"I hope not," Remo said and meant it.
"Oh, no doubt there are many who would like to see me dead, but most of them would only attempt my death if it were easy. As you know, the prospect of any effort at all being needed for a particular task will always make that task that much harder and undesirable."
"I guess that's true enough," Remo said.
"Except in the case of the fanatic," Chiun pointed out. Remo and the Emir looked at him as he spoke. "Very often, it is the difficulty of the challenge that will make the mission that much more de-
of you. My voice no longer carries as it once did." I sirable for the fanatic."
50 I 51
"Excellent point," the Emir said. "I salute an ob- i met Chiun's, held them a moment, and then once
viously superior knowledge."
Suddenly the man in bed was struck by some sort of pain. His face twisted in anguish and then a coughing fit shook his body with spasms. Chiun, speaking soft, comforting words in Korean, reached out and touched the ruler's chest, pressing it along the ribs.
The coughing stopped and the look on the Emir's face showed that the pain had gone, too. The contorted grimace of hurt had given way to surprise, then delight.
"What . . . what did you do?" he asked Chiun.
"A simple manipulation of muscles," Chiun said.
"Are you then a physician?"
"Not in the strict sense of the word," Remo answered for Chiun.
"But obviously you have some knowledge of medicine?" the Emir asked Chiun.
Chiun nodded.
The Emir moved around in bed, seeking a more comfortable position. Remo felt he was also trying to come to some sort of decision. When he lay still, he seemed to have made his decision.
again, he said "Please."
At that moment, Princess Sarra entered the room, clad in a flowing silken robe, with a thick string of diamonds around her neck.
The Emir's face lit up as he saw her. "Sarra," he called.
"Yes, my brother."
"Be a good girl. Take Mister Remo for a walk while his companion and I have a private discussion."
It sounded to Remo like a polite request, but he was learning that a royal request, no matter how politely phrased, was a command to be obeyed.
Sarra bowed slightly. "As you wish, my brother. Please join me, Remo."
"Lead on, Princess. I'll see you downstairs, Chiun." But the old Korean seemed not to have heard him. He already had his hands on the Emir's chest, pressing gently.
Walking side by side, Remo noticed that Sarra had removed her high-heeled boots because she was now noticeably shorter than he was.
"What is that about?" she asked him.
"Will you examine me?" he asked Chiun. 1 "What?"
Chiun looked at Remo who shrugged. f "Your companion and my brother."
"I do not know if I would be able to tell you any- I "To be perfectly honest, Princess, I don't exactly
thing different from what your own physicians have I know," Remo confessed.
already told you," Chiun warned the Emir.
"And none of my physicians has been able to do for me what you just did with a touch. Please. I would be forever in your debt if you would examine me. No matter what the result." The sick man's eyes
Sarra led him downstairs, through the house and out onto a massive, front patio of stone, surrounded by an equally massive, overgrown garden. In the center of the garden was a large fountain. They sat on a stone bench looking at the water.
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"Do you live out here all the time?" Remo asked. I "Your wish is my command, sugar," he said as he "No, I have an apartment in New York City. Ac- I got up and walked to Chiun.
tually, I am here very little of the time. I get bored very easily."
"Pakir seems as if he'd be able to get along with your not being here. He seems to resent you."
"Pakir is in love with me," she said, "but he has a great deal of pride. A woman should be a woman and not put her nose in men's affairs. Actually, I am not the least bit interested in his affairs." She turned to look at Remo and said, "I have my own affairs to think of."
She touched Remo's hand and then smiled.
"What's funny?" he said.
"I would have expected sparks to leap from my hands to yours," she said.
"So would I," said Remo. He moved closer to her
"What's the story, Chiun? Will he make it?"
Chiun shook his head. "He will die, and much sooner than everyone thinks."
"You told him that?"
"Do you think I am insensitive? I told him that I could find nothing different from the findings of his own physicians. He accepted that." Chiun stared stolidly out at the sea.
