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The Doomsday Conspiracy :: Sheldon Sidney
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“I want you to find someone.”
“I promise.”
“I’m concerned about you, darling.”
“No need. I’m really fine.” He almost gagged on his lie. If she only knew the truth. But it was nothing he could bring himself to discuss with anyone. Especially Susan. He could not bear the thought of her pity.
“I’ll telephone you from Brazil,” Susan said.
There was a long silence. They could not let go of each other, because there was too much to say, too many things that were better left unsaid, that had to be left unsaid.
“I have to go now, Robert.”
“Susan?”
“Yes?”
“I love you, baby. I always will.”
“I know. I love you too, Robert.”
And that was the bittersweet irony of it. They still loved each other so much.
You two have the perfect marriage, all their friends used to say. What had gone wrong?
Commander Robert Bellamy got out of bed, and walked through the silent living room in his bare feet. The room screamed out Susan’s absence. There were dozens of photographs of Susan and himself scattered around, frozen moments in time. The two of them fishing in the Highlands of Scotland, standing in front of a Buddha near a Thai klong, riding a carriage in the rain through the Borghese gardens in Rome. And in each picture they were smiling and hugging, two people wildly in love.
He went into the kitchen and put on a pot of coffee. The kitchen clock read 4:15. He hesitated a moment, then dialled a number. There were six rings, and finally he heard Admiral Whittaker’s voice at the other end of the line. “Hello.”
“Admiral …”
“Yes?”
“It’s Robert. I’m terribly sorry to wake you, sir. I just had a rather strange phone call from the National Security Agency.”
“NSA? What did they want?”
“I don’t know. I’ve been ordered to report to General Hilliard at 0600.”
There was a thoughtful silence. “Perhaps you’re being transferred there.”
“I can’t be. It doesn’t make sense. Why would they …?”
“It’s obviously something urgent, Robert. Why don’t you give me a call after the meeting?”
“I will. Thank you.”
The connection was broken. I shouldn’t have bothered the old man, Robert thought. The Admiral had retired as head of Naval Intelligence two years earlier. Forced to retire, was more like it.
“I want you to find someone.”
“I promise.”
“I’m concerned about you, darling.”
“No need. I’m really fine.” He almost gagged on his lie. If she only knew the truth. But it was nothing he could bring himself to discuss with anyone. Especially Susan. He could not bear the thought of her pity.
“I’ll telephone you from Brazil,” Susan said.
There was a long silence. They could not let go of each other, because there was too much to say, too many things that were better left unsaid, that had to be left unsaid.
“I have to go now, Robert.”
“Susan?”
“Yes?”
“I love you, baby. I always will.”
“I know. I love you too, Robert.”
And that was the bittersweet irony of it. They still loved each other so much.
You two have the perfect marriage, all their friends used to say. What had gone wrong?
Commander Robert Bellamy got out of bed, and walked through the silent living room in his bare feet. The room screamed out Susan’s absence. There were dozens of photographs of Susan and himself scattered around, frozen moments in time. The two of them fishing in the Highlands of Scotland, standing in front of a Buddha near a Thai klong, riding a carriage in the rain through the Borghese gardens in Rome. And in each picture they were smiling and hugging, two people wildly in love.
He went into the kitchen and put on a pot of coffee. The kitchen clock read 4:15. He hesitated a moment, then dialled a number. There were six rings, and finally he heard Admiral Whittaker’s voice at the other end of the line. “Hello.”
“Admiral …”
“Yes?”
“It’s Robert. I’m terribly sorry to wake you, sir. I just had a rather strange phone call from the National Security Agency.”
“NSA? What did they want?”
“I don’t know. I’ve been ordered to report to General Hilliard at 0600.”
There was a thoughtful silence. “Perhaps you’re being transferred there.”
“I can’t be. It doesn’t make sense. Why would they …?”
“It’s obviously something urgent, Robert. Why don’t you give me a call after the meeting?”
“I will. Thank you.”
The connection was broken. I shouldn’t have bothered the old man, Robert thought. The Admiral had retired as head of Naval Intelligence two years earlier. Forced to retire, was more like it.