The Doomsday Conspiracy
Page 60
Come right this way, folks. See the genuine body part of an alien from outer space. Not a drawing, not a photograph, but an actual part of an actual ET. Only 500 forints for the thrill of a lifetime, a sight you will never forget.
And then he was in bed with Marika, and they were both naked, and he could feel her nipples pressing against his chest and her tongue slithering across his body and she was crawling all over him, and he got an erection, and he reached for her and his hands closed over something cold and slimy, and he woke up and opened his eyes and screamed, and that was when the cobra struck.
They found his body in the morning. The cage for the poisonous snake was empty.
FLASH MESSAGE
TOP SECRET ULTRA
HRQ TO DEPUTY DIRECTOR NSA
EYES ONLY
COPY ONE OF (ONE) COPIES
SUBJECT: OPERATION DOOMSDAY
10. LASLO BUSHFEKETE – SOPRON –
TERMINATED
END OF MESSAGE
General Milliard made a call on the red phone. “Janus, I’ve received the final report from Commander Bellamy. He’s found the last of the witnesses. They’ve all been taken care of.”
“Excellent. I’ll inform the others. I want you to proceed at once with the rest of our plan.”
“Immediately.”
FLASH MESSAGE
TOP SECRET ULTRA
NSA TO DEPUTY DIRECTORS:
SIFAR, MI6, GRU, CIA, COMSEC, DCI, CGHQ,BFV
EYES ONLY
COPY ONE OF (ONE) COPIES
SUBJECT: OPERATION DOOMSDAY
11. COMMANDER ROBERT BELLAMY –
TERMINATE
END OF MESSAGE
Book Two
The Hunted
Chapter Thirty-Five
Day Fifteen
Robert Bellamy was in a dilemma. Could there have been an eleventh witness? And if there was, why hadn’t any of the witnesses mentioned her before? The clerk who sold the bus tickets had told him there were only seven passengers. Robert was convinced that the Hungarian carnival owner had made a mistake. It would have been easy to ignore it, to assume that it was untrue, but Robert’s training would not permit it. He had been too well disciplined. Bushfekete’s story had to be checked out. How? Robert thought about it. Hans Beckerman. The bus driver will know.
He placed a call to Sunshine Tours. The office was closed. There was no listing in Kappel for a Hans Beckerman. I’m going to have to go back to Switzerland and settle this, Robert thought. I can’t leave any loose ends.
It was late at night when Robert arrived in Zurich. The air was cold and crisp and there was a full moon. Robert rented a car and took the now familiar drive to the little village of Kappel. He drove past the church and pulled up in front of Hans Beckerman’s home, convinced that he was on a wild goose chase. The house was dark. Robert knocked on the door and waited. He knocked again, shivering in the cold night air.
Mrs Beckerman finally answered the door. She was wearing a faded flannel robe. “Bitte?”
“Mrs Beckerman, I wonder if you remember me? I’m the reporter who’s writing an article on Hans. I’m sorry to bother you so late, but it’s important that I speak to your husband.”
His words were greeted with silence. “Mrs Beckerman?”
“Hans is dead.”
Robert felt a small shock go through him. “What?”
“My husband is dead.”
“I … I’m sorry. How?”
“His car went over the side of the mountain.” Her voice was filled with bitterness. “The Dummkopf Polizei said it was because he was full of drugs.”
“Drugs?” I’m sorry I cannot offer you a drink. Ulcers. The doctors cannot even give me drugs to relieve the pain. lam allergic to all of them.
“The police said it was an accident?”
“Ja.”
“Did they perform an autopsy?”
“They did, and they found drugs. It makes no sense.”
He had no answer. “I’m terribly sorry, Mrs Beckerman. I …”
The door closed, and Robert stood there, alone in the cold night.
One witness was gone. No … two. Leslie Mothershed had died in afire. Robert stood there for a long time. Two witnesses dead. He could hear the voice of his instructor at the Farm: There’s one more thing I want to discuss today. Coincidence. In our work, there is no such animal. It usually spells danger. If you keep running into the same person again and again, or if you keep spotting the same automobile when you’re on the move, cover your ass. You’re probably in trouble.
Probably in trouble. Robert was caught up in a series of conflicting emotions. What had happened had to be coincidences, and yet … I’ve got to check out the mystery passenger.
His first call was to Fort Smith, Canada. A distraught woman’s voice answered the telephone. “Yes?”
“William Mann, please.”
The voice said, tearfully, “I’m sorry. My husband is … is no longer with us.”
“I don’t understand.”
“He committed suicide.”
Suicide? That hard-headed banker? What the hell is going on? Robert wondered. What he was thinking was inconceivable, and yet … He began making one phone call after another.
“Professor Schmidt, please.”
“Ach! The professor died in an explosion in his laboratory …”
“I’d like to speak to Dan Wayne.”
“Poor devil. His prize stallion kicked him to death last …”
“Laslo Bushfekete, please.”
“The carnival’s closed. Laslo is dead …”
“Fritz Mandel, please.”
“Fritz was killed in a freak accident …”
The alarms were going full blast now.