"What are you doing here?" asked the man she knew only as Remo.
"None of your business," Tamayo retorted.
"That's not the answer I want to hear."
"Look, give me ten minutes with Abeer Ghula, a worldwide exclusive, and I won't tell anybody she's in this room."
"No deal." "Fine. But think of the inconvenience when I go on the air with this."
"You're not going on the air with anything."
And Tamayo Tanaka found herself being led over to a queen-size bed where a raven-haired woman lay under the royal blue covers.
"Is she dead?" she gasped, seeing her story take a dark turn into a brief, third-segment obituary.
"Just sleeping one off."
"Muslims don't drink alcohol."
"Thaf s not what she's sleeping off," said the voice of the hand that squeezed her neck.
Tamayo Tanaka didn't remember pitching face-first into the bedding. Only waking up later, with the foul garlic and olive stench of Abeer Ghula's breath in her face.
"Mmm," Abeer murmured.
"I'm Tamayo Tanaka and I'm wired for sound. Can I get a quote?"
"Mmm."
"Psst! Remember me? Tammy? From 'Nightmirror?'"
Abeer Ghula opened one golden eye. It fell on Ta- mayo's face, flicked up to her hair and came to rest on her eager blue eyes.
"Are you my blue-eyed blonde?"
"If I can get a quote, I'll be your little pink poodle."
Abeer Ghula smiled dreamily. "I have never filiated a blond man," she said. "Did you know fellatio is an Arabic word?"
"I'm not a-"
"I will tell you whatever you wish if you allow me to taste your blond infidel hardness." "Sure," said Tamayo, making her voice husky. "But we have to do it under the covers in the dark."
"Yes, it will be very exciting this way."
"Close them. Are you ready?"
"Put it in my mouth, and I will suck it dry."
In THE OTHER ROOM, Remo Williams said, "Sounds like a certain someone's awake."
"Both are awake," said Chiun on the floor, where he could watch TV in comfort.
"What are they saying?"
"The false Japanese wench is trying to coax words from the harlot."
"Let her. She's not going anywhere."
"And the other is promising to suck it dry."
"Suck what dry?"
Chiun shrugged. "Who can say when a false prophet awakens beside a blond-haired Japanese?"
"I'd better look into this."
"Do not forget. It is your turn to please the female Ghula. And see that her smile is correct this time."
"Maybe I'll just show Tammy how to do it and save us both a week of boredom."
Remo stepped into the bedroom and saw a double lump under the bed covers. It was a very active lump, with distinctive sucking sounds coming from it.
He was hesitating between breaking it up or letting the orgasms fall where they may when a flash of silver caught his eye.
A light plane was circling outside the window. It lined up nose-first on the hotel. Approaching, it dropped until it was level with his window.
Remo's eyes had been trained to see in darkness, under difficult light conditions and as far away as the human lens mechanisms allowed for optimum sight.
He saw that there were two men in the cockpit. Then the passenger placed a pistol to the pilot's head and shot him through the temple.
That was all Remo needed to see.
Racing to the bed, he yelled, "Make for the door, Little Father! Incoming!"
"Incoming what?" asked Chiun.
"No time! Run for it!"
Tucking a squirming bundle tucked under his arm, Remo got out of the room fast on the heels of the Master of Sinanju's skirts as Chiun flashed out the door.
Remo pulled the door shut, thinking it might not help but who knew.
The splintering of glass came as they mounted the low retainer wall, flipped over it and, using one hand for leverage, swung downward and in, landing on the floor below.
From there, they ran to the opposite side of the floor.
The explosion shook the building like a milk shake. Up above, a skylight cracked. Down came shards of glass. The second boom was lighter, but it made the door to their room cartwheel out and tumble past them in a hot breath of air to land far below.
The rest of it was mostly fire and crackling.
When it sounded safe to get up off the floor, Remo whipped the blanket off the prone forms of Tamayo Tanaka and Abeer Ghula.
