The Sky is Falling td-63

by Warren Murphy

  There seemed to be no end to the blood running daily through the streets of Chitibango, because not quite enough people were killed to balance out the new advances in medicine and agriculture. This was a problem typical of a Central American country.

  And thus did San Gauta receive journalists who detailed the atrocities of the Generalissimo. And thus did Kathy O'Donnell, like anyone else who followed the news, hear of Eckman-Ramirez the butcher, the man whose estates were guarded by fire and steel and barbarous henchmen.

  It was this time that came first to Kathy's mind when this magnificent specimen with the thick wrists entered her life. She wanted to see the butcher of Chitibango pulped.

  She could have chosen someone else. This wonderful man she was with could destroy anyone. But she wanted someone far away from Boston and the fluorocarbon generator. She wanted someone who would be a challenge for her brutal stranger. The Russians apparently weren't. And so, in that one instant, she fondly chose the butcher of South America. She thought of the nice fight his notorious guards would put up. If this man called Remo lost, she could always buy her way out, but if he won, well, she would be there for the magnificent thrill of it.

  Even more important, now she didn't care what happened. She just wanted more of Remo.

  "Yes. I am sure of it. This does look like the right jungle. He had a magnificent hacienda."

  "All these dictators down here have one," said Remo. "He had a high peaked hat."

  "That's standard, too."

  "He had a nose that didn't look like a balloon," said Kathy. "And hair that didn't look like it was manufactured in a Bayonne plastics factory."

  "Might be Eckman-Ramirez," said Remo. He had seen his picture once in a magazine.

  "He said he would pay well for my conducting the test. I didn't know there would be all that suffering. Those poor animals."

  "Did you see the weapon?"

  "He said he had it. He had it hidden. I should have known."

  "Why?" said Remo. He noticed she was having difficulty moving along the path. The natives had looked at his wrists and trusted him immediately. Why, he wasn't sure. But he was sure that they were looking at his wrists when they told him not only where the Generalissimo lived, but that he was there now.

  "All the news articles. I didn't believe them. I didn't believe they were telling the truth, and now you tell me this device can do harm to people."

  "You didn't see the animals there?" said Remo.

  "I saw them. I saw them suffer. Yes," said Kathy. She allowed her blouse to open, revealing a rising bosom glistening with San Gauta warmth. Ordinarily Kathy could allow her blouse to open with such artistry that she could play with almost any man's eyes, getting him to lean over a table, keep his head cocked at an awkward angle, and usually not think about what he was supposed to be thinking about. It was a lovely business tool. A properly opened blouse was as useful to her as a desktop computer.

  But this man didn't seem to dwell on her body. He seemed to be involved with everything around them, knowing where the path went when of course he couldn't have known. He told her he felt it.

  "Your blouse is open," said Remo.

  Kathy let her chest rise and looked at him coyly.

  "Is it really?" she said, letting him get the full magnificence of what was pressing up out of her bra.

  "Yeah. Now, why didn't you believe you would be doing any harm?"

  "I trust too much," she said. She felt the whole jungle slither with things she couldn't see. Things with hairy legs and little teeth that some television show had probably photographed laying eggs or eating some other thing with legs just as hairy and almost as many teeth.

  The magazine article did not show the smells, or the fact that your feet sank into the jungle floor, into dark leafy substances that she was sure must have contained millions of those hairy-legged things.

  "Are you married?" she said.

  "I think I told you no. Don't walk so heavy," said Remo.

  "I walk beautifully," said Kathy. Suddenly she didn't mind the jungle. She minded the insult.

  "No you don't. Clunk clunk. Try not to crush the ground. Treat it like your friend. Walk with the ground. It'll be easier on you and the ground and we won't be announcing ourselves to whatever it is behind that hillock up ahead."

  Kathy couldn't see anything beyond the dense green foliage. She couldn't even see the hillock.

  "How do you know there's something there?"

