All previous chapters - CHAPTER 1 - CHAPTER 2 - CHAPTER 3 - CHAPTER 4 - CHAPTER 5 - CHAPTER 6 - Chapter 7 - CHAPTER 8 - CHAPTER 9 - CHAPTER 10 - CHAPTER 11 - CHAPTER 12 - CHAPTER 13 - CHAPTER 14 - CHAPTER 15 - CHAPTER 16 - CHAPTER 17 - CHAPTER 18 - CHAPTER 19 - CHAPTER 20
Previously on “The bomb in the shed…”; Arthur and Jacob go to Lakenheath airbase to try and find out what happened to Bella, but are held held there by Ramirez who knows the bomb is missing and doesn’t believe their story
And here we go with CHAPTER 21…
Chapter 21
Gibson took the gun from his shoulder holster and placed it on the driver’s seat next to him. The difficult part was done, getting the bomb away from Kinga and that crazy engineer who built it. But he wasn’t going to rest easy until that horrendous device had been safely delivered to the airbase. There shouldn’t be any problems but having his Glock 19 close to hand always made him feel more comfortable.
Fitzpatrick eyed the gun uncomfortably from the passenger seat. “Expecting trouble?”
“Can’t be too careful,” replied Gibson.
He signalled right and caught one last glimpse of Arthur’s house and Kinga in his rear view mirror before pulling out onto the main road. Taking the bomb wasn’t difficult operationally of course. If he and his heavily armed guys, all heavily armed, couldn’t pull that off against a bunch of unwitting civilians then he really was in trouble. It was difficult because he was betraying Kinga. He liked her, a lot. She’d put plenty of business his way, personally and referrals. She knew most of his clients, so it was commercial suicide really. She got pissed at the smallest things, imagine how she would react to real betrayal. But what choice did he have? What she was doing was insane.
There was an uncomfortable silence in the cabin so Gibson put the radio on. Which was ok with him. He’d spent a lot of time around Fitzpatrick over the last few weeks and it was draining. The guy was too dry. Gibson had tried joking around a bit. He got nothing back. An hour and half of quiet reflection with some background music would be fine. The weather was still sunny and the traffic was light, so it would be over before he knew it. Anyway, no chat made it easier to concentrate.
To the casual observer Gibson would look lost in his own world. But he was constantly reading the world around him. It was habit. But given his cargo today it was particularly important. He was reading the traffic, the vehicles, the drivers, the movement, watching out for anything unusual, a break in the normal pattern that could flag danger. There shouldn’t be a problem, but you never knew for sure. There was also his team in the car behind, he was constantly checking their position in the rear view mirror and radioing them at regular intervals. They’d be alert for anything unexpected too.
He was reading Fitzpatrick too. That was habit, being aware of anyone within his personal space. The guy seemed relaxed but there was a little tension there, betrayed in the details. The breathing, a slight clenching of his jaw muscles. Nerves. Which was pretty much how Gibson felt too. He didn’t particularly like Fitzpatrick, but right now they wanted the same thing: that bomb out of the hands of crazy venture capitalists and somewhere safe. And that was what Fitzpatrick had helped make happen. He’d put Gibson in touch with his boss at the US National Nuclear Security Administration, a woman called Ramirez, and they’d thrashed out a deal.
About an hour into the journey Fitzpatrick got a message on his phone. He read it, then said, “We need to take the next turning.”
“What for?”
They were still over half an hour away from the base. Halfway between Hitchin and Cambridge.
“You want your money, don’t you?”
Ok, so Kinga had been right, up to a point. The deal had included a sizeable cash payment. It really was about doing the right thing. But it was only fair he was compensated for the loss of business.
“We’re not making the exchange at the base?”
“This is all off the books, they can’t give you the money there,” said Fitzgerald. “You get the cash now. Then we carry on to the base and hand over the bomb…”
That wasn’t the plan. And Gibson hated it when the plan changed.
“… hey, it’s good Ramirez trusts you. Giving you the money before you’ve delivered. Unless you want to wait until after? Once you’ve handed the bomb over. I’m sure she’d be fine with that.”
Shit, the turning was coming up. Did he want to take the risk? Hand over the bomb and then hope the money turns up. That didn’t feel great, and that wasn’t the plan either. At least this way he had all the leverage. Fitzpatrick’s body language hadn’t changed. He didn’t seem concerned either way.
Screw it.
Gibson took the turn.
He radioed back, “We’re turning off for a pick-up. Stay close.”
