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    The CERN Revelation: Paul Decker assignments, #4
    The CERN Revelation: Paul Decker assignments, #4
    The CERN Revelation: Paul Decker assignments, #4
    Ebook438 pages4 hours

    The CERN Revelation: Paul Decker assignments, #4

    By Jeffry Weiss

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    About this ebook

    The CERN* Laboratory, near Geneva, runs the Large Hadron Collider**: the greatest scientific instrument ever built by man.

    There are many questions and concerns as to what will be discovered.  And now inexplicable things are occurring at CERN.  Three researchers are missing: disappeared without a trace.  Men of sound mind have seen apparitions. 

    The Collider has brought forth an entity from another dimension that offers answers to the great remaining scientific questions…in exchange for a soul.

    Word has spread that something diabolical has invaded CERN, which coincides with cataclysmic events taking place in the world.

    Paul Decker teams up with Natasha - a particle physicist, a la Lizbeth Salander*** - to fight the legions of darkness. 

    This may be the ultimate battle of Good vs. Evil, Science vs. God.  My story combines physics, the Papacy, the Book of Revelation, espionage and computers in a way not seen before.

     

    *CERN: French:  Council European for Research Nuclear

    ** Hadrons are created by colliding protons or nuclei of heavy elements.

    ***Girl with the Dragon Tattoo

     

     

     

     

     

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherJeffry Weiss
    Release dateJan 28, 2016
    ISBN9781514600184
    The CERN Revelation: Paul Decker assignments, #4
    Author

    Jeffry Weiss

    I have been a political scientist (since graduating from the University of Pennsylvania with an MA in International Affairs), a political activist (who consults with Noam Chomsky on a regular basis) and an Investigative Journalist for the past 40 years. I have written position papers for three presidents: Carter, Clinton and Obama, and I worked with the Elizabeth Warren Campaign until she dropped out of the race. My work on social issues has received recognition directly from the desk of the president of Mexico. During that time I have written 16 geo-political thrillers, four modern-day versions of old classics, seven nonfiction books, four screenplays and one stage play.

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      Book preview

      The CERN Revelation - Jeffry Weiss

      PROLOGUE

      The Large Hadron Collider.  CERN.  Geneva, Switzerland. 

      The village of Ferney-Voltaire straddled the border between France and Switzerland.  In the quaint locale, where Voltaire once philosophized, mail was still delivered by bicycle, and the postmen knew the names of all the people on their route.  Shops with green awnings and large wicker baskets offered fresh baguettes, cheeses, wines and flowers.  On the face of it, the community seemed untouched by modernity.

      Yet one hundred meters below ground, particles circulated around a seventeen mile circumference tunnel at almost the speed of light, recreating energies not seen since the Big Bang over thirteen billion years ago, enabling scientists to observe the state of the universe a millionth of a millionth of a second after the beginning of time.

      Scientists at CERN, the operator of the Large Hadron Collider, were besieged by an outpouring of concern: phone calls and emails from people who feared the world would end when the gigantic atom smasher started up.  There had even been legal attempts to halt the experiments.

      There are those who believe some of the particles the machine is projected to make have properties and potentialities that dwarf the imagination and challenged man’s ability to hold them in check. 

      One line of speculation is that the collider might create a black hole that could grow to consume the Earth itself.  Others believe the machine can generate particles that have the capacity to go backward or forward in time, influencing that which is and that which would be.

      One thing was certain...nothing was certain.

      CHAPTER ONE

      Data Storage Facility.  Atlas Collider.  CERN. 

      Stacked in the data room, in a temperature-controlled sub-basement, were the results of all the experiments conducted at CERN, stored on Seagate 4 disc drives, the largest capacity devices in the world.  Thousands of the units sat on shelves that ran the length of the sixty-foot room and from floor to twelve-foot ceiling.

      Dr. Hendrick Blomvest, cosmologist visiting from Göteborgs University in Sweden, turned on the lights, then began searching for the requisite experiments.

      The florescent lights flickered several times, then went off, leaving the scientist submerged in a sea of black.  Hello, he called out.  Anyone here?

      Hendrick groped for the light switch, a man truly in the dark.  This is neither the time nor the place for a prank, he insisted.

      Help me, Hendrick, a voice whispered.  For my time here is limited.

      Just as suddenly as they had gone out, the lights came on.  A translucent figure appeared not a few feet from him.

