Warren Murphy: Infernal Revenue

It was all over in a minute. When the ground stopped reverberating, Harold Smith knew that Remo and Chiun had failed.

The rows of pulsing lights zipped by them like passing meteors. They formed a giant colorful smile button on one wall. It followed them down, grinning goofily at them.

Remo assumed the shape of an X, positioning his body against the violent updraft. Skirts and wide sleeves flapping, the Master of Sinanju was doing the same, he saw.

Ail around them, damaged mainframes were tumbling and rebounding off the steel walls, breaking up and showering the air with broken bits of stinging metal and plastic.

"Think like a feather, my son," Chiun admonished.

Remo closed his eyes. He willed his bones to become hollow, his stomach to fill with air and mind to purge itself of all fear.

He weighed one hundred fifty-five pounds normally, a weight he'd maintained ever since he had come to Sinanju. He willed his body to lose most of its mass, just as his out-flung arms and legs stabilized his free- fall.

When it felt right, he opened his eyes. And there was Chiun, hazel eyes calm, not angry. They were falling in unison, in the dead spider posture of sky divers. Around them the mainframes seemed to pick up speed. They began falling faster. But that was an illusion. They were still dropping at terminal velocity.

It was Remo and Chiun who were slowing down.

Their eyes met and locked. And in that instant they had a mutual recognition of their assured survival.

Then a strange cloud passed over Remo's face.

"What is it?" Chiun demanded.

"I've been here before."

"What?"

"I remember this happening before."

"When?"

Remo's voice was faraway. "You were with me."

"This has never happened to me before."

"It was years ago. In a dream. I had a dream about this exact thing." "How did it end, this dream?"

"The floor opened up and we fell. But we both caught a light fixture. It wasn't strong enough to take both our weight. So you let go. You fell to your death. You gave your life for me."

"Then it is your turn to sacrifice yourself," spat Chiun disdainfully. "For I have no intention of dying this night."

Remo shook his head as if to clear it. "You know, in the dream Friend was behind it all, too."

"That part at least is true."

Then there was no more time for talk. The tumbling mainframes began striking the hard concrete below, and they steeled themselves to land amid the violent wreckage.

With the ground close, they snapped their bodies into tight balls, uncoiling at the last possible moment to land on their feet light as two feathers.

Remo landed on a broken computer, Chiun between the wreckage of two others.

They paused briefly, as if dizzy. Then, their body mass returning to normal, they took stock.

Far above, the electronic well that was in the interior of the XL SysCorp building continued to pulse and throb. They could see the underside of the fourteenth floor. The giant smiley face of lights loomed over them.

"I guess Friend couldn't stand to lose," Remo said.

"He has met the fate deserved by all who challenge Sinanju," Chiun intoned.

"That's not what worries me. He may have taken the U.S. banking system with him." "Pah! American paper money is worthless to begin with. Now Americans will understand the eternal beauty and truth that is called— gold!"

Remo whirled. The Master of Sinanju was pointing a quivering finger toward the south wall.

"Behold, Remo. Gold!"

Leaping and hopping over broken mainframes, they came to the gaping vault doors. Inside, gold was stacked in gleaming perfect pyramids. There was barely room to walk between them, the stacks were packed so tightly.

"Gold!" Chiun exulted. "All the gold one could ever want!"

"I'd trade it all for another crack at that greedy little chip," said Remo, unimpressed.

"Quickly, we must transport it to a safe place."

"We'd better contact Smith."

Smith stood gaping at the checkerboard pattern of the XL SysCorp building, not knowing what to think.

Then the van phone shrilled.

He grabbed the receiver and said, "Yes?"

"Smith. Remo."

"Remo, what happened?"

"Friend committed suicide."

"What!"

"We nailed every mainframe but one. Then he tried to bribe us and get us to give up your plan."

"You do not know my plan."

"Exactly. When he realized he wasn't getting anywhere, he opened up the floor and we all fell down, in clouding Humpty Dumpty. All the president's men couldn't put that last mainframe back together again. Sorry, Smith. We tried."

