The Doomsday Box Page 9

  “Time agents?” Michael asked.

  “No, not time agents. I already told you, that’s the one secret you take to your graves, pardon the expression. You’ll be CIA special agents on a special CIA mission with me as your official controller. That’s all the ambassador needs to know, all he will know. This doesn’t have to be a James Bond mission. If you work it right, we get you into Russia, you find Cobra, have your little chat, then we get you out again, nobody any the wiser; no fuss, no muss.”

  “How do we find Cobra?” Opal asked.

  “Leave that to me, Miss Harrington,” Stratford said. “I’ll try to help you any way I can. He’s undercover, so it won’t be easy, but I should be able to set up a meeting for you by the time you get to Moscow.”

  “I suppose it would be against the rules if you came with us?” Michael asked him suddenly.

  Stratford shook his head. “You’ll want to move as fast as possible, and I have stuff I have to do here. You’re on your own. But I can teach you some tricks of the trade before you go.”

  “What sort of tricks?” Michael asked, suddenly curious.

  “How to lose surveillance when the KGB starts tailing you might be useful,” Stratford said. “One or two other simple bits and pieces.” He peeled off his jacket and hung it over the back of a chair. “Let’s get started.”

  Chapter 22

  Danny, 31,000 Feet over Sweden, 1962

  Danny knew he would die within the next five minutes. Flying London to New York in a modern jet had been bad enough, but the 1962 Aeroflot plane from London to Moscow looked like it might have been tied together with string. The seats needed cleaning, the flight attendants were thick-set and brooding—although probably great at tramping to civilization across a snowfield when the plane actually crashed. One really strange detail, though, was that the meals were served with sterling silver cutlery in place of the usual plastic knives and forks. Not that Danny had any appetite. The food was disgusting, and a combination of fear and worry locked his stomach. Not that it mattered. In five minutes, max, the plane would drop out of the sky and all his worries would be over. He wondered vaguely if he’d spend the afterlife in his astral body.

  The engine gave a brief, disturbing howl as Fuchsia slipped into the seat beside him. The scary flight attendants had allocated each of them separate seats because of the numbering on their tickets even though the flight was almost empty. Danny—and the others, presumably—had even been told by a uniformed woman who looked like a wrestler that it was “forbidden by regulations” to change seats. But now the flight attendants had all moved to the back of the plane. None of them was looking at the passengers when Fuchsia seized her chance.

  “Are you all right, Danny?” Fuchsia asked anxiously. “I know you don’t like flying.”

  “Fine,” Danny muttered through clenched teeth. “Glad to see you, though.”

  “Yes, I know,” Fuchsia said. She settled into the seat. “Wasn’t the food ghastly?”

  It was the perfect opportunity. He’d wanted to talk to her earlier, but it had proved incredibly difficult to get her alone. Now . . . Danny licked his lips. “I want you to do me a favor.”

  Fuchsia glanced past him through the window. They were flying through cloud. “Yes, of course, Danny.”

  “That thing you do, you know, your precog talent, could you switch it on again?”

  “I expect so,” Fuchsia said. “You want to know if the plane’s going to crash, don’t you?”

  “No. Well, yes, but . . .” Actually he wanted to know if the plane wasn’t going to crash, but even above the fear of flying he had another worry that was eating him alive since they’d left their own time. He looked at Fuchsia with her trusting gaze and came to a sudden decision. “I need to tell you something.”

  “You can tell me anything, Danny,” Fuchsia said.

  The plane hit some mild turbulence and rocked. Danny closed his eyes, but for once it wasn’t in terror. He opened them again to look at Fuchsia. “Did you ever wonder what would happen if Cobra doesn’t agree to forget his germ warfare samples?”

  Fuchsia considered the question thoughtfully, then said, “No. I wondered what would happen if we couldn’t find him, but I never wondered that.”

  “Suppose he doesn’t? Suppose he decides he’s going to send them through anyway?”

  “Why would he?” Fuchsia asked. “You know what Mr. Carradine said: he’s not crazy.”

