The Key

The dark of night cloaks the earth in deepest midnight blue. A million stars peer down--pinpricks of light scattered across heaven. Here and there the hunter, the bears, the assorted heroes and villains of old. As the waning moon sets beyond the western hills, a glimmering spark cascades brightly across the night sky. Somewhere in England, the falling star is watched. "You see that, Adam? A meteorite. A piece of debris crossing through our outer atmosphere, burning away from the friction. People make wishes on them." "Sorry?" "Wishes. Haven't you ever wanted something that you think you'll never have?" "Er . . . well, sure. But what's that got to do with where you're taking us?" ". . . Wishes . . . . Ever wished to have loads of money, Adam? Ever wanted to win the lottery, or know exactly who's going to win the World Cup before anyone's even kicked a ball?" "Yeah, who hasn't?" "Well, what would you say if I told you I found a way to do it?" "Er . . . just what are you on about, Mike?" "I'll explain more when we get to the workshop. Just think about it." This is Michael Weston; a Cambridge scholar, engineering and astrophysics, working in research and development for a Japanese automobile and robotics firm in Peterborough. His long-time neighbour, Adam Ridgeley, always thought of him as a bit of an eccentric--a guy who drinks cocktails instead of pints and doesn't support Manchester United. Michael always carries a large, silver-coloured briefcase. A low mist spirals quickly away as their car pulls into the gate at Tagotech. The window slides down to the sound of an electric motor, echoing loudly in the still night. A hand reaches out. The card in it, reflecting off the streetlight, flashes the Tagotech Industries logo with a picture of Michael Weston underneath. Michael pushes it into the slot in a box by the gate and taps in his code. As the gates click open the card ejects into Michael's hand, and he drives on. "I've never been here before, Mike. Are you sure I'm allowed to be here?" "Yes, I have clearance for myself and one visitor. You're perfectly fine as long as you're with me. Besides, practically no one but the security staff is here at this time of night." The car slides into a parking space outside a small building adjacent to the main one. As the men exit the vehicle, Michael removes his briefcase from the back, and they walk to the doors. Again, a box is fed Michael's card, and the door opens. "Bob, how are you doing tonight?" "Just fine Mr. Weston. Could I get you to sign in your visitor please?" Adam stands fidgeting at the security desk as Michael fills out the log. "No cameras, video recorders, or other recording equipment beyond this point," a sign on the wall firmly demands. A few more details, a signature, a visitor's card attached to Adam's jacket and, finally, through the security checkpoint. Michael leads Adam down the maze of corridors. Infrared motion detectors shine little red and green lights as they pass. An occasional security camera sways back and forth incessantly. Arriving at an unmarked door, Michael places his card into a slot in a wall panel. Adam nervously eyes the big steel door. "Good Lord, Mike! This place is wrapped up like Fort Knox! What have you got in there--a million gold bars?" Michael pauses entering his code and looks intently at Adam.