Down: Pinhole by Glenn Cooper Read Free Book Online Page A

over to MI5, not the police. And they want Dr. Loughty, of course. Her parents have been ringing my office desperate to hear from her, what with all the publicity about the incident. A chap from MI5 had me tell them a cock and bull story about her being just fine but in quarantine because of a radiation leak. They’ve dispatched officers to Edinburgh to commit them to the Official Secrets Act. They’re getting her sister in Croydon to sign on too. We can keep this under wraps for a while but not indefinitely. These things always come out.”
    “So let’s say the Americans and the Brits give us the green light,” John said. “How do we do it?”
    “Well,” Matthew said, “ideally I would think that we would place Woodbourne on the same spot above the collider that Emily stood on and have Emily stand on the same spot where she materialized on the other side of the pinhole.”
    John threw up his hands in frustration. “That’s ridiculous! It assumes one thing that’s uncertain—capturing Woodbourne and bringing him back here in one piece—and one thing that’s impossible—getting Emily, wherever she is, and assuming she’s alive, to be standing on the exact spot at the exact time the collider’s on full power. For Christ’s sake—it’s not like we can send her a text message.”
    Suddenly David spoke up. “I can’t believe I’m even participating in this insane discussion but if Matthew is right, the only way for an exchange to work would be for someone to go through the tunnel, locate her and get her to be on the right spot at the right time.”
    “But if someone went through,” Trevor said, “wouldn’t another one like Woodbourne pop out on our side?”
    Matthew said, “Maybe, if there’s a mass-balance phenomenon in play. But we could be ready this time, couldn’t we? You could grab him straight off and hold him. Woodbourne would have to be found. Our new traveller would need to make sure Emily was where she needed to be at the appointed time. Then we’d run the collider and hopefully exchange both of them for Woodbourne One and Woodbourne Two.”
    “All well and good,” Quint said, “but who would we send through?”
    “That part’s easy,” John said. “It’s going to be me.”
     
     
    John remembered how slowly time had passed during the last week of his last tour in Afghanistan. His unit hadn’t exactly been sitting on their hands waiting for wheels-up from Bagram. There were training and tactical operations every day that week and one intense firefight. He had figured that if he could just get his ass onto the plane stateside he’d have a reasonable chance for a longish life. But he could vividly remember how the hour hand on his wristwatch never seemed to move.
    As stuck in tar as that week had seemed, this week ran slower.
    There were endless meetings with MI5 and FBI agents and Bitterman and Smithwick arrived in person for command performances. Led by Matthew, the technical and engineering staffs began the process of preparing the collider for another restart.
    John and Trevor concentrated on Brandon Woodbourne. The trail blew hot and cold. There was a report of a break-in at a residence in Dartford, a scant two miles from the lab. When the residents returned from a brief trip they saw someone exiting through the garden and found the place ransacked, food eaten, and a smear of blood on the bathtub.
    John and Trevor visited the place on Carrington Road, a semi-detached house on a quiet residential street. By the time they arrived, the forensics unit had dusted for prints and confirmed that Woodbourne had been there. There was hardly a surface he hadn’t touched. There were cans of food littered about the sitting room and empty cartons of milk and juice. Apparently the owners weren’t big drinkers but every bottle of liquor and can of beer was consumed. It looked like he had managed to work the gas stove but the microwave was clean and untouched. A first-aid kit was open and a