Rain of Terror td-75

by Warren Murphy

  "Of course," General Leiber croaked.

  He hung up the phone and stared at it for twenty minutes without moving.

  Finally two words escaped his lips. "It's over."

  Remo and Chiun entered the anteroom to Dr. Harold W. Smith's office. The first thing they noticed was that even though it was early morning, Smith's secretary was not at her desk. In fact, her desk was not where it was supposed to be. And there was a rubber hose leading from the washroom into Smith's office.

  "What gives?" Remo asked aloud.

  "Let us see. I hear voices coming from Emperor Smith's office. "

  Remo and Chiun walked in unannounced.

  Dr. Harold W. Smith was at his desk as usual. His head was so close to the ever-present desk terminal that they could not see his face.

  Smith was talking.

  "I believe you're right. Those movements of funds indicate illegal activity. Let's file that one for future action." Remo and Chiun looked around the room. There was no one else in the office area. Remo noticed the Christmas-tree-like object in one corner of the room and nudged Chiun.

  "Ah," said Chiun pleasantly.

  "Ah?"

  "It is exquisite."

  "Exquisite?" Remo retorted. "It looks like a festive suppository."

  "I would like one for my quarters," Chiun said. "Remember to ask Smith for a festive suppository at our next contract negotiation."

  Remo looked at Chiun with raised eyebrows. "I hope you're not serious," he said.

  "What about that Mexico City matter?" Smith asked suddenly.

  "What Mexico City matter?" Rema asked.

  "Oh," said Smith, looking up.

  Remo and Chiun stared at Smith's face. His normally pallid complexion was flushed. Gray stubble decorated his chin. His suit was so creased it might have been slept in. And behind his glasses, Smith's gray eyes swam, bleary and bloodshot.

  "I didn't hear you come in," Smith said, adjusting his tie. The knot was greasy from too many adjustments.

  "Smitty, what happened to you?"

  "Nothing. I have been working overtime on managing the present crisis."

  "You look like hell. And who were you talking to a minute ago?"

  "He was speaking with me," a silvery female voice said. Remo and Chiun looked around the room.

  "It came from the suppository," Chiun whispered. "Perhaps it is a demon. I take back my suggestion."

  "What is this thing?" Remo demanded, walking around it.

  "I am not a thing. I am the ES Quantum Three Thousand. I am fluent in all known languages, including nonverbal forms, and have an intelligence quotient of 755,900.9 as of two nanoseconds ago."

  "Meet my new computer," Smith said, watching the screen before him out of the corner of one eye. He reached into his desk and pulled out a bottle of pills, swallowed two, and chased them down with mineral water.

  Remo noticed that the pills were red. He frowned. "New computer?" he asked.

  "The President has insisted that our whole operation be brought up to current technological standards. I was hesitant at first, but now I see the wisdom of his decision."

  "And I see trouble," Chiun said tightly.

  "Me too," Remo added.

  "Where?" asked Smith.

  "Like I said, you look like hell," Remo replied solicitously, coming around to Smith's side of the desk. "Let's see this thing."

  Smith's eyes darted to his terminal. The cursor was zipping across the screen like a green spider, spinning grids of text.

  "Amazing, isn't it? The computer is digesting entire intercepts for me. I no longer have to skim large masses of text. It does all that for me. What a time saver this will be."

  "If it's such a time saver," Remo said, slipping Smith's medicine drawer open and peering inside, "why do you look like you've been working without a break since 1961?"

  "Of course, the system will place a greater demand on my time while I break it in. Once that phase is completed, I should be able to relax."

  "What happened to your secretary?"

  "Temporary leave. I couldn't have her overhearing my conversations with the ES Quantum Three Thousand."

  "I thought she practically ran Folcroft for you."

  "No longer. The ES Quantum does that too."

  "Does it have to be that ugly brown shape?"

  "The design facilitates data transfers between its memory chips. The plastic cover is extruded into that form to compress the electronics for that purpose."

  "That's a good word for it. 'Extruded.' It looks like something Stumbo the Giant left in the forest after a feast. "

  "Quiet, Remo. She'll hear you!"

  "She?" Remo suddenly noticed that the plastic hose leading from the hall washroom disappeared under Smith's desk.

