Lords of the Earth td-61

by Warren Murphy

  The hit was an elderly woman in an estate in Beverly, Massachusetts. They were to break her bones and make it look like a fall.

  The way they were to do it made the pair shudder but it was nothing compared to what they found out later. They were not supposed to kill the woman, just break her bones. It was an October morning, the house was enormous and the furniture was all covered with sheets. The house was being closed for the season and the woman thought that they were movers.

  Myron and Anselmo had never mugged an elderly woman before and they backed away at first. "I ain't doing it," they both assured each other. And then the old woman began ordering them around like servants and each found a little place in his heart that said, "Do it."

  Her bones were brittle but that was not the hard part. The hard was was leaving her alive, writhing on the floor at the foot of the stairs, begging for help.

  Perriweather arrived just as they were leaving. "Hey, you ain't supposed to be here," Anselmo said. "Whaddaya hire us for if you're gonna be here?"

  Perriweather did not answer. He just peeled off the hundred-dollar bills which were their payment and went inside the house, sat down by the poor old woman and began reading a newspaper.

  "Waldron," the woman groaned. "I am your mother."

  "Are not," Waldron said. "My real mother will be here soon. Now please die so that she will come." Anselmo looked at Myron and they both shrugged as they left. Later they read that Perriweather had lived in the house for a full week with the body before reporting it to the hospital, which of course notified the police.

  At the coroner's inquest, Perriweather testified that he lived in a different wing of the house and had not noticed his mother's body. Apparently she had fallen down the stairs and broken her bones. Servants had left that morning to prepare the family's Florida home and Perriweather thought his mother had gone with them and that he was in the house alone.

  "Didn't you smell the body?" the prosecutor had asked. "You could smell that body a half-mile down the road. It was infested with flies. Didn't you wonder what the damned flies were doing in the mansion?"

  "Please don't say 'damn,' " Perriweather had said. A butler and several other servants saved Waldron, however, by testifying that he had a peculiar sense of smell. None at all, they said.

  "Why, Mr. Perriweather could be living with a pile of rotted fruit by the bed table for two weeks, smelling so bad you couldn't get a maid into the room with a noseclip."

  And there was the recently-estranged Mrs. Perriweather who admitted that her husband had a fondness for garbage dumps.

  There was also testimony that there was no one who could have smelled the rotting corpse because the last two in the house, other than Mr. Perriweather, were brutal-looking movers in a white Cadillac.

  Accidental death was the verdict. The prosecutor said Perriweather should go and have his nose fixed. Anselmo and Myron had more work from Perriweather over the years. They also knew he hired others but they weren't sure who and sometimes he would complain about amateur help. Sometimes he would say strange things too. Anselmo couldn't remember how the topic of their first job for him came up but he did hear Perriweather mention that his true mother visited him a day after the first hit had been made.

  A nut case, they both decided, but the money was good and none of the jobs were dangerous because Perriweather always had them well planned. So when he called and told them he wanted them to steal an atomic device, there was no complaint, especially since he had agreed to meet them out in the open, in the fresh air.

  He was mumbling something about revenge and they had never seen him this angry.

  But his plans were again good. He showed them pictures of the atomic installation and gave them the proper passwords to use and badges to wear.

  "Ain't that stuff radio-whatever?" asked Anselmo. He had read about those things.

  "Radioactive," Perriweather said. "You won't have to handle it long. You just give it to these two people." And he showed them a picture of a young woman with a blank expression and a young man with eyes that wimped out to-the world.

  "Those are the Muswassers. They'll plant the device. Tell them not to worry about getting it inside the gate this time. It doesn't have to be inside the gate. That's the beauty of the atomic device, you only have to be within a mile or so of your target. The one thing I do want, though, and tell them to be sure to do this, is to get these two in the laboratory when they set off the device."

  Waldron showed his hit men a picture of two men, one wearing a kimono, the other a thin white man with thick wrists.

  "I want them dead," Perriweather said.

  "How should these other two make sure they're inside?" asked Myron.

