The Doomsday Conspiracy   ::   Sheldon Sidney

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.