The Doomsday Conspiracy

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, “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 Hilliard’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 center 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 Whittaker 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 the 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 said, smiling. He looked around the room, his face reflecting 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, the son who would take Edward’s place.

And Robert had pulled through.

“Robert—”

“Yes, Admiral?”

“I hope your mission 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?”

Chapter Six (#ulink_9ce2a2e2-d893-513c-9f7e-1eeff7225413)

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 were 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 preflight 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 color inside was air force blue, and the cabin was furnished with comfortable club chairs.

Robert found that he was the only passenger. The pilot greeted him. “Welcome aboard, Commander. If you’ll put on your seat belt, we have clearance to take off.”

Robert strapped himself in and leaned back in his seat as the plane taxied down the runway. A minute later, he felt the familiar pull of gravity as the jet screamed into the air. He had not piloted a plane since his crash, when he had been told he would never be able to fly again. Fly again, hell, Robert thought, they said I wouldn’t live. It was a miracle—No, it was Susan …

Vietnam. He had been sent there with the rank of lieutenant commander, stationed on the aircraft carrier Ranger as a tactics officer, responsible for training fighter pilots and planning attack strategy. He had led a bomber squadron of A-6A Intruders, and there was very little time away from the pressures of battle. One of the few leaves he had was in Bangkok for a week of R and R, and during that time he never bothered to sleep. The city was a Disneyland designed for the pleasure of the male animal. He had met an exquisite Thai girl his first hour in town, and she had stayed at his side the whole time and taught him a few Thai phrases. He had found the language soft and mellifluous.

Good morning. Arun sawasdi.