Sidney Sheldon - The Doomsday Conspiracy

Robert staggered up to her. “Hi, baby,” he mumbled. “D’you speak English?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Le’s you an’ me have a party.”

She smiled uncertainly. Drunks could be trouble. “Maybe you should go sober up first.” She had a soft Italian accent.

“Hey, I’m sober enough.”

“It will cost you a hundred dollars.”

“Tha’s okay, honey.”

She made her decision. “Va bene. Come. There is a hotel just around the corner.”

“Great. What’s your name, baby?”

“Pier.”

“Mine’s Henry.” A police car appeared in the distance, headed their way. “Let’s get outta here.”

The other women cast envious glances as Pier and her American customer walked away.

The hotel was no Hassler, but the pimply-faced boy at the desk downstairs did not ask for a passport. In fact, he barely glanced up as he handed Pier a key. “Fifty thousand lire.”

Pier looked at Robert. He took the money from his pocket and gave it to the boy.

The room they entered contained a large bed in the corner, a small table, two wooden chairs and a mirror over the basin. There was a clothes rack behind the door.

“You must pay me in advance.”

“Sure.” Robert counted out one hundred dollars.

“Grazie.”

Pier began to get undressed. Robert walked over to the window. He pushed aside a corner of the curtain and peered out. Everything appeared to be normal. He hoped that by now the police were following the red truck back to France. Robert dropped the curtain and turned around. Pier was naked. She had a surprisingly lovely body. Firm, young breasts, rounded hips, a small waist and long, shapely legs.

She was watching Robert. “Aren’t you going to get undressed, Henry?”

This was the tricky part. “… tell you the truth,” Robert said, “I think I had a little too much to drink. I can’t give you any action.”

She was regarding him with wary eyes. “Then why did you …?”

“If I stay here and sleep it off, we can make love in the morning.”

She shrugged. “I have to work. It would cost me money to …”

“Don’t worry. I’ll take care of that.” He pulled out several hundred-dollar bills and handed them to her. “Will that cover it?”

Pier looked at the money, making up her mind. It was tempting. It was cold outside, and business was slow. On the other hand, there was something strange about this man. First of all, he did not really seem to be drunk. He was nicely dressed and for this much money he could have checked them into a fine hotel. Well, Pier thought, what the hell? Questo cazzo se ne frega? “All right. There’s only this bed for the two of us.”

“That’s fine.”

Pier watched as Robert walked over to the window again and moved the edge of the curtain aside.

“You are looking for something?”

“Is there a back door out of the hotel?”

What am I getting myself into? Pier wondered. Her best friend had been murdered, hanging out with mobsters. Pier considered herself wise in the ways of men, but this one puzzled her. He did not seem like a criminal, but still … “Yes, there is,” she said.

There was a sudden scream, and Robert whirled around.

“Dio! Dio! Sono venuta tre volte!” It was a woman’s voice, coming from the next room through the paper-thin walls.

“What’s that?” Robert’s heart was pounding.

Pier grinned. “She’s having fun. She said she just came for the third time.”

Robert heard the creaking of bed springs.

“Are you going to bed?” Pier stood there naked, unembarrassed, watching him.

“Sure.” Robert sat down on the bed.

“Aren’t you going to get undressed?”

“No.”

“Suit yourself.” Pier moved over to the bed and lay down beside Robert. “I hope you don’t snore,” Pier said.

“You can tell me in the morning.”

Robert had no intention of sleeping. He wanted to check the street during the night, to make sure they did not come to the hotel. They would get around to these small, third-class hotels eventually, but it would take them time. They had too many other places to cover first. He lay there, feeling bone-tired, and closed his eyes for a moment to rest. He slept. He was back home, in his own bed, and he felt Susan’s warm body next to his. She’s back, he thought, happily. She’s come back to me. Baby, I’ve missed you so much.

Day Seventeen

Rome, Italy

Robert was awakened by the sun hitting his face. He sat up abruptly, looking around for an instant in alarm, disorientated. When he saw Pier, memory flooded back. He relaxed. Pier was at the mirror, brushing her hair.

“Buon giorno,” she said. “You do not snore.”

Robert looked at his watch. Nine o’clock. He had wasted precious hours.

“Do you want to make love now? You have already paid for it.”

“That’s all right,” Robert said.

Pier walked over to the bed, naked and provocative. “Are you sure?”

I couldn’t if I wanted to, lady. “I’m sure.”

“Va bene.” She began to dress. She asked casually, “Who is Susan?”

The question caught him off guard. “Susan? What made you ask?”

“You talk in your sleep.”

He remembered his dream. Susan had come back to him. Maybe it was a sign. “She’s a friend.” She’s my wife. She’s going to get tired of Moneybags and return to me some day. If I’m still alive, that is.

Robert walked over to the window. He lifted the curtain and looked out. The street was crowded now with pedestrians and merchants opening up their shops. There were no signs of danger.

It was time to put his plan into motion. He turned to the girl. “Pier, how would you like to go on a little trip with me?”

She looked at him with suspicion. “A trip … where?”

“I have to go to Venice on business, and I hate travelling alone. Do you like Venice?”

“Yes …”

“Good. I’ll pay you for your time, and we’ll have a little holiday together.” He was staring out of the window again. “I know a lovely hotel there. The Cipriani.” Years ago, he and Susan had stayed at the Royal Danieli, but he had been back since, and it had become sadly run-down, and the beds were impossible. The only thing that remained of the hotel’s former elegance was Luciano, at the reception desk.

“It will cost you a thousand dollars a day.” She was ready to settle for five hundred.

“It’s a deal.” Robert said. He counted out two thousand dollars. “We’ll start with this.”

Pier hesitated. She had a premonition that something was wrong. But the start of the movie she had been promised a bit part in had been delayed, and she needed the money. “Very well,” she said.

“Let’s go.”

Downstairs, Pier watched him scan the street carefully before stepping out to hail a taxi. He’s a target for somebody, Pier thought. I’m getting out of here.

“Look,” Pier said, “I’m not sure I should go to Venice with you. I …”

“We’re going to have a great time,” Robert told her.

Directly across the street he saw a jewellery store. He took Pier’s hand. “Come on. I’m going to get you something pretty.”

“But …”

He led her across the street to the jewellery store.

The clerk behind the counter said, “Buon giorno, signore. Can I help you?”

“Yes,” Robert said. “We’re looking for something lovely for the lady.” He turned to Pier. “Do you like emeralds?”

“I … yes.”

Robert said to the clerk, “Do you have an emerald bracelet?”

“Si, signore. I have a beautiful emerald bracelet.” He walked over to a case and took out a bracelet. “This is our finest. It is fifteen thousand dollars.”