  "I know. C'mon. Walk with the ground, not on it." Exasperated, Kathy tried walking with the ground to prove to herself it didn't work. But she found that by watching Remo walking and trying to think as he had instructed, she was not so much pressing forward, as gliding forward. She shut her eyes. And stumbled. She had to watch him to do it.

  "Where did you learn this?"

  "I learned it," said Remo.

  "It's wonderful," she said.

  "It's all right. What is Eckman-Ramirez like?"

  "He is a sociopath. They are the best liars in the world. After all, he convinced me. I should have believed the magazine articles. I thought they were propaganda."

  "No. They just don't know what they're doing. No one knows what he is doing. Nobody. These yo-yos are going to fry the earth with that thing."

  "Some people know," said Kathy. "Whoever taught you to walk like this knows. He must know something. Or was it a she?"

  "A he."

  "Your father?"

  "Shhh."

  "Who?"

  "Someone, that's all," said Remo. He thought of Chiun going off for some old dusty pieces of gold and wood, the collection of centuries of tribute. Some of the stuff was almost worthless now, as modern man had learned to manufacture some of those materials once considered valuable. But even so. What was a ruby worth if there was no one left on earth to say it was valuable? And still Chiun had gone.

  "I don't miss him, you know," said Remo.

  "The one who taught you?"

  "Crazy. That's all. He's got his ways. And that's it. You can't reason with him."

  "The one who taught you?"

  "Never could. Never will. I don't know why I bother."

  "The one who taught you?" asked Kathy again.

  "Watch how you walk," said Remo.

  "That is the first time I have seen you angry about something. You don't ever seem to get angry."

  "Try walking where you're told," said Remo.

  That was the second time. It was clear there was someone he loved. But what sort of a relationship was it? Was there a reason he was not attracted to her? Was it all women he wasn't attracted to?

  "Watch how you're walking," he said.

  He turned out to be more than right. There was a hill up ahead. And just over it, set like a white jewel topped with red ceramic tile, was a classic hacienda surrounded by unclassic machine-gun nests. There were fierce-looking guards at the gates and enough antennas set into the tile roof to direct an air attack on the rest of South America. The land around the hacienda was cleared to prevent any possible hiding place.

  "Oh, wow," said Kathy. "We'll never get in there."

  "No. Those defenses are for bandits. Where did he put that device?"

  "He would know," said Kathy.

  "If you're frightened, you can wait here, and I'll come back for you."

  "No. That's all right. I owe it to mankind to try to make up for any harm I've done," she said. She certainly wasn't going to waste this filthy walk through the jungle to miss all the crunching of bones and breaking of bodies. If she wanted safety she would have stayed somewhere in London and sent this one off to Tibet or someplace.

  "Stay with me."

  "I'll never leave you."

  The thing about Remo; the thing she noticed most, was that he used people's reactions to operate. Like walking pleasantly up the road right past the machine-gun nests. He waved. They waved back. She realized that perhaps his greatest deception was that he was unarmed. He presented no threat of danger. It was as hidden
as it was magnificent. Kathy could feel the sense of danger vibrate into her body. She wondered if he was going to kill a guard for her.

  "Hi," said Remo. "I'm looking for the Generalissimo. I've got good news for him."

  The guard did not speak English. Remo spoke in Spanish but it was the strangest Spanish Kathy had ever heard, more Latin than Spanish and strangely sing-song, as though an Oriental had taught him.

  "The Generalissimo does not see everyone," said the guard, noticing Remo's wrists. There was no wristwatch, therefore the gringo was not a gringo, but a citizen of the country. The guard asked why Remo was not out in the fields working or in the hills with the bandits or in the army of the Generalissimo. Also, what was he doing with the beautiful gringo woman? Did Remo want to sell her?

  Remo said he didn't want to sell her. But he was here to give the Generalissimo the best deal he could ever make for himself. He might let the Maximum Leader live to see the sunset. The guard laughed.