      The presence had a striking, long, thin face; one that shifted from masculine to feminine as it floated in one direction, then another.  The ethereal being was garbed in a satin robe that extended from the top of its head to the toes and beyond, making it impossible to determine the height or structure of its body.  The spirit reached up and pushed the hood back several inches, revealing doe-like eyes that changed colors as it spoke, an aquiline nose, and straight black hair that flowed down covering the forehead and ears. 

      The scientist could not take his eyes off the Thing.  Hendrick Blomvest felt he was under its spell. 

      Who are you? the researcher asked.  He dropped the clipboard he was carrying, sending it clattering to the ground, amplified by the complete lack of other noise in the room.  What are you?  His wanted to flee, but his analytical mind said, make inquires. 

      Hendrick was curious, yet kept his distance as the thing wavered in and out of existence.

      I am he who has always been and always will be, the presence said.

      I thought you were a phantasmagoria, a collective dream, a—, the man began.

      And what do you think now? the specter enticed.

      I don’t know, the cosmologist replied.  "Others have said you were like a wisp of wind, a cloud that had wandered inside. 

      You are referring to Riemann and Abrams?

      Yes!  Do you know about them?

      Of course!  I know about them as I know of you!

      Are they safe?

      A relative term, the apparition said dismissively.  Let’s just say for the time being.

      And now you are here and you speak!

      I am regaining my powers, the specter explained.

      You are not real!

      I am seen, yet still I am denied.  Saved are those who believe in me.

      What do you want? the scientist asked, bending down for the clipboard and raising it to his chest as if it afforded him some protection.

      "No.  The question is, ‘What do you want?’"

      I have all I need: family, friends, my work.

      And has it been fruitful? the visitor laughed, its face turning from warmth to a sneer dismissing Hendrick’s life as simply as hitting the delete key on a computer.

      Science does not work that way, Hendrick insisted, though the certainty in his voice wavered.

      Surely you wish to know the source of dark energy?  What dark matter is made of?  What the fate of the universe is?  The apparition presented the face first of Blomvest’s mother, then wife, then PhD advisor.

      That was when the scientist realized the thing was reading his mind, molding itself to whatever he wanted most to see.  Yes.  Of course.

      Ah, yes, the specter said.  Those answers...along with eternal life, all-knowing wisdom, adoration.

      I do not wish for things.  I only want to know about you.  Where you are from.

      From?  The apparition laughed again.  From up above, from ahead, from behind.  I am the alpha and the omega.

      I don’t understand.

      But you called me forth!

      I? the scientist questioned.

      The machine.  The Collider.

      But it is only a machine, Blomvest said. 

      Is that what you believe...an instrument that found the God particle?  A device that can send information into the past or future? the visitor asked. 

      But I—?

      You yourself wrote a paper that said the manufacture of new particles also creates anti-particles that can go forward or backward in time.

      Matter cannot travel backwards or forwards in time, the scientist assured.  That violates all laws of physics.

      I am not matter...not yet.  I am photons, the Thing explained.

      Blomvest stood there, unable to refute the logic of the entity.

      And that such particles, though weightless can carry information, the presence continued.

      Yes, that is correct, the scientist agreed, enticed by the Thing’s logic.

      Those particles provided me with the four-dimensional space / time coordinates of your machine.  Now I am here to draw on its power and become whole again.

      I cannot believe any of this is occurring!

      Ah, but you will when you produce a field of sufficient energy.  It will bestow mass to me and I will be whole once again.

      Why me?

      Hah!  You know as well as I, Hendrick.  You want to make a deal.

      A deal?

      Yes.  Are you not the Hendrick Blomvest who stole the work of others for you PhD thesis?  And did you not say to a colleague you would sell your soul for the answers to the great remaining questions in science?

      I don’t understand?

      Ah, but you will, Hendrick, you will.

      Why now?

      I was waiting for a power great enough to restore me.

      The machine has that power? the researcher asked.

      Seven, the entity replied.

      Seven?

      Seven trillion volts, the specter explained.  Seven days of Genesis.  Seven seals of revelation.  Seven angels.  Seven plagues...seven days to completion.

      Those are Biblical allegories; metaphors, the scientist challenged.

      Am I just an allegory? the spirit asked, a voice rising in pitch and volume until it vibrated the room.  The presence brushed a hand close to a shelf.  The hard drives slid out from their spots and smashed on the ground; first one, then another, and another.

