Brain Storm

14

"Yuck, this is disgusting." Remo had already dumped the body of the young programmer into the back of the white van and he was searching the surroundings for anything Chiun might have left lying around in his usual earnestness. He found the head-less body of Ron Stern sitting in some bushes on the side of the road. He hefted the body into the air, careful not to get any of the drying blood on his T-shirt.

"You might have done a neater job," he complained. He tossed the body into the back atop the others. "Where the heck did you throw the door?"

He began picking his way through the nearby thicket.

Chiun stood at the side of the road. He seemed rooted to the asphalt. His face was etched in stone.

"You might show some gratitude," he sniffed.

"For what? You know, if I'm not picking up after you, I'm traipsing off on some autograph expedition."

"And you do neither well. The door is in that direction." A slight upturn of his delicate chin indicated that Remo should search the thicket farther down the road.

Remo found the van door a hundred yards away wedged in between a cluster of maple trees. He trotted back up the road and jammed the door back into place. The hinges were ripped, gleaming metal shards. He used his fingers to twist and knead the steel into some kind of usable shape.

He stood back and placed his hands on his hips.

The door was crooked. He shook his head. "I hope that holds."

Remo walked around front and climbed into the cab. Chiun slid in beside him.

"You are welcome," the Master of Sinanju declared softly.

Remo gripped the steering wheel and sighed deeply. There was only one way to silence the Master of Sinanju. "Thank you, Little Father," he said. He didn't glance right, but stared straight out the windshield at the midnight blackness.

"It was nothing," Chiun said.

"Give me strength," Remo muttered. He drove the van around to the front gates of Folcroft.

At this time of night, the guard on duty was generally either sound asleep in his shack or off somewhere else, probably chatting up one of the night-shift workers. Though Harold Smith would ordinarily not put up with such a lax attitude toward work as administrator of Folcroft, as head of CURE he occasionally found the man's incompetence useful.

Unchallenged, Remo drove the van around the back of the administrative building. He backed it up against one of the old, unused loading platforms.

He climbed down from the cab and stepped out from the small alcove in which the truck was nestled.

The lawns behind Folcroft were moist with dew.

They rolled downward to the edge of Long Island Sound. A decrepit boat dock rocked almost imperceptibly on the undulating surface of the water.

Chiun joined Remo at the front of the truck.

"Mission accomplished," Remo said. "Now, do you want to tell me the big secret on how to block out that interface signal?"

Chiun nodded. "I will tell you, Remo. But you must promise to adhere strictly to my words, for to ignore them surely invites death."

Remo agreed.

Chiun first glanced around the darkness of the loading-dock area, making certain there was no one near. Satisfied there were no eavesdroppers who might overhear his words, Chiun drew Remo down to him and leaned in close, so that his lips were a hairbreadth away from Remo's ear. When he spoke, Remo felt the warmth of his breath.

"The secret to avoiding the demon signal of the air. That is what you wish to know?"

"Yeah," Remo said.

Chiun pitched his voice even lower. Remo had to strain to hear.

"Do not be stupid."

Chiun straightened back up. There was a slight playfulness in his hazel eyes.

"Why doesn't that surprise me?"

"Ah, you anticipated my words. You who plucks phantom signals from the air like a great, lumbering television set. You are most wise, Remo."

"It didn't take a genius to know you were going to yank my chain about all this."

Chiun smiled condescendingly. "Then why did you ask of me the secret?"

"Because, Chiun, there was still a slim chance you wouldn't yank my chain. And if you really had a way to stop this thing, I wanted to know it." Remo shook his head. He stared helplessly out at the Sound, rotating his wrists absently—it was an old habit he had never broken. "They had me attack you, Little Father. I couldn't stop myself." When he looked up, his eyes were moist. "I'm sorry." And unlike the thank-you Chiun had cajoled out of him earlier, he spoke these words with feeling.

Chiun's usually harsh features grew softer.

"You were caught in a weak moment, my son,"

Chiun said with a knowing nod of his bald head. The wisps of white hair above his ears quivered at the movement. "Perhaps your recent experience with the Pythia is to blame. A frailty, if such is the case, that is not your fault. The attack made within your mind was not anticipated—therefore you had not properly prepared yourself for it."

"So why didn't they get you?" Remo said. "You didn't know about it, either."