  Then Remo moved. His hand seemed to brush across the guard's arrogant face. It was not a fast move, but fast enough so that Kathy only noticed it leaving the face. The laughter on the guard's face disappeared. It was impossible to laugh without lips or teeth. The guard couldn't even do anything with his hands but try to stanch the flow of blood. He also quickly indicated the Generalissimo was in the top floor by pointing. There was another guard nearby. He pulled the trigger on a machine pistol. But the pistol didn't fire. The finger pulled again. The pistol did nothing but jerk with a little gush of red. The gush came from the hand. Even on the ground the finger was still pulling. Remo walked right on through with Kathy. The guards back at the machine-gun nests didn't even notice. She knew that because they were still looking at her and blowing kisses.

  The guards back at the gate were trying to patch themselves as Kathy tugged at Remo's shirt.

  "Aren't you going to finish them off?"

  "No. I wouldn't even have touched them if I could have gotten in with a letter."

  "But you started something with them. I mean, how can you get something going and then not finish? You know break a neck or something."

  "I didn't want to kill them unnecessarily."

  "Why the hell did you get everyone so excited, and ther just leave? Wham, bam, not even a thank you ma'am."

  "You want to finish them, lady, you finish them."

  "I don't know how to kill," she said. "I hate that. I hate that in men. You know, a touch here, a touch there, and then nothing."

  "Shhh," said Remo.

  "What?"

  "I'm thinking."

  "Well, don't strain."

  "Where did he meet you when you came here?"

  "Remo, everything was so strange. So reeking with ... the strangeness, I guess, that I couldn't tell. They may have done this on purpose. I don't know."

  "Sometimes they do that. I am asking because if people have something they really treasure, they don't go far from it. Not really far."

  "Has that been your experience?"

  "No," Said Remo. "A lesson."

  "From that man?"

  "Will you lay off that subject?" snapped Remo. "Just lay off. There must be something you don't want to talk about." He looked around the palatial hallways with their cool polished marble floors and tinted glass windows two stories high. Rich wood polished to a warm luster. Highbacked chairs. Gold in the chandeliers.

  He heard laughter on the second story, and headed toward it.

  "Does laughter tell you where the lord of this manor is?" asked Kathy.

  "Nah. Maybe. I hate places like this. You know. A bit of Spanish, which means a bit of Arab because they were the real architects of Spanish styles. A little Mayan. A little Aztec and some California American. The place is a mess. You can't get a read on where the owner is. I hate it when they mix styles on you."

  He went up the stairs with Kathy running to keep pace.

  Outside there was some noise from the guards. An alarm sounded somewhere. Remo seemed to ignore it all. And then he saw an officer running into a room, locking the door behind him. Remo followed, springing the lock like a stone from a slingshot. Panting, Kathy caught up with him. It was safe to stay behind him. Perhaps the only safe place. That is, if he knew it was you.

  "It's me," she said.

  "I know," said Remo.

  "How did you know?"

  "I know. C'mon. I'm working."

  Work was disarming two bemedaled officers who were aiming pistols at them. When Remo disarmed, he did it at the shoulders. Again he did not finish them. He didn't even touch the two brutes who dropped their weapons when they saw the horror of the officers losing their arms. He was even pleasant as he walked into the next room, where an officer was excitedly telling Generalissimo Eckman-Ramirez about the dangers of a single man who had come here to threaten His Excellency.

  Remo, Kathy realized, could be a tease. And she also realized that she needed him to finish one of these men, or she would go crazy with want.

  "Get on with it," she said.

  Remo nodded her way. The Generalissimo, it turned out, spoke English. He spoke English rather well, in fact, and quite rapidly when it was pointed out to him that the man who had gone through his guards like tissue paper was now standing there.

  "What can my humble house offer you, friend?" asked the Generalissimo. He had fine features: a thin small nose, sort of blondish hair, and dark eyes. He also sported a glistening yellow tooth right up front. When one had gold, one apparently flaunted it in this country.

  He kept looking at Remo's wrists. "I want your fluorocarbon thing."