"You've been acting strange since we got here," Remo said, "and even funnier since we met the Emir. Did you finally decide to hold him responsible for that debt?"
Chiun glared at him angrily. "Since you seem so concerned, I will tell you what is bothering me." He pointed toward the ceiling with a bony, long-nailed
and touched a spot on her back with his fingertips, I finger. "That man is a great man, a great monarch.
rotating them slightly. She arched her back like a | A Master of Sinanju knows a true monarch when he
meets one. That man was born to rule and what has been happening to him these past few months is beneath contempt. It is better that he die than live in
stroked kitten.
"I'd like you to come visit me," she said, closing her eyes to the slight pressure of Remo's fingertips. "At my apartment. Some time soon."
"Very soon," Remo promised.
When she opened her eyes again to look at him, she looked abruptly past him, then straightened up stiffly. Remo followed her eyes and saw Chiun watching them impassively from the terrace.
"You and he," she observed. "You belong together, somehow."
"Yes," Remo said. "We are joined by thousands of years of tradition."
"But leave him behind when you visit me in New York," she said.
exile."
"That's what happens to people who trust the United States. The quickest way to the boneyard is to figure on us to help you out." Remo paused. "Chiun . . . you didn't . . ."
"I took no action to put him out of this misery caused by your government," Chiun said coldly. "I have told you, he will die soon enough."
Remo let his air out in a sigh of relief.
"All right, then. Let's get Pakir and tell him how to beef up his security and maybe we can give the Emir the opportunity to do just that."
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CHAPTER SEVEN
Remo's advice to Perce Pakir was simple. "Get dogs," he said. "You've just got too much island to cover. If you put dogs on both flanks of the island, it'll force an invader to come in through the middle. That way, your devices have a better chance of picking him up."
Pakir listened politely but without enthusiasm. His coolness didn't bother Remo. When they got back, he would pass his recommendation on to Smith and, whether he liked it or not, Perce Pakir would have dogs.
The Coast Guard launch returned to pick them up at the main dock at the shore side of the island to take them to the Brooklyn dock where the two hoodlums' bodies had been found.
Remo used the ship-to-shore telephone to reach Smith at his headquarters in Folcroft Sanitarium.
"How does it look?" Smith asked.
"Not bad," Remo said. "The chief of security there doesn't like us, but I told him to get dogs."
"That's Pakir," Smith said.
"Right."
'Til see they get dogs," Smith said.
"And who's the hoople there representing us?" Remo asked.
"That's Agent Randisi.' "FBI?" asked Remo.
56
"Yes."
"Check him out. He couldn't find his foot inside his shoe. He wasn't even around when we were discussing the security with Pakir."
"How is the big man?" Smith said.
Remo knew who he m
eant. "Impressive, but not long for this world. He'll die in bed."
"If he has to die, that's the way I'd prefer it," Smith said.
"Did you find out anything about the men on the dock?"
"They were shopping for an assassin to take out Romeo," Smith said. "It appears they found one."
"Any idea who?" Remo asked Smith.
"No," said Smith. "It might even have been an amateur. All the professionals seemed to have been frightened off. See what you can find."
"Okay, Smitty."
They were almost at their destination when Remo broke off the connection, and a few minutes later they were prowling the smelly, dirty pier.
"This looks like the spot, Chiun," said Remo.
"Look with more than your eyes, meat-eater," Chiun said. There were dark stains in the wood of the dock, apparently blood stains. Remo crouched down to look at them.
"I don't even know what we're looking for," Remo complained.
Chiun squatted next to him, looking over the area. He reached out with his hand and ran it over the stains.
"Something is stuck in the wood," he said.
Remo watched as Chiun's skillful fingers dug at the wood of the dock and lifted it free.
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"There," said Chiun, holding his hand open to Remo.
"There what?" said Remo. All he could see was a black speck, a chip of something in Chiun's hand.