Eyes closed, Abeer was energetically sucking on Tamayo Tanaka's thumb.
Chapter 31
"Just another minute, okay?" Tamayo whispered. "We're almost done here."
Dr. Harold W. Smith was assuring the President that all was well with Abeer Ghula when the blue contact telephone rang.
"I assure you, Mr. President, the woman is being protected by the best."
"Do you know what my wife will do to me if that woman is killed? It'll be worse than if I'm not reelected and she's out of office."
"Your wife holds no public office."
"Tell her that. Right now she's plotting my new Southern strategy."
"The South appears lost to your party."
"Tell my wife. She thinks she can flip the South like a hamburger if only someone will hand her a big enough spatula."
"Excuse me," said Harold Smith. "I must get this other line."
Scooping up the blue contact telephone, Smith placed the red receiver to his gray chest.
"Yes?"
"Smitty, they tried again," Remo said unhappily.
"They failed, of course."
"Say again?"
"Forget it. We can't stay here if they're going to drop aircraft on us. We need a new locality."
"Hold the line."
"Sure." Over the line, Smith heard Remo ask the Master of Sinanju, "Are they done yet?"
"I do not know. The blond one's thumb is bleeding, and the other is sucking it harder now."
"Leave them alone. They obviously know what they're doing."
"What is going on there?" Smith demanded hoarsely.
"You don't want to know."
"I have the President on the dedicated line. Wait, please."
Swapping receivers, Smith told the President, "I am back."
"What's wrong?"
"What do you mean?"
"I could hear your heartbeat. It went into overdrive."
Smith cleared his throat uncomfortably. "There was another attempt on Abeer Ghula's life, but she is safe. I am going to have to move her to a safer location."
"Whatever you do, don't send her to Washington. The last thing I need is terrorists attacking the capital. The pundits are already calling me the President who let the postal system lurch into chaos. The damn Speaker of the House is right now talking up legislation to abolish the postal service."
"I will be back to you."
"If it's bad news, keep it to yourself as long as possible. After the reelection would do just fine."
Hanging up on the White House, Harold Smith resumed speaking with Remo Williams.
Remo said, "Did he really tell you to keep a lid on the bad news?"
"He did."
"He's sure running scared."
"Not our problem, Remo. I want you to move Abeer Ghula to the World Trade Center."
"Why there?"
"Since the 1993 bombing, it has become the hardest, safest structure in all of Manhattan. They would not dare to attack her there."
"You ask me, they'd dare to attack her in the Vatican."
"I stand corrected. They will be unable to breach the World Trade Center security. Move her immediately. I will arrange for an FBI counterstrike force to meet you."
"On our way. What about the dip-shit?"
"Leave her behind. Of course."
"Prying her thumb out of Ghula's mouth may be more work than just pretending they're Siamese lesbians and treatin
g them as a set."
"Leave her," Smith said coldly.
Terminating the call, Remo spoke to the Master of Sinanju. "Smitty says we gotta take Abeer to a safer location, but to leave the dip behind."
"What about the dip's thumb?"
"Won't it come out?"
"I refuse to attempt such a thing. Besides, it is your turn."
"Does this count toward pleasuring Abeer?"
Chiun gave the question barely a second's thought. "Yes. Definitely."
"Sounds Sike a fair trade to me," said Remo, grinning.
"I will guard the approach and thus spare my aged eyes the terrible sight of what it is you must do."
As Chiun padded away, Remo dropped to one knee beside the two preoccupied women. Abeer was completely oblivious to everything except Tamayo Ta- naka's thumb, while Tamayo was biting her lips to keep from crying out in her pain.
"Whatever this is, it's over," Remo said.
Tamayo said, "Shh. She thinks I'm a guy."
"She should open her eyes."
"Not until I get my quotes. I'm wired for sound."
"Where's the mike?"
"In my bra, where else?"
