish, but you may not want to linger too long in the aftermath.”

I peer down into the envelope again, pushing aside the memory stick and the uneasy feeling it gives me.

“You will be collected at Geneva airport, as your motorcycle will not be delivered until later.”

“Motorcycle?”

“Yes. I understand your most recent model was a BSA Lightning. I thought you might enjoy having one again.” He raises his eyebrows. “But if you would prefer a car, it can be arranged, quite easily...”

“No, no. That’s great. I just didn’t expect all this.” But I’m warming to it and the dizziness seems to be subsiding. “I’d prefer the bike. I planned to get another one. How did you know?”

Amos smiles like a gentleman. “I have a talent for anticipating desires. No, the truth is that I have asked a lot of you, Mr Strong. I just want to make this as easy as possible.”

I pull out a thick bundle of euros in a clear plastic bag and the plane ticket. “What’s the date?”

“The fourteenth.”

My eyes flick back to his face. “This flight’s today.”

“Yes. A car will be waiting outside in an hour to take you to the airport. I appreciate that air travel may not be your first choice, after what happened, but as we are short of time...”

“No, that’s okay. But my clothes...”

“Your clothes were cut off during your resuscitation, and the staff kept them in a bag for you, which you’ll find inside your bedside cupboard, should you wish to keep them. I took the liberty of arranging some new garments.” He gestures towards a neat pile of clothes folded on a shelf, next to a new black rucksack.

He’s thought of everything. A place to live, transport, clothes, money. The plan is all mapped out even before I’ve caught up with myself. I glance out of the window to the unfamiliar hill. “Where exactly am I?”

“You’re in a private facility in southwest England that offers the best medical care in the country. I arranged for your transfer here as soon as I heard. After what happened, it’s the least I could do.”

I stare down at the envelope. “Has anyone been to see me?”

“Your mother knows that you will be out of the country on business, but I thought it unwise to worry her unnecessarily.”

Unnecessarily?

He must read my face, because he adds, “The doctors were confident of your recovery. Had they predicted otherwise, I would, of course, have made sure she saw you.”

“Have there been any calls?”

“No-one knows you are here, Robert, not even Miss Cora Martin. Visitors would only complicate matters.”

I reach into the cabinet beside the bed and pull out the orange bag with my belongings, feeling for something other than cloth. I find Cora’s ring on its cord. Maybe she called my mobile.

“I’m afraid your phone was not on you when you arrived. A replacement is in the inside pocket of your coat.”

“Oh.”

Amos gets to his feet and it strikes me just how tall he is. It’s not just his stature; he has a presence that seems to fill the whole room. Some people have that. I remember a teacher I had at school who never raised his voice – he didn’t have to. Fletcher, his name was. He wasn’t that old, although at the time I thought he was – maybe in his forties – tall, greying hair, but there was something about the way he held himself that made you look at him, and listen to whatever he had to say. An unspoken command. Amos is like that. A roomful of bickering politicians would fall silent if he walked in, just by the way he did it.

“I often pass through Geneva on business, so no doubt I will see you again soon.” He extends a hand towards me. “I wish you all the very best of luck, Robert. With your track record, that is a considerable amount of good fortune.”

Chapter Nine

W
HATEVER
V
ICTOR
A
MOS
thought about my recovery, the hospital staff doesn’t seem to share his optimism. I’m standing dressed in a new pair of jeans, a Ralph Lauren T-shirt and grey coat, feeling slightly odd. It’s more than the residue of dizziness, it’s the clothes. The leather of my boots is still new and stiff but comfortable. Everything fits perfectly, it all feels good – there’s nothing wrong with the clothes at all; they just feel like they belong to someone else. The orange plastic bin bag which holds the remnants of my clothes from before is tucked away in the rucksack, along with the electronic notebook and the documents. The plane ticket and passport sit inside the breast pocket of my coat, beside my new phone. Cora’s silver ring on its leather cord is in my jeans’ pocket.