      You are ephemeral, Hendrick challenged with all the courage he could muster.

      Your machine is only producing three point five trillion volts.  I cannot cross over fully until the machine is run at full power.

      That is not scheduled until next year, Hendrick explained.

      I cannot wait, the specter cried, and the floor beneath the researcher shook.

      But I have no control over the schedule, the scientist said, reaching out for a shelf to brace himself.

      Find a way, the apparition suggested.  It was far more a warning than an option.

      But—.

      I offer you glory and you speak of schedules and excuses? the Thing questioned.

      I just don’t....

      The presence extended a hand and raised it.  The scientist floated off the floor.  Maybe you did not comprehend me.  This is not a discourse.  Even as an apparition I have the power to end your useless life.

      What is it you want from me? Blomvest asked with trepidation.

      Within seven days, you will see to it the Collider runs at full power.  For your reward I will give you the formula for quantum gravity and the ability to control nuclear fusion.

      And if I am willing to die rather than help you? Hendrick challenged.

      Then your family, your children, your children’s children forward ten generations will be born with no arms or legs, hearts outside their chests, and blind.

      Then I have no choice? the researcher asked, seeing no way out.

      Since you are so reluctant, allow me to bestow a gift upon you, the specter offered cordially.  Room temperature superconductivity.

      Impossible! the doctor assured.

      "Solid metallic hydrogen at high pressure becomes super conducting at thirty-two degrees Fahrenheit," the specter explained.

      How—?

      A sufficiently advanced being’s capabilities are indistinguishable from magic.

      Tell me your name, Blomvest insisted.

      Ah...I have many names.  And I come from many times and places.  I was at the side of Pontius Pilate when he pronounced Jesus’ fate.  I carried the Black Death from China to Europe.  I was with Pope Urban II when he ordered the Crusades against the non-believers which lasted five hundred years.  I paved the way for Hitler’s Blitzkrieg into Poland.

      If all this is true then....

      Then mankind will leap ahead a thousand years.  And it will be you who lifts his brethren out of the dark ages.

      CHAPTER TWO

      Computer Center. Room 513. CERN. Geneva.

      Five men huddled around the twenty-seven inch monitor. Numbers scrolled down the screen at a mind-numbing pace. Several minutes went by before the program stopped running.

      What do you think of that, Blomvest? Doctor Javitz asked, poking a finger at the screen. Javitz was the lead scientist on the Compact Muon Solenoid (CMS) detector at CERN. He was a driven man, not well-liked, but respected. In order to pursue his quest for recognition, fame, and glory he had given up on marriage. He had narrowed the scope of his life and placed a singular emphasis on his work, leaving him in a very precarious position emotionally and spiritually. Javitz was not prepared to remain mired on the side of the dedicated but nameless scientists who laid the ground work for others.

      No one answered Javitz. The other three looked at each other, then at him.

      Where is Blomvest? Javitz questioned, more concerned with Gurnard’s findings than with finding the man.

      I thought... Marcus began.

      He could not have just..., André said.

      Vanished? Phillip asked.

      First Riemann, then Abrams, and now Blomvest? André considered.  And all in the course of one week.  What powers are at work here?

      We must inform the governments of our respective countries, Marcus said, and the administration here.

      Inform them of what? Javitz asked. We do not know if anything has happened to them. Maybe they took leave to visit family. Maybe they are sick, or just out for a stroll.

      I am afraid we may have unleashed forces here that are now out of our control, Phillip warned.

      Nonsense! Javitz refuted. Our work takes precedent over all other considerations. We are expendable.

      You say this philosophically, André argued, his French accent coating his words, but what is happening here is not theoretical; it is real. Look at the screen! See for yourself!

      The two arguing scientist turned back to observe the computer monitor. On the screen was an e-mail message:

      Do not allow the Collider to exceed 3.5 TeV. Doing so will result in the production of anti-particles which will transmit information backward in time. That which receives the information may be given the four-dimensional space / time location of the source of power. In order to produce this message, we were forced to use thirteen micrograms of anti-matter. That is the sum total of a decade’s worth of production. No further correspondence is possible. Be warned, you are dealing in realms you do not understand, bringing forth consequences you cannot imagine.

      The five men all stared at the screen long after they had finished reading the message.

      Javitz laughed. This must be a prank by Stuart.