  Danny dropped his voice. “Listen, Fuchsia, Cobra isn’t involved in germ warfare yet. Would you agree not to do something you aren’t doing anyway just because you were asked to by four kids who said they were time travelers? You’d think they were nuts, wouldn’t you?”

  “Why?” Fuchsia asked. “Cobra knows all about time travel—that’s how he got the samples of Black Death in the first place.”

  “Cobra doesn’t know all about time travel,” Danny told her urgently. “The future Cobra does, but we’re looking for the young Cobra who’s working for the CIA but hasn’t joined Project Rainbow yet, doesn’t know a thing about Montauk because it’s not even built. He may or may not have heard a rumor going round the CIA that somebody, somewhere might be experimenting with time travel, and that’s the most he has to go on.”

  Fuchsia frowned. “When you put it like that, you have to wonder if Mr. Carradine thought this whole thing through properly.”

  “Oh, Mr. Carradine thought it through, all right,” Danny told her sourly. “Look at this. . . .” He glanced around to make sure none of the flight attendants was looking in their direction, then cautiously pulled the ring box Carradine had given him an inch or two from his pocket.

  Fuchsia peered at it. “What’s that?” Danny eased it out a fraction farther, and her eyes widened. She grinned mischievously. “Good heavens, Danny, this is so sudden!”

  “It’s not a ring,” Danny said sourly. “Well, it is, but it’s not an engagement ring.” He flipped open the box, glanced round to make sure nobody was watching them, then leaned across to whisper in Fuchsia’s ear. “It’s a poison ring.”

  Fuchsia bent to stare into the box. “Poison?”

  Danny nodded. “If you push a little catch, the amethyst pops up and you’ve got poison in a cavity underneath. Cyanide. I don’t want to open it, in case it spills.”

  “No, of course not,” Fuchsia said. “Cyanide’s pretty lethal, isn’t it?”

  “Kills you in ten seconds or something,” Danny said.

  “Where did you get it?”

  “Mr. Carradine gave it to me before we left.”

  “Why?”

  “He wants me to kill Cobra,” Danny told her miserably. He closed the ring box and slipped it back into his pocket. When he looked at Fuchsia, she was staring at him, appalled.

  “Why does he want you to kill Cobra?” she demanded. “We’re supposed to tell him not to send through the germ warfare samples.”

  “In case he won’t listen. If he won’t listen, Mr. Carradine wants me to poison him.”

  “You can’t. You can’t go around poisoning people.” The shock on Fuchsia’s face was almost comical. “I won’t let you.”

  “I don’t think I can either,” Danny said.

  “Then why did you bring the silly ring with you?” Fuchsia hissed.

  “I don’t know.” Danny shook his head in despair. He turned away to look at the fog through the window, only to find they’d broken out of the cloud so that he was looking at clear sky. He turned back to Fuchsia. “He said it was one life against millions of lives. I can see that too. We have to stop those vials getting through.”

  “Did you agree? Did you say you would do it?”

  Danny shook his head. “I told him no. I told him I wouldn’t.”

  “Then why did you take the ring?”

  “I don’t know,” Danny said again. “He said we needed insurance in case Cobra wouldn’t cooperate. I suppose I thought he was right.”

  “Do you still think he was right?”

&n
bsp; “No, but—”

  “But what, Danny? This is a question of right and wrong. You can’t just go around poisoning people—innocent people—whatever your justification.”

  “He’s hardly innocent,” Danny mumbled. “He’s a germ warmonger.” He knew there was something wrong with his logic the minute he said it.

  Fuchsia pointed it out: “He isn’t now. He’s a young man who hasn’t had anything to do with germ warfare yet. You just said so yourself.”

  “It’s worse than that,” Danny said. “Cobra is Mr. Carradine’s father.”

  There was a long moment’s silence as Fuchsia simply looked at him. Then she said, “This is crazy. It’s probably not you, Danny; it’s Mr. Carradine. But it’s mad. You’re not Lucrezia Borgia. You don’t go around poisoning people just to save the world. Have you told the others about this?”

