The Doomsday Conspiracy

Day Fourteen



Budapest



The flight from Paris to Budapest on Malev Airlines took two hours and five minutes. Robert knew very little about Hungary except that during World War II it had been a partner in the Axis, and had later become a Russian satellite. Robert took the airport bus to the centre of Budapest, impressed by what he saw. The buildings were old and the architecture classic. The Parliament House on the Rudolph Quay was a huge, Neo-gothic structure that dominated the city, and high on Castle Hill above the city was the Royal Palace. The streets were crowded with automobiles and shoppers.



The bus stopped in front of the Hotel Duna Intercontinental. Robert walked into the lobby and approached the concierge.



"Excuse me," Robert said. "Do you speak English?"



"Igan. Yes. What may I do for you?"



"A friend of mine was in Budapest a few days ago, and he told me he saw a wonderful carnival. I thought as long as I was in town, I might take a look at it. Can you tell me where I might find it?"



The concierge frowned. "Carnival?" He pulled out a sheet of paper and scanned it. "Let's see. In Budapest at the present time, we have an opera, several theatre productions, ballet, night and day tours of the city, excursions in the country ..." He looked up. "I'm sorry. There are no carnivals."



"Are you sure?"



The concierge handed the list to Robert. "See for yourself." It was written in Hungarian.



Robert handed it back. "Right. Is there anyone else I might talk to about this?"



The concierge said, "The Ministry of Culture might be able to help you."



Thirty minutes later, Robert was speaking to a clerk in the office of the Ministry of Culture.



"There is no carnival in Budapest. Are you sure your friend saw it in Hungary?"



"Yes."



"But he did not say where?"



"No."



"I am sorry. I cannot help you." The clerk was impatient. "If there is nothing else ..."



"No." Robert rose to his feet. "Thank you." He hesitated. "I do have one more question. If I wanted to bring a circus or a carnival into Hungary, would I have to get a permit?"



"Certainly."



"Where would I go for that?"



"To the Budapest Administration of Licences."



The licences building was located in Buda near the medieval city wall. Robert waited for thirty minutes before he was ushered into the office of a formal, pompous official.



"Can I help you?"



Robert smiled. "I hope so. I hate to take up your time with something as trivial as this, but I'm here with my young son, and he heard about a carnival playing somewhere in Hungary and I promised to take him to see it. You know how kids are when they get an idea in their heads."



The official stared at Robert, puzzled. "What is it you wanted to see me about?"



"Well, to tell you the truth, no one seems to know where the carnival is, and Hungary is such a big and beautiful country ... Well, I was told that if anyone knew what was going on in Hungary, it would be you."



The official nodded. "Yes. Nothing like that is permitted to open without being issued a licence." He pressed the buzzer and a secretary came in. There was a rapid exchange in Hungarian. The secretary left and came back two minutes later with some papers. She handed them to the official. He looked at them and said to Robert, "In the past three months, we have issued two permits for carnivals. One closed a month ago."



"And the other?"



"The other is currently playing in Sopron. A little town near the German frontier."



"Do you have the owner's name?"



The official consulted the paper again. "Bushfekete. Laslo Bush-fekete."



Laslo Bushfekete was having one of the best days of his life. Few people are lucky enough to spend their lives doing exactly what they want to do and Laslo Bushfekete was one of those fortunate few. Bushfekete was a big man, six foot four, weighing three hundred pounds. He sported a diamond wristwatch, diamond rings, and a large gold bracelet. His father had owned a small carnival, and when he died, the son had taken it over. It was the only life he had ever known.



Laslo Bushfekete had grandiose dreams. He intended to expand his little carnival into the biggest and best in Europe. He wanted to be known as the P. T. Barnum of carnivals. At the moment, however, he could only afford the usual sideshow attractions: the Fat Lady and the Tattooed Man, the Siamese Twins and the Thousand-Year-Old Mummy "dug up from the bowels of the tombs of ancient Egypt". Then there were the Sword Swallower and the Flame Eater, and the cute little Snake Charmer, Marika. But in the end, all they really added up to was just another travelling carnival.



