Created, the Destroyer

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

During the aiki training, Remo had been taught the body's main pressure points. There were hundreds of them, Chiun had told him, but only about sixty were of any practical value and only eight were reliable killers.

«These are the eight you will concentrate on,» Chiun said.

After lunch, Remo found two life-size dummies mounted on spring bases in the gym. They wore the white gym uniforms, but had red spots painted at both temples, the adam's apple, the solar plexus, both kidneys, the base of the skull and a spot that he learned later was the seventh major vertebra.

«There is one karate hand formation. It is the basis of all others,» Chiun began as they sat on the mats facing the dummies. He opened his hand, palm up, and extended all the fingers. «The thumb must be cocked,» he said, «much as the hammer on a pistol. There should be a pulling motion extending back into your forearm. This, in turn,» he continued, «results in an extension-a pushing forward-of your little finger. The three center fingers are slightly bent at the ends and the entire hand is slightly bowed.»

He brought his hand into position. «Feel my forearm,» he told Remo. Remo did. It was like braided rope.

«It is not exertion, but tension, that creates this toughness,» Chiun said. «And it is not strength, but this tension, which makes the hand such a weapon.»

He brought Remo to the dummies and began instructing him in dealing volleys of hand-chops… right, left; low, high; over and over.

Although the dummies were packed hard with rope fibers, Remo's hands were virtually immune from the impact, he found.

Once Chiun stopped him. «You are attempting to follow through with your blows. There is no follow-through in karate. Instead, a snapping motion is used.» He took a pack of paper matches from his pocket. «Light one, Mr. Remo,» he said.

Remo lit it and held it at arm's length. Chiun faced it, lifted his hand up to shoulder level, then lashed downward with a strong exhaling. Just before his hand reached the flame, it reversed itself and snapped back up. The flame seemed to jump up after it, in the vacuum caused by Chiun's lightning move, and the match was out.

«That is the motion and action one must strive for,» Chiun said.

«I don't want to put out fires. I want to break boards,» Remo said. «When will I be able to do that?»

«You already can,» Chiun said. «But first, the practice.»

He kept Remo working on the dummies for hours. Toward evening, he showed him the other karate hand formations. The hand sword Remo had first been shown, he learned, was called shuto. It could be held all day without tiring.

Let the hand bend back slightly at the wrist. This is the hand piston-shotei-and is used for striking the chin or throat. The hiraken is made the same way, but the middle fingers bend more. It is a paddle… «very good for boxing ears and breaking eardrums,» Chiun explained.

The mace, formed by rolling the hand sword into a fist, is called tetsui. «There are others, but these are the ones you will need to know,» Chiun said.

«When you learn the art of extending your power through your hands and through your feet, you will learn, too, to extend it through inanimate objects. In the hands of an expert, all things are deadly weapons.» He showed Remo how to make knives of paper and deadly darts of paper clips. How much more he could have shown Remo went unanswered. A guard entered Chiun's quarters at three o'clock one morning. He spoke softly to Chiun for a few moments.

The old man bowed his head, then nodded to Remo who was awake but motionless.

«Follow him,» he told his pupil.

Remo rose from the straw-thin sleeping mat and slipped into a pair of sandals. The guard seemed nervous. He apparently knew he was in one of the rooms of the special unit.

As Remo approached him he backed away toward the door. Remo nodded for him to lead the way.

The wind from the Sound ripped through Remo's thin white tunic as he walked behind the guard down one of the stone paths. The November moon cast an eerie light over the darkened buildings. Remo contained his breathing to limit the effect of the chill. But by the time he and the guard reached the main administrative hall, he was slapping his arms to keep warm.

The guard wore a thick wool jacket which he kept buttoned even as they entered the building and rode up two flights in the self-service elevator. They were stopped by two guards and Remo's man had to show his passes twice before they reached an oak door with a brass handle. Funny how Remo noticed the off-balance postures of the guards now. They held their hands almost inviting to be thrown.

Unconsciously, Remo had recorded that they would be easy to penetrate.

Lettering on the door read: «Private.»

The guard stopped. «I can't enter here, sir.»

