The Doomsday Conspiracy

Robert walked along the Rue St Honore. He had walked this street with Susan. She had stopped in front of a shop window and posed like a mannequin. Would you like to see me in that dress, Robert? No, I’d prefer to see you out of it. And they had visited the Louvre, and Susan had stood transfixed in front of the Mona Lisa, her eyes brimming with tears …

Robert headed for Le Matin. Half a block from the newspaper office, he stopped a teenager on the street.

“Would you like to make fifty francs?”

The boy looked at him suspiciously. “Doing what?”

Robert scribbled something on a piece of paper and handed it to the boy with a fifty-franc note.

“Just take this into Le Matin to the Want Ads desk.”

“Bon, d’accord.”

Robert watched the boy go into the building. The ad would get in in time to make next morning’s edition. It read: “Tilly. Dad very ill, needs you. Please meet with him soon. Mother.”

There was nothing to do now but wait. He dared not check into a hotel because they would all have been alerted. Paris was a ticking time bomb.

Robert boarded a crowded tour bus and sat at the back, keeping a low, silent profile. The tour group visited the Luxembourg Gardens, the Louvre, Napoleon’s Tomb in Les Invalides, and a dozen other monuments. And always, Robert managed to lose himself in the middle of the crowd.

He bought a ticket for the midnight show at the Moulin Rouge as part of another tour group. The show started at two a.m. When it was over, he filled in the rest of the night moving around Montmartre, going from small bar to small bar.

Day Twenty-Two

Paris, France

The morning papers would not be out on the streets until five a.m. A few minutes before five, Robert was standing near a newspaper stand, waiting. A red truck drove up and a boy threw a bundle of papers onto the pavement. Robert picked up the first one. He turned to the Want Ads. His ad was there. Again there was nothing to do but wait. At noon, Robert wandered into a small tobacconist shop, where dozens of personal messages were tacked to a board. There were help-wanted ads … advertisements for apartments to let … students seeking roommates … bicycles for sale … In the middle of the board, Robert found the message he was looking for. “Tilly eager to see you. Call her at 50 41 26 45.”

Li Po answered on the first ring. “Robert?”

“Zao, Li.”

“My God, man, what is happening?”

“I was hoping you could tell me.”

“My friend, you’re getting more attention than the President of France. The cables are burning up about you. What have you done? No, don’t tell me. Whatever it is, you’re in serious trouble. They’ve tapped the phone at the Chinese Embassy, my phone at home is tapped, and they’re watching my flat. They’ve been asking me a lot of questions about you.”

“Li, do you have any idea what this is all …?”

“Not over the phone. Do you remember where Sung’s apartment is?”

Li’s girlfriend. “Yes.”

“I’ll meet you there in half an hour.”

“Thanks.” Robert was keenly aware of what jeopardy Li Po was putting himself in. He remembered what had happened to Al Tray-nor, his friend at the FBI. I’m a fucking Jonah. Everyone I come near dies.

The apartment was on Rue Benouville in a quiet arrondissement of Paris. When Robert reached the building, the sky was heavy with rain clouds, and he could hear the distant rumble of thunder. He walked into the lobby and rang the doorbell of the apartment. Li Po opened the door at once.

“Come inside,” he said. “Quickly.” He closed the door behind Robert and locked it. Li Po had not changed since the last time Robert had seen him. He was tall and thin, and ageless.

The two men clasped hands.

“Li, do you know what the hell is going on?”

“Sit down, Robert.”

Robert sat.

Li studied him for a moment. “Have you ever heard of Operation Doomsday?”

Robert frowned. “No. Does it have anything to do with UFOs?”

“It has everything to do with UFOs. The world is facing disaster, Robert.”

Li Po began to pace. “Aliens are coming to earth to destroy us. Three years ago they landed here and met with government officials to demand that all the industrial powers close down their nuclear plants and stop burning fossil fuel.”

Robert was listening, puzzled.

“They demanded a stop to the manufacturing of petroleum, chemicals, rubber, plastics … That would mean the closing down of thousands of factories all over the world. Automobile and steel plants would be forced to shut down. The world economy would be a shambles.”

“Why should they …?”

“They claim we’re polluting the universe, destroying the earth and the seas … they want us to stop making weapons, to stop waging war.”

“Li …”

“A group of powerful men from a dozen countries got together – top industrialists from the United States, Japan, Russia, China … A man with the code name of Janus organized intelligence agencies around the world to form Operation Doomsday, to stop the aliens.” He turned to Robert. “You’ve heard of SDI?”

“Star Wars. The satellite system to shoot down Soviet intercontinental ballistic missiles.”

Li shook his head. “No. That was a cover. SDI was not created to fight the Russians. It is being designed for the specific purpose of knocking down UFOs. It’s the only chance there is of stopping them.”

Robert sat there in stunned silence, trying to absorb what Li Po was saying, while the rumble of thunder grew louder. “You mean, the governments are behind …?”