The Doomsday Conspiracy (24 page)

Like his fellow passengers, Bushfekete had seen the explosion and raced across the field to try to help any survivors in what they all thought was a plane crash. But the sight that had confronted him was incredible. There was no question but that it was a flying saucer, and in it were two strange-looking little bodies. The other passengers stood there gaping at it. Laslo Bushfekete had walked around to see what the back of the UFO looked like, and then he had stopped, staring. About ten feet in back of the wreck, lying on the ground out of sight of the other tourists, was a tiny severed hand with six fingers and two opposing thumbs. Without even thinking, Bushfekete had taken out his handkerchief, scooped up the hand, and slipped it into his carryall. His heart was beating wildly. He had in his possession the hand of a genuine extraterrestrial! From now on you can forget all your fat ladies, tattooed men, sword swallowers and flame eaters, he thought.

"Step right up, ladies and gentlemen, for the thrill of a lifetime. What you're about to see is a sat that no mortal has ever seen before. You are looking at one of the most incredible objects in the universe. It's not an animal. It's not a vegetable. It's not a mineral. What is it? It's part of the remains of an extraterrestrial... a creature from outer space. ... This is not science fiction, ladies and gentlemen, this is the real thing.... For five hundred forints, you can have your photograph taken with the..." And that reminded him. He hoped that the photographer who had been at the crash site would remember to send the photograph he had promised. He would have it blown up and put next to Page 145

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the exhibit. That would be a neat touch. Showmanship. That's what life is all about. Showmanship.

He could not wait to return to Hungary and start to fulfill his grandiose dream.

When he arrived home and unwrapped the handkerchief, he noticed that the hand had shriveled. But when Bushfekete rinsed off the dirt, amazingly, it regained its original firmness.

Bushfekete had hidden the hand safely away and had ordered an impressive glass case with a special humidifier built for it. When he was through exhibiting it in his carnival, he planned to travel with it all over Europe. All over the world. He would set up exhibits in museums. He would have private showings for scientists; perhaps, even for heads of state. And he would charge them all. There was no end to the fabulous fortune that lay ahead. He had told no one about his good luck, not even his sweetheart, Marika, the sexy little dancer who worked with cobras and puff adders, two of the most dangerous ophidians. Of course, their poison sacs had been removed, but the audience did not know that because Bushfekete also kept a cobra with its poison sac intact. He displayed the snake free of charge to the public, which watched it kill rats. It wasn't surprising that people got a thrill out of watching the beautiful Marika let her pet snakes slither across her sensuous, half-naked body. Two or three nights a week, Marika came into Laslo Bushfekete's tent and crawled across his body, her tongue flicking in and out like her pets. They had made love the night before, and Bushfekete was still exhausted from Marika's incredible gymnastics. His reminiscences were interrupted by a visitor.

"Mr. Bushfekete?"

"You're talking to him. What can I do for you?"

"I understand you were in Switzerland last week." Bushfekete was instantly wary. Did someone see me pick up the hand? "What-what about it?"

"You went on a bus tour last Sunday?"

Bushfekete said cautiously, "Yes."

Robert Bellamy relaxed. It was finally over. This was the last witness. He had taken on an impossible assignment, and he had done a good job. A damned good job, if I say so myself "IIehave no idea where they are. Or who they are." And he had found them all. He felt as if a tremendous burden had been lifted from his shoulders. He was free now. Free to return home and to begin a new life.

"What about my trip, mister?"

"It's not important," Robert Bellamy assured him. And it wasn't, not any longer.

"I was interested in your fellow passengers, Mr. Bushfekete, but now I think I have all the information I need, so-"

"Oh, hell, I can tell you all about them," Laslo Bushfekete said.

"There was an Italian priest from Orvieto, Italy; a German-I think he was a chemistry professor from Munich; some Russian girl who worked in the library in Kiev; a rancher from Waco, Texas; a Canadlan banker from Page 146

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the Territories; and some lobbyist named Parker from Washington, D.C." My God, Robert thought. If I had gotten ~ him first, I could have saved a lot of time. The man is amazing. He recalled them all.

"You have quite a memory," Robert said.

"Yeah." Bushfekete smiled.

"Oh, and there was that other woman."

"The Russian woman."

"No, no, the other woman. The tall, thin one who was dressed in white." Robert thought for a moment. None of the others had mentioned a second woman.

"I think you must be mistaken."

"No, I'm not." Bushfekete was insistent.

"There were two women there." Robert made a mental count. It simply did not add up.

"There couldn't have been."

Bushfekete was insulted.

"When that photographer fellow took the pictures of all of us in front of that UFO, she was standing right next to me. She was a real beauty." He paused.

"The funny part is I don't recall seeing her on the bus. She was probably in the back somewhere.

I remember she seemed kind of pale. I was a little worried about her." Robert frowned.

"When all of you returned to the bus, was she with you?"

"Come to think of it, I don't remember seeing her after that. But I was so excited by that UFO thing, I wasn't paying much attention." There was something here that did not fit. Could there have been eleven witnesses instead of ten? I'll have to check that out, Robert thought.

"Thank you, Mr. Bushfekete," he said.

"My pleasure."

"Good luck."

Bushfekete grinned.

"Thanks." He didn't need luck.

Not anymore. Not with the hand of a real genuine alien in his possession.

That night Robert Bellamy made his final report to General Hilliard. Page 147

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"I have his name. It's Laslo Bushfekete. He runs a carnival outside of Sopron, Hungary."

"That's the last of the witnesses?"

Robert hesitated an instant.

"Yes, sir." He had started to mention the eighth passenger, but he decided to wait until he had verified it. It seemed too improbable.

"Thank you, Commander. Well done."