  "But, sir, I have no such thing. But if I did, you, sir, would be the first to have it."

  "Oh what a liar," gasped Kathy. "These butchers are such liars. "

  "Who is your beautiful friend who calls me a liar?"

  "You mean to say you didn't stand right there and tell me to measure oxidation and liquid refraction of ultraviolet intensity on a transatlantic angle?"

  "Senora?" said the Generalissimo helplessly.

  "Malden. In Malden, you bastard," said Kathy.

  "Malden. I don't know of a Malden."

  "You don't know of little dead animals? You don't know of the ozone layer? What else don't you know?"

  "I don't know what you are talking about, lady."

  "He's the one," said Kathy.

  What happened next posed an immediate problem for her. She had been planning on Remo's killing off the Generalissimo and leaving her free to her own devices.

  Unfortunately Remo could do things with bodies that she hadn't even suspected. Like run just two fingers along a spinal cord, creating pain, turning the general's fierce eyes to watery tears, and his pallid face to red pain. What if the Generalissimo denied any knowledge of the machine to his death? Would Remo find out she had tied to him? "They usually tell the truth under this," said Remo.

  "Apparently he's more afraid of the person he works for than you. Look at his face. He's in pain."

  "That's why they tell the truth. To stop the pain." Kathy saw the face flush red, ease, then flush red again; it was as though this man had gotten control of the Generalissimo's entire nervous system.

  "It was the North Vietnamese, wasn't it? You showed them it could work didn't you? That's how you used me, wasn't it? To develop a weapon for Hanoi," said Kathy. She felt her body alive with his pain.

  The Generalissimo, who would have admitted to murdering Adam and Eve at that point, let out a resounding yes. Especially when the pain eased. So delicious was this lack of pain that with Kathy's help he embroidered on the sale to North Vietnam. He even confessed guilt and asked forgiveness.

  "But Hanoi isn't west of Great Britain."

  "It is if you go far enough," said Kathy.

  "I did it. I did sell this horrible ... thing?"

  "Fluorocarbon generator," added Kathy helpfully.

  "Yes, fluoro ... thing. I did. I confess."

  "Where in Hanoi?" said Remo.

  "I don'
t know. They just came and put it in a car and drove off," said the Generalissimo.

  Remo looked at Kathy. She was shaking her head. "You're a scientist," said Remo. "Does that sound right to you?"

  "Could be. Could be," she said. What they would do in Hanoi, she did not know. What she would do, she was not certain. But she needed a climax to all this excitement.

  "Are you going to let him live? Maybe he'll warn the others."

  "Sometimes it's a help," said Remo. "Then they all run to protect what they don't want you to have."

  "I'd feel safer if you killed him. I can't go with you knowing this butcher and his officer would be phoning a warning ahead. It's been so hard on me, Remo. I couldn't."

  And then she cried. She was good at tears. She had found out just how good she was at them when, at five, she had strangled her own hamster and had the house looking for the killer who had done that bad thing to Kathy's Poopsie Woo, her pet name for the little rodent who had squirmed his furry last in her hands.

  "All right. All right," said Remo. "Stop the crying. Look, they're dead."

  There were two very quiet bodies on the floor, the Generalissimo's sandy blond hair facing the ceiling, his nose pressed into the floor, the officer's arms out in the same hysterical motion he had used to warn his Maximum Leader that a horrible man and a beautiful woman had just breached his security like butter.

  "I didn't see you do it. How did you do it?" said Kathy.

  "Never mind," said Remo. "I did it."

  "Well, don't be so fast. Why did you have to rush? Don't you have any consideration?"

  Dr. Kathleen O'Donnell did not see the small swellings on the back of the necks of both men. But the general's physician did. It was unmistakable. Two spinal vertebrae had been cracked and fused as though with heat. An extraordinary feat, especially since the guards reported that no machinery had been brought into the Generalissimo's room. It was just one man and a redhead. The doctor very carefully got their descriptions. And then he phoned a large embassy in a nearby country.