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2024-10-29 19:42:56The first piece of the puzzle lay in the tour bus, and Robert drove to Talstrasse, where the buses departed, as though it might reveal some hidden clue. The Iveco bus was brown and silver, small enough to traverse the steep Alpine roads, with seats for fourteen passengers. Who are the seven, and where have they disappeared to? Robert got back in his car. He consulted his map and marked it. He took Lavessneralle out of the city, into the Albis, the start of the Alps, toward the village of Kappel. He headed south, driving past the small hills that surround Zurich, and began the climb into the magnificent mountain chain of the Alps. He drove through Adliswil and Langnau and Hausen and nameless hamlets with chalets and colorful picture-postcard scenery until almost an hour later, he came to Kappel. The little village consisted of a restaurant, a church, a post office, and twelve or so houses scattered around the hills. Robert parked the car and walked into the restaurant. A waitress was clearing a table near the door.
"Entschuldigen Sie bitte, Fraulein. Welche Richtung ist das Haus von Herr Beckerman?"
"Ja." She pointed down the road. "An der Kirche rechts."
"Danke."
Robert turned right at the church and drove up to a modest two-story stone house with a ceramic tiled roof. He got out of the car and walked up to the door. He could see no bell, and knocked.
A heavyset woman with a faint mustache answered the door. "Ja?"
"I'm sorry to bother you. Is Mr. Beckerman in?"
She eyed him suspiciously. "What do you want with him?"
Robert gave her a winning smile. "You must be Mrs. Beckerman." He pulled out his reporter's identification card. "I'm doing a magazine article on Swiss bus drivers, and your husband was recommended to my magazine as having one of the finest safety records in the country."
She brightened and said proudly, "My Hans is an excellent driver."
"That's what everyone tells me, Mrs. Beckerman. I would like to do an interview with him."
"An interview with my Hans for a magazine?" She was flustered. "That is very exciting. Come in, please."
She led Robert into a small, meticulously neat living
room. "Wait here, bitte. I will get Hans." The house had a low, beamed ceiling, dark wooden floors, and plain wooden furniture. There was a small stone fireplace and lace curtains at the windows.
Robert stood there thinking. This was not only his best lead, it was his only lead. "People come in off the street, buy their ticket, and take the tour. We don't ask for identification....' 'There's no place to go from here, Robert thought grimly. If this doesn't work out, I can always place an ad: Will the seven bus passengers who saw a weather balloon crash Sunday please assemble in my hotel room at oh twelve hundred tomorrow. Breakfast will be served.
A thin, bald man appeared. His complexion was pale, and he wore a thick, black mustache that was startlingly out of keeping with the rest of his appearance. "Good afternoon, Herr-?"
"Smith. Good afternoon." Robert's voice was hearty.
"I've certainly been looking forward to meeting you, Mr. Beckerman."
"My wife tells me you are writing a story about bus drivers." He spoke with a heavy German accent.
Robert smiled ingratiatingly. "That's right. My magazine is interested in your wonderful safety record and-"
"Scheissdreck!" Beckerman said rudely. "You are interested in the thing that crashed yesterday afternoon, no?"
Robert managed to look abashed. "As a matter of fact, yes, I am interested in discussing that too."
"Then why do you not come out and say so? Sit down."
"Thank you." Robert took a seat on the couch.
Beckerman said, "I am sorry I cannot offer you a drink, but we do not keep schnapps in the house anymore." He tapped his stomach. "Ulcers. The doctors cannot even give me drugs to relieve the pain. I am allergic to all of them." He sat down opposite Robert. "But you did not come here to talk about my health, eh? What is it you wish to know?"
"I want to talk to you about the passengers who were on your bus Sunday when you stopped near Uetendorf at the site of the weather-balloon crash."
Hans Beckerman was staring at him. "Weather balloon? What weather balloon? What are you talking about?"
"The balloon that-"
"You mean the spaceship."
It was Robert's turn to stare. "The ... spaceship?"
"Ja, the flying saucer.
It took a moment for the words to sink in. Robert felt a sudden chill. "Are you telling me that you saw a flying saucer?"
"Ja. With dead bodies in it."
"Yesterday, in the Swiss Alps,a NATO weather balloon crashed. There were some experimental military objects aboard the balloon that are highly secret."
Robert tried hard to sound calm. "Mr. Beckerman, are you certain that what you saw was a flying saucer?"
"Of course. What they call a UFO."
"And there were dead people inside?"
"Not people, no. Creatures. It is hard to describe them." He gave a little shiver. "They were very small with big, strange eyes. They were dressed in suits of a silver metallic color. It was very frightening."
Robert listened, his mind in a turmoil. "Did your passengers see this?"
"Oh, ja. We all saw it. I stopped there for maybe fifteen minutes. They wanted me to stay longer, but the company is very strict about schedules."
Robert knew the question was futile before he even asked it. "Mr. Beckerman, would you happen to know the
names of any of your passengers?"
"Mister, I drive a bus. The passengers buy a ticket in Zurich, and we take a tour southwest to Interlaken and then northwest to Bern. They can either get off at Bern or return to Zurich. Nobody gives their names."
Robert said desperately, "There's no way you can identify any of them?"
The bus driver thought for a moment. "Well, I can tell you there were no children on that trip. Just men."
"Only men?" Beckerman thought for a moment. "No. That's not right. There was one woman too."
Terrific. That really narrows it down, Robert thought. Next question: Why the hell did I ever agree to this assignment? "What you're saying, Mr. Beckerman, is that a group of tourists boarded your bus at Zurich, and then when the tour was over, they simply scattered?"
"That's right, Mr. Smith."
So there's not even a haystack. "Do you remember anything at all about the passengers? Anything they said or did?"