      More the work of Vernon, Phillip suggested.  Mixing pseudoscience, biblical prophesy, and collective fear.

      But how...? Marcus began.

      "How what?" Javitz asked, irked by the interruptions.

      Don’t you see? Marcus exclaimed.

      See what? André asked, unable to follow the line of reasoning of his colleagues.

      The date, you fools! Marcus declared.

      André looked blankly at the screen. Date? he asked.

      Marcus pointed to the date at the top of the message: 2145 A.D.

      2145? Impossible, Javitz assured.

      It has been proven that anti-particles can travel back or forward in time, Marcus reminded the others. Here is the proof if you ever needed any.  He turned from one face to the next.

      It’s a prank! Javitz insisted, throwing his hand up in a dismissive manner.

      Have you ever received an e-mail where the date has been faked? André asked cynically. It cannot be done!

      There must be another conclusion, Javitz said, while trying to reassure himself.

      This may be an unprecedented case of backwards causation, André concluded.

      I believe you are correct, doctor! Marcus said emphatically. The future is trying to alter the present.

      We’ve all hypothesized that black holes, or dark energy created as a by-product of our experiments may spell doom for civilization, Phillip reminded his colleagues. The future - knowing the results of experiments here - is sending us a message: ‘Stop the Collider from attaining the velocities necessary to recreate particles that have been unseen since the beginning of time.’

      I agree! Marcus said. We would be fools to ignore the wisdom accumulated by a race of people one hundred and thirty-three years more advanced than ourselves.

      I, for one, need no more proof, Andre said. I am going to Doctor Roselli and tell him what has happened. He gathered his papers off the desk and walked to the door.

      You will look like a fool when you cannot produce any real evidence, Javitz warned, wagging a finger at the man.

      Andre turned around. I accept my role as such.

      Then he was out the door.

      Andre!  Wait. I will go with you, Marcus called out.

      Marcus dashed out of the lab.

      Javitz rolled his eyes and returned to his calculations.

      Within a minute, Marcus returned.

      Phillip looked up. I thought you were going with Andre?

      He is gone, Marcus replied, a stunned look on his face.

      Yes, we know—, Javitz began.

      No!  Not gone.  Disappeared, Marcus uttered, staring at the others with abject fear in his eyes.

      CHAPTER THREE

      Michigan Park. Washington, DC. Six miles. NE of the White House.

      The sparse apartment suffered from neglect. Long, dark, water stains streaked the walls. A single bed, which wouldn’t have been much good if he had a girlfriend, worked fine for the singular lifestyle he had relegated himself to. A small dining room table with two chairs, only one of which was necessary, a comfortable recliner that, more often than not, ended up being where he slept, made up the rest of his décor.

      Old pizza boxes and empty bourbon bottles lay scattered around the room. It smelled like a gym. He could live pretty well on an army captain’s salary, certainly better than he now did...if it weren’t for the alimony, child support, and the booze.

      In the background, a ballad played on a cheap CD player. Music was one of the few things he had brought back from Mexico. For him, the songs represented everything beautiful in the world, and everything he did not have now.

      Paul Decker sat on the edge of the bed. That way, if he successfully blew his brains out, he’d slump back on the mattress rather than wind up on the dirty floor. He stared at the gun as he twirled it in his hand, then tilted his head backwards and forward and side to side, just to be sure it was still attached to his shoulders. The last time he put the gun to his temple, he could swear he pulled the trigger...or had he? It was hard to tell since he felt more dead than alive.

      He groaned as a dusty shaft of light peeked through yellowed, worn shades. He always meant to put up a blackout curtain so he wouldn’t be reminded of the days he missed sleeping off an all-night drunk.

      It surprised him how little meaning his life held for him since he separated from Susan six years before. Right after that, the children,  Daniel and Carrie, left to start their own lives.

      He had fallen into the trap that incarcerated most of humanity. Working stiffs got up dreading the day that lay ahead of them. They made breakfast, and an hour later couldn’t even remember what they ate. The morning at work was bearable only because they looked forward to lunch. The afternoon droned on as they watched a clock that never seemed to move. At 5:00 p.m. they raced out the door, waited in line for the bus or sat in traffic for an hour. When they got home, they found no compelling reason for being there...other than the fact that their clothes and toothbrushes were there.

      Most of the people in the world lived that way. But that wasn’t enough reason for him to do so. If it was an option between the 9 to 5, or a bullet in the brain...well, there really wasn’t a choice.

