The Doomsday Conspiracy   ::   Sheldon Sidney

“The Pink Lady’s-Slipper has a hinged upperlip that closes when a bee lands, and traps it. The only escape is through a narrow passageway out the rear, and as the bee fights its way to freedom, it picks up a cap of pollen. There are five thousand flowering plants that grow in the northeast, and each species has its own characteristics. There is no doubt about it. It’s been proven over and over that living plants have an intelligence.”

Janus was thinking: And the missing alien is at large somewhere.

DAY THREE

Bern, Wednesday, October 17th

Bern was one of Robert’s favourite cities. It was an elegant town, filled with lovely monuments and beautiful old stone buildings dating back to the eighteenth century. It was the capital of Switzerland and one of its most prosperous cities, and Robert wondered whether the fact that the street cars were green had anything to do with the colour of money. He had found that the Berners were more easy-going than the citizens from other parts of Switzerland. They moved more deliberately, spoke more slowly, and were generally calmer. He had worked in Bern several times in the past with the Swiss Secret Service, operating out of their headquarters at Waisenhausplatz. He had friends there who could have been helpful, but his instructions were clear. Puzzling, but clear.

It took fifteen phone calls for Robert to locate the garage that towed the photographer’s car. It was a small garage located on Fribourgstrasse, and the mechanic, Fritz Mandel, was also the owner. Mandel appeared to be in his late forties, with a gaunt, acne-pitted face, a thin body, and an enormous beer belly. He was working down in the pit of the grease rack when Robert arrived.

“Good afternoon,” Robert called.

Mandel looked up. “Guten Tag. What can I do for you?”

“I’m interested in a car you towed in Sunday.”

“Just a minute till I finish this up.”

Ten minutes later, Mandel climbed out of the pit and wiped his oily hands on a filthy cloth.

“You’re the one who called this morning. Was there some complaint about that tow job?” Mandel asked. “I’m not responsible for …”

“No,” Robert reassured him. “Not at all. I’m conducting a survey and I’m interested in the driver of the car.”

“Come into the office.”

The two men went into the small office and Mandel opened a file cabinet. “Last Sunday, you said?”

“That’s right.”

Mandel took out a card. “Ja. That was the Arschficker who took our picture in front of that UFO.”

Robert’s palms felt suddenly moist.