Warren Murphy: Air Raid

Amanda watched Prick eagerly as he and the tribesmen stepped over to a waiting limo. The flush to her cheeks was no longer due solely to the Brazilian heat.

"He's done a great job focusing attention on the plight of the rain forest," Amanda breathed.

"Beats working for a living," Remo said. "You think he has to use that name because of truth-in-advertising laws?" To the Master of Sinanju, he said, "Chiun, can I see that map for a minute?"

The old Korean produced the map they'd found on the CCS plane from the folds of his kimono, handing it to Remo.

"He's here for the big Pan Brazil Eco-Fest," Amanda said as she watched photographers swarm the limo. Something big and papery crinkled in front of her face, blocking her view of Prick. "What's that?" she asked. Leaning back, she saw it was a map.

"Your buddy St. Clair and his hired killer left it for us to find," Remo said. "Any idea what's there?" He pointed to the circled section.

Amanda shook her head. "No," she said worriedly. "The CCS does a lot of work down here. It could be a project I don't know about. Did you say the killer was here?"

Remo nodded. "He must have got here just before us."

Suddenly, Prick was forgotten. "And you let me out here to fend for myself alone?" she said, aghast. "He could be anywhere, and you abandoned me? You-you incompetents!"

Frantically, she grabbed up only one of her bags. Using it as a pink shield, she covered her head and went running for the terminal.

Remo handed the map back to Chiun. "I'm glad we don't really work for her," he groused. "That servant-bashing is starting to get on my nerves." He cast a raised eyebrow at Amanda's abandoned luggage. "Should I?" he sighed.

"Why?" the Master of Sinanju replied blandly. "There must be something in them the street urchins of this squalid land could use."

Turning, he padded off toward the terminal. Remo nodded. "Consider it the first shot in the battle for servants' rights," he said to himself. With a mental image of dozens of Brazilian beggars dressed in Amanda Lifton's pink nighties, he struck off after Chiun.

HERR HAHN WATCHED them go. First the girl, then the men.

Hahn had seen everything he wanted to see on the security monitors. They had taken the bait. The Masters of Sinanju had the map.

It was still possible he could get one or two of them before they left Macapa but, if not, true success would inevitably come up the dark depths of the Amazon. Hubert St. Clair wouldn't approve of his actions. But this was no longer about his employer.

Leaving the body of the murdered security officer to rot in the heat of the small shed, Herr Hahn hurried out into the stifling Brazilian afternoon.