Sidney Sheldon - The Doomsday Conspiracy

He rented a car at the Bern airport and headed for the University. He turned off Rathausgasse, the main street of Bern, and drove to Langgass-Strasse, where the University of Bern was located. The University is composed of several buildings, the main one a large four-storey stone building with two wings, and large stone gargoyles adorning the roof. At each end of the courtyard in front of the building are glass skylights over classrooms, and at the rear of the University is a large park overlooking the Aare River.

Robert walked up the front steps of the Administration Building and entered the reception hall. The only information Beckerman had given him was that the passenger was German, and that he was preparing his lecture for Monday.

A student directed him to the Office of the Administration. The woman seated behind the desk was a formidable figure. She had on a severely tailored suit, black-framed spectacles, and she wore her hair in a bun. She looked up as Robert entered her office.

“Bitte?”

Robert pulled out an identification card. “Interpol. I’m conducting an investigation, and I would appreciate your cooperation, Miss …”

“Frau. Frau Schreiber. What kind of investigation?”

“I’m looking for a professor.”

She frowned. “His name?”

“I don’t know.”

“You do not know his name?”

“No. He’s a visiting professor. He gave a lecture here a few days ago. Montag.”

“Many visiting professors come here every day to give lectures. What is his discipline?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“What does he teach?” Her tone was growing impatient. “What subject did he lecture on?”

“I don’t know.”

She let her exasperation show. “Tut mir leid. I can’t help you. And I am too busy for frivolous questions like this …” She started to turn away.

“Oh, it’s not frivolous,” Robert assured her. “Es ist sehr dring-end.” He leaned forward and said, in a low voice, “I’m going to have to take you into my confidence. The professor we’re looking for is involved in a prostitution ring.”

Frau Schreiber’s mouth made a small “o” of surprise.

“Interpol has been on his trail for months. The current information we have on him is that he is German and that he gave a lecture here on the fifteenth of this month.” He straightened up. “If you don’t want to help, we can conduct an official investigation of the University. Of course, the publicity …”

“Nein, nein!” she said. “The University must not be involved in anything like this.” She looked worried. “You say he lectured here on – what day?”

“The fifteenth. Monday.”

Frau Schreiber rose and walked over to a filing cabinet. She pulled it open and scanned some papers. She extracted several sheets from a folder. “Here we are. There were three guest professors who gave lectures here on the fifteenth.”

“The man I want is German.”

“These are all German,” Frau Schreiber said stiffly. She shuffled the papers in her hand. “One of the lectures was on economics, one on chemistry and one on psychology.”

“May I see those?”

Reluctantly, she handed the reports to Robert.

He studied the sheets. Each one had a name written down with a home address and a telephone number.

“I can make a copy of these for you, if you wish.”

“No, thank you.” He had already memorized the names and numbers. “None of these is the man I’m looking for.”

Frau Schreiber gave a sigh of relief. “Well, thank God for that. Prostitution! We would never be involved in such a thing.”

“I’m sorry I troubled you for nothing.” Robert left and headed for a telephone booth in town.

The first telephone call was to Berlin. “Professor Streubel?”

“Ja.”

“This is the Sunshine Tours Bus Company. You left a pair of glasses on our bus last Sunday when you were touring with us in Switzerland and …”

“I do not know what you are speaking about.” He sounded annoyed.

“You were in Switzerland on the fourteenth, were you not, Professor?”

“No. On the fifteenth. To give a lecture at the University of Bern.”

“And you did not take our bus tour?”

“I have no time for such foolishness. I’m a busy man.” And the professor hung up.

The second call was to Hamburg. “Professor Heinrich?”

“This is Professor Heinrich.”

“This is the Sunshine Tours Bus Company. You were in Switzerland on the fourteenth of this month?”

“Why do you wish to know?”

“Because we found a briefcase of yours on one of our buses, Professor, and …”

“You have the wrong person. I have been on no tour buses.”

“You did not take a tour of ours to the Jungfrau?”

“I just told you, no.”

“I’m sorry to have bothered you.”

The third call was to Munich. “Professor Otto Schmidt?”

“Yes.”

“Professor Schmidt, this is the Sunshine Tours Bus Company. We have a pair of your glasses that you left on our bus a few days ago, and …”

“There must be some mistake.”

Robert’s heart sank. He had struck out. There was nowhere left to go.

The voice went on. “I have my glasses here. I have not lost them.”

Robert’s spirits soared. “Are you sure, Professor? You were on the Jungfrau trip on the fourteenth, were you not?”

“Yes, yes, but I told you, I have not lost anything.”

“Thank you very much, Professor.” Robert replaced the receiver. Jackpot!

Robert dialled another number and within two minutes he was speaking with General Hilliard.

“I have two things to report,” Robert said. “The witness in London I told you about?”

“Yes?”

“He died in a fire last night.”

“Really? Too bad.”

“Yes, sir. But I believe I’ve located another witness. I’ll let you know as soon as I check him out.”

“I’ll wait to hear from you, Commander.”

General Hilliard was reporting to Janus.

“Commander Bellamy has located another witness.”

“Good. The group is getting restless. Everyone is worried that this story will surface before SDI is operational.”

“I’ll have more information for you soon.”

“I don’t want information, I want results.”

“Yes, Janus.”

Plattenstrasse, in Munich, is a quiet residential street with drab brownstone buildings huddled together as though for protection. Number five was identical to its neighbours. Inside the vestibule was a row of mailboxes. A small card below one of them read “Professor Otto Schmidt”. Robert rang the bell.

The apartment door was opened by a tall, thin man with an untidy mop of white hair. He was wearing a tattered sweater and smoking a pipe. Robert wondered whether he had created the image of an archetypical college professor, or whether the image had created him.

“Professor Schmidt?”

“Yes?”

“I wonder if I might talk to you a moment. I’m with …”

“We have already talked,” Professor Schmidt said. “You are the man who telephoned me this morning. I am an expert at recognizing voices. Come in.”

“Thank you.” Robert entered the living room. The walls were crowded from floor to ceiling with bookcases filled with hundreds of volumes. Books were stacked everywhere; on tables, on the floor, on chairs. The sparse furniture in the room seemed to be an afterthought.

“You’re not with any Swiss tour bus company, are you?”

“Well, I …”

“You are American.”

“Yes.”

“And this visit has nothing to do with my lost glasses that were not lost.”

“Well … no, sir.”

“You are interested in the UFO I saw. It was a very upsetting experience. I always believed they might exist, but I never thought I would see one.”