"Have you ever seen anything that black?" Chiun asked.
"Only the inside of a Chinaman's heart," Remo said.
"A worthy sentiment, but mistimed. Pay attention. Look at that chip of paint carefully."
"So it's very black," Remo said. He looked again. "Very, very black. And again, so what?"
"I have never seen anything so black," Chiun said. "This reflects no light at all."
"I really don't get what this is all about."
"Something that black would be invisible in the dark," Chiun said. "It would reflect nothing back to the eye. Does that answer your question?"
"You mean to tell me that we're dealing with a guy who has an invisible kind of paint? Somebody's painting himself invisible?"
"It is possible," Chiun said.
"Jesus," said Remo. "Smitty's going to love this one."
He had spent his life afraid of the dark, but now Elmo Wimpler knew that the light was his enemy. In the dark, in blackness, he was God, a King, ruler of all he surveyed. But in the light, he would be just another small man in a dark cloth suit. He would be a wimp again.
Never. Never again.
incredible feeling of power beyond anything he had ever felt before.
He would not give up that power. The power to do anything. To buy anything. To have any woman. To decide life and death for others.
His only enemy was the light.
In the garage attached to his small home, Wimpler inspected his black, invisibility outfit and found a small piece of paint had chipped off. He would have to work on that. Perhaps he could make the paint with a rubber or latex base so it would be flexible and would not crack or chip. He sprayed the flaked spot again.
The outfit was as good as new.
He wanted to use it again.
He couldn't wait to use it again.
And he knew just who to use it on.
He had a couple of debts to pay back.
While the outfit was drying, he looked on his shelves for an invention he had been working on several years before. It was an electronic oscillator. Aimed at a power source, it would jam the electrical current, changing its frequency, and the surge of power would blow out lights all along the line of the circuit. It had worked but it had no commercial value. Who would want to blow out lights?
So Wimpler had put it on a shelf and forgotten it. Until now. He found the small box and inserted a fresh, nine-volt battery. Then he aimed it at a small, night light he kept burning in the garage. There was no sound, but suddenly the light went off.
Elmo Wimpler laughed aloud. He sprayed the unit with his black invisibility paint, and then began
He had tasted power, killing those three men—an I to put on his special suit.
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It was time to visit his neighbors, Curt and Phyl- I "Curt " he said softly.
lis. He planned to spend a little more time with Phyllis than with Curt, though. He figured to be done with Curt very quickly. Very quickly.
Getting into the house was easy. The storm door to the rear hallway was unlocked. He walked in and stood in the dark hallway, watching Phyllis doing the dinner dishes. He enjoyed the view. She was wearing a backless halter top and he admired the arch of her spine as it sloped down to her behind which was clad only in a pair of pink panties. Her long legs were covered by a thin sheen of perspiration on the hot night. Her feet were bare, her ankles trim and lovely, and she was humming a tune as she worked. Even with the teased hair and loud mouth, she was quite a woman. She had always been Elmo's one main sexual fantasy. He had imagined himself doing unimaginable things to her and tonight, after he was done with Curt, he would do all of them.
To his left were the basement steps and Elmo could hear Curt down there grunting, doing his usual nightly weight-lifts. He took a last lingering look at Phyllis's back and then went quietly down the steps to the basement.
Curt was on his back doing bench presses with a 150-pound barbell. As Wimpler watched, Curt pushed the bar up overhead, locked his elbows, then let the bar down to rest on his chest. When the barbell was over his head, Elmo aimed his power oscillator at the single overhead light. Instantly, the cellar plunged into darkness.
"Shit," Curt growled. "Freaking light blew." Wimpler was already standing behind him, his skull-crusher out and open.
60
"What? Who's there?" The fear in his voice gave Wimpler almost an electric thrill down his spine.