Chiun straightened up to his full five feet. "I am the Reigning Master of Sinanju," he said.

Remo shook his head. "I wouldn't be so cocksure if I were you. When they had me in the van, they said they'd used up a lot of space to get me under control. Maybe they just didn't have enough room left to take you on, as well."

"Do not be foolish," Chiun said impatiently.

"The Master of Sinanju cannot be switched on and off like a common household appliance."

Remo shrugged. "If you say so. I just don't want the same thing that happened to me to happen to you."

"Give the matter no more thought," Chiun directed with a wave of his hand. He looked over at the Sound, lapping gently at the shore.

Farther out, the murky black strip had taken on a few gray hues at its most distant edge.

"Come. It will be light soon. We will leave this vehicle to Smith."

The plane touched down just before dawn.

Von Breslau had the homosexual steward help him with his luggage. He was disgusting, but at least he was a Lutheran.

At the door, he encountered the Jew woman who had dared touch him.

She smiled her perky smile when she saw him coming up the aisle.

"Hope you had a nice trip," she said cheerily.

There was no need for pretense any longer. He had arrived safely.

Staring straight ahead, he ignored her.

He crossed the enclosed ramp and was led by the steward through the bowels of the terminal building.

The endless, windowless corridors had the look and feel of a subway. Though subways tended to be designed with a bit more imagination.

The steward even went so far as to help him through customs. When they were finished with him, he led the nice passenger out to meet his friend who was waiting just beyond the security gates. The airline attendant was delighted to see a delicious-looking blond hunk waiting with the friend. But though he tried to make a little friendly eye contact, the man merely stared sullenly at the passersby.

The steward shrugged a tiny shrug and smiled at his little old friend. Of course he didn't expect a tip.

But he did expect a polite thank-you for going so far out of his way.

He got nothing.

Once a few pleasantries were exchanged, the old man and his friend—along with the blond-haired dreamboat—fell in step, abandoning the young steward without so much as a backward glance. They passed through the automatic doors and slipped into the back of a waiting limousine. The car then sped off.

"Doctor, it is such a pleasure to meet you."

They had shut out the noise of the surrounding traffic when they had entered the limo. A row of parked yellow cabs slipped away to their right. Lothar Holz practically beamed with pleasure.

"I am sure," von Breslau said crisply. He nodded to the front seat of the car. On the other side of the tinted bulletproof glass, they could just barely make out the long blond hair of Holz's assistant. "He serves you well?"

"One of your many great successes, Doctor. And now that you are here, we will have yet another very soon."

Von Breslau didn't seem pleased by Holz's enthusiasm. He settled back in his seat, crossing his arms.

"I hope for your sake that you have not dragged me away from the village on a fool's errand."

There was a cautionary edge to his voice.

"Hardly," Holz answered. "I am told you know of Sinanju."

The old man nodded. "There was a rumor that I heard after the war concerning this Master of Sinanju," he said vaguely.

"I have heard the same rumor. You know, then, of their capabilities? The amazing physical feats they are able to perform?"

"That I do not know about," von Breslau stated.

"All I know are rumors and conjecture. I warn you again—for your sake I hope you have not brought me out of retirement because of a fairy tale."

Holz shook his head.

"You will be amazed by what we can do. Do you understand anything at all about computers?"

"Yes, yes, yes. I know of this technology. I own a personal computer myself. Do not assume because a person is old that he is out of touch."

"Oh, no, I did not mean to insult," Holz hastened to reassure him.

Von Breslau drew his mouth up in an impatient grimace. "Yes, I know something of computers. Yes, I know something of your interface system. I am not an expert, but I understand the basic premise. You purport to have captured the Master of Sinanju with it?" Holz seemed hesitant. "We believe it was his pro-tege."

"Was?"

4'He has vanished. But we have everything we need," he added quickly, heading off an outburst.

"We have even tested downloading the information into a host."

Von Breslau's eyes narrowed. "Did you succeed?"

Holz shrugged. "A first test is rarely one hundred percent successful, Doctor," he said. "Let me just say that the results were...promising. With your assistance, I hope that we can refine the process so that there is no rejection." He grinned triumphantly.

Von Breslau studied his host for a long minute.

"We will see," he said at last.

"You will be amazed," Holz assured him.

"Amazement is for the very young or very stupid," von Breslau countered. "Is it far to your facility?"