  "I don't know. You do it. You tell them when you set it off. I am tired of dealing with amateurs."

  "Mr. Peiriweather, can I ask a personal question?" asked Anselmo, venturing a familiarity that years of good business cooperation had granted him.

  "What is it?"

  "Why do you use amateurs in the first place anyway?"

  "Sometimes, Anselmo, one has no choice. You are stuck with your allies, no matter how temporary."

  "I see," said Anselmo.

  "That's why I really like dealing with you, though," Perriweather said. "There's only one thing wrong with the two of you."

  "What's that?"

  "You both have nice hair. Why do you wash it so much?"

  "You mean it takes the life out of it?"

  "No. Removes the food," said Perriweather.

  As always, Anselmo and Myron found Perriweather's plans were perfect. They were able to get into the nuclear storage facility with absolute ease and escape with the two packages, one containing the weapon and the other the timing detonator.

  They met Nathan and Gloria Muswasser at a town house outside Washington. Nathan's father owned it. The fine plastered walls were covered with liberation posters. They called for freeing the oppressed, for saving animals. There was a special call for freeing blacks.

  Apparently this had already been achieved because the entire neighborhood was free of blacks.

  "Youse got to be careful of these things," Anselmo said. "And you shouldn't set it off until these two guys is in the lab."

  "Which two guys?" Gloria asked.

  Anselmo showed them the photograph of the Oriental and the white.

  "How will we know they are in there?"

  "We'll tell you."

  "All right. Seems simple. Fair enough," Gloria said. "Now to the important part. Who gets the credit?"

  "No credit. We don't deal in credit. But we already been paid."

  "Wait a minute. We're going to be doing the lab, maybe two hundred people, the surrounding suburbs, add at least ten to fifteen thousand people there ... Nathan, remember we've got to try to figure out a way to get the pets out of the area if we can. We're really talking about fifteen thousand people. Maybe twenty. "

  Anselmo shuddered at the potential death toll. Even Myron's dull brain registered a glimmer of horror. "So we want to know," Gloria said, "just where you stand on the credit."

  "We been paid."

  "I'm talking about taking credit for the bombing."

  "What?" said both men in unison.

  "Credit. We may have twenty thousand dead here. Who gets credit for it?"

  "You mean blame?"

  "That's unprogressive. I am talking about credit for the act. Publicity."

  "If it's okay with you, girlie, you can have all the credit," Anselmo said.

  "We'll give you alternate credit. We can say you assisted us. But the main cause is ours. The SLA takes full credit for this one."

  "You don't even have to mention us, girlie."

  "You sure now? We may be going as high as twenty-five thousand deaths here. You don't want any part of it?"

  "No, no. That's okay," Myron said. "In fact, don't mention us at all. Ever. Never. No way."

  "That's downright selfless of you," Gloria said. "Nathan, I like these
people."

  "Then why are they doing it?" Nathan said. He looked at Anselmo. "If you're not getting credit, why steal a bomb? Why all the trouble?"

  "We get paid, kid," Anselmo said. "You're doing it for the money?"

  "Damned right."

  "Why go to all this trouble for money? I mean, where is your daddy?" Nathan asked.

  Myron and Anselmo looked at each other again. "Nathan means you could get the money from your fathers," Gloria said.

  "You don't know our fathers," said Myron.

  "Never mind. You're sure you don't even want an 'assisted by' and then your names?"

  "No. We don't want anything," Myron said.

  "And be sure," Anselmo said, "that you don't set that thing off until we say so, okay?"

  "Sure. Maybe we don't understand all your reasons, but I want you to know I sense solidarity with you. That we are all part of the same struggle," Nathan said.

  "Sure. But don't set that thing off until we say so."

  Chapter 10

  "Must we stay in this rat cage again?" Chiun asked.

  "Sorry, Little Father," Remo said. "But until we find out what's going on with these labs, we stay here."