      Before he could try the trigger again, the phone rang.

      Paul struggled to get up, sweating from the alcohol, legs wobbling under him. With great effort, he made his way over to the table where his encrypted phone sat, finally picking up after the fifth ring. He wasn’t moving very fast these days, and he had to steady himself.

      Where the hell are you, Decker? President Hardessy demanded.

      Back home, sir, Paul said, reaching out for a chair as the room spun around him.

      From where?

      Mexico.

      Oh, is that girl still with you?

      He hesitated. No, sir.

      Sorry to hear that, the President said reflectively. Seemed like a nice kid.

      She was nice, and she was a kid. I wanted her to stay that way. She would have grown up to be not so nice a lady if she stayed with me.

      Lydia. Another woman he had made grand promises to. Another pure soul he had tarnished. All in the name of...what? A woman he left to take an assignment that could have been handled by any one of a dozen men; men who didn’t endanger their team members with a body and minded clouded by alcohol. And what if the mission was successful? Did it lead to lasting change or was it another hole uncovered which then needed to be filled? Did anyone in the government not have a hidden agenda, or a distorted view of how the world worked and nations interfaced? Was it worth sacrificing his personal relationships?

      Way too many questions and far too few answers. That was the theme song of his life.

      Are you up to an assignment? Hardessy asked suspiciously. You don’t sound all that good.

      Just a cold, sir, he lied to the President of the United States. Paul hacked into the phone to add a phony cough to the non-existent cold.

      He walked over to the sink to throw some cold water on his face. Then made the mistake of looking in the vanity mirror. What he saw reflected was not a pretty sight.

      The body was still muscular, but his face was a mess: bags under pale blue eyes, yawning creases in his forehead, and smile lines that had deepened into grooves. Hair once brown now showed salt and pepper.

      When he was disgusted enough, he returned to the phone conversation with Hardessy, realizing that he had just kept the president waiting for an inordinate period of time.

      Did you just run out for a coffee? Hardessy berated.

      No, sir, Paul replied, then added a laugh. He shuffled around the room, trying to get his bearings.

      It wasn’t meant to be funny.

      No, sir.

      Had a mini-stroke?

      No, sir.

      Then stay with me on this, Decker. It’s important.

      Yes, sir. I didn’t think it was a social call.

      No, it’s not. I need you to go to Geneva.

      Paul blinked. Geneva, Switzerland?

      It’s the only Geneva I know, Hardessy replied in a tone that was barely civil.

      What will I find there? Paul asked, trying to gather his wits and contribute some-thing of substance to the conversation.

      You’re one step ahead of me. That’s good, Decker, the president said.

      Will you let me in on the joke? he asked, looking around the room for something he had already forgotten.

      Missing scientists, Hardessy said.

      Missing as in dead, abducted, or at home sick?

      None of the above, we think, the president replied, modulating his tone now that he felt Decker was with the program.

      We, sir? Do you have an asset in place?

      No. This comes from an MIT scientist working there. He caught wind of it and called an old college classmate who works in the State Department.

      Caught wind of it? That sounds like CERN is trying to cover it up.

      Looks that way, but we don’t know for sure. We don’t have enough intel. That’s where you come in.

      Well, sir, if these scientists aren’t missing, what’s left? Paul asked, rummaging through his apartment. He cradled the phone between his neck and ear, picking up empty bourbon bottles and turning them upside down, catching the drips in a toothpaste cup.

      That’s what you need to find out.

      Paul had been a black ops soldier: Delta Force, Seal Team member, a Code 6 assassin. But President Webster, and now President Hardessy, had seen a great deal more in him. They entrusted him with missions where it took brains to succeed and killing was just as often a lack of imagination.

      Paul stood up a little straighter. The boss gave him a lot of leeway, and even if Paul was unwilling to take care of himself, he wasn’t going to let the president down.

      Hardessy had enough confidence in him to send Paul into Iraq in advance of the invasion. Then into Pakistan, to find Taliban and Al Qaeda strongholds. When others told the president to put Paul out to pasture, Hardessy kept him onboard and trusted him with the most sensitive assignments.

      That’s not much to go on, Paul said after a moment’s reflection.

      No. And we can’t even state that there’s a problem.

      People missing but it’s got to be kept secret? He tossed the last bottle onto a chair and threw the contents of the cup in the sink.

