Warren Murphy: Angry White Mailmen

Remo's eyes had been trained to see in darkness, under difficult light conditions and as far away as the human lens mechanisms allowed for optimum sight.

He saw that there were two men in the cockpit. Then the passenger placed a pistol to the pilot's head and shot him through the temple.

That was all Remo needed to see.

Racing to the bed, he yelled, "Make for the door, Little Father! Incoming!"

"Incoming what?" asked Chiun.

"No time! Run for it!"

Tucking a squirming bundle tucked under his arm, Remo got out of the room fast on the heels of the Master of Sinanju's skirts as Chiun flashed out the door.

Remo pulled the door shut, thinking it might not help but who knew.

The splintering of glass came as they mounted the low retainer wall, flipped over it and, using one hand for leverage, swung downward and in, landing on the floor below.

From there, they ran to the opposite side of the floor.

The explosion shook the building like a milk shake. Up above, a skylight cracked. Down came shards of glass. The second boom was lighter, but it made the door to their room cartwheel out and tumble past them in a hot breath of air to land far below.

The rest of it was mostly fire and crackling.

When it sounded safe to get up off the floor, Remo whipped the blanket off the prone forms of Tamayo Tanaka and Abeer Ghula.

Eyes closed, Abeer was energetically sucking on Tamayo Tanaka's thumb.

Chapter 31

"Just another minute, okay?" Tamayo whispered. "We're almost done here."

Dr. Harold W. Smith was assuring the President that all was well with Abeer Ghula when the blue contact telephone rang.

"I assure you, Mr. President, the woman is being protected by the best."

"Do you know what my wife will do to me if that woman is killed? It'll be worse than if I 'm not re­elected and she's out of office."

"Your wife holds no public office."

"Tell her that. Right now she's plotting my new Southern strategy."

"The South appears lost to your party."

"Tell my wife. She thinks she can flip the South like a hamburger if only someone will hand her a big enough spatula."

"Excuse me," said Harold Smith. "I must get this other line."

Scooping up the blue contact telephone, Smith placed the red receiver to his gray chest.

"Yes?"

"Smitty, they tried again," Remo said unhappily.

"They failed, of course."

"Say again?"

"Forget it. We can't stay here if they're going to drop aircraft on us. We need a new locality."

"Hold the line."

"Sure." Over the line, Smith heard Remo ask the Master of Sinanju, "Are they done yet?"

"I do not know. The blond one's thumb is bleed­ing, and the other is sucking it harder now."

"Leave them alone. They obviously know what they're doing."

"What is going on there?" Smith demanded hoarsely.

"You don't want to know."

"I have the President on the dedicated line. Wait, please."

Swapping receivers, Smith told the President, "I am back."

"What's wrong?"

"What do you mean?"

"I could hear your heartbeat. It went into over­drive."

Smith cleared his throat uncomfortably. "There was another attempt on Abeer Ghula's life, but she is safe. I am going to have to move her to a safer location."

"Whatever you do, don't send her to Washington. The last thing I need is terrorists attacking the capi­tal. The pundits are already calling me the President who let the postal system lurch into chaos. The damn Speaker of the House is right now talking up legisla­tion to abolish the postal service."

"I will be back to you."

"If it's bad news, keep it to yourself as long as pos­sible. After the reelection would do just fine."

Hanging up on the White House, Harold Smith re­sumed speaking with Remo Williams.

Remo said, "Did he really tell you to keep a lid on the bad news?"

"He did."

"He's sure running scared."

"Not our problem, Remo. I want you to move Abeer Ghula to the World Trade Center."

"Why there?"

"Since the 1993 bombing, it has become the hard­est, safest structure in all of Manhattan. They would not dare to attack her there."

"You ask me, they'd dare to attack her in the Vati­can."

"I stand corrected. They will be unable to breach the World Trade Center security. Move her immedi­ately. I will arrange for an FBI counterstrike force to meet you."

"On our way. What about the dip-shit?"

"Leave her behind. Of course."

"Prying her thumb out of Ghula's mouth may be more work than just pretending they're Siamese les­bians and treating them as a set."

"Leave her," Smith said coldly.

Terminating the call, Remo spoke to the Master of Sinanju. "Smitty says we gotta take Abeer to a safer location, but to leave the dip behind."

"What about the dip's thumb?"

"Won't it come out?"

"I refuse to attempt such a thing. Besides, it is your turn."

"Does this count toward pleasuring Abeer?"

Chiun gave the question barely a second's thought. "Yes. Definitely."

"Sounds Sike a fair trade to me," said Remo, grin­ning.

"I will guard the approach and thus spare my aged eyes the terrible sight of what it is you must do."

As Chiun padded away, Remo dropped to one knee beside the two preoccupied women. Abeer was com­pletely oblivious to everything except Tamayo Ta- naka's thumb, while Tamayo was biting her lips to keep from crying out in her pain.

"Whatever this is, it's over," Remo said.

Tamayo said, "Shh. She thinks I'm a guy."

"She should open her eyes."

"Not until I get my quotes. I'm wired for sound."

"Where's the mike?"

"In my bra, where else?"

"Thanks," said Remo, squeezing Tamayo by the neck until her eyes rolled up in her head and she sank back into a soundless state of unconsciousness. Her blond head went bonk off the floor. Remo didn't at­tempt to cushion it, figuring she could use a hard knock on her skull.

As she fell, her hand tugged at Abeer Ghula's mouth. Abeer responded by flying into some kind of religious ecstasy and sucked all the harder.

Finally she released Tamayo's bloody thumb and sank back herself, sighing with a rush of content­ment.

"All done?" asked Remo, standing over her.

"Yes. It was wonderful. The blond one's seed tasted just like blood."

"Glad you got your money's worth. We gotta go now."

And reaching down, Remo gathered her up, blue blanket and all.

"I will go nowhere without my blond infidel."

"Where we're going, all the blond infidels you could want will be waiting," Remo promised.

"I will accept my fate, then, if it includes blond in­fidels."

"You know AIDS is transmitted through the blood."

"I am the Prophetess of Allaha. She will protect me from AIDS."

"Spoken like a congenital thumb sucker," mut­tered Remo.

"I am very oral," said Abeer. "Especially with congenitals."

They took the elevator to the ground floor, where a bell captain, seeing a tali man and an elderly Asian attempting to abscond with a Marriot blanket, blocked their way.

"You can't remove that from the premises. Hotel property."

"We'll bring it back," Remo assured him.

"I am sorry, you cannot."

The Master of Sinanju stepped up and showed the bell captain the trivial nature of his complaint by dis­locating his kneecap with an expert side-kick.

They left the angrily hopping bell captain behind and took the next cab in line.

"World Trade Center," Remo told the cabbie.

"Tower One or Two?"

"One. If it's not One, it's a short ride to Two."

The cab slithered into traffic.

A n FBIcounterterrorist SWAT team in full battle gear was waiting when they pulled up before Tower One.

"Tower One it is," Remo said cheerily.