"Just visiting like a good neighbor," Wimpler said. He had the skull-crusher around Curt's head. "Good-bye, neighbor," he said, as he pressed the button. He heard the phhhhht of the compressor and then the cracking sound of Curt's skull.
Curt did not even have time to yell.
Wimpler stood at the bottom of the steps.
He held his hand over his mouth and called loudly, "Phyllis," trying to imitate Curt's loud roar.
From the shadows he could see the woman standing at the top of the cellar stairs.
"Curt? Why's it dark down there?"
Again muffling his voice, Wimpler yelled, "Come on down."
Gamely, she came down the steps to the cellar. Wimpler let her pass him, then ran noiselessly up the steps to close the top cellar door, to keep out all light.
Then he was back downstairs, invisible in the blackness, standing behind her.
"Curt?" she called softly. This time there was a little question in her voice.
Elmo put his arms around her. She thought it was Curt. She purred.
Wimpler hit her alongside the head, just before putting the gag in her mouth, just before he went to work to make all his fantasies come true.
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CHAPTER EIGHT
"Another one?" Remo asked.
"Just like the others. Skull crushed," Smith said. He gave Remo the Brooklyn address.
"Anything on that paint chip?" Remo asked.
"Not yet. It's still in the laboratory. I'll let you know what we find out."
Remo hung up and looked out the window at Manhattan. He had moved into this midtown hotel to be close to Princess Sarra, and now he was off again to Brooklyn.
And he didn't like Brooklyn. He had never liked Brooklyn. When he was a boy in the orphanage, the nuns had made them read a short story titled "Only the Dead Know Brooklyn."
In a test, they had asked for the name of the story, and he had written, "Only the Dumb Like Brooklyn." For that smart-ass answer, he had gotten himself rapped on the knuckles with a ruler. He had resented Brooklyn ever since.
When they arrived at the address, they saw a small, mild-looking
man walking out of the house next door. He was carrying a cardboard carton to a rented Haul-It-Ur-Self which was parked in front of
helped the man maintain his balance. When Remo helped him get the heavy carton into the van, the little man turned to him and thanked him effusively.
"Don't mention it," Remo said. "Moving out?"
"Yes, sir. The crime rate is becoming much too high in this area to go on living here. Especially after what happened next door."
"Do you know those people well?" Remo asked.
Elmo Wimpler shook his head. "Not really. Just to say hello in the morning. You know, neighbor stuff." He shook his head, as if still disbelieving the facts. "What a terrible thing to happen. A murder right next door to my house."
"Murder?" Remo asked. "I thought the police still called it a questionable death."
"I don't know what they call it, but I know that Phyllis—that's Curt's wife—has been telling the whole neighborhood that he was murdered and she was . . . uh, sexually abused."
The little man looked embarrassed even to say the words. Remo pitied him instantly. What kind of boring life must this little man live?
"Did you hear any noises last night? Remo asked.
"I didn't hear a thing, but I'm in bed early and I'm a very sound sleeper. Phyllis says she screamed, but I didn't hear it. I'm really sorry about that."
"Maybe you're lucky," Remo said, patting the man on the shoulder. "You might have been the next victim."
The man visibly shuddered. "I want to finish my packing," he said quickly.
his house. «Go ahead> Thanks."
As the little man neared the van, he tripped and The little man went back toward the house and
started to fall. Remo reached out for the carton and Remo joined Chiun.
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"That little man does not like his neighbors," the old Korean said.
"Who does? Let's visit Phyllis."
Mourning for her dead husband had not made Phyllis any more sedate in her choice of clothing. She was wearing short shorts and a T-shirt top when she answered the door. The body wasn't bad, Remo thought, and if only she had taken care of her face, she might even have been passable-looking.
"Whaddya want?" she demanded.
"We're here about your husband," Remo said.
In spite of her recent loss, Phyllis looked twice at Remo and liked what she saw. He wasn't big, like Curt, but there was something masculine about him, something that made her tingle.
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