Now, overnight, all that was going to change. Laslo Bushfekete's dream was about to come true.



He had gone to Switzerland to audition an escape artist he had heard about. The piece de resistance of the act was a routine where the performer was blindfolded, handcuffed, locked in a small trunk, then locked in a larger trunk, and finally lowered into a tank of water. It had sounded fantastic over the telephone, but when Bushfekete flew to Switzerland to see it, he found that there was one insurmountable problem: it took the escape artist thirty minutes to escape. No audience in the world was going to stay around staring at a trunk in a tank of water for thirty minutes.



It had looked as though the trip had been a complete waste of time. Laslo Bushfekete had decided to take a tour to kill the day until it was time to catch his plane. As it turned out, that ride changed his life.



Like his fellow passengers, Bushfekete had seen the explosion and raced across the field to try to help any survivors in what they all thought was a plane crash. But the sight that had confronted him was incredible. There was no question but that it was a flying saucer, and in it were two strange-looking little bodies. The other passengers stood there, gaping at it. Laslo Bushfekete had walked around to see what the back of the UFO looked like, and then he had stopped, staring. About ten feet behind the wreck, lying on the ground out of sight of the others, was a tiny severed hand, with six fingers and two opposing thumbs. Without even thinking, Bushfekete had taken out his handkerchief, scooped up the hand and slipped it into his pocket. His heart was beating wildly. He had in his possession the hand of a genuine extraterrestrial! From now on you can forget all your Fat Ladies, Tattooed Men, Sword Swallowers and Flame Eaters, he thought. Step right up, ladies and gentlemen, for the thrill of a lifetime. What you're about to see is a sight that no mortal has ever seen before. You are looking at one of the most incredible objects in the universe. It's not an animal. It's not a vegetable. It's not a mineral. What is it? It's part of the remains of an extraterrestrial ... A creature from outer space ... This is not science fiction, ladies and gentlemen, this is the real thing ... For 500 forints you can have your photograph taken with the ...



And that reminded him. He hoped that the photographer who had been at the crash site would remember to send the photograph he had promised. He would have it blown up and put next to the exhibit. That would be a neat touch. Showmanship. That's what life was all about. Showmanship.



He could not wait to return to Hungary and start to fulfil his grandiose dream.



When he arrived home and unwrapped the handkerchief, he noticed that the hand had shrivelled. But when Bushfekete rinsed off the dirt, amazingly, it regained its original firmness.



Bushfekete had hidden the hand safely away and had ordered an impressive glass case with a special humidifier built for it. When he was through exhibiting it in his carnival, he planned to travel with it all over Europe. All over the world. He would set up exhibits in museums. He would have private showings for scientists, perhaps, even heads of state. And he would charge them all. There was no end to the fabulous fortune that lay ahead.



He had told no one about his good luck, not even his sweetheart, Marika, the sexy little dancer who worked with cobras and puff adders, two of the most dangerous of the species Ophidia. Of course, their poison sacs had been removed but the audience did not know that because Bushfekete also kept a cobra, its poison sac intact, which he displayed free of charge to the public, who watched it kill rats. It wasn't surprising that people got a thrill out of watching the beautiful Marika let her pet snakes slither across her sensuous, half-naked body. Two or three nights a week, Marika came into Laslo Bushfekete's tent and crawled across his body, her tongue flicking in and out, like her pets. They had made love the night before, and Bushfekete was still exhausted from Marika's incredible gymnastics. His reminiscences were interrupted by a visitor.



"Mr Bushfekete?"



"You're talking to him. What can I do for you?"



"I understand you were in Switzerland last week."



Bushfekete was instantly wary. Had someone seen him pick up the hand? "What ... what about it?"



"You went on a bus tour last Sunday?"



Bushfekete said cautiously, "Yes."



Robert Bellamy relaxed. It was finally over. This was the last witness. He had taken on an impossible assignment and he had done a good job. A damned good job, if I say so myself. We have no idea where they are. And he had found them all. He felt as though a tremendous burden had been lifted from his shoulders. He was free now. Free to return home and begin a new life.



