Sidney Sheldon - The Doomsday Conspiracy

Scattered among the dockworkers and tourists, he spotted plain-clothes detectives trying to look unobtrusive. They stood out like beacons. Robert’s heart began to pound. How could they possibly have tracked him here? And then he realized what had happened. My God, I told the truck driver where I was going! Stupid! I must be very tired.

He had fallen asleep in the truck, and the absence of movement had awakened him. He had got up to look out, and had seen Giuseppe go into the gas station and make a phone call. Robert had slipped out of the truck and climbed into the back of another truck headed north toward Civitavecchia.

He had trapped himself. They were looking for him here. A few hundred yards away were dozens of boats that could have afforded him an escape. Not any longer.

Robert turned away from the harbour and walked toward town. He passed a building with a huge colourful poster on the wall. It read: “Come to the Fairgrounds. Fun for All! Food! Games! Rides! See the Big Race!” He stopped and stared.

He had found his escape.

At the fairgrounds, five miles outside of Civitavecchia, were a dozen large, colourful balloons spread across the field, looking like round rainbows. They were moored to trucks while ground crews were busily filling their envelopes with cold air. Half a dozen chase cars stood by, ready to track the balloons, two men in each car, the driver and the spotter.

Robert walked up to a man who seemed to be in charge. “It looks like you’re getting ready for the big race,” Robert said.

“That’s right. Ever been in a balloon?”

“No.”

They were skimming over Lake Como and he dropped the balloon down until it touched the water. “We’re going to crash,” Susan screamed. He smiled. “No, we’re not.” The bottom of the balloon was dancing on the waves. He threw out a sandbag and the balloon began to lift again. Susan laughed and hugged him and said …

The man was speaking. “You should try it sometime. It’s a great sport.”

“Yeah. Where is the race heading?”

“Yugoslavia. We have a nice easterly wind. We’ll be taking off in a few minutes. It’s better to fly early in the morning when the wind is cool.”

“Really?” Robert said politely. He had a quick flash of a summer day in Yugoslavia. We have four people to smuggle out of here, Commander. We must wait until the air is cooler. A balloon that can lift four people in the winter air can only lift two people in the summer air.

Robert noticed that the crews were finishing filling the balloons with air and starting to light the large propane burners, pointing the flame into the envelope opening, to warm the air inside. The balloons, which were lying on their sides, began to rise until the baskets stood upright.

“Mind if I look around?” Robert asked.

“Go ahead. Just stay out of everyone’s way.”

“Right.” Robert walked over to a yellow and red balloon that was filled with propane gas. The only thing holding it to the ground was a rope attached to one of the trucks.

The crewman who had been working on it had wandered off to talk to someone. There was no one else near.

Robert climbed into the basket of the balloon, and the huge envelope seemed to fill the sky above him. He checked the rigging and equipment, the altimeter, charts, a pyrometer to monitor the temperature of the envelope, a rate of climb indicator, and a tool kit. Everything was in order. Robert reached into the tool kit and pulled out a knife. He sliced into the mooring rope, and a moment later, the balloon started to ascend.

“Hey!” Robert yelled. “What’s going on here? Get me down!”

The man he had spoken to was gaping up at the runaway balloon. “Figlio d’una mignotta! Don’t panic,” he shouted. “There’s an altimeter on board. Use your ballast and stay at one thousand feet. We’ll meet you in Yugoslavia. Can you hear me?”

“I hear you.”

The balloon was rising higher and higher, carrying him east, away from Elba, which was to the west. But Robert was not concerned. The wind changed direction at varying altitudes. None of the other balloons had taken off yet. Robert spotted one of the chase cars start up, moving to track him. He dropped ballast and watched the altimeter climb. Six hundred feet … seven hundred feet … nine hundred feet … eleven hundred feet …

At fifteen hundred feet the wind began to weaken. The balloon was almost stationary now. Robert dropped more ballast. He used the stair step technique, stopping at different altitudes to check the wind direction.

At two thousand feet, Robert could feel the wind begin to shift. It swayed in the turbulent air for a moment, then slowly began to reverse direction and move west.

In the distance far below, Robert could see the other balloons rising and moving east toward Yugoslavia. There was no sound at all except for the soft whispering of the wind. It’s so quiet, Robert. It’s like flying on a cloud. I wish we could stay up here forever. She had held him close. Have you ever made love in a balloon? she murmured. Let’s try it.

And later, I’ll bet we’re the only people in the world who have made love in a balloon, darling.

Robert was over the Tyrrhenian Sea now, heading northwest toward the coast of Tuscany. Below, a string of islands stretched in a circle off the coast, with Elba the largest.

Napoleon had been exiled here, and he had probably chosen it because on a clear day, Robert thought, he could see his beloved island of Corsica. In exile, Napoleon’s one thought was how to escape and get to France. Mine, too. Only Napoleon didn’t have Susan and the Halcyon to rescue him.

In the distance, Monte Capanne suddenly loomed up, rising three thousand feet into the sky. Robert pulled the safety line that opened the valve at the top of the balloon to allow the hot air to escape, and the balloon began to descend. Below him, Robert could see the lush pink and green of Elba, the pink that came from the granite outcrops and Tuscan houses, and the green of the heavy forests. Below, pristine white beaches were scattered around the edges of the island.

He landed the balloon at the base of the mountain, away from the city, to attract as little attention to himself as possible. There was a road not far from where he had landed and he walked over to it and waited until a car came by.

“Could you give me a lift into town?” Robert called.

“Certainly. Jump in.”

The driver appeared to be somewhere in his eighties, with an old, wrinkled face.

“I could have sworn I saw a balloon in the sky a little while ago. Did you see it, mister?”

“No,” Robert said.

“Visiting?”

“Just passing through. I’m on my way to Rome.”

The driver nodded. “I was there once.”

The rest of the ride was made in silence.

When they reached Portoferraio, the capital and only city of Elba, Robert stepped down from the car.

“Have a nice day,” the driver said in English.

My God, Robert thought, Califomians have been here.

Robert walked along Via Garibaldi, the main street, crowded with tourists, mostly families, and it was as though time had stood still. Nothing had changed; except (hat I’ve lost Susan, and half the governments in the world are trying to assassinate me. Otherwise, Robert thought wryly, everything is exactly the same.

He bought binoculars in a gift shop, and walked to the waterfront and sat at a table outside the Stella Mariner Restaurant, where he had a clear view of the harbour. There were no suspicious cars, no police boats, and no policemen in sight. They still thought they had him bottled up on the mainland. It would be safe for him to board the Halcyon. All he had to do now was wait for it to arrive.