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  After supper, Tom and James, as the Professor insisted Tom call him, sat down with tumblers of single malt whisky whilst Alison finished her glass of red wine. Alison knew no details of the project but she did know that work was to shift to Larkhill, nearly 90 miles away from London. She was uneasy about the prospect of being separated, albeit from Monday to Friday, from her dearest husband. “James, if you think that your research will take a year why don’t we take a house in the area? We’ve got until the New Year to find something.” She gave her husband a disarming smile. The Professor was caught off guard, “Right, eh, yes I suppose we could.” Her smile adjusted to reflect the victory as she turned to Tom. “And you, Tom, could stay with us. That will solve some of the transport issues and we can always drop you at the railway station whenever you need to come up to London.” Following her major success, Alison bid the men goodnight and went to bed. Tom, despite his protests, was poured another whisky and settled back in the wing-backed armchair as the Professor spoke again about his early days. This time there were no anecdotes and no humour.

  The Professor graduated from Imperial College in 1971 and had started a PhD at Kings College London that September. During his 4th week of his 2 year PhD his aunt had a major heart attack from which she did not recover. During the weeks that she was in hospital she told him that she was really his mother. James Gordon was illegitimate and the deception was necessary to protect both the mother and child from social disgrace. The emotions experienced by the young nephew turned son were powerful, contradictory and almost catastrophic. His healthy, fun loving aunt had deceived him and gone away to be replaced by a sick and frail old woman, his mother, dying before his eyes. She would not tell her son who the father was, but said that he provided a generous allowance for them both. The house in Eaton Terrace was in a smart part of Town, special treats were delivered from Fortnum and Masons both at Christmas and on the birthdays of mother and child. Boarding school fees were paid and on top of all of that there was a generous allowance so that the two would want for nothing.

  When his mother died he had to take the rest of that academic term off in order to adjust to the complicated and distressing end to an unequal relationship. For 20 years, this woman knew the truth and loved the boy as a mother should love a son whilst he had reserved a space in his heart for dead parents and returned the mother’s love with affection for a lady who was, after all, just his aunt.

  Not long after his mother’s funeral, the family solicitor explained his financial position. There was a considerable inheritance from his mother’s estate, together with an allowance which would continue to be paid by his father. The solicitor denied knowing who the father was but did say that his situation would never allow him to admit to having a bastard child, yet he wanted to provide everything he could for his son. Everything except, what James Gordon needed most of all, at that terrible time. He had been cheated of a relationship with his mother and continued to be robbed of his father’s love. The only thing that saved James Gordon from complete failure and a life of ruin was his girlfriend, Alison, who never left his side and helped him through those dark and tortuous days. The Professor felt unable to return to his studies and joined the Army on a Short Service Commission. That explained the wedding photograph on the desk, with the Professor in uniform.

  When James Gordon had finished telling Tom his story he looked up and saw that Tom had tears running down his cheeks. He felt very embarrassed and stood up and said clumsily, “I am sorry. Somehow I thought that you needed to know.” There was silence.

  Tom stood up as well and looked across at the Professor. “It’s okay James, I think I know. I’ve been through some rough times and, like you, having no brothers or sisters to share these things with, it can be pretty hard. I’m glad you told me. It’s funny, anyone looking at you would think that you had everything.” There was a long pause. “I think I should go, otherwise I might wake up the landlord.” The two men smiled and shook hands before Tom departed.

  Tom felt happy, even euphoric. He was experiencing feelings that he had only had as a young child before his parents began to hate each other. He felt as though his life had purpose and that he was now as close as he could be to being a part of a family, where he was wanted and, perhaps, where he was meant to be. It had been nearly 9 months that the Professor and Tom had been working together. They had got on well from the very start and the Professor knew that but for a cruel twist of fate this bright young man could have been his son. And so the seeds were sown of a quasi father son relationship that otherwise neither could expect to find elsewhere.

