Feast or Famine td-107

by Warren Murphy

  "What did you find, Little Father?"

  "Look."

  And the Master of Sinanju opened his antique ivory claw. Nestled in the withered palm was a tiny-veined bee's wing.

  Remo studied it a moment. "That come off the killer bee?"

  "The correct term is 'Bravo bee,'" Wurmlinger interrupted. " 'Killer bee' is press invention. And I demand the right to examine that artifact," he said tightly, his long, bony mandibles clicking with each enunciated syllable.

  "If Chiun found it, it's his," Remo countered.

  "Are either of you qualified to judge insect parts?"

  "Maybe yes. Maybe no. But like he says-finders keepers. Come on, Little Father. Let's go."

  Chiun preceded Remo out the door of the deceased Dr. Nozoki's office.

  "Where are you going?" Wurmlinger called after them, his fists shaking at his sides.

  "None of your beeswax," said Remo. "You stay here and tell the next coroner in line what happened here."

  "You cannot leave me alone with these deceased persons. You are both witnesses."

  "You carry our water for us."

  "And I'm here, too," Tammy Terrill piped up.

  Wurmlinger looked at Tammy as if she were a particularly uninteresting specimen. Tammy didn't notice.

  "Tell you what," she said, hoisting her Fox minicam on her shoulder. "I'll interview you, and then you can interview me. We can be cointerviewers. I usually don't do this, but I'm part of the story, too, and I'm grabbing for all the face time I can hog."

  Dr. Wurmlinger groaned deep in his long throat. It was a pitiable, almost unearthly sound.

  "First, ask me how I got into broadcasting ...." Tammy chirped.

  Chapter 15

  On the way to their rental car, the Master of Sinanju noticed the lingering bee. It was hovering in the top of a eucalyptus tree, but dropped lower as they passed it.

  "Behold, Remo. A spy."

  Remo followed Chiun's indicating finger with his gaze. It was a fat bumblebee, hanging there in place like a miniature helicopter. Its jeweled eyes seemed to be regarding them.

  "Looks like an ordinary bee to me," Remo grunted.

  "It resembles the nefarious not-bee."

  "It's a bee. An ordinary bee."

  Chiun frowned darkly. "Let us see if it follows us, then."

  "Why would it do that?"

  "If it is a lurking spy, it will naturally follow us. For that is the mission of a spy."

  "Not a chance."

  They found their car in the lot. Remo slid behind the wheel, while Chiun got into the passenger seat. It was a cool spring day, so Remo rolled down his window instead of turning on the air conditioner.

  "No," said Chiun.

  "No, what?" asked Remo, turning.

  "No, we do not want the not-bee to accompany us."

  "Why would it do that?"

  "Because it harbors ulterior motives," said the Master of Sinanju.

  Shrugging, Remo reversed the window control, and the glass hummed back into place. A moment later, Remo heard the tiny but distinct click. He turned.

  The bumblebee-he couldn't tell if it was the same one that followed them out-was hovering outside his driver's-side window on whirring wings.

  "That's funny," muttered Remo.

  "There is nothing funny about it."

  Then the bee banged its metallic-looking face against the glass. It bounced off. Hovering, it tried a third time. The glass defeated it. Every impact resulted in an audible click like a ring stone against glass.

  "Maybe it's upset over something," Remo said slowly.

  "Bees are attracted to the color blue," Chiun suggested. "This is well-known."

  Remo looked at Chiun's amber kimono, and his own black-and-white clothing.

  "We're not wearing blue. The car isn't blue, it's maroon. Nothing blue in here."

  "Yet the bee-that-is-not attempts to gain entrance to our conveyance."

  "Maybe he's seeing his own reflection in the window and thinks it's another bee. One he doesn't like."

  At that point, the bee gave up on Remo's side and zoomed around to Chiun's window. As it passed before the windshield, it showed its fuzzy thorax with a black-and-yellow dappling that made them sit up straighter in their seats.

  "Did you see what I just saw?" muttered Remo.

  Chiun nodded. "Yes. A death's-head."

  "Guess there's more than one of the little devils ...."

  "Leave this place, Remo," Chiun hissed. "Now."

