Warren Murphy - Look Into My Eyes

"I remember, I welcomed the Khmer Rouge," said the columnist for the New York newspaper.

"Blame the Americans," said the columnist for the Washington newspaper.

"How can we do that? These are Russian missiles aimed at our population centers."

"When the atrocities of the Khmer Rouge came out, I blamed America because America had been bombing Cambodia. Therefore, American bombs made those people mad."

"But lots of people have been bombed without ending up slaughtering each other. Look at the British in World War II. They were bombed much worse than the Cambodians. It didn't make them savage animals."

"Don't bring in facts. Just say it. We'll be fine. When I'm really cooking I say I'm facing harsh truths. Goes over beautifully in Boston with all those colleges there. The harsher the truth, the better."

"So the harsh truth is, we're responsible for these missiles, and they are there because we are invading."

"That's facing the truth," said the Washington columnist who had faced the harshest of truths in Iran before the Ayatollah Khomeini, Cambodia before the Khmer Rouge. and Vietnam before people were willing to risk their lives by the thousands in flimsy boats to escape their liberation. In Washington, two things became blatantly apparent. One, America had been fortunate to detect the missiles, and two, no one could quite figure out the command structure that had ordered it, other than that it had something to do with that strange situation in Fort Pickens, Arkansas.

Alone, the President reached out for Harold Smith, the last, best, desperate hope of America. He had been looking into that thing.

It was good that the missiles were discovered and removed. But who knew what would happen next time? Who knew where this force would be taken? And if it could invade Sornica without authorization, what would stop it from invading Washington? Every man the President had sent down to the field to find out what was happening kept coming back with stories of a great commander. And invariably that great commander was different for each person.

Eerily, this force seemed to have better access to the American government than the President himself. It was the sort of access held by only CURE itself, and Smith, the lone man America trusted with this.

If anything happened to Smith, these computer networks were to self-destruct. And the President knew this would be in effect because when he dialed that one number that so many presidents had come to rely on, it would, for the first time in two decades, give a simple little response so many numbers got, that the number was out of service.

It would work automatically like so many disconnects did, as CURE had worked so successfully by relying on people doing things automatically without thinking of why or how they did them. And it would be over.

Or there would be Harold Smith on the line, putting this "salvation network," as the President had come to think of it, into action tracking down the new force.

The President dialed and he got the one response he never thought he would get. A busy signal.

CURE was on line and working, but he couldn't get through to it.

Remo and Anna Chutesov saw the explosion in the distance. They had arrived at the Sornica airport while it was still under control of the Sornican forces.

"The first thing we have to do is find out where Rabinowitz is so that we can stay away from him. Then if you see the most important person in your life, turn away and run. I will do the same. Because then it will mean we have seen Rabinowitz. "

"I got another problem."

"What's that?"

"The most important person in my life really is here. He was my teacher and the only real father I ever knew."

"That's a problem, because what we want to do, must do, is find out more about Rabinowitz, and the people who can tell us are your friends from that secret organization you belong to."

"I can't believe I told a Russian about that," said Remo.

"You didn't have any choice. You can't rescue them without me and I can't help you without knowing who they are. So you made a correct decision."

"I dunno," said Remo.

"We know now that Rabinowitz is more dangerous than ever on one hand because of his access to those special sources of information and on the other because a Master of Sinanju serves him. You did the only thing that could possibly help save them. And why?"

"The last answer I got on a major question was yes. All right, yes. My answer to why is yes."

"I don't understand you, Remo, and since my specialty is not pathological mental disorders, I will not attempt to try. The reason you have helped us is that we must have as much information, especially precise information on Rabinowitz, as possible. Why?"

"No," said Remo.

Anna Chutesov had sighed. In breathing she filled out her blouse delightfully, nothing overbearing in her figure, just pure sexiness in a blouse now made more sexy by her perspiration in the Sornica sun.

"We must know everything about Vassily Rabinowitz because the first time we come within eyesight of him we are going to have to know precisely how to kill him."

"That's what I said, yes," said Remo.

Anna had been impressed by the way Remo smoothly guided them through the lines. He knew where people were before she saw them. He knew their moves without thinking. A few times he explained that people with weapons had to move certain ways, it was in their nature. They were small things, but a house of assassins working through millennia picked them up along with other techniques and compiled them, each new Master building on what the other knew. Sinanju was the name of the town from which the assassins came, although Remo was Caucasian. Chiun, his trainer, knew the same sexual techniques as Remo.

"He must have taught you everything but how to breathe."

"Breathing's the most important thing he taught me," Remo said. By the time they heard the major explosion far off, Anna Chutesov knew Remo loved this Chiun, and he kept repeating that they were very different. Although some people who liked to bust chops thought otherwise, according to Remo.

"What other people?"

"You wouldn't understand. But he was the one who gave me the answer 'yes.' "

"What was it 'yes' to?"

"The most important question I could ask."

"Which was?"

"I don't know. I didn't ask it. I couldn't figure out the question. So I got an answer without a question."

"Is Sinanju like Zen Buddhism?" asked Anna.

"No," said Remo. "It's Sinanju."

He guided her to lie down in a soft, leafy bank. In a short while a patrol came by, Indian faces in Soviet uniforms.

A young girl with a Kalishnikov stared directly at Anna but kept walking. She was no more than fifteen feet away. "Why didn't she see us?"

"People don't see things they're not looking for. Patrols look for movement. They don't see. They're looking for mines under their feet. Snipers somewhere. People don't see what they're not prepared to see."

"And what do you see?"

"What's there."

"Is it hard?"

"I don't know of anyone outside of Sinanju who sees what's there. Some think we're some kind of super thing, but that's not so," said Remo. "It's just that nobody else uses their bodies properly. Or minds, to be more precise. Most of the body, like the brain, is unused."

It was startling, but true. Anna Chutesov knew that less than eight percent of the human brain was ever used. These people from Sinanju apparently used much, much more.

This Sinanju, not Rabinowitz, was a weapon she could use. Safer than a nuclear warhead, and absolutely precise. If they got out of this alive, she was going to get this man for Russia. And if he happened to stay around for her, well, she could live with that too, she thought, as a most contented smile crossed her face.