      When you realize what the problem is, what’s at stake, you’ll know why it’s got to be that way.

      Do I have support there?

      None. This has got to remain under the radar. You’re assigned to CERN as a research scientist from Caltech. We’ve built you a complete identity. But you need to look, talk, and act like a scientist. Think you can do that?

      The idea churned up the bile in Paul’s stomach, and he grimaced. I’ve been following CERN like everyone else has. But fooling some of the top scientists on the planet isn’t going to be easy.

      Hell, if it was easy, I’d send my barber.

      Yes, sir, Paul said as he went into the kitchen. He poured himself a cup of coffee left over from...he couldn’t remember when he’d made the last pot. He shoved the mug in the microwave.

      You’ll pick up your papers at our embassy in Grenoble. The president paused. I expect you to be there in twenty-four hours and to report back to me with something in forty-eight hours.

      I have a few people in mind that might be able to help me, Paul said. Can we get papers for them?

      Give the names and the cover they need to Tim over at Langley. I’ll tell him to meet any request...within reason. Is that all? Hardessy said, irritated by the additional questions and requests.

      Yes, sir. You know I’ll do my best, sir.

      Don’t sweet talk me, Decker. I don’t care if you pull someone’s fingernails out, water board them, whatever you need to do. Just get to the bottom of this...fast, the president said, sounding like a man who needed to get back to important business.

      Yes, sir. You can count on me.

      Paul walked to the window and looked out. A group of nuns were gathered in front of the church across the street. When one of them turned to some one or some thing in the street, he could see her eyes were feral; they glowed green. She looked directly up at Paul, smiled, and pushed the cornette back on her head. Through the drizzle and the wind and darkness he couldn’t be certain of what he saw. But if he had to guess, it looked like the horn of a goat: red, engorged with blood.

      He shook his head and rubbed his eyes. When he refocused, the nuns had already stepped inside the church. The booze? Sleep deprivation? A vivid imagination? Paul shuddered. Anyone of a dozen things could have led to that sort of vision, but..."

      The Present barked loudly. You’re on a short leash, Decker. A hundred and sixty-five nations are represented at CERN. Don’t turn this into a diplomatic nightmare.

      Right, sir. I’ll—. He took the phone from his ear and looked at it, realizing he was now talking to himself.

      CHAPTER FOUR

      Building 40. CERN. Geneva, Switzerland.

      CERN hierarchy transferred the press conference to the largest meeting hall at the complex after they were besieged with an outpouring of concern by the local citizenry and the world beyond, all of whom feared the would end when the giant atom smasher started up.

      The large, but Spartan room, offered seating only on folding chairs. A simple wooden platform substituted for a dais. Pictures of CERN in various stages of construction covered the white walls. Heaters, cranked up to their maximum levels, warded off the freezing temperatures outside. Men and women stamped their boots and shook their gloves to knock the snow off and restore circulation.

      Small groups of people huddled in the corners conversing, waiting for the meeting to officially begin.

      A man who looked barely out of college, wearing jeans and a tweed jacket walked purposefully to the podium. He was clean shaven, with dusty brown hair long enough to touch his collar. He had a serious face filled with sharp lines of intensity. Good morning. I am Doctor Jonas Unger, he said.

      Private conversations stopped and everyone took their seats.

      Jonas rearranged his notes and adjusted the mic. The purpose of these discussions is to alleviate the fears of the local villagers and the world community. We have gone to great lengths to—-.

      To do what, doctor? a burly, old fashioned newspaper reporter interrupted. "A handful of scientists and workers are unaccounted for. Is that a euphemism for dead?"

      Unsubstantiated rumors! Jonas insisted, looking perturbed.

      What the hell is going on down there in that tunnel, doctor? the reporter demanded. Is this turning into another Roswell?

      We are checking the work and vacation schedules of the men in question and will be issuing a statement as soon as—.

      You say there is nothing to fear from an accident, Dr. Unger, an older, white-haired gentleman interjected. Then what happened last September? There was a leak of liquid helium. Giant magnets broke. Your whole facility had to shut down!

      There was no leak of dangerous material into the atmosphere or into the soil surrounding the facility, the doctor assured.

      No, not that time, the man said, then sat down heavily in his seat.

      If I may continue? the scientist said. "Having found the Higgs, we are now concentrating our efforts searching for the elements composing dark matter which may be hiding in the highest energy realms: approximately seven

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