The Doomsday Conspiracy

“Just a minute till I finish this up.”

Ten minutes later, Mandel climbed out of the pit and wiped his oily hands on a filthy cloth.

“You're the one who called this morning. Was there some complaint about that tow job?” Mandel asked. “I'm not responsible for—”

“No,” Robert reassured him. “Not at all. I'm conducting a survey, and I'm interested in the driver of the car.”

“Come into the office.”

The two men went into the small office, and Mandel opened a file cabinet. “Last Sunday, you said?”

“That's right.”

Mandel took out a card. “Ja. That was the Arschficker who took our picture in front of that UFO.”

Robert's palms felt suddenly moist. “You saw the UFO?”

“Ja. I almost brachte aus.”

“Can you describe it?”

Mandel shuddered. “It—it seemed alive.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“I mean … there was a kind of light around it. It kept changing colors. It looked blue … then green … I don't know. It's hard to describe. And there were these little creatures inside. Not human, but—” He broke off.

“How many?”

“Two.”

“Were they alive?”

“They looked dead to me.” He mopped his brow. “I'm glad you believe me. I tried to tell my friends, and they laughed at me. Even my wife thought I had been drinking. But I know what I saw.”

“About the car you towed …” Robert said.

“Ja. The Renault. It had an oil leak, and the bearings burned out. The tow job cost a hundred and twenty-five francs. I charge double on Sundays.”

“Did the driver pay by check or credit card?”

“I don't take checks, and I don't take no credit cards. He paid in cash.”

“Swiss francs?”

“Pounds.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. I remember I had to check the rate of exchange.”

“Mr. Mandel, do you happen to have a record of the license number of the car?”

“Of course.” Mandel said. He glanced down at the card. “It was a rental. Avis. He rented it in Geneva.”

“Would you mind giving me that license number?”

“Sure, why not?” He wrote the number down on a piece of paper and handed it to Robert. “What is this all about, anyway? The UFO thing?”

“No,” Robert said, in his sincerest voice. He took out his wallet and pulled out an identification card. “I'm with the IAC, the International Auto Club. My company is doing a survey on tow trucks.”

“Oh.”

Robert walked out of the garage and thought dazedly, It looks like we have a fucking UFO with two dead aliens on our hands. Then why had General Hilliard lied to him when he knew Robert would discover that it was a flying saucer that had crashed?

There could only be one explanation, and Robert felt a sudden, cold chill.

Chapter Twelve (#ulink_a50d99c4-6432-52e9-8054-66c27acc21fc)

The huge mother ship floated noiselessly through dark space, seemingly motionless, traveling at twenty-two thousand miles an hour in exact synchronization with the orbit of the earth. The six aliens aboard were studying the three-dimensional field-of-view optical screen that covered one wall of the spaceship. On the monitor, as the planet Earth rotated, they watched holographic pictures of what lay below while an electronic spectrograph analyzed the chemical components of the images that appeared. The atmosphere of the land masses they overflew was heavily polluted. Huge factories befouled the air with thick, black, poisonous gases while unbiodegradable refuse was dumped into landfills and into the seas.

The aliens looked down at the oceans, once pristine and blue, now black with oil and brown with scum. The coral of the Great Barrier Reef was turning bleach-white, and fish were dying by the billions. Where trees had been stripped in the Amazon rain forest, there was a huge, barren crater. The instruments on the spaceship indicated that the earth's temperature had risen since their last exploration three years earlier. They could see wars being waged on the planet below, which spewed new poisons into the atmosphere.

The aliens communicated by mental telepathy.

Nothing has changed with the earthlings.

It is a pity. They have learned nothing.

We will teach them.

Have you tried to reach the others?

Yes. Something is wrong. There is no reply.

You must keep trying. We must find the ship.

On earth, thousands of feet below the spaceship's orbit, Robert placed a call from a secure phone to General Hilliard. He came on the line almost immediately.

“Good afternoon, Commander. Do you have anything to report?”

Yes. I would like to report that you are a lying sonofabitch. “About that weather balloon, General … it seems to have turned out to be a UFO.” He waited.

“Yes, I know. There were important security reasons why I couldn't tell you everything earlier.”

Bureaucratic double-talk. There was a short silence.

General Hilliard said, “I'm going to tell you something in the strictest confidence, Commander. Our government had an encounter with extraterrestrials three years ago. They landed at one of our NATO air bases. We were able to communicate with them.”