  "Easy enough for you to say, fat white thing. There is so much suet on your body that you can be comfortable sleeping on hard floors. But I? I am delicate. My frail body requires real rest."

  "You're as delicate as granite," Remo said.

  "Don't worry, Chiun," said Dara Worthington.

  "You know that I am reduced to spending my life with him and you tell me not to worry?" Chiun said.

  "No, it's just that we have rooms here in the laboratory complex. I'll get them to fix one up for you. A real bedroom. One for you too," she said to Remo.

  "A real bedroom?" Chiun asked, and Dara nodded. "With a television set?"

  "Yes."

  "Would it have one of those tape-playing machines?" Chiun asked.

  "As a matter of fact, yes."

  "Would you by any chance have a complete set of tapes from the show As the Planet Revolves?" Chiun asked.

  "Afraid not," she said. "That show hasn't been on the air for ten years."

  "Savages," Chiun mumbled in Korean to Remo. "You whites are all savages and philistines."

  "She's doing the best she can, Chiun," Remo answered in Korean. "Why don't you just get off everybody's back for a while?"

  Chiun raised himself to his full height. "That is a despicable thing to say, even for you," he said in Korean.

  "I didn't think it was so bad," Remo said.

  "I will not speak to you again until you apologize."

  "Hell will freeze over first," Remo said.

  "What language is that?" Dara said. "What are you two saying?"

  "That was real language," Chiun said. "Unlike the dog barkings that pass for language in this vile land."

  "Chiun was just thanking you for the offer of the bedroom," Remo said.

  "You're welcome, Dr. Chiun," Dara said with a large smile.

  In Korean again, Chiun grumbled: "The woman is too stupid even to insult. Like all whites."

  "Are you talking to me?" Remo asked.

  Chiun folded his arms and turned his back on Remo.

  "Sticks and stones may break my bones, but being ignored will never hurt me," Remo said.

  "Stop teasing that sweet man," Dara said.

  She settled them into adjoining rooms in one of the wings of the IHAEO building.

  Remo was lying on his back on the small cot, looking up at the ceiling, when there was a faint tap on the door.

  He called out and Dara entered.

  "I just wanted to see if you were comfortable," she said.

  "I'm fine."

  She came into the room, shyly at first, but when Remo said nothing, she strode forward and sat on a chair next to his bed.

  "I guess I'm still crashing from everything that happened today," she said. "It was glorious and it was awful too."

  "I know," Remo said. "I always feel that way about transatlantic flights."

  "I don't mean that," she said. She leaned over toward him. "I mean what we did with the Ung beetle. That was glorious and it will live forever. But then, oh, those poor men, when those apes attacked. It was awful."

  Remo said nothing and Dara lowered her face toward his so she was staring evenly into his eyes. Her breasts brushed across his chest. She wore no brassiere. "Wasn't it awful?"

  "That's the tits," he said. "I mean, the truth. It was awful."

  "I never saw such crazed animals," she said.

  "Umm" Remo said. He liked the feel of her against him.

  "There are no bad animals, you know. Something made them that way."

  "Um," Remo said.

  "I'm glad you were there to protect me," Dara said.

  "Umm," Remo said.

  "What could have caused that?" she asked.

  "Ummm."

  "What kind of an answer is that?"

  "I mean, I'll look into it in the morning," Remo said.

  "But what do you think?" she persisted.

  What Remo thought was that the only way he was going to keep her quiet was to do something physical, so he put his arms around her and pulled her body down onto his. She instantly glued her mouth to his in a long tender kiss.

  "I've been thinking of that all day," she said.

  "I know," Remo said, reaching over and pulling the chain that turned off the small night lamp.

  The FBI no longer guarded the laboratories so the only security was a tired old guard inside a wooden shack at the front gate.

  Anselmo and Myron drove up in their white Cadillac and Anselmo lowered the driver's window. "What can I do for you?" the guard said.

  Anselmo held up a white box that was on the front seat alongside him.

  "Pizza delivery," he said.

  "Pretty fancy pizza wagon," the guard said, nodding at the Cadillac limousine.