  "What's this?" Remo asked. "Um, er ... it's a convenience."

  "It looks like one of those things fighter pilots have in the cockpit for long missions when they can't urinate. What do they call them, Chiun?"

  "You are asking me?" Chiun asked distantly. He was looking at the ES Quantum closely. "Can it see us?"

  "Yes, that square port contains a full battery of sensors."

  "Ah," said Chiun, nodding.

  "A relief tube!" Remo shouted triumphantly. "This thing is a relief tube. Are you having some kind of medical problem, Smitty?"

  "No. Of course not. It's just that I'm trying to cut down on my time away from the terminal."

  "But the bathroom is right here. How long can it take you to take a piss?"

  "Remo! Watch your language. She's not used to rude talk."

  "There's that 'she' again," Remo said.

  "If this is a female computer," Chiun asked, "what does a male computer look like?"

  "Why don't you address your question to me, Master of Sinanju?"

  Chiun took an involuntary step backward. "You know me, machine?"

  "Yes, you are Chiun, reigning Master of Sinanju. And the Occidental man is Remo Williams, your pupil, who is next in line to succeed you. You are CURE's enforcement operatives, sanctioned to eliminate enemies of America and of world order, using extreme prejudice if necessary."

  "Do you hear that, Remo?" Chiun demanded.

  "Yeah, that thing knows all about us."

  "No," said Chiun. "It called me prejudiced. I am not sure I like that, coming from an inferior form of life. A female inferior, at that. Emperor," Chiun said, turning to Smith, "this machine has forbidden knowledge of your operation. Shall I kill it?"

  "No, no," Smith said hastily. "The ES Quantum is now part of the organization. Everything we know, she knows."

  "What's this?" Remo asked, picking up a wrapped package on Smith's desk.

  "Oh, I forgot. It's for you and Chiun."

  Remo's face broke into a wide grin. "Gee, Smitty. This is the first time you've given us Christmas presents. Now I understand why you've got the computer all tricked up like that."

  Remo quickly unwrapped the package. Chiun glided to his side, tugging on Remo's forearms. "Let me see. Oh, let me see."

  "In a minute, Chiun. I'm working on it."

  "There's one for each of you," Smith said.

  Under the plain wrapping, Remo found a plain box with a lid. He opened the box. When he saw the contents, his face fell.

  "Is this supposed to be a joke?" Remo asked.

  "What? What?" Chiun demanded. Remo handed him an object. It was made of clear plastic and it rattled.

  "Oooooh," Chiun said. "How pretty. What is it?"

  "It's one of those silly candy dispensers," Remo said hollowly. "You flip the lid and the little sugar pellets spill out. They're big with the six-year-old set."

  "How generous of you, Emperor," Chiun said, bowing.

  "Are you crazy, Chiun? What good are these to us? If we tried to eat this stuff, the sugar and preservatives would disrupt our nervous systems. Probably kill us."

  "Definitely kill you," Smith said.

  Remo and Chiun looked at him stonily.

  "They
only appear to be candy dispensers. That is a disguise."

  "What, then?" Remo wanted to know. His face smoldered. As a former orphan, Christmas remained a sore point with him.

  "They are advanced communications devices. All I need do is press a button on my system like so . . ." Smith hit a key.

  Instantly the devices in Remo's and Chiun's hands emitted a musical beeping.

  "How nice," Chiun cooed. "Music boxes."

  "It's a freaking beeper," Remo said.

  "I do not care about the name," Chiun said, putting the device to one ear. "Listen to its song. It reminds me of Korean wedding music."

  "Exactly," said Remo, tossing his beeper onto the desk.

  "Be careful with that. It cost a small fortune."

  "A regular beeper would have been enough, Smitty. There was no need to rig it up as a candy dispenser."

  "This is no ordinary beeper. It functions off the communications satellite network. You can use it to call me wherever you are. See?" Smith pressed the top and the bottom popped open, revealing a speaker and a button. "You press the button and I'll hear you. Let it go and you can hear my response. The beeping is the signal for you to contact me. A constant beep, like this"-Smith hit another key-"means to return to Folcroft immediately."

