The Doomsday Conspiracy

“Buon giorno,” she said. “You do not snore.”

Robert looked at his watch. Nine o’clock. He had wasted precious hours.

“Do you want to make love now? You have already paid for it.”

“That’s all right,” Robert said.

Pier walked over to the bed, naked and provocative. “Are you sure?”

I couldn’t if I wanted to, lady. “I’m sure.”

“Va bene.” She began to dress. She asked casually, “Who is Susan?”

The question caught him off guard. “Susan? What made you ask?”

“You talk in your sleep.”

He remembered his dream. Susan had come back to him. Maybe it was a sign. “She’s a friend.” She’s my wife. She’s going to get tired of Moneybags and return to me some day. If I’m still alive, that is.

Robert walked over to the window. He lifted the curtain and looked out. The street was crowded now with pedestrians and merchants opening up their shops. There were no signs of danger.

It was time to put his plan into motion. He turned to the girl. “Pier, how would you like to go on a little trip with me?”

She looked at him with suspicion. “A trip … where?”

“I have to go to Venice on business, and I hate travelling alone. Do you like Venice?”

“Yes …”

“Good. I’ll pay you for your time, and we’ll have a little holiday together.” He was staring out of the window again. “I know a lovely hotel there. The Cipriani.” Years ago, he and Susan had stayed at the Royal Danieli, but he had been back since, and it had become sadly run-down, and the beds were impossible. The only thing that remained of the hotel’s former elegance was Luciano, at the reception desk.

“It will cost you a thousand dollars a day.” She was ready to settle for five hundred.

“It’s a deal.” Robert said. He counted out two thousand dollars. “We’ll start with this.”

Pier hesitated. She had a premonition that something was wrong. But the start of the movie she had been promised a bit part in had been delayed, and she needed the money. “Very well,” she said.

“Let’s go.”

Downstairs, Pier watched him scan the street carefully before stepping out to hail a taxi. He’s a target for somebody, Pier thought. I’m getting out of here.

“Look,” Pier said, “I’m not sure I should go to Venice with you. I …”

“We’re going to have a great time,” Robert told her.

Directly across the street he saw a jewellery store. He took Pier’s hand. “Come on. I’m going to get you something pretty.”

“But …”

He led her across the street to the jewellery store.

The clerk behind the counter said, “Buon giorno, signore. Can I help you?”

“Yes,” Robert said. “We’re looking for something lovely for the lady.” He turned to Pier. “Do you like emeralds?”

“I … yes.”

Robert said to the clerk, “Do you have an emerald bracelet?”

“Si, signore. I have a beautiful emerald bracelet.” He walked over to a case and took out a bracelet. “This is our finest. It is fifteen thousand dollars.”

Robert looked at Pier. “Do you like it?”

She was speechless. She nodded.

“We’ll take it,” Robert said. He handed the clerk his ONI credit card.

“One moment, please.” The clerk disappeared into the back room. When he returned, he said, “Shall I wrap it for you, or …?”

“No. My friend will wear it.” Robert put the bracelet on Pier’s wrist. She was staring at it, stunned.

Robert said, “That will look pretty in Venice, won’t it?”

Pier smiled up at him. “Very.”

When they were out on the street, Pier said, “I … I don’t know how to thank you.”

“I just want you to have a good time,” Robert told her. “Do you have a car?”

“No. I used to have an old one, but it was stolen.”

“Do you still have your driver’s licence?”

She was watching him, puzzled. “Yes, but without a car, what good is a driver’s licence?”

“You’ll see. Let’s get out of here.”

He hailed a taxi. “Via Po, please.”

She sat in the taxi, studying him. Why was he so anxious for her company? He had not even touched her. Could he be …?

“Qui!” Robert called to the driver. They were a hundred yards away from Maggiore’s Car Rental Agency.

“We’re getting out here,” Robert told Pier. He paid the driver and waited until the taxi was out of sight. He handed Pier a large bundle of bank notes. “I want you to rent a car for us. Ask for a Fiat or an Alfa Romeo. Tell them we’ll want it for four or five days. This money will cover the deposit. Rent it in your name. I’ll wait for you in the bar across the street.”

Less than eight blocks away, two detectives were questioning the hapless driver of a red truck with French licence plates.

“Vous me faites chier. I have no idea how the fuck that card got in the back of my truck,” the driver screamed. “Some crazy Italian probably put it in there.”

The two detectives looked at each other. One of them said, “I’ll phone it in.”

Francesco Cesar sat at his desk, thinking about the latest development. Earlier, the assignment had seemed so simple. “You won’t have any trouble finding him. When the time comes, we will activate the homing device, and it will lead you right to him.” Someone had obviously underestimated Commander Bellamy.