"Friend is no more?"

"We almost bought the farm ourselves. But we did find the gold in the basement vaults. Chiun is guarding it now. I'm calling from a pay phone."

"Computers do not commit suicide."

"This one did."

"Computers are machines," Smith insisted. "They are programmed. Friend was programmed by his creator to make a profit. And as far as I know, there was no self-destruct function in his programming."

"Could he have escaped by phone?"

"No. I have control of the only working XL phone line. He could not enter my computer because its chips are not compatible with his."

"Then he's dead."

' 'He is not dead. He was never alive. Stand by."

Smith terminated the connection and punched up the Con Ed supervisor who had been on hold for over four hours now.

"Cut power to grid 476," he snapped.

"You want me to black out a whole city block in Harlem?"

"Now," said Smith.

''You got it. Let's hope nobody riots."

It took barely ten seconds. But the block immediately to the south of XL blacked out.

Harold Smith pecked at his keyboard frantically.

I KNOW YOU STILL EXIST, he typed. He hit the transmit key.

There was no response.

I KNOW YOU STILL EXIST AND I HAVE JUST BLACKED OUT THE BLOCK SOUTH OF YOU, Smith typed and transmitted.

No response.

NOW I AM GOING TO BLACK OUT THE NORTHERN BLOCK, Smith typed.

"Black out grid 435," Smith ordered into the phone.

The northern block went dark.

NOW I AM GOING TO BLACK OUT THE OTHER TWO BLOCKS, Smith typed. And gave the orders.

The four blocks surrounding XL SysCorp went dark.

Smith typed, NOW THAT I HAVE SHOWN YOU WHAT I CAN DO, YOU WILL REVEAL YOURSELF TO ME OR I WILL BLACK OUT YOUR BLOCK.

There was no response. Smith transmitted the message again.

And on the screen appeared a reply:

Smith typed, YOU WILL ANSWER THE QUESTIONS I PUT TO YOU TRUTHFULLY OR I WILL BLACK OUT YOUR ENTIRE BUILDING.

HOW DO I KNOW YOU WILL NOT DO THAT AFTERWARD? Friend asked via the screen.

YOU DO NOT. YOU HAVE NO CHOICE BUT TO TRUST ME.

I HAVE NO CHOICE BUT TO TRUST YOU, replied Friend.

EXPLAIN THE NATURE OF THE VIRUS AFFECTING THE U.S. BANKING SYSTEM.

THERE IS NO VIRUS, Friend replied.

WHAT DO YOU MEAN?

I LIED ABOUT THE VIRUS. THE DATA BANKS HAVE NOT BEEN ALTERED.

WHY DO THE DISPLAY SCREENS SHOW OTHERWISE?

I CONTROL THE ELECTRICAL IMPULSES APPEARING ON THE MONITOR DISPLAYS BY TELEPHONE LINE SO THAT IT APPEARS THAT THE DATA BASES HAVE BEEN LOOTED. IT IS AN ELECTRONIC ILLUSION.

A VIRTUAL VIRUS? asked Smith.

EXACTLY SO.

RELEASE THE U.S. BANKING SYSTEM.

WHAT DO I RECEIVE IN RETURN?"

ELECTRICITY.

ELECTRICITY CURRENTLY COSTS THIRTEEN CENTS A KILOWATT HOUR. THAT IS NOT AN EQUITABLE OR PROFITABLE EXCHANGE.

IT IS THE BEST YOU WILL GET FROM ME.

Friend took only four seconds to compute his response. AGREED. I AM RELEASING THE BANKING COMPUTERS.

Fifteen seconds passed. Then the screen said, IT IS DONE.

Smith logged onto the New York Fed. He got a normal-appearing screen. It was full of numbers, not zeros.

HOW DO I KNOW YOU ARE NOT STILL MANIPULATING WHAT I SEE ON MY MONITOR? Smith typed.