Sidney Sheldon - The Doomsday Conspiracy

Jesus, Robert thought, what the hell are we in for here?

“Do I make myself clear, Commander?”

“Yes. You expect your orders to be carried out to the letter.” He wondered whether he was expected to salute.

“That’s all.”

But it was not all.

A month later, Robert was sent to East Germany to bring in a scientist who wanted to defect. It was a dangerous assignment because the Stasi, East Germany’s Central Security Secret Police, had learned about the proposed defection and was watching the scientist closely. In spite of that, Robert had managed to smuggle the man across the border, to a safe house. He was making arrangements to bring him to Washington, when he received a call from Dustin Thornton, telling him that the situation had changed, and that he was to drop the assignment.

“We can’t just dump him here,” Robert had protested. “They’ll kill him.”

“That’s his problem,” Thornton had replied. “Your orders are to come back home.”

Screw you, Robert thought. I’m not going to abandon him. He had called a friend of his in MI6, British Intelligence, and explained the situation.

“If he goes back to East Germany,” Robert said, “they’ll chop him. Will you take him?”

“I’ll see what can be done, old chap. Bring him along.”

And the scientist had been given haven in England.

Dustin Thornton never forgave Robert for disobeying his instructions. From that point on, there was open animosity between the two men. Thornton had discussed the incident with his father-in-law.

“Loose cannons like Bellamy are dangerous,” Willard Stone warned. “They’re a security hazard. Men like that are expendable. Remember that.”

And Thornton had remembered.

Now, walking down the corridor toward Dustin Thornton’s office, Robert could not help thinking about the difference between Thornton and Whittaker. In a job like this, trust was the sine qua non. He did not trust Dustin Thornton.

Thornton was seated behind his desk when Robert walked into his office.

“You wanted to see me?”

“Yes. Sit down, Commander.” Their relationship had never reached the “Robert” phase.

“I’ve been told you’ve been temporarily transferred to the National Security Agency. When you come back, I have a …”

“I’m not coming back. This is my last assignment.”

“What?”

“I’m quitting.”

Thinking about it later, Robert was not sure exactly what reaction he had expected. Some kind of scene. Dustin Thornton could have shown surprise, or he could have argued, or been angry, or relieved. Instead, he had merely looked at Robert and nodded. “That’s it then, isn’t it?”

When Robert returned to his own office, he said to his secretary, “Barbara, I’m going to be away for a while. I’ll be leaving in about an hour.”

“Is there some place where you can be reached?”

Robert remembered General Milliard’s orders. “No.”

“There are some meetings you …”

“Cancel them.” He looked at his watch. It was time to meet Admiral Whittaker.

They had breakfast in the centre yard of the Pentagon at the Ground Zero Cafe, so named because it was once thought that the Pentagon was where the first nuclear bomb attack against the United States would take place. Robert had arranged for a corner table where they would have a degree of privacy. Admiral Whit-taker was punctual, and as Robert watched him approach the table, it seemed to him that the Admiral looked older and smaller, as though semi-retirement had somehow aged and shrunk him. He was still a striking-looking man with strong features, a Roman nose, good cheekbones, and a crown of silvered hair. Robert had served under the Admiral in Vietnam and later in the Office of Naval Intelligence, and he had a high regard for him. More than a high regard, Robert admitted to himself. Admiral Whittaker was his surrogate father.

The Admiral sat down. “Good morning, Robert. Well, did they transfer you to NSA?”

Robert nodded. “Temporarily.”

The waitress arrived and the two men studied the menu.

“I had forgotten how bad the food here was.” Admiral Whittaker smiled. He looked around the room, his face filled with an unspoken nostalgia.

He wishes he were back here, Robert thought. Amen.

They ordered. When the waitress was out of earshot, Robert said, “Admiral, General Hilliard is sending me on an urgent three-thousand-mile trip to locate some witnesses who saw a weather balloon crash. I find that strange. And there’s something else that’s even stranger. ‘Time is of the essence,’ to quote the General, but I’ve been ordered not to use any of my intelligence contacts abroad to help me.”

Admiral Whittaker looked puzzled. “I suppose the General must have his reasons.”

Robert said, “I can’t imagine what they are.”

Admiral Whittaker studied Robert. Commander Bellamy had served under him in Vietnam and had been the best pilot in the squadron. The Admiral’s son, Edward, had been Robert’s bombardier, and on the terrible day their plane had been shot down, Edward had been killed. Robert had barely survived. The Admiral had gone to the hospital to visit him.

“He’s not going to make it,” the doctors had told him. Robert, lying there in agonizing pain, had whispered, “I’m sorry about Edward … I’m so sorry.”

Admiral Whittaker had squeezed Robert’s hand. “I know you did everything you could. You’ve got to get well, now. You’re going to be fine.” He wanted desperately for Robert to live. In the Admiral’s mind, Robert was his son now, the son who would take Edward’s place.

And Robert had pulled through.

“Robert …”

“Yes, Admiral?”

“I hope your mission to Switzerland is successful.”

“So do I. It’s my last one.”

“You’re still determined to quit?”

The Admiral was the only one Robert had confided in. “I’ve had enough.”

“Thornton?”

“It’s not just him. It’s me. I’m tired of interfering with other people’s lives.” I’m tired of the lies and the cheating, and the broken promises that were never meant to be kept. I’m tired of manipulating people, and of being manipulated. I’m tired of the games and the danger and the betrayals. It’s cost me everything I ever gave a damn about.

“Do you have any idea what you’re going to do?”

“I’ll try to find something useful to do with my life, something positive.”

“What if they won’t let you go?”

Robert said, “They have no choice, have they?”

The limousine was waiting at the River Entrance parking lot. “Are you ready, Commander?” Captain Dougherty asked. As ready as I’ll ever be, Robert thought. “Yes.” Captain Dougherty accompanied Robert to his apartment so he could pack. Robert had no idea how many days he would be gone. How long does an impossible assignment take? He packed enough clothes for a week and, at the last minute, put in a framed photograph of Susan. He stared at it for a long time and wondered if she was enjoying herself in Brazil. He thought, I hope not. I hope she’s having a lousy time. And was immediately ashamed of himself.

When the limousine arrived at Andrews Air Force Base, the plane was waiting. It was a C20A, an Air Force jet.

Captain Dougherty held out his hand. “Good luck, Commander.”

“Thanks.” I’ll need it. Robert walked up the steps to the cabin. The crew was inside, finishing the pre-flight check. There was a pilot, a co-pilot, a navigator and a steward, all in Air Force uniforms. Robert was familiar with the plane. It was loaded with electronic equipment. On the outside, near the tail, was a high-frequency antenna that looked like an enormous fishing pole. Inside the cabin were twelve red telephones on the walls and a white, unsecured, phone. Radio transmissions were in code, and the plane’s radar was on a military frequency. The primary colour inside was Air Force blue, and the cabin was furnished with comfortable club chairs.