FLASH MESSAGE TOP SECRET ULTRA

NSA TO DEPUTY DIRECTOR HRQ

EYES ONLY

COPY ONE OF (ONE) COPIES

SUBJECT: OPERATION DOOMSDAY

10. LASLO BUSHFEKETE-SOPRON

END OF MESSAGE

They arrived in the middle of the night, when the carnival was shut down. They left fifteen minutes later, as silently as they had come. Laslo Bushfekete dreamed he was standing at the entrance to the large white tent, watching the huge crowd lined up at the box office to buy their five-hundred-forint tickets.

"Come right this way, folks. See the genuine body part of an alien from outer space. Not a drawing, not a photograph, but an actual part of an actual ET. Only five hundred forints for the thrill of a lifetime, a sight you will never forget."

And then he was in bed with Marika, and they were both naked, and he could feel her nipples pressing against his chest and her tongue slithering across his body and she was crawling all over him, and he got an erection, and he reached for her and his hands closed over something cold and slimy, and he woke up and opened his eyes and screamed, and that was when the cobra struck.

They found his body in the morning. The cage for the poisonous snake was empty.

FLASH MESSAGE TOP SECRET ULTRA

HRQ TO DEPUTY DIRECTOR NSA

EYES ONLY

COPY ONE OF (ONE) COPIES

SUBJECT: OPERATION DOOMSDAY

10. LASLO BUSHFEKETE-SOPRON-TERMINATED

END OF MESSAGE

General Hilliard made a call on the red phone.

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"Janus, I've received the final report from Commander Bellamy. He's found the last of the witnesses. They've all been taken care of."

"Excellent. I'll inform the others. I want you to proceed at once with the rest of our plan."

"Immediately."

FLASH MESSAGE TOP SECRET ULTRA

NSA TO DEPUTY DIRECTORS: SIFAR, M16, GRU, CIA, COMSEC, DCI, CGHQ, BFV

EYES ONLY

COPY ONE OF (ONE) COPIES

SUBJECT: OPERATION DOOMSDAY

11. COMMANDER ROBERT BELLAMY-TERMINATE

END OF MESSAGE

Day Fifteen

Robert Bellamy was in a dilemma. Could there be an eleventh witness?

And if there was, why didn't any of the others mention her before? The clerk who sold the bus tickets had told him there were only seven passengers. Robert was convinced that the Hungarian carnival owner had made a mistake. It would have been easy to ignore it, to assume that it was untrue, but Robert's training would not permit it. He had been too well disciplined. Bushfekete's story had to be checked out. How? Robert thought about it. Hans Beckerman. The bus driver will know.

He placed a call to Sunshine Tours. The office was closed. There was no listing in Kappel for a Hans Beckerman.

I'm going to have to go back to Switzerland and settle this, Robert thought. I can't leave any loose ends. It was late at night when Robert arrived in Zurich.

The air was cold and crisp, and there was a full moon. Robert rented a car and took the now-familiar drive to the little village of Kappel. He drove past the church and pulled up in front of Hans Beckerman's home, convinced that he was on a wild-goose chase. The house was dark. Robert knocked on the door and waited. He knocked again, shivering in the cold night air.

Mrs. Beckerman finally answered the door. She was wearing a faded flannel robe.

"Bitte?"

"Mrs. Beckerman, I wonder if you remember me? I'm the reporter who's writing an article on Hans. I'm sorry to bother you so late, but it's important that I speak to your husband."

His words were greeted with silence.

"Mrs. Beckerman?"

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"Hans is dead." Robert felt a small shock go through him.

"What?"

"My husband is dead."

"I-I'm sorry. How?"

"His car went over the side of the mountain." Her voice was filled with bitterness.

"The Dummkopf Polizei said it was because he was full of drugs."

"Drugs?"

"Ulcers. The doctors cannot even give me drugs to relieve the pain. I am allergic to all of them."

"The police said it was an accident?"

"Ja."

"Did they perform an autopsy?"

"They did, and they found drugs. It makes no sense." He had no answer.

"I'm terribly sorry, Mrs. Beckerman. I-" The door closed, and Robert stood there alone in the cold night. One witness was gone. N~two. Leslie Mothershed had died in a fire. Robert stood thinking for a long time. Two witnesses dead. He could hear the voice of his instructor at the Farm: "There's one more thing I want to discuss today. Coincidence. In our work, there is no such animal. It usually spells danger. If you keep running into the same person again and again, or you keep spotting the same automobile when you're on the move, cover your ass. You're probably in trouble."

"Probably in trouble." Robert was caught up in a series of conflicting emotions. What had happened had to be coincidence, and yet ... I've got to check out the mystery passenger.

His first call was to Fort Smith, Canada. A distraught woman's voice answered the telephone.

"Yes?"

"William Mann, please."

The voice said tearfully, "I'm sorry. My husband iris no longer with us."

"I don't understand."

"He committed suicide."

Suicide? That hardheaded banker? What the hell is going on?

Robert wondered. What he was thinking was inconceivable, and yet ... He began making one phone call after another.

"Professor Schmidt, please."

"Ach! The professor died in an explosion in his laboratory. ..." Page 150

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"I'd like to speak to Dan Wayne."

"Poor devil. His prize stallion li:icked him to death last. .

* * "Laslo Bushfekete, please."

"The carnival's closed. Laslo is dead...."

"Fritz Mandel, please."

"Fritz was killed in a freak accident...." The alarms were going full blast now.

"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 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 Hilliard.

"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 is behind all this?

Otto Schmidt had been killed in Gormany, Hans Beckerman and Fritz Mandel in Switzerland, Olga Romanchanko in Russia, Dan Wayne and Kevin Parker in America, William Mann in Canada, Leslie Mothershed 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's an international conspiracy, and I'm 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 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.