Up, around...
He saw the chimneys. Like something out of his past. Fifty years before. Then they had belched a thick, acrid smoke—the smell of burning flesh weighing heavy in the frigid winter air. The chimneys he saw now were idle.
He floated in close to one, very close. He saw the rough surface of the grimy bricks. Then he was up.
Sure hands guided him to the very top. He saw the New York skyline, dazzlingly white. A sea of lights spreading out brilliantly around him. Then he saw the gaping maw of the chimney. Up close. The blackness slid around his head. He felt the tightness at his bony shoulders. The blood rushed to his head.
His arms were pinned to his sides. He was unable to move.
"What is it you want?" he pleaded. His voice echoed in the confines of the chimney. "I can get you money. Gold. Anything."
"Gold is generally an acceptable form of payment."
Von Breslau recognized the voice. The Master of Sinanju. The young one spoke next.
"Gold is pretty good," the voice of Remo agreed.
"I can promise you a fortune. It is guaranteed."
Von Breslau tried to move his head. Fragments of black grit jarred loose from the chimney's wall and fell into his eyes. He blinked but could not dislodge the painful flakes.
"What do you think, Little Father?" he heard Remo say.
"It is a tempting offer, admittedly," Chiun said.
"But I do not feel it is time yet to do business with the Hun. My memory of the little jester with the funny mustache is too recent. Perhaps in another hundred years or so, my attitude could change."
Then the younger voice spoke down into the hole.
"Don't go anywhere, we'll get back to you."
Von Breslau felt the young one slip something around his big toe.
He didn't hear them climb down from the chimney. He only knew they had left when he heard the roof door slam soundly shut.
Six months later, when a maintenance crew discovered the body stuffed down into the mouth of the chimney, the story would make national news. Public interest in the case would generate an extensive investigation, and it would ultimately be discovered that the deceased was none other than the infamous Dr. Erich von Breslau. With the resulting media fire-storm, the hotel would begin to wish they had paid attention to the note left by the killer. Whoever had put the body there had kindly placed a Do Not Disturb sign on the old man's toe.
"You might have done it more neatly," Smith chastised.
"I don't want to hear it, Smitty," Remo said. "It felt right."
The look on Remo's face suggested that Smith not press the issue.
"This is all he had with him?" He had opened the box and removed the diskettes.
"That was it. Oh, here." Remo reached into his pocket and removed the object Smith had given him.
He tossed it on the CURE director's desk. "I'm not sure, but I think that little gizmo worked," he said.
Smith allowed himself a rare smile. "I thought it might." He put down the box and picked up the object. He flipped it over in the palm of his hand.
"So what is it?" Remo asked.
"It is a pacemaker. You recall I had one implanted recently. That was why I was in New York earlier this week. To see my doctor. The signal must have somehow interfered with the immobilizing aspect of the Dynamic Interface System signal. If it worked for me, I hoped that it would work for both of you, as well."
"Your talisman was most effective, Emperor,"
Chiun enthused. "It appears, though Sinanju be your greatest sword, that there are other weapons in your mighty arsenal."
"A pacemaker," Remo said, mildly surprised.
Smith replaced the flat object on his desk and picked up von Breslau's box. He frowned as he turned it over in his hands. "You know, Remo, this looked as though it was packed for shipping," he mused. "I wonder where von Breslau was sending it?"
"He and Holz talked about something called
'Four'," Remo suggested.
Smith nodded. "Yes, you mentioned that to me earlier. I did some checking and I could find no reference to a Four organization in any of the pro- or neo-Nazi literature. It is probably merely a minor splinter group. I would not be concerned."
"Well, if this is all wrapped up, Chiun and I will get going."
"Do not be too hasty," Chiun said, stepping forward. "There is still a minor item."
"What?" Remo knew the answer the instant the word passed his lips. "Oh, Chiun, can't you collect your autograph later?" Remo complained.
"Autograph? Oh, yes. Of course." Smith took a pen and piece of paper from his desk drawer and began writing. "You realize, Master of Sinanju, that due to the need for secrecy in the organization, you may not show this to anyone?" He looked up over the tops of his glasses as he spoke.
Chiun's expression grew concerned. "To no one at all?"
"I am afraid not."
"Therefore selling it is out of the question?"
"I must insist." Smith had finished writing and held the small slip of paper out to Chiun.
The Master of Sinanju looked down his nose at the paper as if Smith were offering him a rotted fish.