  Chapter 4 – Preparations, and Experiments

  Many people, who live reasonably close to the centre of London and have no house or family in the country, see little point in having a car. The Gordons had reached this conclusion soon after they were married and had only recently bought a little runabout for Alison to use to visit friends further out of town. Neither James nor Alison Gordon were particularly good drivers and so when early on the following Monday morning Tom found himself as the passenger in a hire car driven by the Professor, he experienced the most sustained series of adrenaline rushes imaginable. To his surprise, and Tom thought that the sentiment was shared by the Professor, they arrived without mishap at the main gate to Larkhill Camp. The soldier at the barrier looked formidable; he was dressed in full fighting order, webbing and flack jacket, and carried the latest SA80 rifle. “ID please gentlemen” he said and the Professor and Tom scrambled to find driving licenses and university ID badges. “You need a pass for the vehicle Mr Gordon. Pull over there and go into the guardroom please.” It was 9am and there seemed to be men in uniform everywhere, a shift change perhaps. The Professor waited patiently. The car pass was organised and a telephone call was made to Major Harry Brandon who was the Station Quartermaster and the man responsible for the infrastructure on the camp. He appeared within a few minutes, at the wheel of a Landrover Defender, and he was accompanied by Lieutenant Colonel Douglas Cleves who had come down from the MoD. Following polite introductions, the Professor and Tom followed the Landrover to the Dagger Building.

  The building stood alone at the far western end of Larkhill Camp. From the outside, it looked as though it would not be out of place on an industrial estate except that the walls were painted in a dull green and black camouflage pattern. There was a door at the right hand side of the front elevation, a pair of very large folding doors for vehicle access but not a single window or pane of glass anywhere. There was generous parking outside and no other buildings within 50 metres. They entered the building and both the Professor and Tom were amazed by the ample space inside. There was nothing inside except a couple of large brooms, a shovel, a wheelbarrow and a pair of old lockers. The office had a table, a telephone and two chairs. There was also a very clean lavatory. Despite the lack of windows, there was some natural light coming through the translucent roof but not enough for normal work and the light switch was soon found.

  The Quartermaster walked briskly to the centre of the large open area. “Right gentlemen, this is the Dagger Building. It is security accredited to Class 1 which means you can lock the door and walk away every evening. Heating, power and water are provided and Colonel Cleves will be making arrangements to pick up the tab. Take care when you open the big doors, this end of camp is where most of the leaves end up, hence the wheelbarrow.” He looked towards the Professor, “Is this what you expected Professor Gordon?” There was no doubt in the Professor’s mind that this building would be ideal. “Thank you Harry. It’s super. Are you aware of the hole that needs to be made in the reinforced concrete floor?” The Quartermaster looked at his notepad, “I understand you want a 2 metre hole in the middle of the floor all the way down to the subsoil which is not far around here.” He glanced around at the expanse of floor. “Would you like to tell me where it’s going and I’ll take care of it?” The Professor and Tom looked around the area carefully and agreed where the hole should be made. Lieutenant Col
onel Cleves walked over to where the Professor and Tom were standing. “Is this hole absolutely vital Professor Gordon? There is over a foot of reinforced concrete here and the work will not be cheap.” The Professor gave Cleves one of his “looks” and the Colonel winced. “Of course we are grateful for the near perfect location for this work but please do not question either the science or the organisation of my work,” said the Professor as he walked back towards the office area. That more or less brought the visit to a close. There would be no accommodation provided by the Army and even a temporary stay in the Officers’ Mess was not on offer, and so Tom and the Professor headed to the nearby town of Amesbury to try to find an estate agent to see what the rental market had to offer. After 90 minutes of effort they had decided which estate agent had the edge over the others and established the ballpark figure for rent to be £800 per month for a 4 bedroom house not too far from Larkhill. They returned to London.

  Tom was entitled to 10 days Christmas holiday but he had made no firm plans. He had thought of visiting his mother in France but discounted the idea. Perhaps it would take another year before he could bring himself to visit the woman whom he felt was entirely responsible for his father’s death. He was rather keen to buy a motorcycle and had just about enough money saved up to get a good second hand machine and some leathers and helmet. So, when the Professor asked Tom what he would be doing over the Christmas break, Tom explained his idea and that he would use the time to find a suitable machine, get it insured and make sure that it was in good working order. Although the Professor did not like the idea of Tom rushing to and fro on a motorcycle, he did agree that having an independent form of transport was a good idea with the move to the South West.