Fitzpatrick was giving directions. They turned off the main raid onto a winding country lane.
“Where we headed?” asked Gibson.
“Not far,. A lay by just up ahead,” replied Fitzpatrick, eyes on his phone.
A couple of sharp winding turns and the road straightened out with a space to pull up on the right. There was a car parked up, pointing away from them, the silhouette of a figure in the drivers’ seat. The boot was up.
Fitzpatrick looked up from his phone. “This is it.”
Gibson pulled up a few car lengths short.
He could see a couple of suitcases visible in the boot. The cash waiting for him. All that money, he could really do with it.
There was movement over by the hedgerow. A man dressed in black emerged carrying an assault rifle, the stock already at his shoulder, muzzle lifting swiftly so in a moment it would be pointed directly at the cab of the truck.
Gibson reacted the instant he saw it.
Even as he did so he realised three things in that split second. First was that he’d allowed the sight of the suitcases in the car to distract him, his greed had got the better of him. Second, that the car with his guys hadn’t emerged from the tight turns they’d just taken, he was alone. And third, as he reached for his Glock, was Fitzpatrick reacting with lightning speed. He’d completely misread the old man, who reached to grab Gibson’s arm as he tried to take aim at their assailant. In the struggle Gibson managed to get one round off before three bullets penetrated the windscreen and hit him in the chest and head.
---
They left Arthur alone in the locked room for a couple of hours. At first he was preoccupied by just how dumb other people could be. It wasn’t just that the woman from NNSA didn’t believe him about Bella. It was that her fixed world view hadn’t let her even consider the possibility that the bomb was live. No-one else had been able to do it, therefore it was impossible. It was the lack of scientific rigour that perplexed him the most. However these concerns faded into the background as Arthur realised that he was locked in a room and he was hungry and he needed to go to the toilet. Just a little at first, but then quite badly. His bladder wasn’t what it once was, and it had never been the best. What was he supposed to do? He could bang on the door, but he didn’t want to make a fuss.
He was at the point of deciding a fuss was his only option when the door snapped unlocked and opened. The same woman, Ramirez, was back, along with her mute staring colleague. But they were part of a larger group now. Things felt different. There was a sense of urgency that was missing before. Which was encouraging, given the situation.
While Ramirez and the staring man took the same seats opposite Arthur, the rest of their group bustled around setting up equipment. There seemed to be rather a lot and it wasn’t clear what it was all for. But there was definitely a laptop and a camera. What did this camera do that the one on the wall didn’t?
Ramirez was getting her file out of her bag again, it was looking a lot thicker than before. “We need to talk again, Arthur.”
Her tone had changed, enough for Arthur to notice. Before she had seemed irritated, but at the same time dismissive. Like Arthur was a bothersome fly taking up too much of her time. Now she seemed different, but it was hard to say how exactly. Arthur wasn’t very good at reading people, especially when their emotions were complex. Ramirez was obviously in a heightened state of stress, on edge, but she seemed more present, more focussed.
“Is it possible to get something to eat?” asked Arthur. “Sorry but my lunch was interrupted by all this business and I’m hungry.”
This seemed to catch Ramirez unawares. She didn’t look particularly happy.
Arthur added, “I’m really not going to be much use to you if my sugar levels drop too low.” He was far more aware of these things since the fire at the lab and being hospitalised.
Ramirez nodded reluctantly and asked the staring man to go fetch a sandwich. He didn’t look at all happy but went anyway.
“And I need to go to the toilet,” added Arthur. “I am rather bursting.”
It looked like Ramirez was going to lose it at this point. But she breathed deep and kept herself together. “Ok.”
Her team were all busy setting up their kit, so she accompanied Arthur down the hall to the bathroom herself, checking her watch impatiently as they went. One of the doors they passed might very well have Jacob in, but he didn’t know which one. Was he being treated well? Hopefully he was ok.
Arthur was as quick as possible, he really didn’t want to keep them waiting. Back in the room all the gear was set up and waiting for them. And there was an egg sandwich, a packet of crisps and a diet coke on the table. Arthur didn’t really like diet coke, or egg sandwiches for that matter. Best not to mention it though. The staring man did look rather sullen. The rest of Ramirez’s team had already left apart from one man at the screen surrounded by all the gear. He had dark skin, wide eyes and the air of an engineer about him. Or so it appeared to Arthur.
Ramirez took a seat, “Arthur, I want to ask you some questions. We’re going to hook you up to this polygraph so we can monitor your response, is that ok?”