  "Why?"

  "So that we may see if it follows."

  "Not a chance in hell of that happening," said Remo, keying the ignition.

  Backing out of the lot, Remo took the San Diego Freeway back to LAX. The bee followed them as far as the lot, whereupon Remo accelerated, leaving the tiny black-and-yellow nuisance behind.

  "Lost it," he said, grinning.

  "There are other bees," said the Master of Sinanju cryptically.

  "Or not."

  RETURNING THE CAR to the airport rental lot, Remo and Chiun walked to the main terminal.

  From time to time, Chiun turned without breaking stride, making a complete walking circle, as if to check for trailers.

  "See anything?" asked Remo.

  Chiun shook his bald head. "No bees."

  "Anything else?"

  "No not-bees, either."

  "What the hell is a not-bee?"

  "That I do not know. But I possess the wing of a not-bee. Perhaps Emperor Smith can enlighten us."

  There was a Federal Express collection box in the terminal. It gave Remo an idea.

  "Let's FedEx it to him."

  "Good idea," said Chiun, surrendering the bee's wing to his pupil.

  Remo dumped it into a FedEx mailer and addressed it to Harold Smith at Folcroft Sanitarium, Rye, New York.

  When he turned, he saw a bumblebee hover outside, on the other side of a plate-glass window. It hovered low enough that the fuzzy death's-head marking on its back was discernible.

  "That can't be the same bee," Remo said.

  "It is a not-bee," Chiun declared.

  "Whatever it is or isn't, it can't be the one we lost back in the city."

  Chiun's hazel eyes grew sharp. "Remo, he was watching you all along," he hissed.

  "So what?"

  "He saw you inscribe that package to Emperor Smith. The address of Fortress Folcroft is now known to outsiders."

  "Oh, come off it. A bee that can read! What's he going to do? Hop a flight to New York State and sting Smith?"

  "It is not impossible ...." Chiun breathed.

  "It is ridiculous," said Remo. "Let's find our gate."

  The bee followed them as far into the terminal as there were outside glass windows.

  At their gate, they stood watching the planes take off and land. Their jet was at the gate, being serviced. A foodservice truck moved into place on the opposite side of the 727 where the jetway ramp hugged the open passenger door.

  As they watched, the driver opened the top forward part of the truck body over the cab and manipulated a fold-down ramp. The food-service trolleys rolled across this ramp into the food-service door of the aircraft.

  It was not particularly interesting, but it was something to look at.

  During this procedure, Remo and Chiun spotted the fat bumblebee.

  At first, the bee appeared to flit about aimlessly like any other bee. Then it came to their window, hovered there with tiny black eyes that seemed vaguely malevolent. Abruptly, it dived away and swooped toward the open access door, showing the unmistakable skull on its fuzzy thorax.

  "Uh-oh," Remo muttered.

  "It has boarded our sky conveyance," said Chiun, stroking his wispy little chin.

  "Maybe it's just lost."

  "It is a spy. It saw that we awaited that aircraft. It seeks to accompany us."

  "Wait a minute. Now I sound like you. That's just a stupid bumblebee. It's not even the same bee from the morgue."

  Chiun looked
at Remo with thin, narrowing eyes.

  "Can you be certain of this, Remo?"

  "No," Remo admitted. "But bees are just bees."

  "But not-bees are dangerous."

  They boarded their flight with wary eyes.

  They saw no sign of the skull-marked bee as the 727 rolled out onto the runway. As it idled, awaiting clearance for takeoff, Remo said, "I'm going to reconnoiter."

  He went to the forward part of the plane, looking for a pillow. He came back with a nice fluffy one and checked the men's room. No bees lurking there.

  "You should be in your seat, sir," a flight attendant warned.

  "I think there's a bee on board," Remo told her.

  "This happens from time to time. They wander aboard. Are you allergic to bee stings?"

  "No."

  "Then don't worry. Please take your assigned seat."

  Over the intercom, the pilot announced, "Final cross-check. Flight crew prepare for takeoff."

  "Now, sir," the flight attendant said edgily.

  Reluctantly, Remo took his assigned seat.