  Danny shook his head. “No.”

  “You’ll have to tell them,” Fuchsia said. “This is something that affects us all. As soon as we land and get somewhere private, you must tell them.”

  Danny said, “Listen, you can see the future. I was wondering if you could switch it on and have a look for me, see if Cobra believes what we tell him. Or . . .” He trailed off and put his hand up to his head as if to hide his face.

  “Or if you murder him?” Fuchsia asked incredulously.

  “Sort of,” Danny said wretchedly. “I can’t. I know I can’t. But I’d still like you to look. Just in case.”

  “Just in case . . . ?” Fuchsia echoed. “You know I can’t see the future all the time.” She was beginning to sound angry.

  “Yes, I know, but I thought you could try—”

  “I didn’t mean that,” Fuchsia said. “Even when it works, the future’s not always there for me to see.”

  “But will you try?”

  “Yes, I’ll try, but if I see you poisoning him, we’ll have to find some way to stop it.”

  “Maybe seeing me poisoning him would mean we could stop it,” Danny said. He wasn’t sure he believed that, but any argument that might encourage her to look was worth using.

  Fuchsia closed her eyes for a minute, then jerked her head in that weird little tic she’d done the last time. After a moment she opened her eyes again. “Can’t,” she said.

  “What do you mean?” Danny asked.

  “It won’t switch on,” Fuchsia said. She closed her eyes and tried again, but it was obvious that nothing was happening.

  “Why won’t it switch on?” Danny demanded. His earlier fear had been replaced by a feeling of desperation.

  “I don’t know,” Fuchsia said. “Maybe it’s because I’m upset that you’re going around murdering people. Maybe—”

  “I’m not going around murdering people! I’ve never murdered anybody in my life!”

  “—it’s because we’re up in the air. Maybe it’s because I’ve lost the ability. . . .”

  “You can’t have lost the ability!” Danny wailed so loudly that one of the flight attendants glanced suspiciously in his direction. “I need to know what’s going to happen.”

  Fuchsia sniffed. “Well, you’ll just have to wait. I’ll try again later. After we land.”

  Chapter 23

  Opal, the American Embassy, Moscow, 1962

  The American embassy on Ulitsa Chalkovskogo looked more like a renovated apartment building than a diplomatic residence. “I’m afraid our accommodation is a bit limited,” the young man who’d met them remarked apologetically as he opened the car door. “We’ve been in negotiation with the Soviets for years to try to get a better place, but so far no movement.” At the airport, he’d introduced himself as Harold Brooks Henderson, and now he smiled at Opal. “But Ambassador Thompson has left strict instructions that you’re each to have your own quarters, so we’ll do the best we can.”

  “Will we meet him today?” Opal asked.

  “Afraid not. He sends his apologies—tied up with a trade mission. But he’s asked me to act as your liaison, so if there’s anything you need, just ask for me. Now, I expect you’re tired after your flight, so I’ll find somebody who can show you to your rooms and bring in your bags from the car.” He walked across to have a word with the receptionist and came back with an envelope, which he handed to Opal. “This arrived for you from Washington in the diplomatic pouch.”

  After Opal was shown to her room, she waited until her luggage was delivered, then locked the door and opened the envelope. She felt a thrill of excitement as she drew out the sheet of paper. The printing looked a little rough until she realized it hadn’t been printed at all. There were no such things as personal computers in 1962, so Mr. Stratford must have used an actual typewriter. She sat down on the bed and began to read. The style was terse:

  I have made contact with Cobra and arranged a meeting. He will liaise with you at St. Basil’s Cathedral, 1100 hours April 15. He will be at the cathedral main entrance. The cathedral is a half-hour walk from the embassy. Use the Moscow map in your pack. Do not, repeat not, request a car or tell anyone at embassy of your destination or your meeting. Show this letter to no one. Do not approach target unless he is alone. Approach target with caution. Use code words Kitay-gorod to identify yourselves. (This is the name of a nearby subway station. If you approach wrong target it will appear that you are asking for directions.) Memorize Cobra’s features from the enclosed picture, then destroy the picture and this document.

