Warren Murphy - A Pound of Prevention

Remo's face fouled. "Chiun, I don't give a wet fart in a windbreaker about those people."

"No," Chiun agreed, his eyes flat. "Your concern is far greater. You care for the entire world. You are Remo Williams, the Great Preserver of Peace and Justice for all Humanity. And because of your great caring soul, hundreds of thousands will die this day."

And having delivered his final word on the subject, the Master of Sinanju closed his papery eyelids.

Across the room, a scowl formed deep on Remo's face. And in the furthest recesses of the cruelest lines, the shadows of doubt appeared. He refused to entertain them.

"Put a sock in it," Remo growled, flinging the door open. The hotel door slammed violently behind him.

Chapter 28

The helicopter grew from a tiny black speck in the pale white African sky. It swept across the plains to the south, cutting up over the bungalow-lined street in the small village at the outskirts of Luzuland.

Standing on the great, flat roof of the huge meeting hall, Mandobar watched the helicopter close in. The rear wall of the big auditorium was set into the side of a rocky hill. The hill itself was a natural plateau that had been made perfectly level. The helipad would soon be filled to capacity. A few helicopters were already there, rotor blades sagging inert.

Mandobar held a knot of fabric from the billowing skirts of the burnoose to keep it from blowing immodestly up. Another fat hand held the big fruit hat in place.

Almost time...

"THERE ARE NOT enough houses here," Don Giovani complained over the radio headset. He was a portly, white-haired man of seventy with a tomato-garden tan.

The chopper was flying over the last of the bungalows.

"Perhaps there are more elsewhere," Nunzio Spumoni suggested over his own slender microphone.

"I see no others," Giovani scowled. "If I am expected to sleep out in the desert, you will return me to my hotel in Bachsburg immediately."

"Amen, Marlon Brando!" shrieked another voice over the headset. "And if you've got bread, you can count me in. 'Course you gotta promise I won't wake up with a horsie's head in my bed, luv! Shudder!"

Don Giovani and Nunzio Spumoni had endured the endless interruptions of the Seasonings for the entire ride from Bachsburg. The singers were crammed like a row of garishly painted dolls on one of the helicopter's broad back seats.

Pushed in tightly, the huge bellies of the four women were wrinkled and buckled at inhuman angles. Nunzio swore at one point that Trollop's stomach flesh had come apart and that she had refastened it. Of course, that was impossible.

The Camorra man tried to ignore the annoyingly distracting women as he spoke to the rival Mafia leader.

"Please, Don Giovani," Nunzio pleaded. "I did not know of this place until an hour ago. I was asked by the office of the defense minister to bring you here."

"Why did Defense Minister Deferens not bring me here himself?" Giovani demanded.

"Perhaps he is busy elsewhere," Spumoni suggested. Even as he spoke, he felt the first cold trickles of sweat.

The truth was, Spumoni wished he knew where the East African defense minister was. He had been trying to contact L. Vas Deferens for much of the day. The man had vanished.

As far as he knew, the nuclear bombs were still hidden beneath the streets of Bachsburg. However, they would do little good if the crime leaders were to be brought out into this wilderness. Nunzia had only just learned of this change of plans from the defense ministry. His own boss, Don Vincenzo of the Napoli Camorra, would not be pleased if this costly plan of Spumoni's were to fail at this late stage.

Nunzio was sweating and twitching by the time the helicopter soared up to the roof of the grand glass-and-stone structure at the end of the village's only street.

Nunzio saw the familiar fat face smiling up from the auditorium roof. He still couldn't believe it. Most still thought that the former president of East Africa was behind all this. Until today, Nunzio had been one of them.

He should have known. If Willie Mandobar were the true architect, he would never have been able to leave his country at such an important time.

Nunzio was amazed at the coy act L. Vas Deferens had been playing all this time. The minister had led Nunzio to believe that the beloved former East African politician was playing an active role behind the scenes. Pulling the strings of this great plan. But now it was clear. It was entirely her plan.

The plastic-fruit hat was nearly thrown from Nellie Mandobar's head by the downdraft from the big rotor blades. The chopper settled to its skids in the wide landing area.

Servants rushed over to open the doors.

Don Giovani and Nunzio Spumoni were helped out onto the helipad. Behind them, the Seasonings hopped out.

"Find me a loo, pronto!" Slut Seasoning screeched to one of Nellie's men. "Either that or me and baby're gonna break yellow water all over your roof!"

"Girl domination over the johnny closet!" agreed Ho.

The singers were ushered quickly away. Grateful for the relative silence of the pounding rotor blades, Nunzio Spumoni escorted the Don to the former first lady and ex-wife of Willie Mandobar.

"Mrs. Mandobar, Don Giovani," Nunzio shouted over the helicopter noise.

Nellie Mandobar smiled broadly. "Welcome to the new East Africa, Don Giovani," she shouted. Still holding her fruit hat in place, she leaned forward, kissing the old Italian lightly on the cheek.

"I must get back!" Spumoni called.

Nellie Mandobar nodded. "Thank you for giving our first guest a ride. It was most kind of you. How soon will your Don Vincenzo be arriving?"

"I'll get him now," Nunzio replied. He tried not to show his reluctance. He was thinking of the bombs under Bachsburg, and of what his Don would do to him if this expensive plan failed.

Bowing a polite goodbye, Nunzio hurried on long legs back to the helicopter. As soon as he climbed aboard, it ascended, roaring back across the savannah toward Bachsburg.

The landing pad grew blessedly quiet.

"Forgive the arrangements, Don Giovani," Nellie Mandobar apologized, taking the Mafia man by the arm. "My man in Bachsburg has taken a few hours off before the event for personal reasons. When I learned the Camorra helicopter was available, I assumed you would not mind."

Don Giovani allowed the plump woman to lead him across the roof. "Is one of those mine?" Giovani asked. As he shuffled along, he pointed to the row of helicopters already at the edge of the broad airfield.

"Yes," Nellie Mandobar replied. Her broad smile had not yet left her fleshy face.

Giovani's tan face was humorless. "Make certain it is ready to leave at a moment's notice," he ordered. "I am not staying here one second longer than is absolutely necessary."

"Both of our helicopters will be ready long before tonight's festivities-" she smiled broadly "-wind down."

And Nellie laughed the laugh of a woman for whom death was an old friend.

The Mafia man's hand rested in the crook of her arm. Clapping her own fat mitt atop it, she ushered the old Don into the chilly interior of the huge auditorium.

Her joyful laugh echoed hollowly up from below.

Chapter 29

Pedestrians cut a wide swath around Remo. It was as if his dark inner mood projected an invisible charged field around his body. As he prowled, unmolested, through the streets of Bachsburg, he was a thing to fear and avoid.

After leaving the hotel, Remo hadn't gone to the airport for tickets out of East Africa. Wandering alone, he was deep in thought, wrestling with an inner conflict he thought he'd already put to rest.

There shouldn't have been any turmoil. He had made up his mind. But both Smith and Chiun with their carping and calls to duty had chipped away at the rock of his certainty. Now, though he would never admit it to either the CURE director or the Master of Sinanju, Remo did not know.