  The takeoff was smooth. The gleaming aluminum wings took to the air, and the rumble of the wheels whining into their wells told them that they had committed to flight.

  That was when the death's-head bee popped out of the galley. It flew back into the cabin, hovered in midaisle and seemed to hesitate at the sight of Remo and Chiun eyeing it back.

  Then, as if having second thoughts, it retreated into the first-class section.

  "I don't like the looks of that," said Remo.

  Chiun made a satisfied mouth. "It fears us. Good."

  Remo shrugged. "It's just a freaking bumblebee."

  Then a scream ripped out of first class.

  "Ahhh!"

  Remo came out of his seat so fast his seat belt snapped in two. Chiun followed, a wraith of silken skirts.

  They moved through the first-class cabin and collided with a panicky knot of flight attendants jamming the aisle.

  "Back in your seats. Back in your seats, please. We have to land," one was yelling.

  "Why?" asked Remo.

  "Because the pilot's been stricken. But it's all right. Stay calm. The flight engineer is capable of landing the plane without help. Return to your seat, please."

  Beyond the stewardess's worried face, Remo saw through the open cockpit door the pilot convulsing in his seat.

  Then the copilot slapped the side of his neck-and just ahead of it danced the fat black-and-yellow honey bee with the death's-head markings, free and unscathed.

  "If the flight engineer's out of action, who lands the plane?" Remo asked the stewardess urgently.

  "Don't be worried. We've never lost two crew members."

  "Answer my question," Remo demanded, shaking the stewardess. "Who lands the plane?"

  "No one. There's just the pilot and flight engineer."

  Remo set the stewardess aside like a hat rack and moved into the cramped cabin.

  The pilot was slumping to one side, completely out of it. The flight engineer had one hand on the yoke. The other was fumbling about among the controls weakly.

  But even from behind, Remo could see that he was going into shock.

  Chapter 16

  The flight engineer was definitely going into shock.

  There was no question what was happening to him. He took his free hand off the yoke and grabbed his throat. He began to wheeze. His face turned a smoky reddish hue. He gasped audibly.

  "Easy, fella," Remo said, reaching his side. "You got stung by a bee, that's all." Remo kept his voice calm. But the flight engineer was gasping for air now. His windpipe was closing off, like an asthmatic's.

  "Stay with me," Remo urged, squeezing the man by the back of his neck to encourage adrenaline production. "The pilot's gone. You're the only one who can land the plane."

  The flight engineer started to nod. The nod turned into the shaking that shivered down the length of his body and became a convulsion.

  "Easy," Remo warned.

  Then he saw the reddish swelling over the carotid artery on the left side of the man's neck. The bee had injected its venom directly into the man's bloodstream. There was no way to save him, Remo knew.

  Meanwhile, the plane continued its screaming climb.

  "He's out of it," Remo cried to Chiun.

  "Where is the not-bee?" Chiun hissed, his eyes questing about the cockpit.

  "Forget the bee. Someone's got to land the plane."

  "You do it. I will watch the wings for signs of treachery."

  "I don't know how to freaking fly a 727!" Remo exploded.

  "How hard can this be?" asked the Master of Sinanju. "You have a wheel with which to steer. You know where the ground is."

  "I don't know squat about flying a big bird like this."

  "Where are the parachutes?" Chiun wondered aloud.

  "They don't equip passenger aircraft with parachutes, Chiun," Remo said heatedly.

  Chiun blew out his cheeks in indignation. "We have been cheated, for we paid full fare!"

  "Never mind that, help me get these guys out of here so I can work."

  Chiun bustled forward and took the blue-faced pilot by his shoulder epaulets. He pulled him back into first class, which caused no little consternation among the passengers.

  A pale-faced man stood up. "Is this a hijacking?"

  "No. We are only going to crash," returned Chiun thinly.

  That reassured absolutely no one, although a few people did faint.

  Remo slid into the pilot's seat, and drew on the earphones and mouth microphone.

  "Pilot to base," Remo said.

  "Say again. This is LAX Tower. Repeat message."

  "This is TWA flight to Baltimore."

  "Say flight number?"

  "Let me get my ticket," Remo said, fumbling in his pockets. Then he remembered leaving it in his seat pocket. "Hey, Chiun what's the freaking flight number?"

