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This is for Jerry Davis
Table of Contents
Cover Page
Title Page
Dedication
Prologue
PART ONE THE HUNTER
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-one
Chapter Twenty-two
Chapter Twenty-three
Chapter Twenty-four
Chapter Twenty-five
Chapter Twenty-six
Chapter Twenty-seven
Chapter Twenty-eight
Chapter Twenty-nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-one
Chapter Thirty-two
Chapter Thirty-three
Chapter Thirty-four
PART TWO THE HUNTED
Chapter Thirty-five
Chapter Thirty-six
Chapter Thirty-seven
Chapter Thirty-eight
Chapter Thirty-nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-one
Chapter Forty-two
Chapter Forty-three
Chapter Forty-four
Chapter Forty-five
Chapter Forty-six
Chapter Forty-seven
Chapter Forty-eight
Chapter Forty-nine
Chapter Fifty
Chapter Fifty-one
Chapter Fifty-two
Author’s Note
Acknowledgment
Books by Sidney Sheldon
About the Author
Copyright
About the Publisher
Prologue
Uetendorf, Switzerland
Sunday, October 14, 1500 Hours
The witnesses standing at the edge of the field were staring in horrified silence, too stunned to speak. The scene that lay before them was grotesque, a primeval nightmare dredged up from some deep, dark depths of primitive man’s collective unconscious. Each witness had a different reaction. One fainted. A second one vomited. A woman was shaking uncontrollably. Another one thought: I’m going to have a heart attack! The elderly priest clutched his beads and crossed himself. Help me, Father. Help us all. Protect us against this evil incarnate. We have finally seen the face of Satan. It is the end of the world. Judgment Day has come.
Armageddon is here … Armageddon … Armageddon …
PART ONE THE HUNTER
Sunday, October 14, 2100 Hours
FLASH MESSAGE
TOP SECRET ULTRA
NSA TO DEPUTY DIRECTOR COMSEC
EYES ONLY
SUBJECT: OPERATION DOOMSDAY
MESSAGE: ACTIVATE
NOTIFY NORAD, CIRVIS, GEPAN, DIS, GHG, VSAF, INS.
END OF MESSAGE
Sunday, October 14, 2115 Hours
FLASH MESSAGE
TOP SECRET ULTRA
NSA TO DEPUTY DIRECTOR—
NAVAL INTELLIGENCE 17TH DISTRICT
EYES ONLY
SUBJECT: COMMANDER ROBERT BELLAMY
ARRANGE TEMPORARY TRANSFER THIS AGENCY, EFFECTIVE IMMEDIATELY.
YOUR CONCURRENCE IN THE ABOVE IS ASSUMED.
END OF MESSAGE
Chapter One
DAY ONE
Monday, October 15
He was back in the crowded hospital ward at Cu Chi Base in Vietnam and Susan was leaning over his bed, lovely in her crisp white nurse’s uniform, whispering, “Wake up, sailor. You don’t want to die.”
And when he heard the magic of her voice, he could almost forget his pain. She was murmuring something else in his ear, but a loud bell was ringing, and he could not hear her clearly. He reached up to pull her closer, and his hands clutched empty air.
It was the sound of the telephone that fully awoke Robert Bellamy. He opened his eyes reluctantly, not wanting to let go of the dream. The telephone at his bedside was insistent. He looked at the clock. Four A.M. He snatched up the instrument, angry at having his dream interrupted. “Do you know what the hell time it is?”
“Commander Bellamy?” A deep, male voice.
“Yes—”
“I have a message for you, Commander. You are ordered to report to General Hilliard at National Security Agency headquarters at Fort Meade at oh six hundred this morning. Is the message understood, Commander?”
“Yes.” And no. Mostly no.
Commander Robert Bellamy slowly replaced the receiver, puzzled. What the devil could the NSA want with him? He was assigned to ONI, the Office of Naval Intelligence. And what could be urgent enough to call for a meeting at six o’clock in the morning? He lay down again and closed his eyes, trying to recapture the dream. It had been so real. He knew, of course, what had triggered it. Susan had telephoned the evening before.
“Robert …”
The sound of her voice did to him what it always did. He took a shaky breath. “Hello, Susan.”
“Are you all right, Robert?”
