The Doomsday Conspiracy   ::   Sheldon Sidney

“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-

His first priority was to get hold of Li Po. When he reached the Paris suburbs, he stopped at a phone booth. He telephoned Li’s apartment and heard the familiar voice on the answering machine: Zao, mes amis … Je regrette que je ne sois pas chez moi mais il n’yapas du danger queje ne repondepas a votre coup de telephone. Prenez garde que vous attendiez le signal de I’appareil.