The Doomsday Conspiracy
“There’s no hurry,” the man with the gun said. “You have plenty of time for another drink.”
The second man went back to the liquor cabinet and filled the glass to the brim again. “Here.”
“No, really,” William Mann protested. “I don’t want it.”
The glass was shoved into his hand. “Drink it down.”
“I really don’t …”
A fist slammed into the same spot above his ear. Mann almost fainted from the pain.
“Drink it.”
Well, if that’s what they want, why not? The quicker this nightmare is over with, the better. He took a big swallow and gagged.
“If I drink any more, I’m gonna be sick.”
The man said quietly, “If you get sick, I’ll kill you.”
Mann looked up at him and then at his partner. There seemed to be two of everybody.
“What do all of you want?” he mumbled.
“We told you, Mr Mann. We want you to repent.”
William Mann nodded drunkenly. “Okay, I repent.”
The man smiled. “You see, that’s all we ask. Now …” He put a piece of paper in Mann’s hand. “All you have to do is write, ‘I’m sorry. Forgive me.’”
William Mann looked up blearily. “Tha’s all?”
“That’s all. And then we’ll leave.”
He felt a sudden sense of elation. So that was what this was all about. They were religious fanatics. As soon as they left he would call the police and have them arrested. I’ll see to it that the bastards are hanged.
“Write, Mr Mann.”
It was difficult for him to focus. “What did you say you want me to write?”
“Just write, ‘I’m sorry. Forgive me.’”
“Right.” He had difficulty holding the pen. He concentrated very hard and began to write. I’m sorry. Forgive me.
The man took the paper from Mann’s hand, holding it by the edges. “That’s very good, Mr Mann. See how easy that was?”
The room was beginning to spin around. “Yeah. Thank you. I’ve repented. Now would you leave?”
“I see that you’re left-handed.”
“What?”
“You’re left-handed.”
“Yes.”
“There’s been a lot of crime around here lately, Mr Mann. We’re going to give you this gun to keep.”
He felt a gun being placed in his left hand.
“Do you know how to use a gun?”
“No.”
“It’s very simple. You use it like this …” The man lifted the gun to William Mann’s temple and squeezed Mann’s finger on the trigger. There was a muffled roar. The bloodstained note dropped to the floor.
“That’s all there is to it,” one of the men said. “Good night, Mr Mann.”
FLASH MESSAGE
TOP SECRET ULTRA
CGHQ TO DEPUTY DIRECTOR NSA
EYES ONLY
COPY ONE OF (ONE) COPIES
SUBJECT: OPERATION DOOMSDAY
7. WILLIAM MANN – FORT SMITH –
TERMINATED
END OF MESSAGE
Day Ten
Fort Smith, Canada
The following morning, the bank examiners reported a million dollars missing from Mann’s bank. The police listed Mann’s death as a suicide. The missing money was never found.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Day Eleven
Brussels, 0300 Hours
General Shipley, the Commandant at NATO Headquarters, was awakened by his adjutant.
“I’m sorry to wake you up, General, but we seem to have a situation on our hands.”
General Shipley sat up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He had had a late night entertaining a group of visiting senators from the United States. “What’s the problem, Billy?”
“I just received a call from the radar tower, sir. Either all our equipment has gone crazy or we’re having some strange visitors.”
General Shipley pushed himself out of bed. “I’ll be there in five minutes.”
The darkened radar room was filled with enlisted men and officers gathered around the lighted radar screens in the centre of the room. They turned and sprang to attention as the General entered.
“At ease.” He walked over to the officer in charge, Captain Muller. “What’s going on here, Lewis?”
Captain Muller scratched his head. “It beats me. Do you know any plane that can travel 22,000 miles per hour, stop on a dirne, and go into reverse?”
General Shipley was staring at him. “What are you talking about?”
“According to our radar screens, that’s what’s been going on for the last half hour. At first, we thought it might be some kind of electronic device that’s being tested, but we checked with the Russians, the British and the French, and they’re picking up the same thing on their radar screens.”
“So, it couldn’t be something in the equipment,” General Shipley said heavily.
“No, sir. Not unless you want to assume that all the radar in the world has suddenly gone crazy.”
“How many of these have appeared on the screen?”
“Over a dozen. They move so fast that it’s hard to even keep track of them. We pick them up and they disappear again. We’ve eliminated atmospheric conditions, meteors, fireballs, weather balloons, and any kind of flying machine known to man. I was going to scramble some planes, but these objects – whatever they are –are flying so damned high that we’d never be able to get near them.”
General Shipley walked over to one of the radar screens. “Is anything coming in on your screens now?”