"Thanks," said Remo, squeezing Tamayo by the neck until her eyes rolled up in her head and she sank back into a soundless state of unconsciousness. Her blond head went bonk off the floor. Remo didn't attempt to cushion it, figuring she could use a hard knock on her skull.
As she fell, her hand tugged at Abeer Ghula's mouth. Abeer responded by flying into some kind of religious ecstasy and sucked all the harder.
Finally she released Tamayo's bloody thumb and sank back herself, sighing with a rush of contentment.
"All done?" asked Remo, standing over her.
"Yes. It was wonderful. The blond one's seed tasted just like blood."
"Glad you got your money's worth. We gotta go now."
And reaching down, Remo gathered her up, blue blanket and all.
"I will go nowhere without my blond infidel."
"Where we're going, all the blond infidels you could want will be waiting," Remo promised.
"I will accept my fate, then, if it includes blond infidels."
"You know AIDS is transmitted through the blood."
"I am the Prophetess of Allaha. She will protect me from AIDS."
"Spoken like a congenital thumb sucker," muttered Remo.
"I am very oral," said Abeer. "Especially with congenitals."
They took the elevator to the ground floor, where a bell captain, seeing a tali man and an elderly Asian attempting to abscond with a Marriot blanket, blocked their way.
"You can't remove that from the premises. Hotel property."
"We'll bring it back," Remo assured him.
"I am sorry, you cannot."
The Master of Sinanju stepped up and showed the bell captain the trivial nature of his complaint by dislocating his kneecap with an expert side-kick.
They left the angrily hopping bell captain behind and took the next cab in line.
"World Trade Center," Remo told the cabbie.
"Tower One or Two?"
"One. If it's not One, it's a short ride to Two."
The cab slithered into traffic.
An FBI counterterrorist SWAT team in full battle gear was waiting when they pulled up before Tower One.
"Tower One it is," Remo said cheerily.
The FBI commander on the scene rushed up and said briskly, "Sorry. We'll have to search you."
"Search this first," said Remo, letting the blanket unroll and depositing Abeer Ghula at the man's black boots.
Abeer looked up, blinked and said, "Are you my blond infidel?"
"No."
"'Yes' will get better cooperation," Remo advised.
"I have a few white hairs coming in," the FBI commander allowed.
"Guaranteed to multiply by shift's end," said Remo. "Just show us where to go."
"This way."
Tucking Abeer Ghula under one arm, Remo allowed an FBI unit to form a moving wedge around them. They were escorted in.
Chiun trailed along, hands tucked into his kimono sleeves and hazel eyes scanning their surroundings, not wishing to defer to white customs.
"You know," Remo told the FBI commander after they made it into the lobby, "a better approach might have been incognito."
"Normally. But the Oval Office wants this done right."
"Right is subtle."
"Subtle is open to criticism. Up front and out in the open means no one can haul our butt before a congressional inquiry."
"Point taken," said Remo.
The elevator whisked them to an upper floor where they were led to a spacious room that had been hastily converted into an FBI command center.
"No bed?" asked Remo, eyeing the nest of communications equipment.
"We're working on it."
"She likes to sleep."
The room was packed with FBI agents, and Abeer Ghula walked among them, eyeing them sleepily and asking, "Are you my blond infidel?" over and over in a petulant voice.
Remo mouthed "Say no" whenever he could.
"Then where is my blond infidel?"
"Working on his roots. Haven't you had enough for one day?"
"I am insatiable for this one. For this one, I will willingly renounce all women, all other men. Even if his penis is short and stubby, it was as hard as bone and salty as the rich blood of my period, which I have tasted in the slavish mouths of my own lovers."
"Give him time to recover. You were very hard on him."
"All men will be slaves under Um Allaha,"
"Don't quit your day job just yet," Remo said.
Turning to Chiun, he saw that the Master of Sinanju had his hands over his small, delicate ears.
Remo made a sign that indicated it was okay to listen.