“Sure. Fantastic. How’s Moneybags?”
“Please, don’t.”
“All right. How’s Monte Banks?”
He could not bring himself to say “your husband.” He was her husband.
“He’s fine. I just wanted to tell you that we’re going to be away for a little while. I didn’t want you to worry.”
That was so like her, so Susan. He fought to keep his voice steady. “Where are you going this time?”
“We’re flying to Brazil.”
On Moneybags’s private 727.
“Monte has some business interests there.”
“Really? I thought he owned the country.”
“Stop it, Robert. Please.”
“Sorry.”
There was a pause. “I wish you sounded better.”
“If you were here, I would.”
“I want you to find someone wonderful and be happy.”
“I did find someone wonderful, Susan.” The damned lump in his throat made it difficult for him to speak. “And do you know what happened? I lost her.”
“If you’re going to do this, I won’t call you again.”
He was filled with sudden panic. “Don’t say that. Please.” She was his lifeline. He could not bear the thought of never speaking to her again. He tried to sound cheerful. “I’m going to go out and find some luscious blonde and screw us both to death.”
“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 A.M. He hesitated a moment, then dialed 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.”
“The NSA? What did they want?”
“I don’t know. I’ve been ordered to report to General Hilliard at oh six hundred.”
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. The rumor was that as a sop, the Navy had given him a little office somewhere and put him to work counting barnacles on the mothball fleet, or some such shit. The admiral would have no idea about current intelligence activities. But he was Robert’s mentor. He was closer to Robert than anyone in the world, except, of course, Susan. And Robert had needed to talk to someone. With Susan gone, he felt as though he were living in a time warp. He fantasized that somewhere, in another dimension of time and space, he and Susan were still happily married, laughing and carefree and loving. Or maybe not, Robert thought wearily. Maybe I just don’t know when to let go.
The coffee was ready. It tasted bitter. He wondered whether the beans came from Brazil.
He carried the coffee cup into the bathroom and studied his image in the mirror. He was looking at a man in his early forties, tall and lean and physically fit with a craggy face, a strong chin, black hair, and intelligent, probing dark eyes. There was a long, deep scar on his chest, a souvenir from the plane crash. But that was yesterday. That was Susan. This was today. Without Susan. He shaved and showered and walked over to his clothes closet. What do I wear, he wondered, Navy uniform or civilian clothes? And on the other hand, who gives a damn? He put on a charcoal gray suit, a white shirt, and a gray silk tie. He knew very little about the National Security Agency, only that the Puzzle Palace, as it was nicknamed, superseded all other American intelligence agencies and was the most secretive of them all. What do they want with me? I’ll soon find out.
Chapter Two
The National Security Agency is hidden discreetly away on eighty-two rambling acres at Fort Meade, Maryland, in two buildings that together are twice the size of the CIA complex in Langley, Virginia. The agency, created to give technical support to protect United States communications and acquire worldwide electronic intelligence data, employs thousands of people, and so much information is generated by its operations that it shreds more than forty tons of documents every day.
It was still dark when Commander Robert Bellamy arrived at the first gate. He drove up to an eight-foot-high Cyclone fence with a topping of barbed wire. There was a sentry booth there, manned by two armed guards. One of them stayed in the booth watching as the other approached the car. “Can I help you?”
“Commander Bellamy to see General Hilliard.”
“May I see your identification, Commander?”
Robert Bellamy pulled out his wallet and removed his 17th District Naval Intelligence ID card. The guard studied it carefully and returned it. “Thank you, Commander.”
He nodded to the guard in the booth, and the gate swung open. The guard inside picked up a telephone. “Commander Bellamy is on his way.”
A minute later, Robert Bellamy drove up to a closed, electrified gate.
An armed guard approached the car. “Commander Bellamy?”
“Yes.”
“May I see your identification, please?”
He started to protest and then he thought, What the hell. It’s their zoo. He took out his wallet again and showed his identification to the guard.
“Thank you, Commander.” The guard gave some invisible sign, and the gate opened.
As Robert Bellamy drove ahead, he saw a third Cyclone fence ahead of him. My God, he thought, I’m in the Land of Oz.
