The Doomsday Conspiracy

She led him into a large private room filled with books and flowers and baskets of fruit, and said, “Monte, this is my husband, Robert.”

Robert stood there, staring at the man in the bed. He was three or four years older than Robert and resembled Paul Newman. Robert despised him on sight.

“I’m certainly pleased to meet you, Commander. Susan has been telling me all about you.”

Is that what they talked about when she was at his bedside in the middle of the night?

“She’s very proud of you.”

That’s it, buddy, throw me a few crumbs.

Susan was looking at Robert, willing him to be polite. He made an effort.

“I understand you’ll be getting out of here soon.”

“Yes, thanks mostly to your wife. She’s a miracle worker.”

Come on, sailor. Do you think I’m going to let some other nurse have that great body? “Yes, that’s her speciality.” Robert could not keep the bitterness out of his voice.

The birthday dinner was a fiasco. All Susan wanted to talk about was her patient.

“Did he remind you of anyone, darling?”

“Boris Karloff.”

“Why did you have to be so rude to him?”

He said coldly, “I thought I was very civil. I don’t happen to like the man.”

Susan stared at him. “You don’t even know him. What don’t you like about him?”

I don’t like the way he looks at you. I don’t like the way you look at him. I don’t like the way our marriage is going to hell. God, I don’t want to lose you. “Sorry. I guess I’m just tired.”

They finished their dinner in silence.

The next morning, as Robert was getting ready to go to the office, Susan said, “Robert, I have something to say to you …”

And it was as though he had been struck in the pit of his stomach. He could not bear to have her put what was happening into words.

“Susan …”

“You know I love you. I’ll always love you. You’re the dearest, most wonderful man I’ve ever known.”

“Please …”

“No, let me finish. This is very hard for me. In the last year we’ve only spent minutes together. We don’t have a marriage anymore. We’ve drifted apart.”

Every word was a knife stabbing into him.

“You’re right,” he said desperately. “I’ll change. I’ll quit the Agency. Now. Today. We’ll go away somewhere and …”

She shook her head. “No, Robert. We both know that wouldn’t work. You’re doing what you want to do. If you stopped doing it because of me you would always resent me. This isn’t anybody’s fault. It just … happened. I want a divorce.”

It was as though the world had caved in on him. He felt suddenly sick to his stomach.

“You don’t mean that, Susan, we’ll find a way to …”

“It’s too late. I’ve been thinking about this for a long time. All the while you were away and I sat home alone and waited for you to come back I thought about it. We’ve been living separate lives. I need more than that. I need something you can’t give me anymore.”

He stood there, fighting to control his emotions. “Does this … does this have anything to do with Moneybags?”

Susan hesitated. “Monte has asked me to marry him.”

He could feel his bowels turning to water. “And you’re going to?”

“Yes.”

It was some kind of crazy nightmare. This isn’t happening, he thought. It can’t be. His eyes filled with tears.

Susan put her arms around him and held him close. “I will never again feel about any man the way I felt about you. I loved you with all my heart and soul. I will always love you. You are my dearest friend.” She pulled back and looked into his eyes. “But that isn’t enough. Do you understand?”

All he understood was that she was tearing him apart. “We could try again. We’ll start over and …”

“I’m sorry, Robert.” Her voice was choked. “I’m so sorry, but it’s finished.”

Susan flew to Reno for a divorce, and Commander Robert Bellamy went on a two-week drunk.

Old habits die hard. Robert telephoned a friend at the FBI. Al Traynor had crossed Robert’s path half a dozen times in the past, and Robert trusted him.

“Tray, I need a favour.”

“A favour? You need a psychiatrist. How the hell could you let Susan get away?”

The news was probably all over town.

“It’s a long, sad story.”

“I’m really sorry, Robert. She was a great lady. I … never mind. What can I do for you?”

“I’d like you to run a computer check on someone.”

“You’ve got it. Give me a name.”

“Monte Banks. It’s just a routine inquiry.”

“Right. What do you want to know?”

“He’s probably not even in your files, Tray, but if he is … did he ever get a parking ticket, beat his dog, run a red light? The usual.”

“Sure.”

“And I’m curious about where he got his money. I’d like a fix on his background.”

“So, just routine, huh?”

“And, Tray, let’s keep this between us. It’s personal. Okay?”

“No problem. I’ll call you in the morning.”

“Thanks. I owe you a lunch.”

“Dinner.”

“You’ve got it.”

Robert replaced the receiver and thought, Portrait of a man clutching at straws. What am I hoping for, that he’s Jack the Ripper, and Susan will come flying back into my arms?