Parallel Lives chapter 30

John did not, could not, remember the journey back to Fylingdales, such was the degree of sedation. Ahead of the boxy military ambulance drove Michael Watson in a nearly new Porsche, an investment he had made following the death of his Grandmother and the resulting bequest. Not that he couldn’t have afforded the machine without his inheritance, his position within the Defence Technology Research Unit placed him amongst the higher earners working for the Ministry of Defence. But Michael was cautious by nature, and the Porsche was probably only the second major gamble he had ever undertaken.

The first had been several years earlier, when he realised that the Project had been making some fundamental errors in its assumptions. With the main research left to wither, the principal players cast back into mainstream medicine and research Michael had continued to probe and hypothesise, linking his avid interest in medicine and particle physics with his brilliant ability to analyse complex data effortlessly. He had approached the DTRU unilaterally, had teased them with promises of making good the earlier failed efforts, had managed to work his way up the echelons of decision makers and fund managers as an explorer scales a densely wooded hillside in a jungle to break out into the glorious and breathtaking heights where all can be seen. With absolute clarity. That, above all, differentiated him from the other players. They had promised benefits, but always added cautionary riders, reiterated that it was all theoretical. Michael, having convinced himself, proceeded to convince them.

And they had supported him, handsomely. The only bugbear in his relationship with the DTRU was his ever watchful aide, Martin. The man was clearly well educated and knowledgeable in many scientific areas, without actually demonstrating mastery of any. But he wasn’t employed as a technical specialist, his field was vaguer, much less tangible. He looked in rooms as he passed, he always flipped books over to see what people were reading and he tried to find out who Michael spoke to on the phone – every time. Michael assumed his phone messages, both at work and away, were monitored anyway. He also believed Martin contributed nothing to the project, but wielded immense authority within the department, answerable to nobody on the immediate payroll.

But that was the price he had to pay for his research and the facilities he had been afforded were unsurpassed, in the United Kingdom at least. If the results of the next few days were as promising as the MRI scans suggested, then he would be able to move Staples down to Hampshire, where they resided. He might also be able to take Sam there as well. Michael had been surprised at Sam’s reaction the other night, had decided that the man had lost it. He had also been disappointed because he both liked and respected him. It was Sam’s lateral style of thinking that had provided the first tangible results all those years ago, and although they eventually were considered inconclusive Michael had worked backwards from them to rediscover the better, almost certainly correct methodology he was now proposing.

And Sam had stumbled across the most promising candidate for years, that had to count for something. Michael had been astonished when Martin not only failed to object to reconsidering Sam following Friday’s fracas, but had volunteered to talk with him directly. Essentially a trusting individual, Michael had agreed to the plan of attack, but deep down he felt it was somehow wrong. He knew Sam had burned his bridges back on Friday and all but the least impartial of spectators could possibly consider bringing him back in. Michael considered himself amongst that rare group of optimistic personalities, ever wanting to forgive. To find himself being agreed with by the grey and impassive Martin was not a rational expectation.

Flicking his left wrist rapidly over he checked the time and realised that he would be back at the medical centre a good two hours before his ever watchful aide. If he couldn’t understand the man’s motives, he could at least enjoy a few hours apart from him. Checking the rapidly disappearing military vehicle in his rear view mirror, Michael floored the accelerator and gasped as the green verges swept past.

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Copyright Ray Sullivan 2011

The characters, places and events described in this novel are fictitious and any resemblance to persons, places or events, past or present, is coincidence.  All rights reserved

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