Warren Murphy: Failing Marks

In the end, one unlucky driver was chosen to wheel the cart inside. The other two were allowed to leave. Their tiny cabs made smoking rubber stripes on the asphalt in their eagerness to leave before Chiun changed his mind.

Remo and Chiun followed the least lucky cabbie inside the drafty building.

As they walked past the row of plastic seats near the door, the young blond man got to his feet. He trailed the two targets at a discreet distance.

"Use care, lummoxy Teuton," Chiun clucked angrily when the cab driver hit a bump on the rubber mat that was spread before the baggage check counter. The cabbie cringed, expecting a swat from the old Asian's lightning-fast hands.

"You going to be okay with this?" Remo asked.

"We are fine," Chiun said, eyeing the taxi driver with suspicion.

"Okay, I'll get the tickets," Remo offered. They separated, each going to an end of the counter. Remo collected the boarding passes Smith had ordered for them. The overly friendly woman behind the desk was more than willing to help Remo and his aged companion. Beaming, she relayed Chiun's pertinent ticket information via computer to the woman operating the baggage-check terminal at the far end of the counter.

"Iss dere someting else?" she asked with a lascivious grin. It was clear from the look on her face that she would have invaded Poland for him.

The look she gave him sparked a thought. "Actually there is," Remo said.

The woman squealed in delight. "I get off at nine. Actually I can get off right now. I'll be sick. Or I could qvit. I'll qvit. I qvit!" she shouted to no one in particular. A few faces turned her way.

"No," Remo said, easing the woman back behind her computer. She had been climbing over the counter to get to him. "I was just wondering about the menu on the flight."

"Oh." The woman seemed crestfallen. When she glanced around, she saw that the few people who had looked at her were already looking away. Forcing a businesslike air, she studied her computer. "Ve haff bratwurst and sauerbraten sandwiches. Braunschweiger or wienerwurst. Unt beer."

"Any way of getting some shark meat?"

Remo was surprised when the woman nodded. "Ve haff koenigsberger klops," she offered helpfully.

"Is that shark?"

"German meatballs," the woman said.

He saw now that she was only half listening to him. She was staring at his crotch even as she tried to work.

"You're drooling on your keyboard," Remo observed.

"Vant to sit on it unt dry it?" She grinned lewdly at him as she tapped the counter.

"Tell you what you start, and I'll catch up with you."

The woman did not need to be told a second time. In an instant, she was off the floor. Her Bavarian backside mashed her damp keyboard. As she slid from side to side like a human mop, Remo gathered up his and Chiun's tickets.

As he walked back over to the Master of Sinanju, he noticed that the woman had scrawled her telephone number on the bottom of his ticket. He rubbed his thumb against the handwriting, exciting the particles of ink at the atomic level. By the time he reached Chiun, the pen marks had faded to invisibility.

Chiun had just finished supervising the passing of his luggage through the square hole in the side of the counter. He was dismissing the grateful cab driver as Remo sauntered up beside him.

"I suppose I don't have to tell you we're being watched," Remo announced.

"Since our arrival," Chiun said blandly. He studied his last trunk as it slid along the conveyor. Their work in Germany was over. Remo had gotten the information they needed to proceed.

"What do you want to do?" he asked Chiun.

"I wish to leave this land of pastry-eaters in peace."

"Me, too," Remo said. "Let's ignore him." Together, they began walking toward the stairs that would take them to their boarding gate.

They had gotten no more than four feet from the counter when the first bullet was fired at them.

It was aimed at Remo's back. He shifted his weight slightly to his left foot in order to avoid the incoming round. After the bullet had passed harmlessly by, he continued his lazy glide across the main concourse.

The lead projectile thudded between two doors set into the wall beneath the main staircase.

"He's using a silencer," Remo commented.

"It is still not silent enough."

"Not for us, maybe," Remo said. "But at least no one else can hear it."

Another two bullets came whizzing in their direction. This time both Remo and Chiun had to dodge the fat lead rounds.

"He's using a clip." Remo frowned.

"Should I care?" Chiun asked.

"Dammit, Chiun, a clip holds more rounds. He's bound to shoot someone by accident before we can get out of here. Crap," he griped. "What is it with this dingdong country?"

Abruptly Remo dropped back from Chiun, twisting sharply on his left heel. In a flash, he was suddenly walking in the opposite direction.

The shooter obviously had not anticipated a change of course on Remo's part. He didn't have time to slow his own brisk pace before he slammed directly into Remo.

"Oh, sorry," Remo apologized, helping the stumbling man to his feet. As he did so, he tugged the man's gun free. The would-be killer had secreted the weapon beneath a newspaper that was draped over his hand.

They were near the wall struck by the first fired bullets. A waist-high trash receptacle was sitting next to the men's-room door. Remo slipped the gun through the metal lid, dropping it into the pile of trash within the barrel.

"Gee, pal, you don't look so hot," Remo said. He took the man by the arm as if to support him. With his free hand, Remo tapped a hard finger against the killer's chest. Immediately the man's heart stopped beating. He would have slumped to the floor had Remo not still been holding him upright.

"A little cold water on the face should fix you up," Remo suggested to the corpse. "Chiun, gimme a minute. This poor guy needs a hand."

"Do not dawdle," Chiun urged.

Remo pushed his way through the swinging men's-room door, carting the body with him. The Master of Sinanju took up a sentry position outside the door.

Inside the bathroom, Remo propped the body up against the line of sinks. He quickly searched the man's pockets for identification. There was none.

"Great," Remo muttered unhappily. He stepped back from the corpse, looking more closely at the face. Maybe Smith would have a photo on file that would help identify whoever this had been. Not that it mattered very much at this point.

As he examined the features, something about the man's face sparked a distant memory.

Leaving the body leaning against the sink, he stuck his head out the bathroom door.

"Hey, Chiun, come in here a minute." Frowning, the Master of Sinanju followed Remo into the bathroom. Inside, Remo pointed at the body. "Does he look familiar to you?" he asked Chiun. Casting a puzzled glance at his pupil, the Master of Sinanju tipped his head, examining the young man's face. His hazel eyes opened wide almost at once.

"He wears the face of the voiceless lout from the place that robbed us of free will." The old Korean sounded surprised.

"That's right," Remo said, remembering all at once. "He worked for what's-his-name." He snapped his fingers. "Holz. He was Holz's assistant."

It was six months ago during what they would later learn had been their first brush with IV. That man had been a mute. As Remo inspected the features of the corpse in the Berlin airport he realized that he was the spitting image of the man they had encountered half a year before.

"This is eerie," Remo said. "That guy is dead."

"So is this one," said Chiun. He nodded to the door.

"Yeah," Remo said, nodding his understanding. He took the body and stuffed it in one of the bathroom stalls. Slamming his palm against the door, he crushed the metal lock. It would be necessary for airport maintenance to use a welding torch in order to free the body.