One small step could ruin mankind’s greatest leap…

Route 41, South-West Iceland

13 November 2003, 18:43 hours GMT

The doomed four-by-four plumed thick fountains of spray into the darkness as it crawled along the narrow highway to Keflavík International Airport, its bright beams illuminating a hypnotic kaleidoscope of churning rain. The sight made Sally Moltex nauseous. She tried the side window, but it was mirror black, reflecting the Jeep’s night-lit interior back at her. She closed her eyes, willing the vehicle to move faster as a thrill of excitement surged through her at the memory of what they’d seen that afternoon. Almost immediately, it was replaced by a prickle of fear. Everything screamed hoax: one second, they’d been stood inside the Department of Geothermal Studies, the next, they were in Ethan Rae’s London Town house. They’d gone outside onto a busy Camden Town street thick with traffic. Alone. Ethan had insisted on that. They’d walked to the tube station. Bought a newspaper. Again, Ethan had been insistent. They’d asked someone where they were. And a second person. The third had shouted abuse at Sally; accused her of being an ignorant Yank. Of not knowing that she was in London. James had eventually intervened in his charming British way, calmed the man down, and they’d returned to Ethan’s office. Twenty minutes later, they were back in Reykjavík. Heads spinning at what they’d seen. Hearts beating with what Ethan had given them. ‘Do you think LEAP’s fake?’ she asked her companion. James Reagan didn’t reply straight away. Without taking his eyes off the road, he attempted another call to his producer at News 24/7 in London. Nothing. He was going to miss tomorrow’s deadline if he didn’t get through soon. Seven million Saturday viewers was no disaster, but it was well below his Friday average. ‘Nah,’ he said. ‘Ethan wouldn’t risk it. What would he gain by misleading us?’ ‘That’s what I can’t work out,’ Sally said, tracing her fingers along the cold glass of the passenger window, trying to keep pace with the streaming water. ‘How do you fake what we just saw?’ James said. ‘Besides which, it will do him way more damage if he’s lying.’ Sally wasn’t so sure. She liked James. Had known him for twenty years, but he anchored a light entertainment show for a channel that needed content. Lots of content. She, on the other hand, unearthed stories. Real stories that took months to fact check before she allowed them to be broadcast. If they got this wrong, James could blame Ethan, an eccentric billionaire. She would be finished. ‘I need more time,’ Sally said. ‘Ethan is launching in ten days. With or without us.’ ‘You’d broadcast on the strength of what he just showed us?’ ‘As of midday tomorrow,’ he said. ‘That’s if we can take off to—’ He never finished his sentence. A loud crack from the rear of the Jeep veered it savagely left. James tried to counter by wrenching the steering hard right, but the small charge had done its job. The Jeep flipped, bleeding fuel from its shattered underbelly as it slithered off Route 41 and onto the lava below. The dead rock punctured the thin roof, ripping through plastic, metal and cables which sparked into life. Fumes met fire and a blinding explosion boiled into the sheeting rain, as long forgotten lava flows glowed red in approval.