The Doomsday Box (13 page)

“Then why did you take the ring?”

“I don't know,” Danny said again. “He said we needed insurance in case Cobra wouldn't cooperate. I suppose I thought he was right.”

“Do you still think he was right?”

“No, but—”

“But what, Danny? This is a question of right and wrong. You can't just go around poisoning people—innocent people—whatever your justification.”

“He's hardly innocent,” Danny mumbled. “He's a germ warmonger.” He knew there was something wrong with his logic the minute he said it.

Fuchsia pointed it out: “He isn't now. He's a young man who hasn't had anything to do with germ warfare yet. You just said so yourself.”

“It's worse than that,” Danny said. “Cobra is Mr. Carradine's
father
.”

There was a long moment's silence as Fuchsia simply looked at him. Then she said, “This is crazy. It's probably not you, Danny; it's Mr. Carradine. But it's mad. You're not Lucrezia Borgia. You don't go around poisoning people just to save the world. Have you told the others about this?”

Danny shook his head. “No.”

“You'll have to tell them,” Fuchsia said. “This is something that affects us all. As soon as we land and get somewhere private, you must tell them.”

Danny said, “Listen, you can see the future. I was wondering if you could switch it on and have a look for me, see if Cobra believes what we tell him. Or . . .” He trailed off and put his hand up to his head as if to hide his face.

“Or if you
murder
him?” Fuchsia asked incredulously.

“Sort of,” Danny said wretchedly. “I can't. I know I can't. But I'd still like you to look. Just in case.”

“Just in case . . . ?” Fuchsia echoed. “You know I can't see the future all the time.” She was beginning to sound angry.

“Yes, I know, but I thought you could try—”

“I didn't mean that,” Fuchsia said. “Even when it works, the future's not always there for me to see.”

“But will you try?”

“Yes, I'll try, but if I see you poisoning him, we'll have to find some way to stop it.”

“Maybe seeing me poisoning him would mean we
could
stop it,” Danny said. He wasn't sure he believed that, but any argument that might encourage her to look was worth using.

Fuchsia closed her eyes for a minute, then jerked her head in that weird little tic she'd done the last time. After a moment she opened her eyes again. “Can't,” she said.

“What do you mean?” Danny asked.

“It won't switch on,” Fuchsia said. She closed her eyes and tried again, but it was obvious that nothing was happening.

“Why won't it switch on?” Danny demanded. His earlier fear had been replaced by a feeling of desperation.

“I don't know,” Fuchsia said. “Maybe it's because I'm upset that you're going around murdering people. Maybe—”

“I'm not going around murdering people! I've never murdered anybody in my life!”

“—it's because we're up in the air. Maybe it's because I've lost the ability. . . .”

“You can't have lost the ability!” Danny wailed so loudly that one of the flight attendants glanced suspiciously in his direction. “I need to know what's going to happen.”

Fuchsia sniffed. “Well, you'll just have to wait. I'll try again later. After we land.”

T
he American embassy on Ulitsa Chalkovskogo looked more like a renovated apartment building than a diplomatic residence. “I'm afraid our accommodation is a bit limited,” the young man who'd met them remarked apologetically as he opened the car door. “We've been in negotiation with the Soviets for years to try to get a better place, but so far no movement.” At the airport, he'd introduced himself as Harold Brooks Henderson, and now he smiled at Opal. “But Ambassador Thompson has left strict instructions that you're each to have your own quarters, so we'll do the best we can.”

“Will we meet him today?” Opal asked.

“Afraid not. He sends his apologies—tied up with a trade mission. But he's asked me to act as your liaison, so if there's anything you need, just ask for me. Now, I expect you're tired after your flight, so I'll find somebody who can show you to your rooms and bring in your bags from the car.” He walked across to have a word with the receptionist and came back with an envelope, which he handed to Opal. “This arrived for you from Washington in the diplomatic pouch.”

After Opal was shown to her room, she waited until her luggage was delivered, then locked the door and opened the envelope. She felt a thrill of excitement as she drew out the sheet of paper. The printing looked a little rough until she realized it hadn't been printed at all. There were no such things as personal computers in 1962, so Mr. Stratford must have used an actual typewriter. She sat down on the bed and began to read. The style was terse:

I have made contact with Cobra and arranged a meeting. He will liaise with you at St. Basil's Cathedral, 1100 hours April 15. He will be at the cathedral main entrance. The cathedral is a half-hour walk from the embassy. Use the Moscow map in your pack. Do not, repeat not, request a car or tell anyone at embassy of your destination or your meeting. Show this letter to no one. Do not approach target unless he is alone. Approach target with caution. Use code words
Kitay-gorod
to identify yourselves. (This is the name of a nearby subway station. If you approach wrong target it will appear that you are asking for directions.) Memorize Cobra's features from the enclosed picture, then destroy the picture and this document.

The note was unsigned, but there was only one person it could have come from. Opal tipped up the envelope and tapped it. Four identical passport-sized black-and-white photographs dropped onto the bed. The face staring up at her was heavily bearded and fleshy, with a broad, flattened nose that might once have been broken. As she reached to pick one of the photos up, there was a light knocking on her door.

Opal slipped the pictures and note back into their envelope and pushed it under her pillow, but when she opened the bedroom door, it was only Michael. On a sudden impulse, she slid her arms around his neck and kissed him. As she drew back, she noted with satisfaction the surprise and pleasure on his face.

“What was that for?”