"It will take some time. The roads at this time of day are already quite crowded."

"Wake me when we arrive." And with that the Butcher of Treblinka closed his eyes and settled back comfortably in the seat.

Within moments he was snoring peacefully—a man with not a single care in the world.

The Master of Sinanju assured Smith there was nothing to worry about.

"We will vanquish this dastard and destroy his vile machines, Emperor Smith."

"I vote for a little caution, Smitty," Remo said, glancing at Chiun. "I'm not convinced we have this interface signal licked yet."

"Then you do not have to come," Chiun sniffed.

"The van is safe?" Smith interjected. After the grueling night they had all spent, he didn't wish to mediate a shouting match between the two men.

"It's out back," Remo answered. He nodded toward the large plate-glass window. Past the trees, streaks of orange painted the sky above the rising sun. Smith checked his watch. The night was gone.

Even if they left now, Remo and Chiun wouldn't arrive in Edison before the PlattDeutsche plant was fully staffed. He would have preferred to send them in under cover of darkness, but he dared not give Holz another day with either the CURE or Sinanju information.

"You should go," he said to Remo.

"Smitty, I want to punch this guy's ticket more than anyone. I just don't think Chiun really understands what he's up against."

"Do not assume your failing will be mine," Chiun said to Remo. "I understand this innerfaze sigmoe implicitly," he announced boldly to Smith. "Send me to it, that I might break it in twain." Hands directed chopping blows to the invisible air before him.

Remo rolled his eyes. "I guess it was silly of me to be worried," he concluded with a sigh.

"You might not encounter a problem, Remo,"

Smith said, trying to sound reassuring. "If you can get to Holz first, the interface signal becomes a minor problem. If you can get to the apparatus that controls the interface signal first, you can handle Holz easily" "And if Holz gets to us with the signal first, then what?"

"It will not happen," Chiun proclaimed.

Smith rubbed his eyes beneath his glasses and then replaced the rimless frames on his patrician nose. "I wish there was some alternative. My impulse, Master of Sinanju, is to err on the side of caution." He nodded toward Remo. "But we do not seem to have any viable alternatives. Holz remains the primary target.

If you are able to get in and neutralize him, we might be able to clamp the lid tightly down on this affair.

Once we have access to the Edison facility, I will hook into the PlattDeutsche system and destroy our respective files."

"What about that Nazi doctor?"

Smith shook his head. "I have had no luck checking the manifests of flights into either of the major airports. Of course, he would not be traveling under his own name, but the number of arrivals at La-Guardia and Kennedy International is prohibitive for an in-depth search. It would help if we knew where he was coming from."

"Don't all the old fascists retire to the sunny beaches of South America?"

"It is never that simple, Remo. There have been suspected or confirmed Nazi sightings on nearly every continent over the past fifty years. Of course the numbers have dwindled with the passing of time, but the Jewish Documentation Center in Vienna has had reports of suspected war criminals from Africa and Europe, as well as from South America. In spite of several hoaxes of late, some collaborators have even been discovered living in the United States and Canada. It is just too broad a search parameter."

"Well, cliche or not, I'd check South America first."

"I will continue to investigate," Smith said. "But we should not allow the presence of von Breslau to cloud our perspective. Holz is your primary target. If von Breslau is with him, you may eliminate him, as well."

"With pleasure," Remo said.

"My secretary will be here soon," Smith directed, indicating the door with a slight tip of his head.

Remo got the message. "We'll be back as quick as we can, Smitty. Hopefully," he added. He slipped out the door.

Chiun had been right behind him, but paused at the open doorway. He turned. "Do not concern yourself, Emperor. Remo is still young. The incidents of this past day have been disturbing to him. We will return with this villain's head on a rail." And bowing, he slipped from the office. He was so graceful, so swift, it was as if he had never been there at all.

Smith stared at the closed office door a long time after Chiun had gone. He hoped the old Korean was right. He and Remo had skills greater than anyone Smith had ever before encountered, but the CURE

director feared the pair might have finally met their equal.

And as the early-morning sun stole up over the windowsill, its bright, warming rays heating the back of his worn leather chair, Smith's orderly mind began sorting through possible scenarios. In spite of the Master of Sinanju's assurances, Harold W. Smith found himself devising an alternate plan. On the chance that this would be the first time Remo and Chiun failed.