Warren Murphy: The Last Monarch

THE DOORKNOB HAD FUSED to a solid mass on the front of the Palestine Independence Organization building. Luckily, a few of Aruch's men were loitering outside the building. They managed to pop the door open with a minimum of effort.

"Get out of my way!" Aruch commanded the instant the door sprang into the foyer.

He bulled his way through the mass of men and into the main hallway. The others followed him inside, propelling Bryce Babcock and the former President before them.

Aruch led the parade to his office.

"The day has arrived at long last!" Aruch sang merrily as he stomped across the room.

Passing his cluttered desk, he breezed onto the veranda. Outside, Nossur Aruch didn't seek the help of his men. This was a special moment. One he wished to keep for himself.

Like a selfish child with a birthday gift, he tore at the netting surrounding his precious rocket.

It was difficult at first. Much of the camouflage remained stubbornly attached to the uppermost portion of the long rocket. A final mighty tug brought the entire plastic covering tumbling to the balcony.

The missile was a slender white tube with two sets of wings-one halfway down the length of the assembly, the other, smaller pair near the tail. A stabilizing dorsal fin extended from the rear.

Two sustainable ramjets were fixed to the dorsal and ventral sides of the missile. In addition to these, four jettisonable rocket boosters were attached in a fan arrangement around the housing.

The menacing black nose of the Bloodhound pointed to the northwest.

At the base of the missile, Nossur Aruch glanced at his guests, tears of joy in his eyes,

"She is beautiful, is she not?" the PIO leader said, sniffling. He ran a hand lovingly along one of the slender boosters.

The former President of the United States remained silent. He stared at Aruch, a grim expression on his weathered features.

"That's a rocket," Bryce Babcock said, shocked.

"A Bloodhound Mk2. British long-range. It will strike Jerusalem minutes after launch."

"It won't work," Babcock blurted.

"Do not attempt to talk me out of it," Aruch warned. "I have waited years for this glorious day."

"That's not what I meant," the interior secretary said. "The rocket won't work. It's metal on metal. The neutrino wave would have neutralized its working components."

Aruch glanced in horror at Babcock. "You lie!" Babcock shook his head.

"Please, Nossur. You saw the evidence out in the street. With your own car. If you try to launch that thing, it will not go up. Worse, if some of its components survived the neutrino wave, it could detonate right here on the pad."

"It could have survived?" Aruch ventured hopefully.

"No," Babcock insisted. "It will never launch like it's supposed to. That's the whole point of the peace bomb. But some of the inner workings could have survived. Lead could have shielded some of the smaller metal parts. Silicon or plastic might have made it through. Enough might work in there to detonate whatever explosives are inside."

Nossur Aruch listened carefully to what was being explained to him. He made an instant decision. "You," he announced, pointing to one of his men. "Fire this missile in precisely two minutes." While the PIO soldier stepped dutifully onto the balcony, Nossur Aruch hightailed it back inside. Running through the halls of the headquarters, he led his entourage--which still included Bryce Babcock and the former President-into the courtyard on the far side of the building.

They had barely gotten outside when the ground was rocked by an explosion.

Leaves shook and fell from carefully tended trees. Birds took flight. The blast shook the three-story building behind them to its very foundation. The rear wall teetered for a long moment before finally crumbling inward. When it fell, it revealed a pile of rubble beyond it. The rest of the building had already collapsed in on itself.

Choking dust filled the courtyard. Thick black smoke poured up from the ruins.

Nossur Aruch took in the devastation with a look of dull incomprehension. That expression slowly melted into one of pure, unadulterated horror. With a shuffling deliberateness he turned, panting, to face the interior secretary of the United States. His insane eyes were as wide as saucers.

"You blew up my headquarters!" Nossur Aruch yelled at Bryce Babcock.

"I warned you," Babcock whimpered, shrugging fearfully. He cringed as if waiting to be hit.

Aruch turned back to the smoking remains of what had for years been the home of his beloved PIO.

"You blew up my headquarters!" he screamed again.

"Sorry," Babcock offered weakly.

"Even the accursed Jews never did that!" Aruch screamed.

Babcock said nothing more, fearful that he might inspire more anger in the PIO leader.

Head shaking in disbelief, Aruch stared at the ruins of his headquarters. Only the back steps remained. He kicked at a piece of shattered brick.

"What made this happen?" Aruch demanded.

"The peace bomb lets off a powerful magnetic force," Babcock said. "It would have fused the missile to the platform. I explained all this to you before."

"Yes, yes, yes." Aruch waved impatiently. Although he had heard the words, he had found them foolish and, consequently, had disregarded much of what was said. But now...

"What is the effective range of your bomb?"

"No one's really sure," Babcock admitted. "Could be a couple of hundred miles."

"This would be the same in all that area?" he asked, flapping an arm to the destroyed building.

"Yes," Babcock said, relieved that Aruch seemed to finally be getting the whole point of the peace bomb.

"So whoever gets weapons into this region of the world first will rule it," Nossur Aruch said. A wicked smile began to form within the graying stubble on his wrinkled face.

"Um-" Babcock began warily.

Aruch cut him off, a smile appearing in full bloom. "We need guns, bullets, explosives. And a radio. One that will have survived your peace bomb."

"None of them would have," Babcock insisted.

Aruch's response to this was a knowing smile. "I will need money," the PIO leader continued. He walked around Babcock to stand toe-to-toe with the President. "What do you think, old one? I am certain Iran would be interested in having you as a prize. Libya would also pay a handsome price. For that matter, a dozen countries in this region. Many more around the world. You will make me the last great monarch of all the Mideast."

He spoke it as a challenge.

The former President looked down at Nossur Aruch. His sun-creased face held an expression of bland contempt.

"Why is it that little fellas like you always have such big mouths?" he said in his soft-spoken, awshucks twang.

The PTO leader's smile vanished into his whiskers, replaced by a scowl. Wheeling to his men, he snapped a thumb to the President.

"Take him," he barked, at the same time marching for the gate at the rear of the courtyard. "His worthless hide is as good as gold. We ride this hour to my ancestral land. And to glory."

"I PAID GOOD MONEY for that camel," Remo groused.

"You should have watched it better."

"I think that bedouin ripped me off. Is there such a thing as a homing camel?"

Remo was trudging morosely beside the Master of Sinanju, who was seated grandly on the hump of his camel. Up ahead, leading the two of them through the streets of Hebron, was their captured PIO soldier.

"Do not complain to me because you cannot be trusted to care for pets," Chiun said. "You should have started with something smaller. Perhaps a hamster."

"Yuk it up," Remo muttered. "I'm glad one of us is having a good time."

Truth be told, despite the long walk beneath the hot sun and his own complaints to the contrary, Remo found that his mood, like Chiun's, was lighter than it had been of late.