  Work progressed reasonably well in the last few days before the Christmas break. The frames that would form the skeleton of the “Beast” were ordered and would be delivered to Larkhill by the first week in February. Tom completed the construction of the electromagnets and some work was done on a computer outfit for the new laboratory. The only setback was the inability to source the complicated power supplies for the electromagnets. They had to be capable of being computer controlled and of a particular power rating. In the end they had to settle for a slightly under powered product but it did save the project over £10,000. “And no Tom, you are not allowed to divert the saving to the purchase of a new motorcycle.” They had their last working day on 22nd December and Tom was invited back to the Gordon’s flat for lunch on Christmas Eve.

  Tom had managed to find a lovely 2 year old Japanese bike well within his budget on the Saturday before Christmas and had spent the saving on better quality armoured clothing and a top of the range Arai helmet. “No wheelies Tom and if you kill yourself you will be sacked.” the Professor said to Tom at lunch on Christmas Eve. He then added with great sincerity “and I will be awfully upset. Please take care.” Tom was touched and promised to be sensible. He explained that he had almost the best set of motorcycle leathers that money could buy. They had Kevlar spine, knee and elbow protection as well as support for the kidneys. His gloves and boots were literally armour plated and this did set the Professor’s mind at rest. Alison and the Professor gave Tom a silk motorcycle scarf for Christmas. Tom had not been quite so imaginative and had given the Gordons a miniature Stilton and a bottle of Port.

  Tom spent Christmas either working on his motorcycle, at the cinema or in his local pub. Old Charlie was around as usual and so Tom’s few days off went by quite enjoyably. On Boxing Day, Tom was treated to lunch at the local pub by his landlord. Angus was on excellent form and quite tidy for a change. Charlie appeared in time to join them and the 3 feasted on roast turkey, Christmas pudding and some quite reasonable red wine. They did not leave until nearly midnight by which time it was difficult to guess which of them was the alcoholic.

  All too soon, the holiday was over and preparations for the move to Larkhill went into top gear. The packing up of equipment took over a week and required the help of a pair of college porters. The removal company were due to pick up the boxes from the lab on Friday 17th January but on the Monday of that week the Professor took a call from the estate agent in Amesbury. They had found an ideal cottage not far from the Camp and at a bargain rate of just £650 per month but a quick decision was required. The Professor suggested that he would drive down with Alison the following day and set about finding a hire car.

  The following day, Tom worked valiantly, more or less on his own as the college porter’s attendance was a little erratic. He received an excited telephone call from the Professor late in the afternoon to say that they had found the ideal house and had signed the lease on a renewable 3 monthly contract. He would not be able to return until the following afternoon as there were several other details to tie up. Tom was quite happy and worked on until early evening. He realised on his way home that it was his pub quiz night and decided that he could have supper at the pub and enjoy a refreshing and well deserved pint of beer. The usual crowd were in the pub including Angus and Charlie. He was not sure what to tell his landlord about the move to Larkhill Camp. In the end he decided to say that he had to do some work at Salisbury College, just in case working in Larkhill should be a secret, and therefore he would be away from time to time. He had already decided to keep renting the bed-sit, as he would need a base in London and would easily be able to afford the rent. Tom knew that his landlord would probably not notice whether he was around or not as long as the rent was paid on time. He did mention his likely absence to Charlie just in case he wanted to find a more reliable partner for the pub quizzes. Charlie took it very well, “Well, at 75 years old, or is it 76? Anyway, it’s about time that I concentrated on my business career. So, maybe I will give it a miss for a while, until you get back eh?”