  "It has two zeroes in it."

  "Are they in front or back?"

  "Back."

  "Tower, this is a flight number zero-zero," said Remo, clearing his throat on both sides of the zeroes and hoping for the best. It worked.

  "TWA, confirm you are flight 600."

  "Confirm," said Remo, making up his lingo. "We have an on-board emergency here."

  "Flight 600, state the nature of your emergency."

  "The pilot and copilot are dead. It's up to me to land this thing."

  "Is this a hijacking?"

  "No."

  "Are you qualified to pilot a passenger aircraft?"

  "No."

  A silence cracked in the earphones. Then in a drained voice, the tower said, "Stay calm, sir. And we will attempt to talk you down."

  "Better put a lot of foam on the runway for this one," Remo warned.

  "Acknowledge."

  The tower ran Remo through the essentials of piloting a big bird. They told him where the throttle was. How to trim flap and deploy the thrust reversers. It sounded easy at first. Then they began piling on the details.

  "Look, we need to keep this simple," Remo complained.

  "This is the simplest version, sir."

  "I need a simpler version. There's a lot of distractions up here."

  Just then, another one reared its bulging head.

  "Remo, the not-bee has returned," squeaked Chiun.

  "Swat it. I'm busy," Remo called back.

  The Master of Sinanju stepped around and blocked the door, saying, "Bumblebee-who-is-not, do not dare intrude, for here stands the Master of Sinanju to deal with you."

  The bee, if it understood, only grew more determined. It swooped at Chiun's bald head, encountered a sweeping backhand and went corkscrewing away. Striking a bulkhead, it ricocheted, rebounded and came again.

  This time, it tried to zip between Chiun's outstretched legs.

  Chiun gathered up the hem of his kimono skirt, ripping out a swatch of silk lining. Snapping it between tense hands, he waved it be
fore the bee like an Oriental matador with a too-small cape. The bee bobbed and weaved, but refused to retreat.

  "Come, bee. Come to your doom ...." Chiun invited.

  The bee zigged, then zagged, trying to get past the snapping silk. It made a dive for the space between Chiun's black sandals.

  Twisting the swatch into a knot, the Master of Sinanju bent his deceptively frail-looking body, enveloping the bee expertly in a ball of fabric.

  The bee hummed and buzzed in frustration.

  "I have the culprit," Chiun announced to Remo.

  "Good," returned Remo.

  The tower was assuring Remo that he would land safely. They were telling him to lay his nose on the main radio beacon. Remo understood none of it in the technical sense. But when the nose was pointing toward the foaming runway, he began to feel a slow surge of confidence.

  "Okay, I'm riding the beam," he said, copying the tower's terminology.

  "Drop gear."

  Remo pulled on the heavy lever that deployed the landing wheels. They rumbled out of their wells.

  Remo lined up on the main runway.

  "Now ease back. Not too hard on the throttle," the tower instructed.

  Remo obliged. There was a sheen of perspiration on his forehead. It came from concentration, not fear. He kept trying to fly by the seat of his pants, the way he drove a car-by feeling every component of the vehicle, and becoming an extension of it. But this was a big, lumbering jet that operated by hydraulics and electrical controls. It was worse than power steering. It was power everything. Remo preferred to be the power in the cars he drove. Here, he was disconnected from total control of the aircraft. It made everything feel wrong.

  As the jet dropped lower and lower on its Pacific approach, Remo heard a rare Korean curse emerge from the Master of Sinanju's papery lips.

  "What now?" he demanded of Chiun.

  "The bee ate through my kimono lining. It is ruined."

  "What?"

  Then the bee was dive-bombing Remo's head. And the tarmac came rushing up to meet the nose.

  "Not now," Remo groaned. "I've almost got this thing on the ground."

  The bee dancing before his eyes, Remo slapped at it in sheer frustration. It bounced off the side of his hand, unharmed, and regained its aerial equilibrium.

  "What does it take to kill one of these things?" he complained. "Chiun, get in here!"

  The Master of Sinanju was in the cabin now. There was hardly any room for him. Chiun made a lunge for the dancing bee.