The CERN Revelation

The CERN Revelation: Ch. 13,14,15

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Bâtiment 39. CERN. Geneva, Switzerland. Day two.

Paul left the hostel to find a good signal for his encrypted smartphone. He walked past the receptionist at the desk and waved to her. In return he received a sparkling smile. Several other men, their CERN identification clipped to their shirts, nodded to him. He felt a kinship from people who saw themselves wedded to the same cause.

Paul still considered it all might be a hoax – a hologram projected by a group or individual intent on shutting CERN down. He tried to make himself believe that, but couldn't make it fly. There was too much physical evidence.

On the way out the door, Paul bumped into a man carrying luggage who had to bend down to enter the hostel. When he did, his hat fell off. He set down his luggage to pick it up.

Paul reached down to retrieve it. Strange looking.

"Thank you, signore...?" the man said in English, but with a distinct Italian accent.

Paul reached out a hand. "Devlin. Paul Devlin. And you?" he asked, a leading question.

"A simple man of the cloth. Father Demetrius."

"That explains the hat," Paul said.

"Ha, yes. I see by your badge that you work here?" the Father asked, more than a little curious.

"I'm a scientist. Cal Tech. Nuclear physics."

"Ah! I should have surmised as much," he said, picking up his luggage. "Well, I must be going."

The man smiled, but it looked disingenuous to Paul.

"Of course," Paul said, holding the door so the guest could edge past.

The man turned back to look at Paul. It seemed that they were both suspicious of each other, holding eye contact way too long to be just curious.

Paul made a note of the person. The man had predator eyes, something about the guy that just didn't add up. Maybe the priest sized him up the same way: a man who didn't fit in with the surroundings.

When he hit the front door, the cold and the wind hit him like a two by four. He turned to look at the thermostat hanging on the wall just to the right of the main door. The red blob of mercury was pinned to the bottom of the gauge.

Large icicles hung from the awning. People raced from shuttle for the warmth of the hostel. It was the kind of cold where a person could stop to rest against a pole and they'd find them stuck there the next morning.

Paul searched his pockets for fortification, but only came up with a crumpled pack of cigarettes. He shook one out put it to his lips, lit it, and took a long drag. He was more a boozer, but the nicotine helped him focus.

Paul walked in a circle one hundred yards from the entrance, far enough to be out of earshot to people coming and going from the hostel, but he still couldn't get a signal. He wasn't in a hurry, taking the time to gather his thoughts, considering what he would say to Hardessy. On his second cigarette, a woman approached him. The lights of the hostel barely reached them, but still provided enough illumination for him to see.

She had platinum blonde hair, wearing a sable mink coat, and suede boots that extended up to her knees. In all a very fashionable lady very much out of place at a research facility.

As she closed the distance between them, he could see the she was in her late thirties or early forties: stunningly beautiful: model or movie star beautiful.