Warren Murphy: A Pound of Prevention

His queasiness was fading, rapidly being replaced by calculation. With shaking hands, he popped open the plastic panel on the side of the casing. The LED counter was still ticking remorselessly down to 12:00 midnight.

They wanted him to shut it down, but they were far enough away that they couldn't see exactly what he was doing.

Without even touching the panel, Deferens moved his fingers, making a show of disarming the bomb. While he pantomimed, the display continued to race to zero.

He blinked excitedly, swallowing a rank clump of bile-fueled saliva.

He would leave this one armed. If he could somehow get away from these two, he might yet be able to flee the city. Thank God that Don Vincenzo had insisted on more than one bomb. At the time, Deferens had thought it foolish, but now...

Any thought of salvaging his original plan was gone. Nellie Mandobar had inadvertently taken all of his targets to safety. But this was no longer about mere money or power or racial insulation. It was about revenge.

Maybe he could escape-maybe not. But in the end, it would be L. Vas Deferens who would have the last laugh. For though these two had displayed amazing abilities, Deferens doubted either of them could withstand a nuclear explosion.

And if he did manage to escape, abandoning these two to the city-leveling blast, Deferens intended to pay Nellie Mandobar a visit. He would teach that mooka bitch a final lesson for ruining his brilliant scheme.

As he pretended to work, visions of a dead Mrs. Mandobar dancing in his fevered brain, L. Vas Deferens suddenly felt a sharp pain in the side of the head.

He toppled sideways to the floor, blinking bright stars from his eyes. When he pulled himself to his knees, feeling at the sticky blood in his hair, he glanced down the tunnel.

Remo was still standing next to Chiun, another small rock clutched impatiently in his hand.

"We know what you're doing, crap-bag, so quit jerking us around and get to work," Remo said threateningly.

Hope drained away; despair flooded in behind it. Deferens turned woodenly back to the bomb. Soul gutted, he began dutifully punching in the proper disarm code.

Chapter 34

The lone sentry patrolled the edge of the dusty bungalow village, a rifle slung over his shoulder. Savannah had been chopped back a dozen yards from the last straggling houses, the better to see approaching enemies. While this worked well in daylight, when the inky darkness of night drew its shroud over Africa, all the world was consumed by menacing shadows.

The moon was a cloud-masked memory as the guard made his careful way along the well-worn perimeter path.

Weak spotlights illuminated the distant main street of the village. Insects danced merrily in the glow.

The sounds of revelry from the far end of the street carried back on the humid air.

The last of the helicopters had landed nearly three hours ago. Everyone who was supposed to be at Nellie Mandobar's party was already there. As the evening progressed, a few of the guests had retired with hired women to the small houses behind which the guard now walked.

To break the tedium as he walked the circuit around the bungalows, he had been listening for the sounds of lovemaking. Near the house where he was certain he'd seen Trollop Seasoning enter with three of the caterers, the guard heard the sudden sharp sound of a twig snapping.

He froze.

Lifting his boot, he looked down and saw the small brittle branch he'd felt crack beneath his thick sole.

Of course the sound had come from him. Only Luzus ventured this far out into the wilds of East Africa these days. And even they were miles away.

When the guard looked back up, his eyes barely registered the flash of metal from out of the night. Somewhere behind it, shadows on a painted face.

The blade struck his neck, and the world turned briefly upside down before growing completely and eternally black.

As the guard's body joined his severed head on the dusty African ground, Bubu slipped forward, machete in hand. He made a soft clicking sound with his tongue.

More armed Luzu natives appeared from the darkness, dressed in the simple loincloths of their ancestors. Among them was Chief Batubizee, his broad face drawn in somber lines.

No words were spoken.

On swift silent feet, the Luzu war party moved stealthily into the village, away from Nellie Mandobar's headless guard.

In the distance, the party roared on.

Chapter 35

Their tour of the Bachsburg sewer system at last brought them less than half a city block from the presidential palace. Many of the defense minister's minions still toiled above, oblivious to this particular aspect of their employer's plan.

Remo and Chiun had met resistance at the first three bomb sites. But as the clock crawled closer to the midnight deadline, the Camorra men assigned by Nunzio Spumoni to keep watch for the defense minister had bolted. By the last bomb, the two Masters of Sinanju found themselves racing down an empty tunnel.

Deferens had been finding it impossible to keep up. As a result, Remo and Chiun had clamped onto his arms-one on each side. As they whisked him through the tunnel, the stone walls a blur, Deferens held his breath in fear.

"I'm gonna have to boil my hands for a month after this," Remo griped as he ran. He held Deferens as far from his own body as possible.

"Must I remind you that we would not need to rush had you not frittered away much of the day?"

Chiun replied tightly. His kimono skirts billowed as his pumping legs kept perfect time with his pupil's. Remo held his tongue.

His internal clock told him that it was past eleven-thirty. Thanks to the unexpected resistance they'd encountered at the other sites, they were half an hour later than expected by the time they reached the last bomb.

Brackish water pooled in the secluded dead end. Remo and Chiun dumped Deferens in front of the rusted gate through which peeked the stainless-steel bomb casing.

Deferens didn't need to be told what to do. Grabbing the corroded grate, he pulled it free, leaning it against the stone wall. He squatted in front of the bomb.

"I hope those Luzu buddies of yours don't jump the gun," Remo commented as the East African worked.

"The Luzu are a patient people," Chiun replied. "They lived one hundred years in desperation before invoking the contract of Nuk."

"Maybe," Remo said. "All I know is they had itchy machete fingers yesterday. And if there's a buffet at that party, Batubizee'll lead the charge with a knife and fork."

"They will wait," Chiun insisted knowingly. "It seems all they are suited for these days." Hunching on the floor, Deferens punched out the disarm code on the touch pad as the two men spoke. Though the East African was shivering, it was not due to cold. Deferens was ill. It had been three bombs since the last time either Remo or Chiun had thrown him in the water, yet he had been growing sicker as the night drew on. His soiled clothes were damp.

Over soon. All of it.

There was no longer any hope for escape. These two were like no one he had ever met. He was left with but one option. If he was to die, they would go with him.

Once he had disarmed the bomb, the digital counter shut down. Moving like an automaton, he reset it.

The least amount of time the bomb's processor would accept was a minute. He set it for this. As soon as he did, the red LED counter winked down to 00:59:00. The tenths of seconds raced by in a blinding flash.

While the last seconds of his life drained away before his eyes, Deferens woodenly feigned work. He shielded the counter with his body.

"Smith will be relieved to find out Willie Mandobar wasn't behind this," Remo commented absently.

"He will be more relieved that you did not allow this city to be destroyed," Chiun replied.