Sidney Sheldon - The Doomsday Conspiracy

It only took a few minutes for the deadly, fast-acting poison to work. The nun sighed as she made the sign of the cross over the dead man. She left as silently as she had come in.

FLASH MESSAGE

TOP SECRET ULTRA

SIFAR TO DEPUTY DIRECTOR NSA

EYES ONLY

COPY ONE OF (ONE) COPIES

SUBJECT: OPERATION DOOMSDAY

5. FATHER PATRINI – ORVIETO –

TERMINATED

END OF MESSAGE

Frank Johnson was recruited because he had been a Green Beret in Vietnam and was known among his comrades as “the killing machine”. He loved to kill. He was motivated, and highly intelligent.

“He’s perfect for us,” Janus said. “Approach him carefully. I don’t want to lose him.”

The first meeting took place in an Army barracks. A Captain was talking to Frank Johnson.

“Don’t you worry about our government?” the Captain asked. “It’s being run by a bunch of bleeding hearts who are giving the store away. This country needs nuclear power, but the damned politicians are stopping us from building new plants. We depend on the damn Arabs for oil, but will the government let us do our own off-shore drilling? Oh, no. They’re more worried about the fish than they are about us. Does that make sense to you?”

“I see your point,” Frank Johnson said.

“I knew you would, because you’re intelligent.” He was watching Johnson’s face as he spoke. “If Congress won’t do anything to save our country, then it’s up to some of us to do something.”

Frank Johnson looked puzzled. “Some of us?”

“Yeah.” Enough for now, the Captain thought. “We’ll talk about it later.”

The next conversation was more specific. “There’s a group of patriots, Frank, who are interested in protecting our world. They’re pretty high-powered gentlemen. They’ve formed a committee. The committee may have to bend a few laws to get its work done, but in the end, it will be worth it. Are you interested?”

Frank Johnson grinned. “I’m very interested.”

That was the beginning. The next meeting took place in Ottawa, Canada, and Frank Johnson met some of the members of the committee. They represented powerful interests from a dozen countries.

“We’re well organized,” a member explained to Frank Johnson. “We have a strict chain of command. There’s a Propaganda Division, Recruiting, Tactics, Liaison … and a Death Squad.” He went on: “Almost every intelligence organization in the world is part of this.”

“You mean the heads of …?”

“No, not the heads. The deputies. The hands-on people who know what’s going on, who know what danger our countries are in.”

The meetings took place all over the world – Switzerland, Morocco, China – and Johnson attended all of them.

It was six months before Colonel Johnson met Janus. Janus had sent for him.

“I’ve been given excellent reports about you, Colonel.”

Frank Johnson grinned. “I enjoy my work.”

“So I’ve heard. You’re in an advantageous position to help us.”

Frank Johnson sat up straighter. “I’ll do anything I can.”

“Good. At the Farm, you’re in charge of supervising the training of secret agents in the various services.”

“That’s right.”

“And you get to know them and their capabilities.”

“Intimately.”

“What I would like you to do,” Janus said, “is to recruit those who you feel would be most helpful to our organization. We’re interested only in the best.”

“That’s easy,” Colonel Johnson said. “No problem.” He hesitated a moment. “I wonder …”

“Yes?”

“I can do that with my left hand. I’d really like to do something more, something bigger.” He leaned forward. “I’ve heard about Operation Doomsday. Doomsday is right up my alley. I’d like to be a part of that, sir.”

Janus sat there, studying him a moment. Then he nodded. “Very well, you’re in.”

Johnson smiled. “Thank you. You won’t be sorry.” Colonel Frank Johnson left the meeting a very happy man. Now he would have a chance to show them what he could do.

Day Eight

Waco, Texas

Dan Wayne was not having a good day. As a matter of fact, he was having a dreadful day. He had just returned from the Waco county courthouse where he was facing bankruptcy proceedings. His wife, who had been having an affair with her young doctor, was divorcing him, intent on getting half of everything he had (which could be half of nothing, he had assured her lawyer). And one of his prize bulls had to be destroyed. Dan Wayne felt that fate was kicking him in the balls. He had done nothing to deserve all this. He had been a good husband and a good rancher. He sat in his study contemplating the gloomy future.

Dan Wayne was a proud man. He was well aware of all the jokes about Texans being loud-mouthed, larger-than-life braggarts, but he honestly felt he had something to brag about. He had been born in Waco, in the rich agricultural region of the Brazos River Valley. Waco was modern, but it still retained a flavour of the past, when the five Cs had been its support: cattle, cotton, corn, collegians and culture. Wayne loved Waco with all his heart and soul, and when he had met the Italian priest on the Swiss tour bus, he had spent almost five hours going on about his home town. The priest had told him he wanted to practise his English, but actually, as he thought back on it, Dan had done almost all the talking.

“Waco has everything,” he had confided to the priest. “Our climate’s great. We don’t allow it to get too hot or too cold. We have twenty-three schools in the school district, and Baylor University. We have four newspapers, ten radio stations and five television stations. We have a Texas Ranger Hall of Fame that will knock you out. I mean, we’re talking history. If you like fishing, Father, Brazos River is an experience you’ll never forget. Then, we have a safari ranch and a big art centre. I tell you, Waco is one of the unique cities of the world. You must come and pay us a visit.”

And the little old priest had smiled and nodded, and Wayne wondered how much English he really understood.

Dan Wayne’s father had left him a thousand acres of ranch land, and the son had built up his cattle herd from two thousand to ten thousand. There was also a prize stallion that was going to be worth a fortune. And now, the bastards were trying to take it all away from him. It wasn’t his fault that the cattle market had gone to hell, or that he had gotten behind with his mortgage payments. The banks were closing in for the kill, and his only chance to save himself was to find someone who would buy the ranch, pay off his creditors, and leave him with a little profit.

Wayne had heard about a rich Swiss who was looking for a ranch in Texas, and he had flown over to Zurich to meet him. In the end, it had turned out to be a wild goose chase. The dude’s idea of a ranch was an acre or two with a nice little vegetable garden. She-eet!

That was how Dan Wayne had happened to be on the tour bus when that extraordinary thing occurred. He had read about flying saucers, but he had never believed in them. Now, by God, he certainly did. As soon as he returned home, he had called the editor of the local newspaper.

“Johnny, I just saw an honest-to-God flying saucer with some dead, funny-looking people in it.”

“Yeah? Did you get any pictures, Dan?”

“No. I took some, but they didn’t come out.”

“Never mind. We’ll send a photographer out there. Is it on your ranch?”

“Well, no. As a matter of fact, it was in Switzerland.”

There was a silence.

“Oh. Well, if you happen to come across one on your ranch, Dan, give me another call.”