“You’re not well enough, Mr Strong. Please.” The doctor, who’s in his mid-thirties and wearing blue scrubs, looks like he’s taking my decision to discharge myself personally. Does he really care or is he just worried that I’ll sue him if I collapse in the car park?

“I’m fine, really.”

“Please, it’s only been thirteen hours, Mr Strong. Your heart stopped beating. Do you understand that? It stopped. You died.”

“Only for a little bit.”

“All I’m saying is that you should be monitored for at least another twenty-four hours.”

“I appreciate your concern, doctor, I really do. But I’m fine. I’m happy to take responsibility for anything that might happen, if that makes you feel better.” I pick up the suitcase.

“Well, this isn’t a prison. But I’ll need you to sign here.” He presents me with a piece of paper stating that it’s all my fault if I go home and die. I put down the suitcase and sign it without hesitating.

“Get some medical attention if you feel anything wrong. Anything at all.”

I hesitate, considering asking him about the nightmares, but decide against it. Now’s not the time. “You’ve got my word.” I lift the suitcase and walk out.

T
HE AIRPORT CHECK-IN
line shuffles forward. I watch the people around me, but I’m detached, as though the experience belongs to someone else. A couple are in line before me. The man is in his forties in a loose linen suit and brown loafers. His wife wears a lot of gold. She’s watching the grungy backpacker in front of her, failing to hide the disdain on her face. Dreadlocks and patchwork trousers mustn’t be her thing.

“Passport, please,” says the check-in assistant when I get to the front of the queue. An orange silk neck tie is knotted in a bow over her throat. She doesn’t look at me as I hand over the document.

She flicks it open and glances up with lidded eyes. “Did you pack all your belongings yourself?”

Do you need a chisel to take off your make-up at night?

“Yes.”

“Could anyone have had access to your belongings without you knowing it?”

“No.”

“Are you carrying any sharps, flammable substances, or liquids?”

No, but I’m carrying a memory stick that will shut down six billion pounds’ worth of engineering. Does that count?
“No.”

“Gate nine, boarding in twenty minutes.” She hands over the passport and boarding card.

I lift my rucksack and smile broadly. “Thanks. Have a nice day.”

I fall in line with the jostling queue making its way onto the escalator. It glides up to the next level, past an oversized poster of a man displaying a watch against a backdrop of a city skyline at night. The man has a look in his eyes that approaches wisdom, as though he has overcome all of life’s tribulations now that he has his watch. What a lot of shit.

I go into the washroom and splash cold water on my face. The face looking back at me in the mirror is in need of some sun and a sharp razor. Will he recognise me, after all this time? I stare at the blue eyes, slightly puffy with sleep deprivation – coma isn’t sleep, and neither is sedation – at the flecks of black in the irises. I feel a cool breeze trickling over my skin and I freeze. A woman is standing behind me: blonde, slim, unblinking. She raises her hand towards me and I spin round.

There’s the noise of flushing and a toilet door opens. An old man in a baseball cap shuffles out and washes his hands. He looks a little uncomfortable, and I realise I’m staring at him. I drop my head, scooping handfuls of cold water onto my face.

What the hell was that? Is she messing with my head when I’m awake now? It wasn’t a dream – I know I’m not sleeping. Drugs. That’s what it will be; the drugs they pumped into me at the hospital. A bad trip.

I dry my face on the hard paper towels and leave, avoiding the mirror.

T
HE FLIGHT BOARDS
on time. I have two seats to myself, overlooking the wet tarmac, far enough away from the headache-inducing perfume of the hostess, which wafts over every time she clumps past.

After takeoff, I take out the electronic notebook. I open the folder containing the software data and begin to read. I can’t concentrate. Something is squirming in my gut at the thought of meeting him. What if he doesn’t want to see me? Maybe everything Amos said was bullshit and he left because he didn’t want to be there. It happens to lots of men. They can’t deal with the reality of being a father because all it does is remind them of their unfulfilled dreams.

