The Doomsday Conspiracy

“Jesus Christ. That’s ridiculous!”

“Is it? Why?”

“Because an hour later they’d be hungry for more information.”

“For God’s sake, Robert, this is nothing to joke about.”

“Tell me about it, Francesco. I’ve just sent ten innocent people to their deaths. I’m scheduled to be number eleven.”

“Where are you?”

“I’m in Rome. I can’t seem to get out of your fucking city.”

“Cacatura?” There was a thoughtful silence. “What can I do to help?”

“Get me to a safe house where we can talk, and I can figure out how to get away. Can you arrange that?”

“Yes, but you must be careful. Very careful. I will pick you up myself.”

Robert breathed a deep sigh of relief. “Thanks, Francesco. I really appreciate it.”

“As you Americans say, you owe me one. Where are you?”

“The Lido bar in Trastevere.”

“Wait right there. I’ll see you in exactly one hour.”

“Thanks, amico.” Robert replaced the receiver. It was going to be a long hour.

Thirty minutes later, two unmarked cars coasted to a stop ten yards from the Lido bar. There were four men in each car and they were all carrying automatic weapons.

Colonel Cesar got out of the first car. “Let’s do this quickly. We don’t want anyone else to get hurt. Andaente al dietro, subito.”

Half the men silently went around to cover the back of the building.

Robert Bellamy watched from the rooftop of the building across the street as Cesar and his men raised their weapons and charged into the bar.

All right, you bastards, Robert thought grimly, we’ll play it your way.

Chapter Thirty-Six

Day Sixteen

Rome, Italy

Robert placed a call to Colonel Cesar from a phone booth in the Piazza del Duomo. “Whatever happened to friendship?” Robert asked.

“Don’t be naive, my friend. I’m under orders, just as you are. I can assure you, there is no use in your running. You’re at the head of every intelligence agency’s most wanted list. Half the governments of the world are looking for you.”

“Do you believe I’m a traitor?”

Cesar sighed. “It doesn’t matter what I believe, Robert. This is nothing personal. I have my orders.”

“To take me out.”

“You can make it easier by turning yourself in.”

“Thanks, paesano. If I need more advice, I’ll call Dear Abby.” He slammed down the receiver.

Robert was aware that the longer he was at large, the greater the danger he was in. There would be security agents closing in on him from half a dozen countries.

There has to be a tree, Robert thought. The line came from a legend about a hunter who was relating an experience he had on safari. “This huge lion was racing toward me, and all my gun bearers had fled. I had no gun, and there was nowhere to hide. Not a bush or a tree in sight. And the beast was charging straight at me, coming closer and closer.” “How did you escape?” a listener asked. “I ran over to the nearest tree and climbed it.” “But you said there were no trees.” “You don’t understand. There has to be a tree!” And I have to find it, Robert thought.

He looked around the piazza. It was almost deserted at this hour. He decided it was time to have a talk with the man who had started him on this nightmare, General Hilliard. But he would have to be careful. Modern electronic phone tracing was almost instantaneous. Robert observed that the two telephone booths next to the one he was in were both empty. Perfect. Ignoring the private number General Hilliard had given him, he dialled the switchboard of NSA. When an operator answered, Robert said, “General Milliard’s office, please.”

A moment later, he heard a secretary’s voice. “General Hilliard’s office.”

Robert said, “Please hold for an overseas call.” He dropped the receiver and hurried into the next booth. He quickly redialled the number. A different secretary answered, “General Hilliard’s office.”

“Please hold for an overseas call,” Robert said. He let the receiver hang and walked into the third booth, and dialled. When another secretary answered, Robert said, “This is Commander Bellamy. J want to speak to General Hilliard.”

There was a gasp of surprise. “Just a moment, Commander.” The secretary buzzed the intercom. “General, Commander Bellamy is on line three.”

General Hilliard turned to Harrison Keller. “Bellamy is on line three. Start a trace, fast.”

Harrison Keller hurried over to a telephone on a side table, and dialled the Network Operations Centre, manned and monitored twenty-four hours a day. The senior officer on duty answered. “NOC. Adams.”

“How long will it take to do an emergency trace on an incoming call?” Keller whispered.

“Between one and two minutes.”

“Start it. General Hilliard’s office, line three. I’ll hang on.” He looked over at the General and nodded.

General Hilliard picked up the telephone.

“Commander … is that you?”

In the Operations Centre, Adams punched a number into a computer. “Here we go,” he said.

“I thought it was time you and I had a talk, General.”

“I’m glad you called, Commander. Why don’t you come in and we can discuss the situation? I’ll arrange a plane for you, and you can be here in …”

“No thanks. Too many accidents happen in airplanes, General.”