The Doomsday Conspiracy
“Olga Romanchanko.”
“The poor girl. And she was so young …”
“I’m calling to check on Father Patrini.”
“The poor soul passed away in his sleep.”
“I have to speak to Kevin Parker.”
“Kevin was murdered …”
Dead. Every one of the witnesses dead. And he was the one who had found them and identified them. Why had he not known what was going on? Because the bastards had waited until he was out of each country before executing their victims. The only one he had reported to was General Milliard. We must not involve anyone else in this mission … I want you to report your progress to me every day.
They had used him to finger the witnesses. What was behind all this? Otto Schmidt had been killed in Germany, Hans Beckerman and Fritz Mandel in Switzerland. Olga Romanchanko in Russia, Dan Wayne and Kevin Parker in America, William Mann in Canada, Leslie Mothershed in England, Father Patrini in Italy, and Laslo Bushfekete in Hungary. That meant that the security agencies in more than half a dozen countries were engaged in the biggest cover-up in history. Someone at a very high level had decided that all the witnesses to the UFO crash must die. But who? And why? It was an international conspiracy and he was in the middle of it.
Priority: get under cover. It was hard for Robert to believe that they intended to kill him, too. He was one of them. But until he knew for certain, he could not take any chances. The first thing he had to do was to get a phony passport. That meant Ricco in Rome.
Robert caught the next plane out and found himself fighting to stay awake. He had not realized how exhausted he was. The pressure of the last fifteen days, in addition to all the jet lag, had left him drained.
He landed at the Leonardo da Vinci airport, and when he walked into the terminal, the first person he saw was Susan. He stopped, in shock. Her back was to him and for a moment he thought he might be mistaken. And then he heard her voice.
“Thank you. I have a car picking me up.”
Robert moved to her side. “Susan …”
She turned, startled. “Robert! What … what a coincidence! But what a lovely surprise.”
“I thought you were in Gibraltar,” Robert said.
She smiled uneasily. “Yes. We’re on our way there. Monte had some business here to take care of first. We’re leaving tonight. What are you doing in Rome?”
Running for my life. “I’m finishing up on a job.” It’s my last. I’ve quit, darling. We can be together from now on, and nothing will ever separate us again. Leave Monte and come back to me. But he could not bring himself to say the words. He had done enough to her. She was happy in her new life. Leave it alone, Robert thought.
She was watching him. “You look tired.”
He smiled. “I’ve been running around a little.”
They looked into each other’s eyes, and the magic was still there. The burning desire, and the memories, and the laughter, and the yearning.
Susan took his hand in hers and said softly, “Robert. Oh, Robert. I wish we …”
“Susan …”
And at that moment, a burly man in a chauffeur’s uniform walked up to Susan. “The car is ready, Mrs Banks.” And the spell was broken.
“Thank you.” She turned to Robert. “I’m sorry. I have to go now. Please take care of yourself.”
“Sure.” He watched her leave. There were so many things he wanted to say to her. Life has a lousy sense of timing. It had been wonderful seeing Susan again but what was it that was troubling him? Of course! Coincidence. Another coincidence.
He took a taxi to the Hassler Hotel.
“Welcome back, Commander.”
“Thank you.”
“I’ll have a bellman take up your bags.”
“Wait.” Robert looked at his watch. Ten p.m. He was tempted to go upstairs and get some sleep, but he had to arrange his passport first.
“I won’t be going to my room right away,” Robert said. “I would appreciate it if you would have my bags sent up.”
“Of course, Commander.”
As Robert turned to leave, the elevator door opened and half a dozen Shriner fraternity men came pouring out, laughing and chattering. They had obviously had a few drinks. One of them, a stout, red-faced man, waved to Robert.
“Hi there, buddy … having a good time?”
“Wonderful,” Robert said. “Just wonderful.”
Robert walked through the lobby to the taxi stand outside. As he started to get into the taxi, he noticed an inconspicuous grey Opel parked across the street. It was too inconspicuous. It stood out among the large, luxurious automobiles around it.
“Via Monte Grappa,” Robert told the taxi driver. During the drive, Robert looked out of the rear window. No grey Opel. I’m getting jumpy, he thought. When they arrived at Via Monte Grappa, Robert got out at the corner. As he started to pay the driver, he saw, out of the corner of his eye, the grey Opel half a block down the street, yet he could have sworn it had not followed him. He started walking, moving away from the car, strolling slowly, stopping to look in shop windows. In the reflection of a store window, he saw the Opel, moving slowly behind him. When Robert reached the next corner, he noticed that it was a one-way street. He turned into it, going against the heavy traffic. The Opel hesitated at the corner, then sped away to pick Robert up at the other end. Robert reversed direction and walked back to Via Monte Grappa. The Opel was nowhere in sight. Robert hailed a taxi. “Via Monticelli.”
The building was old and unprepossessing, a relic of better days. Robert had visited it many times before, on various missions. He walked down three basement steps and knocked on the door. An eye appeared at the peephole, and a moment later the door was flung open.