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The Doomsday Conspiracy :: Sheldon Sidney
Страница: 33 из 213All he had to do was find one photographer. “Why didn’t you mention him before, Mr Beckerman?”
“You asked me about passengers.”
“You mean, he wasn’t a passenger?”
Hans Beckerman shook his head. “Nein.” He pointed. “His car was stalled across the highway. A tow truck was starting to haul it away, and then there was this loud crash, and he ran across the road to see what was happening. When he saw what it was, the fellow ran back to his car, grabbed his cameras and came back. Then he asked us all to pose in front of the saucer thing.”
“Did this photographer give you his name?”
“No.”
“Do you remember anything about him?”
Hans Beckerman concentrated. “Well, he was a foreigner. American or English.”
“You said a tow truck was getting ready to haul his car away?”
“That’s right.”
“Do you remember which way the truck was headed?”
“North. I figured he was towing it into Bern. Thun is closer, but on Sunday all the garages in Thun are closed.”
Robert grinned. “Thank you. You’ve been very helpful.”
“You won’t forget to send me your article when it’s finished?”
“No. Here’s your money and an extra hundred marks for your great help. I’ll drive you home.” They walked over to the car. As Beckerman opened the door, he stopped and turned toward Robert. “That was very generous of you.” He took from his pocket a small rectangular piece of metal, the size of a cigarette lighter, containing a tiny white crystal.
“What’s this?”
“I found it on the ground Sunday before we got back on the bus.” Robert examined the strange object. It was as light as paper and was the colour of sand. A rough edge at one end indicated that it might be part of another piece. Part of the equipment that had been in the weather balloon? Or part of a UFO? “Maybe it will bring you luck,” said Beckerman, as he placed the bills Robert had given him in his wallet. “It certainly worked for me.” He smiled broadly and got into the car.
It was time to ask himself the hard question: Do I really believe in UFOs? He had read dozens of wild newspaper stories about people who said they had been beamed up into UFOs and had had all kinds of weird experiences, and he had always attributed those reports to people who were either looking for publicity or who should have thrown themselves on the mercy of a good psychiatrist. But in the past few years there had been reports that were less easy to dismiss.
“You asked me about passengers.”
“You mean, he wasn’t a passenger?”
Hans Beckerman shook his head. “Nein.” He pointed. “His car was stalled across the highway. A tow truck was starting to haul it away, and then there was this loud crash, and he ran across the road to see what was happening. When he saw what it was, the fellow ran back to his car, grabbed his cameras and came back. Then he asked us all to pose in front of the saucer thing.”
“Did this photographer give you his name?”
“No.”
“Do you remember anything about him?”
Hans Beckerman concentrated. “Well, he was a foreigner. American or English.”
“You said a tow truck was getting ready to haul his car away?”
“That’s right.”
“Do you remember which way the truck was headed?”
“North. I figured he was towing it into Bern. Thun is closer, but on Sunday all the garages in Thun are closed.”
Robert grinned. “Thank you. You’ve been very helpful.”
“You won’t forget to send me your article when it’s finished?”
“No. Here’s your money and an extra hundred marks for your great help. I’ll drive you home.” They walked over to the car. As Beckerman opened the door, he stopped and turned toward Robert. “That was very generous of you.” He took from his pocket a small rectangular piece of metal, the size of a cigarette lighter, containing a tiny white crystal.
“What’s this?”
“I found it on the ground Sunday before we got back on the bus.” Robert examined the strange object. It was as light as paper and was the colour of sand. A rough edge at one end indicated that it might be part of another piece. Part of the equipment that had been in the weather balloon? Or part of a UFO? “Maybe it will bring you luck,” said Beckerman, as he placed the bills Robert had given him in his wallet. “It certainly worked for me.” He smiled broadly and got into the car.
It was time to ask himself the hard question: Do I really believe in UFOs? He had read dozens of wild newspaper stories about people who said they had been beamed up into UFOs and had had all kinds of weird experiences, and he had always attributed those reports to people who were either looking for publicity or who should have thrown themselves on the mercy of a good psychiatrist. But in the past few years there had been reports that were less easy to dismiss.