After forty minutes, I close the computer and look out at the sunlight over the swathe of clouds. White candy floss on a summer’s day.

I take out a pen and paper and sketch absentmindedly.

“Would you like any tea or coffee, sir?” I jump at the voice. The hostess smiles down at me.

“Eh... no, thanks.”

“That’s an unusual picture,” she says, inclining her head to get a better look. “What are those?”

I stare down. I’ve drawn a dark circle at the top and some stick-like things at the bottom.

She frowns at my trembling hand. “Are you alright, sir?”

“I’m fine, thanks.” By the looks of it, she doesn’t believe me. I see her glance back as she walks up the aisle and whisper to her colleague. I can guess what she’s saying.
Watch out for the weirdo in seat 42F.

W
HEN
I
REACH
the arrivals lounge in Geneva airport, my name is on a white board. Holding the placard is a man in his twenties, medium height with dark hair and complexion, and a broad face that looks accustomed to smiling. He’s wearing a faded red shirt, hanging loosely over his jeans and a pair of scruffy trainers. A student, or someone reluctant to make the transition to anything beyond student. He raises his eyebrows as I approach. “Monsieur Strong?” His accent is heavily French.

“Yes.”

“Rene Valmont.” He grins and holds out his hand, grasping mine with a firm grip. “You flight, it was okay?”

“Fine.It was fine, thanks.” Better than the last one. Landing on tarmac is always a bonus.

“It’s good you made it. I’m parked not far from here.” He leads the way through the crowds to the exit, and onwards to the second floor of the dimly lit car park, stopping in front of a small blue Peugeot. There are patches of rust on the doors and a large dent above one wheel arch.

“I heard you were with Romfield Labs,” says Rene. “How long were you there?”

“About five years,” I step into the car. It smells of smoke and a hint of mint.

“That’s a long time,” says Rene, offering me a stick of chewing gum. “And the Grid, it’s working out with you?”

“It’s getting there.” I step across the line between truth and fabrication, and realise I’ll be doing a lot of this. “We’ve had a few glitches we’re ironing out, but it’s coming together.”

“It’s a great time to come here. Your boss must know a few people, no? To get you in?” He grins as he turns the ignition. He pays the exit fee and drives out of the car park, the old car chugging with the effort. “A very exciting time to be around.”

“Yeah... So what do you do at CERN?”

“I got a post here when I graduated three years ago. I’ve been working on the muon detector, on the outer shell of ATLAS.”

“You enjoying it?”

“It’s the best decision I ever made. And what a time to be here!” Rene slaps his hand on the steering wheel. “There’s a real buzz about the place, you know? Like we’re on the edge of something huge. Everyone feels it.” He negotiates his way out of the airport and onto the Meyrin highway. He’s not a shy driver. I tighten my seatbelt.

“I’m sure they do,” I say. “When’s the first run?”

“First thing on Monday. So, you don’t get much time to settle in, but with your background...” – he snorts – “no problem. Actually, it’s a shame, you will miss a few days.”

“What do you mean?”

“The engineers, they need to do their last tests, so we will have three days when we cannot work while they do that. But don’t worry, you will have a lot to do today and tomorrow. The tests have been going well so far, did you hear? After all the problems last time, it’s big relief, I tell you. Everyone was going crazy!” He laughs, a sound that’s too big for a small car. “It’s a very good place to work, you know? I mean I get up in the morning and I am happy to be going to work, and how many people can say that, eh? Not many, I bet. And I have a lot of good friends here, and it’s like we’re all part of this big thing that is very important, you know? Have you ever had that? But it’s not all work, no, no, we have a lot of fun too. We go out at the weekends into the city. And we do a lot of sport. Last month I was the winner of the squash championship against this guy and he is crazy, I mean
crazy
that he lost and...”