Unstrapping his harness, Ben shouted back, “You didn’t give me much choice.” Ignoring Müller’s offered hand, he jumped down onto the grass. Roger stepped out behind him, turning to collect their bags.
“Sorry for rushing you in like this, but we need your help,” Dr. Müller explained, leading Ben away from the helicopter, pointing toward a set of blue glass doors in the side of the ESOC building.
The whine of the engines ratcheted back up several decibels. “With what?” Ben asked, leaning into Müller’s ear.
Behind them the helicopter roared, and Ben glanced back to see it leap into the sky, kicking up a new cloud of dust and dirt. Loaded down with their bags, Roger followed. One of the guards in black ballistic vests opened the door ahead of them, and Müller let Ben enter first.
“With media,” Dr. Müller said as they walked inside. “While you’ve been traveling, a lot has happened. This idiot Dr. Menzinger of the Swiss Institute has been on all the news networks ranting about Armageddon. Chaos erupted in some cities.” He held out a hand and stopped Ben. “You’re as close to a celebrity astronomer as we have.”
Five years ago, Ben did a series of hugely popular PBS specials that were syndicated internationally. Off to one side of the entranceway, beside a set of escalators fronted by security guards and x-ray scanners, Ben saw a mob of cameras and microphones. “I’m not going to lie to them,” he replied in a hushed voice.
“Not lie, of course not.” Müller held him in place and leaned close. “But we don’t know what’s happening, do we? Just tell them that.”
Ben grabbed Müller’s arm and pulled him close. “But we might have known. Does this have anything to do with that research paper?” He didn’t need to say which one.
Müller stared at Ben, his face blank. “We don’t even know if that had anything to do with this. But it is one of the reasons I got you in early.”
Ben looked at the reporters and cameramen. By the way they pointed and swiveled their cameras around, some of them already recognized him. “I’d prefer to stay off the record, if that’s all right.”
Müller looked Ben in the eye. “There are riots in LA and Sao Paulo. Don’t lie, just tell a calmer version of the truth.”
Roger dropped their bags onto the polished marble floor behind Müller and Ben. “Where to, boss?”
Ben looked at his watch. Jessica and Celeste should be landing at JFK in under two hours. Back in Rome, the security guards chaperoning Ben and Roger had taken away their laptops and cell phones, said that they’d get them back on the other end. “I want my cell phone back, and outside network access for emails. And Roger and I need a flight to JFK, tomorrow night at the latest. I need to get to my family.”
“Done.” Dr. Müller nodded. “Just talk to the media, and I’ll have your cell phones returned and get you set up on the ESOC network. And I’ll book you on flights to the US tomorrow, on the condition that we finish looking at all of your data before you leave.”
Ben looked back at Roger, who shrugged. Ben didn’t want to get involved like this, but then he needed to get to Celeste and Jessica. “Okay, but I’m not lying to anyone. I’m going to tell the truth.”
“Good.” Dr. Müller removed his hand from Ben. “A calming truth, yes?” Without waiting for a reply, he turned to the media. “Ladies and gentlemen, I am pleased to introduce Dr. Ben Rollins, a key part of our team and head of the Harvard-Smithsonian Center for Astrophysics.”
Ben gritted his teeth. He wasn’t head of the Center for Astrophysics, just the exoplanet department, but he let it slide and followed Dr. Müller toward the pack of media.
“Dr. Rollins,” asked a woman at the front row, holding a microphone out. Her cameraman swung around to focus on Ben. “Is it true that a planet-swallowing black hole is heading for Earth?”
“We don’t know what…” Ben started but then caught Dr. Müller frowning at him from the corner of his eye. Ben coughed. “Excuse me. No, we don’t know that; in fact, so far we know very little…”
“That was a good show, Bernie.” Roger smiled and nudged Ben in the ribs with his elbow. “You still got it, old man.”
“Thanks.” Ben rolled his eyes. They still didn’t have their cell phones or laptops back. Security protocols, Müller had apologized, but they’d have them soon. Ben wasn’t so sure.
Ben and Roger crowded onto a platform at the back of a voluminous room with six large screens hanging across the twenty-foot-high wall at the opposite end. Three semi-circular rows of workstations lined the lower level of the room, each piled with flat-screen displays and keyboards and telephones amid a tangle of wiring. The spaceflight operations command center smelled of coffee and sweat and crackled with hushed tension.
“We’re on,” said a woman in the front row of workstations. The wall-screens blinked to life.