  "Well, I usually got a big pizza slice an top of the car, but I take it off at night. The kids, you know."

  "Yeah, kids are bastards, ain't they?" the guard said.

  "Sure are."

  "Go ahead through," the guard said. "You can park in the lot up there."

  "We're looking for Dr. Remo and Dr. Chiun. You know where they are?"

  The guard looked at a list on a clipboard. "They came in earlier with everybody else and they didn't sign out. But I don't know what lab they're in."

  "But they're in there, right?"

  "Have to be," the guard said. "No way out except past me, and no one's gone out tonight."

  "Maybe they're sleeping," Anselmo said.

  "Maybe," the guard said.

  "Maybe I won't disturb them. I'll tell you what. You take the pizza and we'll let them rest."

  "Does it have anchovies?" the guard asked.

  "No. Just extra cheese and pepperoni," Anselmo said.

  "I like anchovies best," the guard said.

  "The next time, I bring you one with anchovies," Anselmo promised.

  "Won't those two doctors be mad?" the guard asked.

  "Not as mad as they're gonna be later," Anselmo said. He shoved the pizza into the guard's hands, put the Cadillac in reverse and slid away.

  "Don't forget the anchovies," the guard called.

  Two blocks away, Anselmo parked alongside a telephone booth and called the Muswassers' number. "Yes?" Gloria said.

  "They're at the lab," Anselmo said.

  "Good. We're all ready."

  "Just give us time to get out of town," Anselmo said. Gloria Muswasser crawed through the manicured greenery of the IHAEO laboratory complex. She was wearing Earth shoes and a filthy green combat uniform which she had treasured ever since she rolled a Vietnam vet for it in 1972.

  Her husband trailed along behind her, emitting little squeaks of pain as bits of rock and twigs scratched his flaccid abdomen.

  "Why did I have to come along anyway?" Nathan whined. "You're carrying the whole thing by yourself. You didn't ne
ed me."

  "No, I didn't," Gloria snapped in agreement. "But I figured if we got caught, I wouldn't have to go to jail alone."

  He grabbed her ankle. "Is there a chance of getting caught?"

  "None at all, if you keep quiet," she said.

  "I don't want to go to jail," Nathan said.

  "We won't. I promise you. Before I let the establishment pigs take you, Nathan, I'll gun you down myself."

  Nathan gulped.

  "It'll make all the papers. You'll be a martyr to the cause. "

  "That's . . . that's groovy, Gloria."

  "Don't say 'groovy.' It's out-of-date. Say 'awesome.' "

  "Okay. It's awesome, Gloria."

  "Totally," she agreed. "Also incredible."

  "Yeah. That too," Nathan said.

  "How about here?" she said. She pointed to a spot of turf near a mulberry bush.

  "Totally incredible, Gloria."

  "Good. We'll plant the damn thing right here."

  "Like a flower," Nathan said. "We'll plant it like a flower. Remember flowers? You used to be real into flowers."

  "Screw flowers. Flowers never got us anywhere. Violence is where were coming from now. Nobody ever gave up shit because of flowers."

  "Yeah. Up flowers. Violence is where it's at."

  "Don't say 'where it's at,' Nathan. It's out-of-date. Say 'bottom line.' "

  "Bottom line?"

  "Violence is the bottom line," Gloria said, as she turned the time for 120 minutes. "She's going to go, baby."

  "Should we watch?"

  "Of course not, asshole. We'd be blown up. We'll call the television stations. They'll watch."

  "They'll be blown up too," Nathan said.

  "Serves them right," she said. "And that's the bottom line."

  "Groovy," Nathan said.

  Gloria slapped him behind the ear as they crawled away through the dark.

  Forty-five minutes later, a television crew showed up at the IHAEO ground and found a large hole cut in the wire safety fence, exactly where the anonymous telephone callers had said it would be.

  "This better be good," the head cameraman for WIMP said.

  His assistant looked toward the white lab buildings looming in the background behind the fence.