Sidney Sheldon - The Doomsday Conspiracy

“Of course not,” Monte said.

The yacht had slowly swung around and was heading west.

“If you’ll excuse me, I have to have a word with the captain.”

Dinner was an awkward affair. There were strange undercurrents that Robert did not understand, a tension that was almost tangible. Was it because of his presence? Or was it something else? Something between the two of them? The sooner I get away from here, the better, Robert thought.

They were in the saloon having an after-dinner drink when Captain Simpson came into the room.

“When will we reach Marseilles?” Robert asked.

“If the weather holds, we should be there tomorrow afternoon, Mr Smith.”

There was something about Captain Simpson’s manner that irritated Robert. The captain was gruff, almost to the point of being rude. But he must be good, Robert thought, or Monte would not have hired him. Susan deserves this yacht. She deserves the best of everything.

At eleven o’clock Monte looked at his watch and said to Susan, “I think we had better turn in, darling.”

Susan glanced at Robert. “Yes.”

The three of them rose.

Monte said, “You’ll find a change of clothes in your cabin. We’re about the same size.”

“Thank you.”

“Good night, Robert.”

“Good night, Susan.”

Robert stood there, watching the woman he loved going off to bed with his rival. Rival? Who the hell am I kidding? He’s the winner. I’m the loser.

Sleep was an elusive shadow, dancing just out of reach. Lying in his bed, Robert was thinking that on the other side of the wall, only a few feet away, was the woman he loved more than anyone in the world. He thought of Susan lying in her bed, naked … she never wore a nightgown … and he felt himself beginning to get an erection. Was Monte making love to her at this moment or was she alone? … and was she thinking of him and remembering all the great times they had had together? Probably not. Well, he would be out of her life soon. He would probably never see her again.

It was dawn before he closed his eyes.

In the communications room at SIFAR, radar was tracking the Halcyon. Colonel Cesar turned to Colonel Johnson, and said, “Too bad we couldn’t intercept him at Elba, but we’ve got him now! We have a cruiser standing by. We’re just waiting word from the Halcyon to board her.”

Day Twenty-One

Early in the morning Robert was on deck, looking out over the calm sea. Captain Simpson approached him. “Good morning. It looks like the weather is going to hold, Mr Smith.”

“Yes.”

“We’ll be in Marseilles by three o’clock. Will we be staying there long?”

“I don’t know,” Robert said pleasantly. “We’ll see.”

“Yes, sir.”

Robert watched Simpson stride off. What was there about the man?

Robert walked back to the stern of the yacht and scanned the horizon. He could see nothing, and yet … In the past, his instincts had saved his life more than once. He had long ago learned to rely on them. Something was wrong.

Over the horizon out of sight, the Italian Navy cruiser Stromboli was stalking the Halcyon.

When Susan appeared for breakfast, she looked pale and drawn.

“Did you sleep well, darling?” Monte asked.

“Fine,” Susan said.

So they didn’t share the same cabin! Robert felt an unreasonable sense of pleasure from that knowledge. He and Susan had always slept in the same bed, her naked, nubile body spooning into his. Jesus, I’ve got to stop thinking like this.

Ahead of the Halcyon, on the starboard bow, was a fishing boat from the Marseilles fleet, bringing in a fresh catch.

“Would you like some fish for lunch?” Susan asked.

Both men nodded. “Fine.”

They were almost abreast of the fishing boat.

As Captain Simpson walked by, Robert asked, “What is our ETA to Marseilles?”

“We’ll be there in two hours, Mr Smith. Marseilles is an interesting port. Have you ever been there?”

“It is an interesting port,” Robert said.

In the communications room, at SIFAR, the two colonels were reading the message that had just come in from the Halcyon. It read simply: “Now.”

“What’s the Halcyon’s position?” barked Colonel Cesar.

“They’re two hours out of Marseilles, heading for the port.”

“Order the Stromboli to overtake and board her immediately.”

Thirty minutes later, the Italian Navy cruiser Stromboli was closing in on the Halcyon. Susan and Monte were at the fantail of the yacht, watching the warship racing toward them.

A voice came over the cruiser’s loudspeaker. “Ahoy, Halcyon. Heave to. We’re coming aboard.”

Susan and Monte exchanged a look. Captain Simpson came hurrying toward them.

“Mr Banks …”

“I heard it. Do as they say. Stop the engines.”

“Yes, sir.”

A minute later, the pulse of the engines stopped, and the yacht lay still in the water. Susan and her husband watched as armed sailors from the Navy cruiser were lowered into a dinghy.

Ten minutes later a dozen sailors were swarming up the ladder of the Halcyon.

The naval officer in charge, a lieutenant commander, said, “I’m sorry to trouble you, Mr Banks. The Italian government has reason to believe that you are harbouring a fugitive. We have orders to search your ship.”

Susan stood there watching, as the sailors started spreading out, moving along the deck and going below to search the cabins.

“Don’t say anything.”

“But …”

“Not a word.”

They stood on the deck in silence, watching the search go on.

Thirty minutes later they were assembled again on the main deck.

“There’s no sign of him, Commander,” a sailor reported.

“You’re certain of that?”

“Absolutely, sir. There are no passengers aboard, and we have identified each member of the crew.”

The Commander stood there a moment, frustrated. His superiors had made a serious mistake.

He turned to Monte and Susan and Captain Simpson. “I owe you an apology,” he said. “I’m terribly sorry to have inconvenienced you. We’ll leave now.” He turned to go.

“Commander …”

“Yes?”

“The man you’re looking for got away on a fishing boat half an hour ago. You should have no trouble picking him up.”

Five minutes later, the Stromboli was speeding toward Marseilles. The Lieutenant Commander had every reason to be pleased with himself. Half the governments of the world had been pursuing Commander Robert Bellamy, and he was the one who had found him. There could be a nice promotion in this, he thought.

From the bridge, the navigation officer called out, “Commander, could you come up here, please?”

Had they spotted the fishing boat already? The Lieutenant Commander hurried up to the bridge.

“Look, sir!”

The Commander took one look and his heart sank. In the distance ahead, covering the horizon, was the entire Marseilles fishing fleet, a hundred identical boats returning to port. There was no way in the world to identify the one Commander Bellamy was on.

He stole a car in Marseilles. It was a Fiat 1800 Spider convertible, parked on a dimly lit side street. It was locked and there was no key in the ignition. No problem. LooKing around to make sure he was not observed, Robert made a rip in the canvas top and shoved his hand inside to unlock the door. He slid inside the car, reached under the dashboard and pulled out all the wires of the ignition switch. He held the thick red wire in one hand while, one by one, he touched the other wires to it until the dashboard lit up. He hooked two wires together, and touched the remaining ones to the two wires hooked together until the engine began to turn over. He pulled out the choke and the engine roared into life. A moment later, Robert was on his way to Paris-