Opal smiled lightly. “I suppose I'm happy to see you.”

Michael peered around her. “Are you alone?”

“Yes. Are you planning to kiss me back?” The letter from Mr. Stratford had made her almost giddy. They now had the information they needed to complete their mission, and for some reason she was convinced they
would
complete it. She simply could not imagine Cobra, Mr. Carradine's father, would choose to ignore what they had to tell him.

“Actually, there's something I want to talk to you about.”

Opal shrugged. “Me too. Come in.” They'd been together for a couple of months now, and she still wasn't sure where his head was at. He was old-world courtesy personified, polite to a fault, and had yet to make a move on her she hadn't instigated. She knew he liked her—a girl could always tell—so it had to be a cultural thing. Sometimes she found his attitude endearing. Sometimes it drove her mad. She thought this might be one of the latter times.

He was looking around awkwardly as she closed the door, probably wondering if it was all right to be in a girl's bedroom without a chaperone. To set him at ease, she sat down on the edge of the bed and pulled the envelope from under the pillow. “From Mr. Stratford,” she said. “He's come up trumps on Cobra.”

But Michael was looking more awkward than ever. “I wonder if you'd mind if we talked about something else first? I think the others may be coming, and I'd really like to get this out of the way while we have a bit of privacy.”

The expression on his face sobered her at once. “Yes, of course, Michael. What is it?”

He perched on the edge of a bedside chair, leaned forward earnestly, put his head in his hands. “Opal, there's something I have to tell you. I'm not sure how you're going to take this—”

There was a brisk knock on the door.

“Damn!” Michael swore.

“We'll talk later,” Opal said as she stood up. If it had been any other boyfriend, she might have worried she was about to be dumped. But Michael had a track record for peculiar worries that really amounted to nothing at all. Shortly after they'd first met, he'd started to worry about an engagement his tribal elders had arranged for him when he was only five years old.

It was Fuchsia, looking serious for once, followed by Danny, who seemed . . . chastened somehow.

“Oh good, you're here already, Michael,” Fuchsia said. “We all need to hear this. Tell them, Danny.”

Danny pushed the door shut behind him. “Look, Fuchsia, I'm still not sure this is something we should—”

“Mr. Carradine wants him to poison Cobra,” Fuchsia said.

Opal blinked. “He wants
what
?”

“That's not exactly what he said,” Danny protested. “In fact, it isn't what he said at all.”

“Murder him,” Fuchsia said. “Cyanide slipped into his drink. Like a really creepy hit man or something. Do you
believe
this?”

Danny held up both hands defensively. “Look, he was worried in case Cobra might not believe us. Might say he was going to send the samples no matter what. He just asked me to think about it.”

Opal frowned. “Think about what? Killing him?”

“Not exactly,” Danny said uneasily. “It was sort of . . . insurance. It was just a way of making sure.” He sat down heavily on the bed. “Anyway, I never said I would.”

She stared at him in disbelief. “You can't possibly poison somebody.”

“I know.”

Michael said, “Are you sure he was serious?”

Danny gave an exasperated sigh. “Of course he was serious. Mr. Carradine's not exactly a comedian.”

“He gave him a special ring,” Fuchsia said. “Show them the poison ring, Danny.”

Danny pulled the box from his pocket with the expression of a small boy producing a copy of
Playboy.
Michael and Opal pressed forward to get a better look as he flipped it open.

“Is it real?” Opal asked. “Where's the poison?”

“It's underneath the stone,” Danny said. “I don't want to open it.”

“You'll have to get rid of it,” Opal said firmly.

“How?” Danny asked. “You can't just drop a ring full of cyanide into the trash. The stuff smells of almonds and looks like salt. First kid who comes along might eat it.”

“And actually,” Michael said thoughtfully, “it might come in handy.”

Opal stared at him, appalled. “You're not saying we
should
poison Cobra? What's the
matter
with you boys?”

“I don't think we should poison Cobra,” Michael told her gently. “I'm as shocked as you are. But this is the Soviet Union at the height of the Cold War, and we don't know where we're going to meet up with Cobra. It could be somewhere dangerous, and a poison ring might be useful. As a protection.”

This was a side of Michael Opal had never seen before. “Protection?” she echoed angrily. “So we shouldn't poison Cobra, but it's all right if we poison somebody else?”

“I didn't say that. I didn't even
think
that. But having a secret store of poison could prove useful. In extreme circumstances. Just in case. My father is a doctor and he—”

Opal's anger ratcheted up a notch. “Actually we
do
know where we can meet up with Cobra—St. Basil's Cathedral. I had a note from Mr. Stratford; I was just about to tell you.” She glared at Michael. “I suppose you think we should poison a few Russians while they're praying in church?”

“Actually,” Danny said, “Michael might have a point. I mean, I'm not going to poison Cobra, no matter what. Or anybody else, ever. But if we
did
get into a tight spot, being tortured or something, poison might get us out of it.” He glanced at Michael for support. “The Nazis used cyanide to kill themselves when they were captured after the war. Mr. Carradine even mentioned that.”

“Kill ourselves?”
Opal gasped. She couldn't believe what she was hearing. Danny seemed to be living in a James Bond movie.

Fuchsia said suddenly, “Why don't we just flush the poison down the loo? You won't get kids eating it then.” She looked at Danny. “You can keep the ring as a souvenir.”

After a long moment, Danny said, “But suppose Michael's right about us being caught and tortured? If we don't have any—”