Sidney Sheldon - The Doomsday Conspiracy

Parker stood there, furious. He was tempted to interfere, but he could not afford to get involved in anything that might turn into a scandal. He stayed where he was, watching the boy disappear into the night.

The second man smiled at Kevin Parker sympathetically.

“You should choose your company more carefully. He’s bad news.”

Parker took a closer look at the speaker. He was blond and attractive, with almost perfect features. Parker had a feeling that the evening might not be a total loss, after all. “You could be right,” he said.

“We never know what fate has in store for us, do we?” He was looking into Parker’s eyes.

“No, we don’t. My name’s Tom. What’s your name?”

“Paul.”

“Why don’t you let me buy you a drink, Paul?”

“Thank you.”

“Do you have any special plans for tonight?”

“That’s up to you.”

“How would you like to spend the night with me?”

“That sounds like fun.”

“How much money are we talking about?”

“I like you. For you, two hundred.”

“That seems reasonable.”

“It is. You won’t be sorry.”

Thirty minutes later Paul was leading Kevin Parker into an old apartment building on Jefferson Street. They walked upstairs to the third floor, and entered a small room. Parker looked around. “It’s not much, is it? A hotel would have been nicer.”

Paul grinned. “It’s more private here. Besides, all we need is the bed.”

“You’re right. Why don’t you get undressed? I want to see what I’m buying.”

“Sure.” Paul started stripping. He had a great body.

Parker watched him and he felt the old familiar urge beginning to build.

“Now, you get undressed,” Paul whispered. “Hurry, I want you.”

“I want you, too, Mary.” Parker began to take off his clothes.

“What do you like?” Paul asked. “Lips or hips?”

“Let’s make it a cocktail. Excuse the pun. We’ve got all night.”

“Sure. I’m going into the bathroom,” Paul said. “I’ll be right back.”

Parker lay on the bed naked, anticipating the exquisite pleasures that were about to happen. He heard his companion come out of the bathroom and approach the bed.

He held out his arms. “Come to me, Paul,” he said.

“I’m coming.”

And Parker felt a burst of agony as a knife slashed into his chest. His eyes flew open. He looked up, gasping. “My God, what …?”

Paul was getting dressed. “Don’t worry about the money,” he said. “It’s on the house.”

FLASH MESSAGE

TOP SECRET ULTRA

CIA TO DEPUTY DIRECTOR NSA

EYES ONLY

COPY ONE OF (ONE) COPIES

SUBJECT: OPERATION DOOMSDAY

9. KEVIN PARKER – WASHINGTON, DC –

TERMINATED

END OF MESSAGE

Robert Bellamy missed the late news bulletin because he was on a plane to Hungary to find a man who owned a carnival.

Day Fourteen

Budapest

The flight from Paris to Budapest on Malev Airlines took two hours and five minutes. Robert knew very little about Hungary except that during World War II it had been a partner in the Axis, and had later become a Russian satellite. Robert took the airport bus to the centre of Budapest, impressed by what he saw. The buildings were old and the architecture classic. The Parliament House on the Rudolph Quay was a huge, Neo-gothic structure that dominated the city, and high on Castle Hill above the city was the Royal Palace. The streets were crowded with automobiles and shoppers.

The bus stopped in front of the Hotel Duna Intercontinental. Robert walked into the lobby and approached the concierge.

“Excuse me,” Robert said. “Do you speak English?”

“Igan. Yes. What may I do for you?”

“A friend of mine was in Budapest a few days ago, and he told me he saw a wonderful carnival. I thought as long as I was in town, I might take a look at it. Can you tell me where I might find it?”

The concierge frowned. “Carnival?” He pulled out a sheet of paper and scanned it. “Let’s see. In Budapest at the present time, we have an opera, several theatre productions, ballet, night and day tours of the city, excursions in the country …” He looked up. “I’m sorry. There are no carnivals.”

“Are you sure?”

The concierge handed the list to Robert. “See for yourself.” It was written in Hungarian.

Robert handed it back. “Right. Is there anyone else I might talk to about this?”

The concierge said, “The Ministry of Culture might be able to help you.”

Thirty minutes later, Robert was speaking to a clerk in the office of the Ministry of Culture.

“There is no carnival in Budapest. Are you sure your friend saw it in Hungary?”

“Yes.”

“But he did not say where?”

“No.”

“I am sorry. I cannot help you.” The clerk was impatient. “If there is nothing else …”

“No.” Robert rose to his feet. “Thank you.” He hesitated. “I do have one more question. If I wanted to bring a circus or a carnival into Hungary, would I have to get a permit?”

“Certainly.”

“Where would I go for that?”

“To the Budapest Administration of Licences.”

The licences building was located in Buda near the medieval city wall. Robert waited for thirty minutes before he was ushered into the office of a formal, pompous official.

“Can I help you?”

Robert smiled. “I hope so. I hate to take up your time with something as trivial as this, but I’m here with my young son, and he heard about a carnival playing somewhere in Hungary and I promised to take him to see it. You know how kids are when they get an idea in their heads.”

The official stared at Robert, puzzled. “What is it you wanted to see me about?”

“Well, to tell you the truth, no one seems to know where the carnival is, and Hungary is such a big and beautiful country … Well, I was told that if anyone knew what was going on in Hungary, it would be you.”

The official nodded. “Yes. Nothing like that is permitted to open without being issued a licence.” He pressed the buzzer and a secretary came in. There was a rapid exchange in Hungarian. The secretary left and came back two minutes later with some papers. She handed them to the official. He looked at them and said to Robert, “In the past three months, we have issued two permits for carnivals. One closed a month ago.”

“And the other?”

“The other is currently playing in Sopron. A little town near the German frontier.”

“Do you have the owner’s name?”

The official consulted the paper again. “Bushfekete. Laslo Bush-fekete.”

Laslo Bushfekete was having one of the best days of his life. Few people are lucky enough to spend their lives doing exactly what they want to do and Laslo Bushfekete was one of those fortunate few. Bushfekete was a big man, six foot four, weighing three hundred pounds. He sported a diamond wristwatch, diamond rings, and a large gold bracelet. His father had owned a small carnival, and when he died, the son had taken it over. It was the only life he had ever known.

Laslo Bushfekete had grandiose dreams. He intended to expand his little carnival into the biggest and best in Europe. He wanted to be known as the P. T. Barnum of carnivals. At the moment, however, he could only afford the usual sideshow attractions: the Fat Lady and the Tattooed Man, the Siamese Twins and the Thousand-Year-Old Mummy “dug up from the bowels of the tombs of ancient Egypt”. Then there were the Sword Swallower and the Flame Eater, and the cute little Snake Charmer, Marika. But in the end, all they really added up to was just another travelling carnival.

Now, overnight, all that was going to change. Laslo Bushfekete’s dream was about to come true.