"What about my trip, mister?"



"It's not important," Robert Bellamy assured him. And it wasn't, not any longer. "I was interested in your fellow passengers, Mr Bushfekete, but now I think I have all the information I need, so ..."



"Oh, hell, I can tell you all about them," Laslo Bushfekete said. "There was an Italian priest from Orvieto, Italy, a German - I think he was a chemistry professor from Munich - some Russian girl who worked in the library in Kiev, a rancher from Waco, Texas, a Canadian banker from the territories and some lobbyist named Parker from Washington, DC."



My God, Robert thought. If I had gotten to him first, I could have saved a lot of time. The man is amazing. He recalled them all. "You have quite a memory," Robert said.



"Yeah." Bushfekete smiled. "Oh, and there was that other woman."



"The Russian woman."



"No, no, the other woman. The tall, thin one, who was dressed in white."



Robert thought for a moment. None of the others had mentioned a second woman. "I think you must be mistaken."



"No, I'm not." Bushfekete was insistent. "There were two women there."



Robert made a mental count. It simply did not add up. "There couldn't have been."



Bushfekete was insulted. "When that photographer fellow took the pictures of all of us in front of that UFO, she was standing right next to me. She was a real beauty." He paused. "The funny part is I don't recall seeing her on the bus. She was probably in the back somewhere. I remember she seemed kind of pale. I was a little worried about her."



Robert frowned. "When all of you returned to the bus, was she with you?"



"Come to think of it, I don't remember seeing her after that. But I was so excited by that UFO thing, I wasn't paying much attention."



There was something here that did not fit. Could there have been eleven witnesses instead of ten? I'll have to check that out, Robert thought. "Thank you, Mr Bushfekete," he said.



"My pleasure."



"Good luck."



Bushfekete grinned. "Thanks." He didn't need luck. Not any more. Not with the hand of a real genuine alien in his possession.



That night Robert Bellamy made his final report to General Hil-liard. "I have his name. It's Laslo Bushfekete. He runs a carnival, outside of Sopron, Hungary."



"That's the last of the witnesses?"



Robert hesitated an instant. "Yes, sir." He had started to mention the eighth passenger, but he decided to wait until he had verified it. It seemed too improbable.



"Thank you, Commander. Well done."



FLASH MESSAGE



TOP SECRET ULTRA



NSA TO DEPUTY DIRECTOR HRQ



EYES ONLY



COPY ONE OF (ONE) COPIES



SUBJECT: OPERATION DOOMSDAY



10. LASLO BUSHFEKETE - SOPRON



END OF MESSAGE



They arrived in the middle of the night when the carnival was shut down. They left fifteen minutes later, as silently as they had come.



Laslo Bushfekete dreamed he was standing at the entrance to the large white tent, watching the huge crowd lined up at the box office to buy their 500-forint tickets.



Come right this way, folks. See the genuine body part of an alien from outer space. Not a drawing, not a photograph, but an actual part of an actual ET. Only 500 forints for the thrill of a lifetime, a sight you will never forget.



And then he was in bed with Marika, and they were both naked, and he could feel her nipples pressing against his chest and her tongue slithering across his body and she was crawling all over him, and he got an erection, and he reached for her and his hands closed over something cold and slimy, and he woke up and opened his eyes and screamed, and that was when the cobra struck.



They found his body in the morning. The cage for the poisonous snake was empty.



FLASH MESSAGE



TOP SECRET ULTRA



HRQ TO DEPUTY DIRECTOR NSA



EYES ONLY



COPY ONE OF (ONE) COPIES



SUBJECT: OPERATION DOOMSDAY



10. LASLO BUSHFEKETE - SOPRON -



TERMINATED



END OF MESSAGE



General Milliard made a call on the red phone. "Janus, I've received the final report from Commander Bellamy. He's found the last of the witnesses. They've all been taken care of."



"Excellent. I'll inform the others. I want you to proceed at once with the rest of our plan."



"Immediately."