Warren Murphy - The Wrong Stuff

Chiun's hands appeared from the folds of his voluminous kimono sleeves. Zipp Codwin was surprised to see that the tiny Korean held a familiar object.

"Sinanju reserves punishment for men, not doors," the old man intoned.

And raising one leathery hand, he let the object fly. The toy rocket Chiun had taken from Zipp's desk hopped from slender fingers. It became a blinding plastic blur, eating up the space between Chiun and the colonel. Before the former astronaut even knew what had happened, the blunt nose cone had tracked a course straight through his protruding Adam's apple.

Although the impulse to grab at his throat was there, the NASA leader's arms could not respond. The burrowing nose of the rocket had bored straight through Zipp's neck, severing his spinal cord.

His eyes bulged wide.

His hands locked in a final, fatal clench, the old astronaut toppled to the floor.

Zipp was in the last stages of slipping the surly bonds of Earth when Chiun wheeled on Pete Graham. "Where?" the old man barked.

Shaking visibly, Graham pointed a weak finger at the monitor. "There," he offered. "He tricked your friend into following him into the water."

Chiun saw nothing on the monitor but a great swirl of impenetrable steam. So thick was the cloud that even his keen vision couldn't pierce its depths.

"Remo," the Master of Sinanju breathed. He wheeled on Graham. "Shut it off!" he commanded.

"I can't," Graham pleaded. "The abort's been disabled. It'll burn until it runs out of fuel."

Chiun didn't hesitate.

There was not time to make Pete Graham suffer for his sins. With a backward slap the Master of Sinanju sent the scientist's head deep inside his computer monitor. As sparks and smoke erupted from the shattered screen, the wizened Asian was already bolting for the door.

And all around, the unearthly rumble of the still firing rockets shook the Earth to its molten core.

THE MOMENT the flames were released from the pair of giant nozzles, every muscle in Remo's body tensed.

Before the onrush of flame from the firing boosters had a chance to char him to ash, he snapped his back hard and thrust his feet downward. He shot to the surface, breaking up through the waves like a vaulting porpoise. He was running before the soles of his feet had even brushed the swirling surface of the churning water.

Fire roiled hot below, turning the placid blue sea into a savage orange. Clouds of steam burst upward, blotting his vision and flooding the air like some superheated outdoor sauna.

His feet slapping against the boiling water's swirling surface, Remo raced to where the shore had been. Blisters erupted on the soles of his feet.

The long sleek shape of the fuel tank appeared through the dense fog to his left. Though all around was boiling, there was no heat from the insulated tank.

Banking left, Remo ran for the metal casing. By now he had run past the firing boosters. With a leap he bounded from the surface of the bubbling water, plastering himself against the rounded side.

The huge tank bucked like a rodeo bull, yet Remo's fingers remained plastered to the side. It couldn't last much longer. He'd hold on until it was over.

He was riding out the bone-rattling vibrations when he suddenly felt something at his bare ankle. Twisting around, he caught a glimpse of a furry black appendage sticking up from below the surface of the water.

One of Mr. Gordons's spider legs. Like a coiling snake it wrapped tight around his ankle.

Remo couldn't fight without loosening his grip.

A million thoughts flooded through his mind at the same time, none good.

The fuel continued to burn. The tank beneath him shook madly. At the far end flames still tore wildly at the sea.

And in a single moment of bursting clarity, Remo realized that there was a chance.

In the instant when he felt the yank on his ankle that he knew would come, Remo released his grip, allowing himself to be pulled below the ocean's bubbling surface.

Chapter 31

The water burned his skin. His clothes stuck against his blistering flesh like a hot shroud.

Although Remo was at the side of the tank, away from the belching flames, the water all around was superheated beyond even Sinanju tolerance.

The grip on his ankle never weakened.

Although his entire body screamed in pain, Remo endured. He shut down the nerve endings in his skin, canceling out warnings that were redundant.

Another minute in that boiling inferno and he'd be dead. But for what he had planned, Remo wouldn't need a minute.

Gordons seemed content to hold him in place, allowing the boiling water to finally do for him the task he had for years failed to accomplish on his own.

Remo refused to satisfy the android's blood lust. Twisting, Remo swam downward. Gordons unreeled his leg to its full length, allowing Remo to taste freedom.

The water cooled slightly the lower he went. Ever mindful of the grip around his ankle, he raked the sea floor with his hand.

His fingers had just clutched on to something when he felt himself being yanked back up.

Gordons was toying with him.

But Remo was no toy. He was a man. More than that. He was a Master of Sinanju, a being trained to the full potential of both mind and body. And compared to this the machine that was attempting to extinguish the flame that was his life was little more than a child's plaything.

Shooting up from the sea bottom, Remo opened his lids to a slivered squint. A protective film of thick mucus instantly formed on the surface of his eyes. Through the haze and the pain and the boiling water-surrounded by a backdrop of raging flameRemo saw close-up the form of Mr. Gordons.

The android had altered his shape once more. Half man, half spider, Gordons's human head was studying its victim with clinical dispassion.

Remo's grip tightened around the object in his hand.

It was one of the basalt rocks that littered the shore around Merritt Island. He kept the small, sharp rock hidden behind his body as he floated in toward the android.

Gordons failed to notice the weapon.

Remo kept his body limp, as if the life had all but drained from it. When he came within arm's reach of his attacker, Remo thrust the rock out, hard.

The makeshift knife stuck deep in the android's chest cavity. When Remo jerked upward, the human veneer and the protective heat panels beneath it yawned wide.

Sparks erupted from the cavity.

The blow had to have severed some of Gordons's motor controls, for the android's spider legs went limp. The tightness at Remo's ankle lessened.

Slashing down with his hand, Remo severed the leg. Despite the fact that he'd largely shut down his nerves, the pain was horrific. Yet he endured.

Pushing close, Remo grabbed on to either side of the sparking chest hole. Wrenching hard, he tore the incision into a two-foot-wide gash.

As the flashing fireworks of sparks increased, Gordons seemed to recover. Backup systems booted up in remote locations, compensating for the damage Remo had caused. With renewed vigor all eight of the spider legs lashed out.

Too late.

Remo had already twisted around, propping his feet against the android's chest, soles pressed to either side of the sparking gash. Bracing one hand against the side of the rumbling tank, he gave a mighty shove.

Out of his element and caught by surprise, Mr. Gordons spiraled down the length of the tank, catching the surge of flame from the boosters.

The fire instantly flooded into the breach in his heat-resistant panels. Wires melted and circuitry turned to slag. His body stiffened, then went limp.

Like an undersea comet and trailing eight legs, the burning android disappeared in the fiery slipstream.

Remo didn't stay to watch him vanish. Kicking sharply, he launched himself back up the side of the tank. The instant his hands broke the surface, bony hands clutched on to both his wrists. He felt himself being lifted from the water with delicate urgency.