The Doomsday Conspiracy

And that reminded him. He hoped that the photographer who had been at the crash site would remember to send the photograph he had promised. He would have it blown up and put next to the exhibit. That would be a neat touch. Showmanship. That’s what life was all about. Showmanship.

He could not wait to return to Hungary and start to fulfil his grandiose dream.

When he arrived home and unwrapped the handkerchief, he noticed that the hand had shrivelled. But when Bushfekete rinsed off the dirt, amazingly, it regained its original firmness.

Bushfekete had hidden the hand safely away and had ordered an impressive glass case with a special humidifier built for it. When he was through exhibiting it in his carnival, he planned to travel with it all over Europe. All over the world. He would set up exhibits in museums. He would have private showings for scientists, perhaps, even heads of state. And he would charge them all. There was no end to the fabulous fortune that lay ahead.

He had told no one about his good luck, not even his sweetheart, Marika, the sexy little dancer who worked with cobras and puff adders, two of the most dangerous of the species Ophidia. Of course, their poison sacs had been removed but the audience did not know that because Bushfekete also kept a cobra, its poison sac intact, which he displayed free of charge to the public, who watched it kill rats. It wasn’t surprising that people got a thrill out of watching the beautiful Marika let her pet snakes slither across her sensuous, half-naked body. Two or three nights a week, Marika came into Laslo Bushfekete’s tent and crawled across his body, her tongue flicking in and out, like her pets. They had made love the night before, and Bushfekete was still exhausted from Marika’s incredible gymnastics. His reminiscences were interrupted by a visitor.

“Mr Bushfekete?”

“You’re talking to him. What can I do for you?”

“I understand you were in Switzerland last week.”

Bushfekete was instantly wary. Had someone seen him pick up the hand? “What … what about it?”

“You went on a bus tour last Sunday?”

Bushfekete said cautiously, “Yes.”

Robert Bellamy relaxed. It was finally over. This was the last witness. He had taken on an impossible assignment and he had done a good job. A damned good job, if I say so myself. We have no idea where they are. And he had found them all. He felt as though a tremendous burden had been lifted from his shoulders. He was free now. Free to return home and begin a new life.

“What about my trip, mister?”

“It’s not important,” Robert Bellamy assured him. And it wasn’t, not any longer. “I was interested in your fellow passengers, Mr Bushfekete, but now I think I have all the information I need, so …”

“Oh, hell, I can tell you all about them,” Laslo Bushfekete said. “There was an Italian priest from Orvieto, Italy, a German – I think he was a chemistry professor from Munich – some Russian girl who worked in the library in Kiev, a rancher from Waco, Texas, a Canadian banker from the territories and some lobbyist named Parker from Washington, DC.”

My God, Robert thought. If I had gotten to him first, I could have saved a lot of time. The man is amazing. He recalled them all. “You have quite a memory,” Robert said.

“Yeah.” Bushfekete smiled. “Oh, and there was that other woman.”

“The Russian woman.”

“No, no, the other woman. The tall, thin one, who was dressed in white.”

Robert thought for a moment. None of the others had mentioned a second woman. “I think you must be mistaken.”

“No, I’m not.” Bushfekete was insistent. “There were two women there.”

Robert made a mental count. It simply did not add up. “There couldn’t have been.”

Bushfekete was insulted. “When that photographer fellow took the pictures of all of us in front of that UFO, she was standing right next to me. She was a real beauty.” He paused. “The funny part is I don’t recall seeing her on the bus. She was probably in the back somewhere. I remember she seemed kind of pale. I was a little worried about her.”

Robert frowned. “When all of you returned to the bus, was she with you?”

“Come to think of it, I don’t remember seeing her after that. But I was so excited by that UFO thing, I wasn’t paying much attention.”

There was something here that did not fit. Could there have been eleven witnesses instead of ten? I’ll have to check that out, Robert thought. “Thank you, Mr Bushfekete,” he said.

“My pleasure.”

“Good luck.”

Bushfekete grinned. “Thanks.” He didn’t need luck. Not any more. Not with the hand of a real genuine alien in his possession.

That night Robert Bellamy made his final report to General Hil-liard. “I have his name. It’s Laslo Bushfekete. He runs a carnival, outside of Sopron, Hungary.”

“That’s the last of the witnesses?”

Robert hesitated an instant. “Yes, sir.” He had started to mention the eighth passenger, but he decided to wait until he had verified it. It seemed too improbable.

“Thank you, Commander. Well done.”

FLASH MESSAGE

TOP SECRET ULTRA

NSA TO DEPUTY DIRECTOR HRQ

EYES ONLY

COPY ONE OF (ONE) COPIES

SUBJECT: OPERATION DOOMSDAY

10. LASLO BUSHFEKETE – SOPRON

END OF MESSAGE

They arrived in the middle of the night when the carnival was shut down. They left fifteen minutes later, as silently as they had come.

Laslo Bushfekete dreamed he was standing at the entrance to the large white tent, watching the huge crowd lined up at the box office to buy their 500-forint tickets.