Remo grunted acknowledgment and turned the brass handle. The door swung outward instead of into the room. By its inertia, Remo judged it couldn't be penetrated by a pistol shot, except perhaps from a .357 Magnum.

A thin man in a blue bathrobe leaned against a mahogany desk sipping from a white steaming cup. He was staring out at the darkness and the moon-splashed Sound.

Remo pulled the door shut behind him. A .357 wouldn't penetrate.

«I'm Smith,» the man said without turning around. «I'm your superior. Would you like some tea?» Remo grunted a no.

Smith continued to gaze into the darkness. «You should know most of your business by now. You have access to the weapons. You'll pick up drop points and communication lines from a clerk in 307 of this building. Of course you'll destroy written matter. Clothing with California labels will be in 102. You'll have money. Identification is for Remo Cabell. Of course, you know the first-name necessity in case of a sudden call.»

Smith spoke as though he were reading a list of names.

«We have you as a free-lance writer from Los Angeles. That's optional. You can change that. Method, of course, is your own. You've been trained. We'd like to give you more time, but…»

Remo waited by the desk. He didn't expect his first assignment to be like this. But then what did he expect? The man droned on. «Your assignment calls for a kill. The victim is in East Hudson Hospital in Jersey. He fell from a building today. Probably pushed. You will interrogate and then eliminate him. You won't need drugs for questioning. If he's still alive, he'll talk to you.»

«Sir,» Remo interrupted. «Where do I meet MacCleary? He's supposed to accompany me on my first assignment.»

Smith looked down at the cup. «You'll meet him at the hospital. He's the victim.»

Remo's breath slipped out. He stepped back a pace on the soft carpeting. He couldn't answer.

«He's got to be eliminated. He's near death, in pain, and under drugs. Who knows what he'll say?»

Remo forced out the words. «Maybe we can make a snatch?»

«Where would we bring him?»

«Where you brought me.»

«Too dangerous. He was carrying identification as a patient at Folcroft. We've already received word from the police in East Hudson where the fall occurred. There's a direct link to us now. One of the doctors told the police the patient was emotionally disturbed and as far as we know the East Hudson cops have closed it out as an attempted suicide.»

Smith swirled the cup. Remo assumed he saw something in the tea. «You will, if he's still alive, question him on a Maxwell. That's your second assignment.»

«Who's Maxwell?»

«We don't know. He provides the New York syndicate with what we believe is the perfect murder service. How and where and when we don't know. You will end Maxwell as quickly as possible. If you don't do it in one week, don't look for any more communication from us. We may have to close down and reorganize elsewhere.»

«Then what do I do?»

«You can do two things. You can continue after Maxwell. That's optional. Or you can settle down for a while in New York. Read the personals in the New York Times. We'll reach you when we have to through them. We'll sign our messages 'R-X'-for prescription, for CURE.»

«And if I succeed?»

The man placed the cup of tea on the desk without turning around. «If you succeed within a week, it'll be business as usual. Take a rest and keep your eyes on the Times. We'll reach you.»

«What do I do for money?»

«Take enough with you now. When we contact you again, we'll get more to you.» He rattled off a telephone number. «Remember that number. In emergencies-only in emergencies-you can reach me directly on that line between 2:55 and 3:05 each afternoon. At no other time.»

«Why are you telling me to hole up if I miss Maxwell?» Remo had to ask the question. Things were moving too fast.

«The last thing we want is you looking up and down channels and then driving into Folcroft one day. So you blow the Maxwell mission. One mission, one training center, it doesn't really matter. But this organization can't be exposed. That's why your first assignment on MacCleary is a must. It's a link to us and we've got to break that link. If you fail in that one…» The man's voice tailed off. «If you fail in that one, we'll have to get you. That's our only club. Also you know that if you talk to anybody, we'll get you. I promise that. I'll come myself. MacCleary's in the hospital as Frank Jackson. That's it. Goodbye.»

The man turned to shake hands, then apparently thought better of it and folded his arms. «No sense making a friend in this business. By the way, make it a fast job on MacCleary, won't you?» Remo saw the man's eyes were red. He left for Room 307.