Arthur shrugged. “I promise I’m not lying.”
He was looking at the device warily, he couldn’t help it. He’d been strapped to one of those machines as part of his job in New Mexico and he hadn’t liked it at all. That one had been a big old box. This was a bunch of wires feeding into a small box which linking to the laptop. Of course, everything was digitised these days.
“I understand,” replied Ramirez carefully. “But given the circumstances I’m sure you can understand we want to be as sure as possible.”
The technician shifted the cameral so the lens was pointing at Arthur.
“Who’s watching,” he asked.
“I suggest we don’t get into that right now,” replied Ramirez.
The technician began connecting Arthur up to the polygraph. This involved strapping wired electrodes to his chest and right arm, and to three fingers of his left hand, very similar to twenty years ago. But he also had number of smaller wireless electrodes stuck to his forehead and cheeks, which was different. All this fuss really wasn’t necessary. Camilla said the truth was written plain on his face for all to see. They didn’t need this machine. But Ramirez was right, if it would help everyone to accept what he had to say then why not?
“These measure micro expressions,” explained the technician, placing the last of the sensors on Arthur’s forehead. He had a gentle Jamaican accent and confident manner that was strangely soothing. “Now I just need you to sit still and relax, can you do that?”
Arthur nodded. He felt calmer already.
The technician studied his screen for a moment, made some adjustments, then gave Ramirez the thumbs up to start.
Ramirez made a call on her mobile and left it on the table in speaker mode.
She said, “We’re live.”
A voice replied, “Understood. Proceed.”
She looked at Arthur, “Can you tell me your name?”
“Arthur Price.”
“When were you born?”
“18th September 1958.”
“And where do you currently live?”
“Manor Road, Finchley, in London.”
There was a pause while Ramirez waited for the technician to give the ok to proceed. These were the benchmarking questions, before things got more serious.
“Arthur, have you been building a pure fusion nuclear device in your shed?”
“Yes.”
Strictly speaking it was his garage, but that kind of detail didn’t matter, did it? Arthur couldn’t see the screen, so he had no idea what Ramirez and the technician were seeing.
“Is that bomb now fully functioning, primed and capable of detonating to create a nuclear explosion?”
“Yes, I believe so.”
Did he know that for sure? In the end it came down to whether Elizabeth was telling the truth. Or that part of him that was Elizabeth’s memory was telling the truth. It must be true, they had got so close together. From what he could see Elizabeth’s changes had indeed made her complete.
There was a brief pause while Ramirez and the staring man had a whispered conversation with the technician, glancing from the screen to Arthur and back as they talked. Arthur opened up the sandwich and took a bite. If they were going to treat him like a lab rat he was at least going to have something to eat.
“Arthur, I want you to explain it to us,” said Ramirez. “I want you to explain how you made a fully functional pure fusion nuclear device. And I want you to do it in under ten minutes.”
“I think it will take a little longer than that.” He’d spent over an hour with Fitzpatrick just explaining the experiment at the Sensidium lab and that wasn’t even half of what was going on inside Bella.
“I’m going to need you to try.” said Ramirez. “Headline it for us. Time is a factor here.”
That didn’t sound encouraging. Something had to have happened for her to go from sceptic to ‘you’ve got ten minutes.’ But what? It was clear he wasn’t going to find out until Ramirez had what she needed from him. Arthur really wasn’t a headlines kind of guy. He was a scientist, and for him God was in the details. But he’d have to try his best. He outlined the technology as well as he could. Where possible he touched on detail that he thought might support the veracity of his claims. But of course he wasn’t one hundred percent clear on everything, because of Elizabeth.
When he was done there was another buzz of whispered conversation, then Ramirez took the phone over to the other side of the room and had a short, whispered conversation before returning to the table. “There are a couple of areas that we need a little more clarification on.” Ramirez outlined the areas of Bella’s design that Arthur figured she would. Then asked, “Can you explain?”
“Not easily,” he replied.
“Why?”
And there was the problem. He felt sure Bella was finished, but he couldn’t explain why. Not without sounding completely crazy. But what choice did he have? So Arthur talked Ramirez through everything. How he worked closely with Elizabeth in New Mexico, how she had appeared to him in the shed when he returned to the UK, despite her death. How they had worked on Bella together ever since. And then how Elizabeth was able to finish Bella through him without his being aware of what she was doing or have any memory of it.
The room remained silent when he was done.