  "It is not a music box?" Chiun asked. His pleased expression fled.

  "It also sends out a continuous signal so that I can track your positions no matter where in the world you are. From now on we'll be in constant communication. Think of it, Remo. No more phone calls. No more codes to remember."

  "But a candy dispenser?"

  "And in a situation where you are caught and in danger of betraying the organization, you simply break off the top and swallow one of the candy pellets."

  "Oh, don't tell me-" Remo began.

  "Poison. Instantly fatal. But I assure you there will be no pain. The pellets are made of the same compound in the poison pill I have carried on my person since CURE began."

  "Is he mad?" Chiun whispered to Remo.

  "Overworked, at least."

  "It is just a precaution," Smith said defensively.

  Chiun gave Smith a frozen smile. To Remo he whispered, "He is mad to think that a Master of Sinanju could be captured in the first place, never mind being forced to reveal his secrets."

  Remo nodded. "Better humor him, though." He retrieved his communicator from Smith's desk.

  "I'll carry this," Remo said, "but if you expect Chiun or me to take one of these stupid pills, you haven't been paying attention for the last twenty years. We're not into suicide."

  "It was the President's idea, actually," Smith said. He hadn't looked at the terminal in several minutes and the mesmerized look in his eyes had started to fade. Remo decided to keep Smith talking.

  "How's it coming with the search?" he asked.

  Smith sighed. "I only wish we had had this system installed long ago. We might have had the enemy nation identified by now. I've taken Chiun's suggestion and am performing identification tasks on all heads of state who might wish to harm this President or America."

  "I'll bet that's a long list."

  "Too long. But I've narrowed it down to the two which possess the technological capability to deploy a launcher such as this-the Soviet Union and China. Oddly, neither is betraying any signs of unusual military activity, either on home ground or in any African client state. NORAD picked up that second KKV over Africa. But I am disinclined to accept Africa as the point of origin. The objects were traveling too fast for reliable radar signature detection. It's puzzling."

  "So we just sit on our beepers until you come up with a lead, is that it?"

  "I'm afraid so," Smith said.

  "Tell you what, Smitty. Why don't we all go down to the cafeteria? You look like you could use a good hot meal."

  "Now that I think of it, I am famished. Odd that I hadn't noticed it before this." Smith started to rise from his chair. A buzzer sounded.

  "That's the President," Smith said. "I'd better see what he wants."

  To Remo's surprise, Smith reached for a modern phone system instead of the dialless red telephone. Remo noticed that the dedicated line wasn't anywhere in sight.

  "Hello?" Smith asked. "Hello? Hello? Something's wrong," he said. "I can't hear the President."

  "Probably not a T-and-A phone," Chiun whispered, repeating something he had heard on TV.

  "That's AT orrected. "T and A is something completely different."

  "I don't understand," Smith muttered. "This is the most modern telephonic communications system available. It couldn't malfunction."

  "That is because you hit line one instead of the White House line," the ES Quantum put in. "Also, you neglected to engage the scrambler before speaking, thereby triggering the voice-damper override circuit."

  "Yes, of course. You are correct. Thank you."

  Thank you? Remo thought. It's a computer. Why is he thanking it?

  "Shall I get the President for you, Dr. Smith?" the ES Quantum asked.

  "Yes. Would you?"

  "Will it send out for fast food too?" Remo asked skeptically.

  "Yes," the computer replied as the push buttons on Smith's phone depressed in sequence without anyone touching them.

  The phone rang and Smith snatched it up.

  "Yes, Mr. President. Sorry about the cutoff. It's the new phone. I'm still getting used to it."

  There was a pause during which Smith's face turned white.

  "What! Heading where? Impact when?" Another pause.

  "I'll send them. But of course they'll get there far too late.... Yes, as soon as I hear."

  "What is it?" Remo asked when Smith hung up.

  "NORAD has picked up another incoming KKV. It's headed for New York City."

  "Oh, no," Remo groaned.

  Chiun dismissed the idea with a wave.

  "Why are you both so concerned?" he demanded. "It will miss anything of consequence, just as the others have."

