Warren Murphy: White Water

After searching the World Wide Web for everything from "Fish" to "Fisheries" without success, in frustration he had typed in "Torpedo," and it just popped up as if by magic.

Based on old Soviet antisubmarine-warfare technology, and operating by sonic waves, the AFC was alleged to drive fish of some thirty-seven varieties into or from any waters the operator desired. Radio controlled, it was equipped with remote TV cameras to allow for remote control and operations.

In that simple discovery Harold Smith understood perhaps ninety percent of the activities of the Hareng Saur and the Fier D'Etre des Grenouilles. The Canadians were herding food fish from international waters and into their own. From the Santo Fado to the Ingo Pungo, the sinkings of ships were designed to conceal their operation and discourage competition for those same fish. And the blame was to be laid squarely on Quebec.

The whys and hows were clear. Now all that remained was the settling of the whos behind it.

Chapter 42

The Master of Sinanju felt his rib cage pressing against his beating heart and willed his heart to be still.

It was difficult, for it raced. Even with his confidence in his pupil, Remo, it raced.

The sides of the stone niche were like a vise that constrained lungs and heart both from performing their proper functions.

But Remo had shown the Master of Sinanju the way, and as Reigning Master, Chiun could not be defeated by so crude a barrier. Especially when Remo was burdened with the gross rib cage of a Westerner.

But it was not a question of holding the breath or constricting the ribs. His kimono silks were delicate. To rip them was to lose the precious garment. It would be unseemly. So the Master of Sinanju insinuated himself delicately, knowing that once he achieved the other side, there would be no stopping him.

Down the dank corridor came a cry. It was high and shrill. The words, twisted and echoing, were difficult to make out.

The voice was not Remo's voice. A female. A harridan voice, ugly and biting.

Nearly all the way through, Chiun lifted up on his sandaled toes. This straightened his spine, and the elastic cartilage contracted.

Thus straight, he skinned the last few inches inward, preserving his silks and his dignity.

On the other side Chiun drew in a recharging breath. One would be all that was needed, then on fleet feet, he moved down the stone passage, taking the turn when he came to it.

Under his feet he sensed strange charges and disturbances. He paid them no mind. The floor here was solid stone.

After the last turn, his hazel eyes fell upon a brick-walled room illuminated by twin computer terminals of amber.

Remo stood there, his back straight. He was facing a seated person.

With an sharp intake of breath, the Master of Sinanju saw the weaving delicate hands with their banana yellow nails.

And he saw the scarf of yellow silk that was pressed tight to the back of Remo's head.

"No!" he cried, leaping ahead.

His long nails slipped up, under the silk, and with a snap and a snarl it parted.

Remo staggered back. Chiun took fistfuls of his T-shirt and spun him out of the way. Strangely Remo didn't resist. He seemed without will.

"You will not have my son!" Chiun said, taking a careful step forward.

And a voice at once mature and not returned, "You are too late. I own him now."

And though the lines of her white face were twisted and constricted into an unpleasant rictus, the Master of Sinanju saw that the face before him-her four arms waving, two holding the torn ends of the limp yellow scarf-was a face he knew well.

She was older. But there was no mistaking those brown eyes.

Freya, daughter of Remo and Jilda of Lakluun.

And behind her a great monster of clay in the shape of Kali the Devourer.

Every iota of energy called for a death blow. But to kill the demon Kali was to extinguish the life of Remo's only daughter.

His gleaming nails retreating into the sleeves of his kimono, the Master of Sinanju made his face severe. "Congratulations, unclean one. You have selected a host I dare not kill."

"Begone, old man," said the voice that was Freya, but held an echo of age-old evil.

Chiun's eyes went to Remo, standing off to one side, dark eyes stunned, face wavering between conflicting emotions. He was seeing and not seeing at the same time.

Chiun addressed the avatar of Kali. "I cannot kill you, it is true. But that does not mean I cannot subdue you, or cast you out of the innocent host you control."

Freya stood up. Her four arms extended outward, like the hands of a mad clock. She was a young woman, Chiun saw. No longer a child but not quite a woman yet.

"Go while you still stand upright, " she hissed.

Retreating a step, he intoned, "I go. But I take with me my son."

"Go, but leave my father, who I knew would come, but not so soon."

"I will not leave without Remo," Chiun insisted.

"You should ask my father if this pleases him or displeases him, " Freya-Kali suggested, her eyes and lips as venomous as her words.

Chiun turned.

Remo still stood off in the shadows, his eyes mere glints in the hollows of his skull. His face was a thing that couldn't be read.

"My son. Speak to me...."

The words issued, wrapped in quiet pain. "Chiun. It's Freya."

"No. Not Freya who speaks to you. But the spirit of Kali."

"Bull!" Remo spit, snapping to anger. "I don't believe it. Not to Freya. Nobody does that to my daughter."

"Believe. For it is true."

Remo took two halting steps forward. He raised pleading, helpless hands while his eyes turned to avoid the four-armed thing that dominated the room.

"Chiun, I don't understand any of this. Help me."

"There is nothing I can do," the Master of Sinanju said sadly. "I cannot slay this thing with two souls, one innocent, one wicked. For to slay the wicked would bring death to the innocent. She is of your blood and still but a child. Therefore she is inviolate. We must retreat to a place of safety."

Remo made fists of stubbornness. "I'm not going anywhere. Not without my daughter."

And the voice of Freya-Kali intoned coldly. "You will remain, flesh of my borrowed flesh. The other must go. "

Chiun regarded Remo without emotion. "Remo, you must make an exceedingly difficult choice. To come with me means safety. To remain is peril beyond anything you can imagine."

Remo's dark eyes flicked to the stunted, four-armed creature draped in yellow silks. "She won't hurt me. She's my daughter," he said.

"She is a thing with four arms and terrible lusts. In her mind you are the lover of her past. She seeks to mate with you. To dance the Tandava."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Remo said hotly.

"The Tandava is the dance that will end the universe and all who dwell in it. You. Me. And your hostage daughter."

"Crap. Look, stop trying to confuse me. I have to stay. I have to work this out."

"Remo..." Chiun began.

"You have your answer," Kali hissed through painted yellow lips. "Now take your life to a safe place and forget all you have seen and heard. For while you dare not lay a hand on my innocent flesh, I can slay you with a glare."

Chiun hesitated. Turning to Remo, he bowed once, very carefully. "I leave."

Remo hesitated. "Maybe that's the way to go," he said uncertainly. "Maybe we can work this out."

Chiun's voice skittered close to fear. "Do not succumb to her charms, my son. Above all do not succumb to her charms."

"For Christ's sake, Chiun. She's my daughter."

"She is your enemy. And she has you in a thrall even I cannot break." And with those sad words, the Master of Sinanju walked backward out of the room, not turning his back on his foe, nor taking his eyes from her hypnotically waving arms.