Beckerman shook his head. “Mister, you get so you don’t pay no attention to them. Unless they cause some trouble. Like that German.”
Robert sat very still. He asked softly, “What German?”
“Affenarsch! All the other passengers were excited about seeing the UFO and those dead creatures in it, but this old man kept complaining about how we had to hurry up to get to Bern because he had to prepare some lecture for the University in the morning …”
A beginning. “Do you remember anything else about him?”
“No.”
“Nothing at all?”
“He was wearing a black overcoat.”
Great. “Mr Beckerman, I want to ask you for a favour. Would you mind driving out with me to Uetendorf?”
“It’s my day off. I am busy with …”
“I’ll be glad to pay you.”
“ Ja?”
“Two hundred marks.”
“I don’t …” “I’ll make it four hundred marks.”
Beckerman thought for a moment. “Why not? It’s a nice day for a drive, nicht?”
They headed south, past the picturesque villages of Immensee and Meggen and through Luzern. The scenery was breathtakingly beautiful, but Robert had other things on his mind.
They passed through Sarnen, and Briinig, the pass leading to Interlaken. They sped past Leissigen and Faulensee with its lovely blue lake dotted with white sailboats.
“How much further is it?” Robert asked.
“Soon,” Hans Beckerman promised.
They had been driving for almost an hour when they came to Spiez. Hans Beckerman said, “It is not far now. Just past the next town, Thun.”
Robert felt his heart beginning to beat faster. He was about to witness something that was far beyond imagination, alien visitors from the stars. They drove through Thun, and a few minutes later, as they neared a grove of trees across the highway, Hans Beckerman pointed and said, “There!”
Robert braked to a stop and pulled over to the side of the road.
“Across the highway. Behind those trees.”
Robert felt a growing sense of excitement. “Right. Let’s have a look.”
A truck was speeding by. When it had passed, Robert and Hans Beckerman crossed the road. Robert followed the bus driver up a small incline, into the stand of trees.
The highway was completely hidden from sight. As they stepped into a clearing, Beckerman announced, “It is right there.”
Lying on the ground in front of them were the torn remains of a weather balloon.
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I’m getting too old for this, Robert thought, wearily. I was really beginning to fall for his flying saucer fairy tale.Hans Beckerman was staring at the metallic object on the ground, a confused expression on his face. “Verfalschen! That is not it.”Robert sighed. “No, it isn’t, is it?”Beckerman shook his head. “It was here yesterday.”“Your little green men probably flew it away.”Beckerman was stubborn. “No, no. They were both tot – dead.”Tot – dead. That sums up my mission pretty well. My only lead is a crazy old man who sees spaceships. Robert walked over to the balloon to examine it more closely. It was a large aluminium envelope, fourteen feet in diameter, with serrated edges where it had ripped open when it crashed to earth. All the instruments had been removed, just as General Milliard had told him. "I can’t stress enough the importance of what was in that balloon."Robert circled the deflated balloon, his shoes squishing in the wet grass, looking for anything that might gi
The doomsday conspiracy chapter 9: simple misunderstanding
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The doomsday conspiracy chapter 10: living vegetable
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The doomsday conspiracy chapter 11: dead
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The doomsday conspiracy chapter 13: silenced
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5 May.--I must have been asleep, for certainly if I had been fully awake I must have noticed the approach of such a remarkable place. In the gloom the courtyard looked of considerable size, and as several dark ways led from it under great round arches, it perhaps seemed bigger than it really is. I have not yet been able to see it by daylight.When the caleche stopped, the driver jumped down and held out his hand to assist me to alight. Again I could not but notice his prodigious strength. His hand actually seemed like a steel vice that could have crushed mine if he had chosen. Then he took my traps, and placed them on the ground beside me as I stood close to a great door, old and studded with large iron nails, and set in a projecting doorway of massive stone. I could see even in the dim light that the stone was massively carved, but that the carving had been much worn by time and weather. As I stood, the driver jumped again into his seat and shook the reins. The horses started forward
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Chapter 63
5 May. The Castle.--The gray of the morning has passed, and the sun is high over the distant horizon, which seems jagged, whether with trees or hills I know not, for it is so far off that big things and little are mixed.I am not sleepy, and, as I am not to be called till I awake, naturally I write till sleep comes.There are many odd things to put down, and, lest who reads them may fancy that I dined too well before I left Bistritz, let me put down my dinner exactly.I dined on what they called "robber steak"--bits of bacon, onion, and beef, seasoned with red pepper, and strung on sticks, and roasted over the fire, in simple style of the London cat's meat!The wine was Golden Mediasch, which produces a queer sting on the tongue, which is, however, not disagreeable.I had only a couple of glasses of this, and nothing else.When I got on the coach, the driver had not taken his seat, and I saw him talking to the landlady.They were evidently talking of me, for every now and then they lo
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Chapter 62
5 May. The Castle.--The gray of the morning has passed, and the sun is high over the distant horizon, which seems jagged, whether with trees or hills I know not, for it is so far off that big things and little are mixed.I am not sleepy, and, as I am not to be called till I awake, naturally I write till sleep comes.There are many odd things to put down, and, lest who reads them may fancy that I dined too well before I left Bistritz, let me put down my dinner exactly.I dined on what they called "robber steak"--bits of bacon, onion, and beef, seasoned with red pepper, and strung on sticks, and roasted over the fire, in simple style of the London cat's meat!The wine was Golden Mediasch, which produces a queer sting on the tongue, which is, however, not disagreeable.I had only a couple of glasses of this, and nothing else.When I got on the coach, the driver had not taken his seat, and I saw him talking to the landlady.They were evidently talking of me, for every now and then they lo