"I have just remembered that I have many of your autographs already. They grace the contracts you have signed with the House of Sinanju. Long live Emperor Smith."
When it became clear that Chiun had no intention of taking the sheet of paper, Smith returned it to his desk. "Well, if this matter is finished, we should all go home and get some rest. It has been a very long week"
Harold Smith rose from behind his desk. Chiun suddenly held up a staying hand.
"Actually there is another trifling item."
27
Harold W. Smith trudged wearily up the stairs to his bedroom. He had taken his shoes off at the door and carried them, so as not to wake his wife so late. Only when he entered the room did he remember that Maude had gone out of town to visit their daughter.
She had been telling him for weeks. Like so much of his life that did not revolve around his work, Smith had simply forgotten.
He removed his jacket and tie and lay down atop the bedcovers.
He was so drained he didn't have the energy to put on his pajamas.
He lay there for a few long seconds, in dress shirt and pants, staring at the shadows of the room.
It had been a grueling, grueling week.
He had denied his body sleep for so long, he began to see things in the room around him. Strange black shapes flitted out from the corners as car headlights dragged through the room and across the walls. A patch of darkness seemed to coalesce. It was a bizarre vision. He saw the face of Captain Josef Menk fade up out of the shadows. It was an eerie image in a week of foolish daydreams. His exhausted mind was playing tricks on him.
Suddenly Menk spoke: "You destroyed everything."
Smith was immediately alert. The voice was real.
It was in his room. He sat up in bed.
"You did it to yourself," he said crisply.
"No!" It was Lothar Holz who stepped out into the room. "It was you! You started this downward spiral! You ruined my life." His eyes glared hate-fully at Smith, and Smith fully saw the family resemblance.
"I refuse to be blamed for your personal failings."
Holz took another step. "At the lab, you spoke of Usedom."
Smith's nod was nearly imperceptible.
"You are the one. You killed Josef Menk."
"I did what I had to do," Smith said coldly.
"You killed my grandfather!"
"Your grandfather was a murderer."
"No! No!" His eyes were wild. "My grandfather was a great man!"
With no warning, Holz lunged for Smith.
At the last minute, a long-nailed hand swiped down from out of the shadows.
It met Holz in the abdomen, knocking him away from Smith. He fell against the wall beneath the window.
The Master of Sinanju stepped out of the shadows, talons raised protectively.
He positioned himself between Smith and Holz.
Remo seemed to fade in, as well. He moved away from Chiun, toward Lothar Holz.
Holz stood, shuddering. The spastic contortions his muscles were making made it difficult for him to focus. He saw Remo moving toward him. He braced himself for an attack.
"I would stay back if I were you. I have all your programming," Holz bragged, sneering. He tapped his forehead. "It is all up here."
Remo's face was unchanged. "Then it's time I crashed your system," he said, flatly.
Holz flew at Remo, hands flashing frenetically. He threw everything he had in one assault. Every Sinanju move the computer link had loaded into his mind. Holz went for the complex, but Remo opted for the elementary. When the PlattDeutsche vice president was within arm's reach, the broad side of Remo's hand cracked down against Holz's temple.
Holz felt the pressure in his skull. The new eyes Sinanju had given him were still quick enough to see the hand pull away. The pain in his brain joined the crescendo of agony that had been building in his spine, and in a white-hot moment of pure torture every pain receptor along his entire nervous system fired in perfect, harmonic torment.
The intense, horrific, excruciating anguish he suffered seemed to last an eternity. In reality, it was only a matter of seconds.
Lothar Holz was dead before he hit the floor.
Smith stepped over from his bed. "Your suspicion was correct," he said to Chiun. The Master of Sinanju bowed slightly.
"How did you know it wasn't him back at the warehouse?" Remo asked, glancing away from the body.
"Because I use my eyes for seeing," Chiun said blandly. "I do not yet know what it is you do with yours." He clapped his hands. "Come, Remo. Remove this refuse from the emperor's bedchambers.
We go." With that, Chiun marched boldly out the door and down the stairs.
Remo stared after him for a few seconds. Finally he turned to Smith. "You'd think I would have wanted them to rewrite his program just a little," he said, grinning broadly.
With a reluctant sigh, he hefted the body of Lothar Holz up onto his shoulders and followed the Master of Sinanju out the door.
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Warren Murphy - Destroyer 112 - Brain Drain
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Brain Storm td-112 Page 23