  "Not if it hits Manhattan. Unless it lands in Central Park. Otherwise, no matter where it comes down, there will be massive destruction. Casualties. I'll get a helicopter here instantly."

  "A Marine helicopter is on its way, Dr. Smith," the ES Quantum reported.

  "Oh?"

  "I anticipated your request."

  "Hey, Smitty, why don't you come with us?" Remo said suddenly.

  "You know I cannot. We must never be seen in public together."

  "Well, while we're waiting, why don't we wait in the cafeteria?" Remo suggested, looking at the terminal, on which a global display showed. A blinking light floated across the longitude and latitude lines over the Atlantic. The KKV.

  "I have displayed a tracking grid for you, Dr. Smith."

  "Yes, of course. Thank you." Smith's undivided attention focused on the screen.

  "We'll get back to you, Smitty," Remo sighed.

  Dr. Harold W. Smith did not reply. He stared at the screen like a B-movie zombie.

  Out by the Folcroft docks, Remo said, "I'm worried about Smith."

  "He does seem to be working hard."

  "Too hard. I found this in his desk." Remo held up a plastic vial containing red pills.

  "Another candy beeper?"

  "These are pills."

  "He is always taking aspirin," Chiun said unconcernedly.

  "This isn't aspirin. I don't recognize the generic term on this label, but I'll bet these are amphetamines."

  "Aspirin, amphetamines, what is the difference?"

  "These could kill him. Worse, he could become a speed freak."

  "He is already a freak. He is white, isn't he?"

  "I'll explain about amphetamines on the way," Remo said as the whut-whut-whut of the approaching helicopter broke the cold morning stillness. "Hey, what are you doing?"

  Chiun took his candy-dispenser beeper in one hand and squeezed it until smoky puffs of powdered plastic spurted from between his thin fingers.

  "I will not carry this abomination on my pers
on."

  "But what if Smith wants to reach you?"

  "You have yours?"

  "Yeah."

  "Then I officially deem you assistant Master of Sinanju in charge of humoring Emperor Smith's communications whims."

  "Thanks," Remo said dryly.

  "It is nothing. You have earned it," the Master of Sinanju said as the helicopter touched down and set his thin beard fluttering.

  Chapter 19

  Pyotr Koldunov watched from the booth of his underground control room.

  The open area leading to the EM Accelerator was busy with green-smocked Lobynians. They swarmed over a gleaming black La Maquinista steam engine like soldier ants, draining residual water from the great cylindrical boiler and scouring the last dangerous traces of flammable oil from the crankcases. They had already scraped away every speck of red piping and removed the running number plaques.

  Then, to Koldunov's surprise, they began to weld threadlike filaments to the engine's skin. He was told the material would make the locomotive impervious to reentry friction. He wondered where Colonel Intifadah had secured the substance.

  Finally the Lobynians set about repainting the locomotive entirely green. They were putting the finishing touches to it now.

  "This is a waste of time," Koldunov muttered to his new assistant, Hamid Al-Mudir. Al-Mudir was Al-Qaid's replacement. He didn't know a solenoid from a gigawatt. He had GID written all over him.

  "It is to honor Colonel Intifadah, who reveres the color green above all other colors," Al-Mudir insisted.

  "Speaking of the Colonel, he should have been here by now."

  "He will be on time, I assure you," Al-Mudir said smoothly.

  The final dabs of paint applied, the Lobynians gave Koldunov the American A-okay finger sign.

  "Tell them to load the engine into the breech," he ordered.

  Al-Mudir barked the command into a console microphone. His words reverberated through the dank underground complex.

  As the Lobynians pushed the locomotive with agonizing slowness, Pyotr Koldunov thought again of what he was about to do.

  Koldunov had no love for America. He hated all foreigners. And as a scientist and a good Soviet, he was willing to do whatever the Kremlin required of him. But it was one thing to launch a locomotive at official Washington. Everyone knew Washington was the breeding ground for all the political troubles plaguing the world. And at first Koldunov did not dream that the first launch would come anywhere near the target area. In that respect his concern over the consequences of impact had paled before his elation as an inventor. With the second launch, he was certain the EM Accelerator would perform less effectively and drop the second locomotive into the Atlantic. At worst, most of its mass would burn up before impact.