Ramirez exchanged glances with the staring man and then turned to the technician. He shrugged and nodded, showing her his screen. She disappeared across the room with her phone again and was there for a few minutes having a heated debate in half whispers. Meanwhile Arthur finished his egg sandwich and started his crisps. He offered the bag to the technician, who smiled and took one. The staring man declined. Arthur took a sip of his Diet Coke too. It was horrible stuff but he was thirsty.
When she returned to her seat Ramirez placed her phone back on the table. It was still connected to the call. No name, but Arthur could see a US country code.
She set the phone back to speaker, “Ok you’re live again.”
“Arthur, can you tell us the likely impact if the bomb were to detonate?”
The voice sounded familiar, had he heard it on TV? The news? A politician maybe?
He looked at Ramirez. She nodded for him to go on.
“Well, it’s hard to say,” he leant over to the phone to be as clear as possible. “That really depends on a number of unknown factors. Whether the detonation is surface burst or air burst, the terrain, the weather conditions.”
“Give us some idea,” said the voice. “Your best guess.”
Ramirez nodded again.
It was hard. Arthur didn’t do guesses. But they clearly needed something.
“As you know, pure fusion devices can be created with much smaller yields than conventional nuclear devices. There isn’t the same requirement to reach critical mass, that’s one of the benefits. The device we’re talking about is about a quarter of the size of Little Boy… but let’s assume the detonation is surface, rather than air as in Hiroshima. In that case we might expect the initial blast zone to be half a mile in diameter as measured from the burst point. Almost everything in this area would be destroyed by the shockwave. Survival rates would be close to zero…”
As he spoke Arthur’s mind strayed back to the photographs he’d seen in the Imperial war museum just a few weeks ago. In grainy black and white and sepia, but no less compelling for it. Almost total destruction apart from the Hiroshima Prefectural Industrial Promotion Hall, its walls and dome somehow standing in defiance of the devastation that surrounded it.
“… The thermal radiation zone would spread to perhaps two miles diameter. It’s basically a fireball of intense heat that consumes everything in its path…”
Which reminded Arthur of the policeman trying to tend to the burns of the children with cooking oil.
“… Beyond this point is the ionising radiation zone. The initial release of nuclear radiation from the explosion. This gets harder to estimate, but it could spread to say four miles in diameter from the burst point. The further out, the lower the dose of radiation. Exposure would cause immediate health effects including acute radiation sickness and death…”
In Hiroshima the death toll from radiation was far higher than the damage from the initial blast.
“What about the fallout zone?” Staring man was asking this. There seemed to be an unseemly glint in his eye. Like all of this was an exciting rather than horrifying prospect.
“… Well that’s the hardest part to estimate, we don’t know for sure,” replied Arthur. “But theory suggests there would be very little fallout. In conventional devices the fallout is caused primarily by the fission reaction. With pure fusion the damage is likely to be restricted to the four mile area.”
Another perceived benefit of the pure fusion device. Contained destruction.
More silence. Staring man seemed fascinated in an appalling way. Ramirez looked as inscrutable as ever.
She picked up the phone and spoke into it quietly. “I’ll call you back.” Then ended the call and put the phone in her pocket.
“What’s happened?” asked Arthur. “What’s the urgency?”
A meaningful glance from Ramirez to the technician signalled it was time to remove the sensors from Arthur’s head and body, pack up and go. Which he did as quickly as possible. When he was gone she said, “We found an abandoned lab. We believe Fitzpatrick took the bomb there. But it’s not there anymore.”
She handed Arthur more photographs from her file. Shots taken from many angles. Arthur recognised much of the equipment. Some was his, last seen being emptied from his shed and loaded onto the truck. The rest was recognisable as the kind he found at labs that had spent years of his life in. Fitzpatrick had clearly been preparing something. But what and why?
“How do you know it was Fitzpatrick?” he asked.
Ramirez didn’t answer. Instead she passed him another photograph. Four bodies dumped unceremoniously onto the floor of a bathroom, blood running across the tiles. It was Gibson and his three men. Arthur turned the photograph over quickly so he didn’t have to look at it anymore, but the image was already burned into his mind. The knot of fear that had been twisting in Arthur’s stomach was tightening.
“You’re sure it’s Fitzpatrick?” asked Arthur.
“Oh we’re sure,” replied Ramirez. “He called us just under thirty minutes ago. He has the bomb and he’s threatening to detonate it.”
That’s it for Chapter 21, I hope you enjoyed it and are looking forward to more. Chapter 22 will be out the same time next week, Friday at 4:00pm UK time.
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