[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
.If nobody is able to follow our work, then as far as science is concerned, none of this ever happened.All you will have to show for it is a memory in your head, one you might start to question the veracity of after a few years, until you start to wonder if it was just a dream.’Merrick, staring down at the assembly below, now sees the soldiers’ fatigues for all that they imply.He recalls being quick-marched to that room back in Dartmoor, signing a version of the Official Secrets Act that few people would ever know existed: ‘the most binding non-disclosure agreement outside of Cosa Nostre’, as the supervising officer described it.‘If I talked to anyone about this, I’d go to jail for a very long time,’ Merrick says.‘You’d go to jail, yes, but not for talking about this - not officially.It would be for some other breach they cooked up, because if they throw you in jail for talking about this, they’d be lending your story credence.No, they’ll trash your professional reputation too, give you the Roswell treatment.’‘You’re not saying you believe Roswell was a military cover-up.Or is there something you’re not telling me?’‘No.I’m saying they’d ensure anyone who talked about this place had as much credibility as some internet conspiracy nut.This will be buried and what we found here lost forever.’The professor doesn’t say anything further, just continues to stare intently towards the anomaly, but Merrick hears one more word, and that word is ‘unless’.The contrast between Steinmeyer’s demeanour in recent times and the collected figure standing next to him now is as complete as it is disturbing.Merrick recalls seeing something like it only once before, in a colleague who committed suicide days later.A policewoman he spoke to said it was very common: once they have made their decision to kill themselves, the turmoil ceases and they can seem utterly calm and untroubled.Steinmeyer right now is as placid as Merrick has ever witnessed.There’s not merely a stillness about him, but a profound sense of resolution.They say that out in the deep ocean, a tsunami could pass under you in a rowing boat and you’d barely notice a bob.That’s what this feels like.Steinmeyer finally turns and looks Merrick in the eye.‘The world needs to know what happened here,’ he says.‘Whether it’s ready for it or not.’XIIDeso gives his boots a stamp on the hard, dry earth, then jumps on the spot a couple of times to warm up a wee bit.It’s pure Baltic, but it’s clear and still, no wind, so once they get moving it’ll be fine.Better than fine, in fact: a cold, sunny December morning and a cracking day for a trek with your pals.Pity there’s a bunch of wankers coming along too, to say nothing of Deputy Dan, but you cannae have it all ways.Everybody is kitted out in waterproofs and walking boots, plenty of them sufficiently shiny and new-looking as to indicate there will be a lot of blisters on show later.Deso’s got his rucksack already on his back, eager to go, but a lot of them still have theirs sitting at their feet on the ground.The Sarge guy, Sendak, is looking at his watch.It’s five past nine, according to Deso’s.They must be waiting for stragglers, but he can’t work out who: too many bodies milling about in a crowd.He sees Samantha fussing over her hair, trying to tie it back in a way that’s practical but still looks like she could be on an album cover or at least a catalogue for mountaineering gear.The lassie’s a doll, sure, but it must be hard work worrying about how you look every minute of every fucking day.Big Kirk is slotting a packet of fags into the wee upturn of his woolly hat.It looks like a hand-knitted effort, a real present-from-granny number that would be getting slagged mercilessly if it was on anybody else.Not that it looks good on Kirk: he probably selected it especially, knowing it looked daft, because it was one more thing that served to emphasise how the normal social rules didn’t apply to him.Prick.Deborah is farting about with her phone, as per, though it seems to be the camera aspect she’s concerned with rather than texting folk twelve feet away to tell them what’s happened in the five seconds since she last spoke to them directly.She’s standing next to Marianne, which is a bit of a turn-up.Deso wonders what the score is there.Beansy is bouncing about in front of the pair of them with a big stick.What the hell is that daft bastard up to now?‘Check it, Marianne,’ he’s saying.He’s draped his arms over the ends of the stick and has assumed a posture of crucifixion.‘I’m Marilyn Manson.’Marianne gives him the finger.There’s something very sexy about the way she does it, Deso reckons, but maybe that’s just him.Cannae ask anybody else to compare notes, unfortunately, due to the threat of a slagging.Deso then notices a bit of movement towards the back of the group, hurriedly approaching from the main doors, unseen by the crowd.He realises what it is and lets out a horrified scream, startling staff and pupils alike.‘Aaaah! Paki with a rucksack! Everybody down!’They all turn in time to see Adnan jogging up to join the group.He rolls his eyes and looks for a moment like he’s about to take the huff.Then he yells out ‘Allah hu akbhar!’ and pretends to detonate himself.Deso scrambles to ‘save’ Marky, pulling him to the floor as several others make their own dives for cover.Guthrie looks fucking appalled, miserable fud that he is, but at least he spares them all the lecture.Adnan’s participation snookered him: he’d have been gearing up for a wee self-righteous tantrum about racism and religious prejudice, but the Muslim being in on the joke has fair buggered that for him.Sendak and Mr Kane share a wee glance of tolerant amusement, before the Sarge gives them their marching orders.‘Okay, let’s move it out, people
[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]