"She is finished?" Chiun asked.
"For now."
"The harlot has a mouth like a sewer and the habits of certain lower animals I will not name for fear of offending them."
"Good move," said Remo, who then invited the FBI to leave the room.
The FBI commander shook his head stubbornly. "Can't. She's our responsibility."
"No. Guarding the building is your responsibility. Guarding her is ours."
"What agency are you with?"
"A secret one," said Chiun. "If its name so much as falls upon your ears, I must slay you on the spot."
The unit commander cracked half a smile, then suppressed it when he saw the serious expressions confronting him.
"I take my orders from Special Agent Smith. No one else."
"Smith your ramrod?" asked Remo.
"Yes."
"Let's call him."
"Sorry, I don't have the number."
"But I do," said Remo, picking up the phone and thumbing the 1 button. When he heard the first ring, he handed the phone to the commander, knowing Smith would pick up before the second ring.
"This is Commander Strong, on site at WTC."
Smith's voice was sharp. "How did you get this number?"
"Tell him Remo dialed it for you," Remo suggested.
"He says his name is Remo and he's ordering us out of the secure room. What do we do?"
"Obey him. Guard the building."
"Sir, I can't."
"That is a direct order," said ASAC Smith.
"Yes, sir."
Taking the receiver back, Remo held open the door as the FBI SWAT team trooped out, looking dejected and unappreciated.
"Remember, keep this floor clear. The last FBI team had really sloppy security habits."
Then Remo shut the door.
Abeer Ghula was huddled in a chair, the blue blanket slipping off her dusky shoulders, exposing portions of her anatomy neither Remo nor Chiun cared to contemplate at that particular time.
"I want my blond infidel," she muttered darkly.
"Your turn, Little Father," said Remo.
Hearing this, Ab
eer Ghula tucked her wrists protectively under her hairy armpits.
"I know what it is you desire," she spat. "But you cannot touch my precious new erogenous zones."
"I do not want them," Chiun sniffed.
"I want my blond infidel."
"It's going to be a while," Remo explained. "Would you rather sleep through the long wait?"
"I am very hungry."
"We'll order up. What do you want?"
"Blond infidel aujus."
"Settle for steamed rice?"
Abeer Ghula was still whining an hour later when Harold Smith walked in unannounced.
Remo was moving toward the door, ready to take out the intruder when the sound of Smith's familiar heartbeat reached his sensitive ears and he pulled back.
"Nice going, Smitty. I almost took your head off."
"It is a good test of security," Smith returned.
Chiun bustled up, tight features breaking into a sunrise of pleased wrinkles. "Greetings, O Smith. What service may we render?"
"I am taking charge of this woman."
"You?"
"I need you both elsewhere.''
"Great," said Remo.
Chiun bowed more deeply than Remo had ever seen him bow to anyone. Another foot, and he could almost kiss Smith's immaculately buffed Cordovans.
"Your munificence enriches our dreary toil. Speak the service, and it will be done with glad, adoring hands."
"I have traced the anonymous computer-server link to the Gates of Paradise."
"Yeah? Where?" asked Remo.
"A mosque in Toledo, Ohio."
"There's a mosque in Toledo?"
"One of the largest in the nation. But it's supposedly not in use."
"Why not?"
"It was built with its orientation slightly askew, and does not face Mecca."
"So why don't you just have it raided?"
"It is still a mosque. A raid would be politically embarrassing for the President and the nation, and would only inflame these people."
"And sending us in won't?"
"If what I suspect is true, you may find the Deaf Mullah there. He is overdue for a heart attack."
Chiun bowed again, a sly smile upon his face. "Spoken like a true Caesar."
"Think you can handle her?" Remo asked, jerking a thumb back in Abeer Ghula's direction.
Smith checked the knot of his Dartmouth tie uneasily. "Of course."
"If she gets cranky, slip her a pacifier. She likes those."
Smith's blank, lemony expression followed them out of room.
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