  Tom replied with a perfunctory laugh. Charlie was clearly not a businessman. He looked more like a retired gardener and was probably relying on a meagre state pension and his small circle of friends for a bit of company from time to time. Charlie added, “I hope you take care on that motorbike of yours. If anything happened to you I would be very lonely.” Tom was embarrassed as he actually did not know anything about Charlie at all despite them having been quiz partners on and off for nearly 3 years. Perhaps he was married, a widower or “bent as a nine bob note” as Angus would say. Tom shrugged, such shallow knowledge was typical of casual acquaintances in a large city like London. Tom bought the next round for Angus and Charlie and concentrated on the quiz. The three formed a team and made an excellent start proving to be experts in modern history, sport and entertainment. Charlie, as usual, had sport covered, particularly football and racing but he did put Tom on the spot from time to time to check that he had been brushing up on those “little gems’. Tom was rather surprised that Angus was almost completely sober and was only taking the occasional sip of his beer. As a result he was proving to be a particularly useful team member.

  During the mid-quiz break, Angus became a little maudlin and, staring into the remains of his pint of beer, announced that he wanted to try and “sort himself out”. He was coming up to his 65th birthday and he felt that he still had “five good years of writing ahead.” Charlie was very encouraging and then offered to buy the next round of drinks “but Angus, my dear boy, you can have a soft drink if you can manage it.” This remark touched a nerve and Angus became quite angry. “Don’t be bloody clever. I’m not a drunk. I’ve had a tough life doing my business. I used to get respect you know, journalist of the year two years running and they only got rid of me because I was too bloody good and they knew it.” He had certainly got the attention of both Tom and Charlie. Poor Charlie was feeling a little awkward. “I’m sorry Angus. I know you need to get your life back. I was just trying to help,” which is exactly what his remarks did not do at all. “I don’t need your bloody help Charlie. What have you had to suffer in your life eh? I know you’ve got money. I did 5 years as a bloody tea boy just to get my foot in the door. Then I had another 5 years chasing ambulances and
doing one paragraph obituaries. I made my break without any help from those bastards in Fleet Street. It was my idea to be a bit more resourceful and lubricate the wheels to get a story. I’ve stuck my neck out, paid off the odd copper and even taken an MP or two out on the town.” His outburst of indignation ended as quickly as it had begun. His shoulders were slumped, his head held low and he stared into his empty beer glass.

  Charlie stood up and walked out of the pub door. He was upset that he had misjudged Angus and also dismayed that he had been scalded for just trying to help. Tom ran out after him. “Charlie, don’t worry about Angus. He can’t help being…being what he is. What about the quiz? Anyway it’s your round.” Now it was Charlie’s turn to display a shade of righteous indignation, “Don’t patronise me Tom. I may be an old man but I have feelings too. Angus is a dangerous man and you need to watch your step with him.” Tom was puzzled, “If he is so bad why do you act as though he is a friend?” he asked. Charlie looked him straight in the eye, a piercing, analytical stare, “Was it Machiavelli or Sun-tzu who said, keep your friends close but your enemies closer?”

  Tom went back into the pub to see Angus returning from the bar with 3 fresh pints of beer and behaving as though nothing much had happened. “Oh, has he gone? Typical! Silly old sod.” Angus put the tray on the table and sat down on the carver chair with his back to the door. Tom sat down on the other side of the table, on the padded bench under the window. “I don’t think he meant to be funny. He seems quite harmless really.” “Harmless,” Angus was as quick as a flash, “that man can be very nasty when he puts his mind to it.” He gulped his beer. “And another thing,” he took another gulp, “he’s been up to mischief, sometime in his past, I know it. I can smell a story even now you know.” Tom was curious, “What do you mean Angus? What do you know about him?” Angus had finished his pint of beer and started the one that he had bought for Charlie. “Haven’t you noticed that he never talks about himself? No mention of a wife or children, no little snippets about what he did last week or was planning for the weekend.” There was a brief silence and then Angus added, “and I reckon he’s been inside and he’s living off money that he’s stashed away from his crimes.” Tom could see that Angus was losing his will to reform and was starting to slur his words. He concluded that there was probably nothing sinister about Charlie and that Angus had lost his “nose” for a story after years of drink. They gave up the quiz and Tom left Angus to his drinking and went back to the flat in Elm Park Gardens. The squabble between two older men was something he could do without. He had far more interesting things in his own life. “Larkhill here I come – and the sooner the better,” he thought.