The Doomsday Conspiracy

It was the lightning streak that saved Robert's life. At the instant that Li Po started to squeeze the trigger, the sudden flash of light outside the window distracted him for a moment. Robert moved, and the bullet hit him in his right shoulder instead of his chest.



As Li raised the gun to fire again, Robert gave a side-thrust kick, knocking the gun out of Li's hand. Li spun forward and punched Robert hard in his wounded shoulder. The pain was excruciating. Robert's jacket was covered with blood. He lashed out with a forward elbow smash. Li grunted with pain. He riposted with a deadly shuto chop to the neck, and Robert evaded it. The two men circled each other, both of them breathing hard, looking for an opening. They fought silently in a deadly ritual older than time, and each knew that only one of them would come out of this alive. Robert was weakening. The pain in his shoulder was increasing, and he could see his blood dripping to the floor.



Time was on Li Po's side. I've got to end this quickly, Robert thought. He moved in with a front snap kick. Instead of evading it, Li took the full force of it, and was close enough to Robert to drive his elbow into Robert's shoulder. Robert staggered. Li moved in with a spin and back kick, and Robert faltered. Li was on top of him in an instant, pummelling him, pounding his shoulder again and again, backing him across the room. Robert was too weak to stop the rain of punishing blows. His eyes began to dim. He fell against Li, grabbing him, and the two men went down, smashing a glass table, shattering it. Robert lay on the floor, powerless to move. It's over, he thought. They've won.



He lay there, half-conscious, waiting for Li to finish him off. Nothing happened. Slowly, painfully, Robert lifted his head. Li lay next to him on the floor, his eyes opened wide, staring at the ceiling. A large shard of glass, like a transparent dagger, protruded from his chest.



Robert struggled to sit up. He was weak from the loss of blood. His shoulder was an ocean of pain. I have to get to a doctor, he thought. There was a name ... someone that the Agency used in Paris ... someone at the American Hospital. Hilsinger. That was it. Leon Hilsinger.



Dr Hilsinger was ready to leave his office for the day when the telephone call came in. His nurse had already gone home, so he picked up the phone. The voice at the other end of the phone was slurred.



"Dr Hilsinger?"



"Yes."



"This is Robert Bellamy ... need your help. I've been badly hurt. Will you help me?"



"Of course. Where are you?"



"Never mind that. I'll meet you at the American Hospital in half an hour."



"I'll be there. Go right to the Emergency Room."



"Doctor - don't mention this call to anyone."



"You have my word." The line went dead.



Dr Hilsinger dialled a number. "I just heard from Commander Bellamy. I'm meeting him at the American Hospital in half an hour ..."



"Thank you, Doctor."



Dr Hilsinger replaced the receiver. He heard the reception door open and looked up. Robert Bellamy was standing there with a gun in his hand.



"On second thoughts," Robert said, "it might be better if you treated me here."



The doctor tried to conceal his surprise. "You ... you should be in a hospital."



"Too close to the morgue. Patch me up and make it fast." It was difficult to talk.



Dr Hilsinger started to protest, then thought better of it. "Yes. Whatever you say. I'd better give you an anaesthetic. It will ..."



"Don't even think about it," Robert said. "No tricks." He was holding the gun in his left hand. "If I don't get out of here alive, neither do you. Any questions?" He felt faint.



Dr Hilsinger swallowed. "No."



"Then get to work."



Dr Hilsinger led Robert into the next room, an examining room filled with medical equipment. Slowly and carefully, Robert slipped out of his jacket. Holding the gun in his hand, he sat down on the table. Dr Hilsinger had a scalpel in his hand. Robert's fingers tightened on the trigger.



"Relax," Dr Hilsinger said nervously. "I'm just going to cut your shirt."



The wound was raw and red, and seeping blood. "The bullet is still in there," Dr Hilsinger said. "You won't be able to stand the pain unless I give you ..."



"No!" He was not going to let himself be drugged. "Just take it out."



"Whatever you say."



Robert watched the doctor walk over to a sterilizing unit and put in a pair of forceps. Robert sat on the edge of the table, fighting off the dizziness that threatened to engulf him. He closed his eyes for a moment, and Dr Hilsinger was standing in front of him, the forceps in his hand.



"Here we go." He pushed the forceps into the raw wound and Robert screamed aloud with the pain. Bright lights flashed in front of his eyes. He started to lose consciousness.



"It's out," Dr Hilsinger said.



Robert sat there for a moment, trembling, taking deep breaths, fighting to regain control of himself.



Dr Hilsinger was watching him closely. "Are you all right?"



It took Robert a moment to find his voice. "Yes ... patch it up."



The doctor poured peroxide into the wound, and Robert started to pass out again. He gritted his teeth. Hang on. We're almost there. And finally, blessedly, the worst was over. The doctor was strapping a heavy bandage across Robert's shoulder.



"Give me my jacket," Robert said.



Dr Hilsinger stared at him. "You can't go out now. You can't even walk."



"Bring me my jacket." His voice was so weak he could hardly talk. He watched the doctor walk across the room to get his jacket, and there seemed to be two of him.



"You've lost a lot of blood," Dr Hilsinger cautioned. "It would be dangerous for you to leave."



And more dangerous for me to stay, Robert thought. Carefully, he slipped his jacket on and tried to stand. His legs began to buckle. He grabbed the side of the table.



"You'll never make it," Dr Hilsinger warned.



Robert looked up at the blurry figure in front of him. "I'll make it."



But he knew that the moment he left, Dr Hilsinger would be on the phone again. Robert's eyes fell on the spool of heavy surgical tape Dr Hilsinger had used.



"Sit in the chair." His words were slurred.



"Why? What are you ...?"



Robert raised the gun. "Sit down."



Dr Hilsinger sat. Robert picked up the roll of tape. It was awkward, because he only had the use of one hand. He pulled the end of the wide tape loose and began to unroll it. He moved over to Dr Hilsinger. "Just sit quietly and you won't get hurt."



He fastened the end of the tape to the arm of the chair, and then started winding it around the doctor's hands.



"This really isn't necessary," Dr Hilsinger said. "I won't ..."



"Shut up." Robert continued to bind the doctor to the chair. The effort had started the rivers of pain flowing again. He looked at the doctor and said quietly, "I'm not going to faint."



He fainted.



He was floating in space, drifting weightlessly through white clouds, at peace. Wake up. He did not want to wake up. He wanted this wonderful feeling to go on forever. Wake up. Something hard was pressing against his side. Something in his jacket pocket. With his eyes still closed, he reached in and held it in his hand. It was the crystal. He drifted back to sleep.



Robert. It was a woman's voice, soft and soothing. He was in a lovely green meadow, and the air was filled with music, and there were bright lights in the sky overhead. A woman was moving toward him. She was tall and beautiful, with a gentle, oval face and a soft, almost translucent complexion. She was dressed in a snow-white gown. Her voice was gentle and hushed.



No one's going to hurt you anymore, Robert. Come to me. I'm waiting here for you.



Slowly, Robert opened his eyes. He lay there for a long moment, then sat up, filled with a sudden sense of excitement. He knew now who the eleventh witness was, and he knew where he was to meet her.