Sidney Sheldon - The Doomsday Conspiracy

“Drink this. It will relax you.”

“I … I never drink after dinner. My doctor …”

The other man put the gun to William Mann’s temple. “Drink it or the glass is going to be full of your brains.”

Mann understood now that he was in the hands of two maniacs. He took the glass in his shaking hand and took a sip.

“Drink it down.”

He took a larger swallow. “What … what is it you want?” He raised his voice, hoping that his wife might hear and come downstairs, but it was a vain hope. He knew what a sound sleeper she was. The men were obviously here to rob the house. Why don’t they just get on with it?

“Take anything,” he said. “I won’t stop you.”

“Finish up what’s in the glass.”

“This isn’t necessary. I …”

The man punched him hard above his ear. Mann gasped with pain. “Finish it.”

He swallowed the rest of the whisky in one gulp, and felt it burning as it went down. He was beginning to feel giddy. “My safe is upstairs in the bedroom,” he said. His words were beginning to slur. “I’ll open it for you.” Maybe that would wake his wife and she could call the police.

“There’s no hurry,” the man with the gun said. “You have plenty of time for another drink.”

The second man went back to the liquor cabinet and filled the glass to the brim again. “Here.”

“No, really,” William Mann protested. “I don’t want it.”

The glass was shoved into his hand. “Drink it down.”

“I really don’t …”

A fist slammed into the same spot above his ear. Mann almost fainted from the pain.

“Drink it.”

Well, if that’s what they want, why not? The quicker this nightmare is over with, the better. He took a big swallow and gagged.

“If I drink any more, I’m gonna be sick.”

The man said quietly, “If you get sick, I’ll kill you.”

Mann looked up at him and then at his partner. There seemed to be two of everybody.

“What do all of you want?” he mumbled.

“We told you, Mr Mann. We want you to repent.”

William Mann nodded drunkenly. “Okay, I repent.”

The man smiled. “You see, that’s all we ask. Now …” He put a piece of paper in Mann’s hand. “All you have to do is write, ‘I’m sorry. Forgive me.’”

William Mann looked up blearily. “Tha’s all?”

“That’s all. And then we’ll leave.”

He felt a sudden sense of elation. So that was what this was all about. They were religious fanatics. As soon as they left he would call the police and have them arrested. I’ll see to it that the bastards are hanged.

“Write, Mr Mann.”

It was difficult for him to focus. “What did you say you want me to write?”

“Just write, ‘I’m sorry. Forgive me.’”

“Right.” He had difficulty holding the pen. He concentrated very hard and began to write. I’m sorry. Forgive me.

The man took the paper from Mann’s hand, holding it by the edges. “That’s very good, Mr Mann. See how easy that was?”

The room was beginning to spin around. “Yeah. Thank you. I’ve repented. Now would you leave?”

“I see that you’re left-handed.”

“What?”

“You’re left-handed.”

“Yes.”

“There’s been a lot of crime around here lately, Mr Mann. We’re going to give you this gun to keep.”

He felt a gun being placed in his left hand.

“Do you know how to use a gun?”

“No.”

“It’s very simple. You use it like this …” The man lifted the gun to William Mann’s temple and squeezed Mann’s finger on the trigger. There was a muffled roar. The bloodstained note dropped to the floor.

“That’s all there is to it,” one of the men said. “Good night, Mr Mann.”

FLASH MESSAGE

TOP SECRET ULTRA

CGHQ TO DEPUTY DIRECTOR NSA

EYES ONLY

COPY ONE OF (ONE) COPIES

SUBJECT: OPERATION DOOMSDAY

7. WILLIAM MANN – FORT SMITH –

TERMINATED

END OF MESSAGE

Day Ten

Fort Smith, Canada

The following morning, the bank examiners reported a million dollars missing from Mann’s bank. The police listed Mann’s death as a suicide. The missing money was never found.

Day Eleven

Brussels, 0300 Hours

General Shipley, the Commandant at NATO Headquarters, was awakened by his adjutant.

“I’m sorry to wake you up, General, but we seem to have a situation on our hands.”

General Shipley sat up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He had had a late night entertaining a group of visiting senators from the United States. “What’s the problem, Billy?”

“I just received a call from the radar tower, sir. Either all our equipment has gone crazy or we’re having some strange visitors.”

General Shipley pushed himself out of bed. “I’ll be there in five minutes.”

The darkened radar room was filled with enlisted men and officers gathered around the lighted radar screens in the centre of the room. They turned and sprang to attention as the General entered.

“At ease.” He walked over to the officer in charge, Captain Muller. “What’s going on here, Lewis?”

Captain Muller scratched his head. “It beats me. Do you know any plane that can travel 22,000 miles per hour, stop on a dirne, and go into reverse?”

General Shipley was staring at him. “What are you talking about?”

“According to our radar screens, that’s what’s been going on for the last half hour. At first, we thought it might be some kind of electronic device that’s being tested, but we checked with the Russians, the British and the French, and they’re picking up the same thing on their radar screens.”

“So, it couldn’t be something in the equipment,” General Shipley said heavily.

“No, sir. Not unless you want to assume that all the radar in the world has suddenly gone crazy.”

“How many of these have appeared on the screen?”

“Over a dozen. They move so fast that it’s hard to even keep track of them. We pick them up and they disappear again. We’ve eliminated atmospheric conditions, meteors, fireballs, weather balloons, and any kind of flying machine known to man. I was going to scramble some planes, but these objects – whatever they are –are flying so damned high that we’d never be able to get near them.”

General Shipley walked over to one of the radar screens. “Is anything coming in on your screens now?”

“No, sir. They’re gone.” He hesitated a moment. “But, General, I have a terrible feeling they’ll be coming back.”

Ottawa, 0500 Hours

When Janus finished reading General Shipley’s report aloud, the Italian stood up and said, excitedly, “They are getting ready to invade us!”

“They have already invaded us.” The Frenchman.

“We are too late. It is a catastrophe.” The Russian. “There is no way …”

Janus interrupted. “Gentlemen, it is a catastrophe we can prevent.”

“How? You know their demands.” The Englishman.

“Their demands are out of the question.” The Brazilian. “It’s no business of theirs what we do with our trees. The so-called greenhouse effect is scientific garbage, totally unproven.”

“And what about us?” The German. “If they force us to clean up the air over our cities, we would have to shut down our factories. We would have no industries left.”

“And we would have to stop manufacturing cars,” the Japanese said. “And then where would the civilized world be?”

“We are all in the same position.” The Russian. “If we have to stop all pollution, as they insist, it would destroy the world’s economies. We must buy more time until Star Wars is ready to take them on.”