Another uniformed guard walked up to the car. As Robert Bellamy reached for his wallet, the guard looked at the license plate and said, “Please drive straight ahead to the administration building, Commander. There will be someone there to meet you.”
“Thank you.”
The gate swung open, and Robert followed the driveway up to an enormous white building. A man in civilian clothes was standing outside waiting, shivering in the chill October air. “You can leave your car right there, Commander,” he called out. “We’ll take care of it.”
Robert Bellamy left the keys in his car and stepped out. The man greeting him appeared to be in his thirties, tall, thin, and sallow. He looked as though he had not seen the sun in years.
“I’m Harrison Keller. I’ll escort you to General Hilliard’s office.”
They walked into a large high-ceilinged entrance hall. A man in civilian clothes was seated behind a desk. “Commander Bellamy—”
Robert Bellamy swung around. He heard the click of a camera.
“Thank you, sir.”
Robert Bellamy turned to Keller. “What—?”
“This will take only a minute,” Harrison Keller assured him.
Sixty seconds later, Robert Bellamy was handed a blue and white identification badge with his photograph on it.
“Please wear this at all times while you’re in the building, Commander.”
“Right.”
They started walking down a long, white corridor. Robert Bellamy noticed security cameras mounted at twenty-foot intervals on both sides of the hall.
“How big is this building?”
“Just over two million square feet, Commander.”
“What?”
“Yes. This corridor is the longest corridor in the world—nine hundred and eighty feet. We’re completely self-contained here. We have a shopping center, cafeteria, post exchange, eight snack bars, a hospital, complete with an operating room, a dentist’s office, a branch of the State Bank of Laurel, a dry-cleaning shop, a shoe shop, a barbershop, and a few other odds and ends.”
It’s a home away from home, Robert thought. He found it oddly depressing.
They passed an enormous open area filled with a vast sea of computers. Robert stopped in amazement.
“Impressive, isn’t it? That’s just one of our computer rooms. The complex contains three billion dollars’ worth of decoding machines and computers.”
“How many people work in this place?”
“About sixteen thousand.”
So what the hell do they need me for? Robert Bellamy wondered.
He was led into a private elevator that Keller operated with a key. They went up one floor and started on another trek down a long corridor until they reached a suite of offices at the end of the hall.
“Right in here, Commander.” They entered a large reception office with four secretaries’ desks. Two of the secretaries had already arrived for work. Harrison Keller nodded to one of them, and she pressed a button, and a door to the inner office clicked open.
“Go right in, please, gentlemen. The general is expecting you.”
Harrison Keller said, “This way.”
Robert Bellamy followed him into the inner sanctum. He found himself in a spacious office, the ceilings and walls heavily soundproofed. The room was comfortably furnished, filled with photographs and personal mementos. It was obvious that the man behind the desk spent a lot of time there.
General Mark Hilliard, deputy director of the NSA, appeared to be in his middle fifties, very tall, with a face carved in flint, icy, steely eyes, and a ramrod-straight posture. The general was dressed in a gray suit, white shirt, and gray tie. I guessed right, Robert thought.
Harrison Keller said, “General Hilliard, this is Commander Bellamy.”
“Thank you for dropping by, Commander.”
As though it was an invitation to some tea party.
The two men shook hands.
“Sit down. I’ll bet you could do with a cup of coffee.”
The man was a mind reader. “Yes, sir.”
“Harrison?”
“No, thank you.” He took a chair in the corner.
A buzzer was pressed, the door opened, and an Oriental in a mess jacket entered with a tray of coffee and Danish pastry. Robert noted that he was not wearing an identification badge. Shame. The coffee was poured. It smelled wonderful.
“How do you take yours?” General Hilliard asked.
“Black, please.” The coffee tasted great.
The two men were seated facing each other in soft leather chairs.
“The director asked that I meet with you.”
The director. Edward Sanderson. A legend in espionage circles. A brilliant, ruthless puppet master, credited with masterminding dozens of daring coups all over the world. A man seldom seen in public and whispered about in private.
“How long have you been with the 17th District Naval Intelligence Group, Commander?” General Hilliard asked.
Robert played it straight. “Fifteen years.” He would have bet a month’s pay that the general could have told him the time of day when he had joined ONI.
“Before that, I believe you commanded a naval air squadron in Vietnam.”