  The note was unsigned, but there was only one person it could have come from. Opal tipped up the envelope and tapped it. Four identical passport-sized black-and-white photographs dropped onto the bed. The face staring up at her was heavily bearded and fleshy, with a broad, flattened nose that might once have been broken. As she reached to pick one of the photos up, there was a light knocking on her door.

  Opal slipped the pictures and note back into their envelope and pushed it under her pillow, but when she opened the bedroom door, it was only Michael. On a sudden impulse, she slid her arms around his neck and kissed him. As she drew back, she noted with satisfaction the surprise and pleasure on his face.

  “What was that for?”

  Opal smiled lightly. “I suppose I’m happy to see you.”

  Michael peered around her. “Are you alone?”

  “Yes. Are you planning to kiss me back?” The letter from Mr. Stratford had made her almost giddy. They now had the information they needed to complete their mission, and for some reason she was convinced they would complete it. She simply could not imagine Cobra, Mr. Carradine’s father, would choose to ignore what they had to tell him.

  “Actually, there’s something I want to talk to you about.”

  Opal shrugged. “Me too. Come in.” They’d been together for a couple of months now, and she still wasn’t sure where his head was at. He was old-world courtesy personified, polite to a fault, and had yet to make a move on her she hadn’t instigated. She knew he liked her—a girl could always tell—so it had to be a cultural thing. Sometimes she found his attitude endearing. Sometimes it drove her mad. She thought this might be one of the latter times.

  He was looking around awkwardly as she closed the door, probably wondering if it was all right to be in a girl’s bedroom without a chaperone. To set him at ease, she sat down on the edge of the bed and pulled the envelope from under the pillow. “From Mr. Stratford,” she said. “He’s come up trumps on Cobra.”

  But Michael was looking more awkward than ever. “I wonder if you’d mind if we talked about something else first? I think the others may be coming, and I’d really like to get this out of the way while we have a bit of privacy.”

  The expression on his face sobered her at once. “Yes, of course, Michael. What is it?”

  He perched on the edge of a bedside chair, leaned forward earnestly, put his head in his hands. “Opal, there’s something I have to tell you. I’m not sure how you’re going to take this—”

  There was a brisk knock on the door.

  “Damn!” Michael swore.

/>   “We’ll talk later,” Opal said as she stood up. If it had been any other boyfriend, she might have worried she was about to be dumped. But Michael had a track record for peculiar worries that really amounted to nothing at all. Shortly after they’d first met, he’d started to worry about an engagement his tribal elders had arranged for him when he was only five years old.

  It was Fuchsia, looking serious for once, followed by Danny, who seemed . . . chastened somehow.

  “Oh good, you’re here already, Michael,” Fuchsia said. “We all need to hear this. Tell them, Danny.”

  Danny pushed the door shut behind him. “Look, Fuchsia, I’m still not sure this is something we should—”

  “Mr. Carradine wants him to poison Cobra,” Fuchsia said.

  Opal blinked. “He wants what?”

  “That’s not exactly what he said,” Danny protested. “In fact, it isn’t what he said at all.”

  “Murder him,” Fuchsia said. “Cyanide slipped into his drink. Like a really creepy hit man or something. Do you believe this?”

  Danny held up both hands defensively. “Look, he was worried in case Cobra might not believe us. Might say he was going to send the samples no matter what. He just asked me to think about it.”

  Opal frowned. “Think about what? Killing him?”

  “Not exactly,” Danny said uneasily. “It was sort of . . . insurance. It was just a way of making sure.” He sat down heavily on the bed. “Anyway, I never said I would.”

  She stared at him in disbelief. “You can’t possibly poison somebody.”

  “I know.”

  Michael said, “Are you sure he was serious?”

  Danny gave an exasperated sigh. “Of course he was serious. Mr. Carradine’s not exactly a comedian.”

  “He gave him a special ring,” Fuchsia said. “Show them the poison ring, Danny.”