“Yes, sir.”
“You were shot down. They didn’t expect you to pull through.”
The doctor was saying, “Forget about him. He won’t make it.” He had wanted to die. The pain was unbearable. And then Susan was leaning over him. “Open your eyes, sailor, you don’t want to die.” He had forced his eyes open and through the haze of pain was staring at the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. She had a soft oval face and thick black hair, sparkling brown eyes and a smile like a blessing. He had tried to speak, but it was too much of an effort.
General Hilliard was saying something.
Robert Bellamy brought his mind back to the present. “I beg your pardon, General?”
“We have a problem, Commander. We need your help.”
“Yes, sir?”
The general stood up and began to pace. “What I’m about to tell you is extremely sensitive. It’s above top secret.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Yesterday, in the Swiss Alps, a NATO weather balloon crashed.
There were some experimental military objects aboard the balloon that are highly secret.”
Robert found himself wondering where all this was leading.
“The Swiss government has removed those objects from the balloon, but unfortunately, it seems that there were some witnesses to the crash. It is of vital importance that none of them talk to anyone about what they saw. It could provide valuable information to certain other countries. Do you follow me?”
“I think so, sir. You want me to speak to the witnesses and warn them not to discuss what they saw.”
“Not exactly, Commander.”
“Then I don’t under—”
“What I want you to do is simply track down those witnesses. Others will talk to them about the necessity for silence.”
“I see. Are the witnesses all in Switzerland?”
General Hilliard stopped in front of Robert. “That’s our problem, Commander. You see, we have no idea where they are. Or who they are.”
Robert thought he had missed something. “I beg your pardon?”
“The only information we have is that the witnesses were on a tour bus. They happened to be passing the scene when the weather balloon crashed near a little village called …” He turned to Harrison Keller.
“Uetendorf.”
The general turned back to Robert. “The passengers got off the bus for a few minutes to look at the crash and then continued on. When the tour ended, the passengers dispersed.”
Robert said slowly, “General Hilliard, are you saying that there is no record of who these people are or where they went?”
“That is correct.”
“And you want me to go over and find them?”
“Exactly. You’ve been very highly recommended. I’m told that you speak half a dozen languages fluently, and you have an excellent field record. The director arranged to have you temporarily transferred to the NSA.”
Terrific. “I assume I’ll be working with the Swiss government on this?”
“No, you’ll be working alone.”
“Alone? But—”
“We must not involve anyone else in this mission. I can’t stress enough the importance of what was in that balloon, Commander. Time is of the essence. I want you to report your progress to me every day.”
The general wrote a number on a card and handed it to Robert. “I can be reached through this number day or night. There’s a plane waiting to fly you to Zurich. You’ll be escorted to your apartment, so you can pack what you need, and then you’ll be taken to the airport.”
So much for “Thank you for dropping by.” Robert was tempted to ask “Will someone feed my goldfish while I’m gone?” but he had a feeling the answer would be “You have no goldfish.”
“In your work with ONI, Commander, I assume you’ve acquired intelligence contacts abroad?”
“Yes, sir. I have quite a few friends who could be of use—”
“You’re not to get in touch with any of them. You are not authorized to make any contacts at all. The witnesses you’re looking for are undoubtedly nationals of various countries.” The general turned to Keller. “Harrison—”
Keller walked over to a filing cabinet in the corner and unlocked it. He removed a large manila envelope and passed it to Robert.
“There’s fifty thousand dollars in here in different European currencies and another twenty thousand in U.S. dollars. You will also find several sets of false identifications that may come in handy.”
General Hilliard held out a thick, shiny black plastic card with a white stripe on it. “Here’s a credit card that—”
“I doubt if I’ll need that, General. The cash will be enough, and I have an ONI credit card.”
“Take it.”
“Very well.” Robert examined the card. It was drawn on a bank he had never heard of. At the bottom of the card was a telephone number. “There’s no name on the card,” Robert said.
“It’s the equivalent of a blank check. It requires no identification. Just have them call the telephone number on the card when you make a purchase. It’s very important that you keep it with you at all times.”
“Right.”
“And Commander?”
“Sir?”
“You must find those witnesses. Every one of them. I’ll inform the director that you have started the assignment.”