Warren Murphy: Lords of the Earth

"Will you cut it?" Remo groused. "Whatever this guy discovered, it's not Sinanju."

"Jealousy for the accomplishment of others does not become one who refuses to make the effort to accomplish himself," Chiun intoned.

"Who's jealous? I'm not jealous. It was a fluke. And I'm not wearing any kimono." He turned to Barry. "What has this got to do with the fly?"

"The fly imparts that strength without the concentration," Barry said, rubbing his cheek on the blanket.

"So those two people in the house . . ."

"Exactly," Schweid said. "You said they were like animals. They were. They were stung by one of these flies."

Remo turned to Chiun. "And Dr. Ravits' cat was probably bitten by a fly too. That's how he was able to tear Ravits apart."

Chiun was silent. He was staring at Barry Schweid, holding his hands up in front of his eyes, framing the young man as if measuring him.

"You have a little too much suet on you," Chiun told him. "But we'll take that off you. And the kimono is a wonderful garment for hiding hideous white fat, even though some hideous white people refuse to understand that."

"I'm not wearing any kimono," Remo said.

* * *

In the office directly above them, Harold Smith glanced at the bank of cigarette-pack-size television monitors mounted on his desk. They were kept on all the while Smith was in the office, turned to the three major networks and a twenty-four-hour news channel.

Smith glanced up from some papers on his desk and saw one man's face filling the screen on all four channels. He would have regarded it as odd had he not recognized the man as Waldron Perriweather III. Smith turned up the sound and heard Perriweather's droning hum of a voice.

"This is my demand of you, killers of the universe. All murder of insects is to stop immediately. I repeat, immediately. This will be augmented by providing insect breeding grounds in all possible locations, in order to make up for a consistent pattern of past prejudice against these noble creatures. Garbage and refuse are to be collected and assembled outside all human dwellings immediately. Garbage-can lids will no longer be permitted to be used. I hope this is all quite clear." Perriweather gazed coldly into the camera.

"If implementation of this demand is not begun within twenty-four hours, I will release Musca perriweatheralis. Its vengeance will be merciless. I have explained what this insect is capable of doing. I will not provide a demonstration for your edification, but those of you who do not believe need only ignore my warning and you will see the power of this noble insect soon enough. Unless there is complete capitulation to my demands, one nation at a time will be destroyed. Destroyed, utterly and completely, with no hope for renewal within your lifetimes. And once the action begins, it cannot be reversed. Nor can any of your puny measures prevent it. Nothing can prevent it."

Perriweather cleared his throat and it appeared that there were tears in his eyes.

He said, "We do not ask the destruction of your species, nor your removal from the earth. We ask only to coexist with you, as it was in olden times, when man was but a small link in a natural ecological chain. That was as it should be. That is how it will be again. Good night, ladies and gentlemen, you fiends of the world."

Perriweather's face was replaced by four newscasters. They all said basically the same thing: That scientists interviewed had said that Perriweather, while wealthy, was a crank with no scientific credibility.

Smith turned off the television and sat in silence for several moments. Finally he pressed a button that rang a telephone in Barry Schweid's makeshift lab.

"Come up here, all of you," Smith said.

"I don't think he's a crank at all," Barry Sehweid told Smith after the CURE director had told them of the television ultimatum.

"Why do you say that?" Smith asked calmly.

"All right. Take it in order. We have Dexter Morley's papers. What they tell us is that when he went to work for Perriweather, Perriweather had already created a superfly. First, it could bite; second, the animals that it bit became super-strong and crazy violent.

"Ravits' cat was bitten and acted that way. The chimpanzees in Uwenda tore people apart. They were probably bitten. And it works on human beings. Mr. Chiun and Mr. Remo saw that at the Perriweather mansion when they were attacked by those two people. They had probably been bitten. So the fly exists and it was already a danger."

He looked around at the other three men, unaccustomed to keeping anyone's attention for so long. "And now it's worse," he continued. "This redwinged fly is what Morley was working on, and he changed the fly so it can't be killed. Not by DDT or any kind of poison. It's impervious to all those poisons."

"You could still swat them," Remo said.

"It would take a lot of flyswatters," Barry said. "No. I don't think Perriweather is crazy or that he is bluffing. I think he intends to do just what he said."

"Hold on. If this fly is so indestructible, why'd it die before it hit Chiun and me?" Remo asked.

Barry shrugged. "I don't know. It may just have been a defective fly."

"Maybe they're all defective," Remo said.

"That's a big 'maybe' for mankind to hope to live by," Barry Schweid said.

Smith nodded. "Then it's clear. We have to stop Perriweather. If he releases these red-winged flies anywhere, he'll create maniacs, stronger than human."

"About nineteen times stronger than human," Schweid said. "According to my calculations. And don't forget. According to Morley, these flies can breed. They're not sterile. That means a new generation of them every twenty days or so."

"Like white people," Chiun muttered.

"So the question is, where would Perriweather strike?" Smith said.

"He might try a place where the insect population might be somewhat low but there are large clusters of people, targets for the insects. That's a possibility," Barry said. "Maybe," he added weakly.

"And maybe he has a score to settle," Remo said.

"Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" Smith said.

"Uwenda. He went batshit when we got rid of all those beetles there. And if Barry here is right, it's got a low insect population," Remo said.

"I think you're right," Smith said. "It's going to be difficult to get into Uwenda though."

"Why's that?"

"Since the anti-American flap over the beetle business, Uwenda has closed its borders to all Westerners."

"If we can't get in, Perriweather can't get in," Remo said.

"Barry, will you check the computer?" Smith asked.

"Yes, Harold," Schweid said.

It only took the young man three minutes before he was back in the office. "It's Uwenda," he said.

"How can you be sure?"

"Waldron Perriweather bought an airline ticket to Libya three days ago. The ticket's been used. He went there. Libya flies into Uwenda. Our computer has a Libyan passport issued that identifies Waldron Perriweather as a Libyan national. Uwenda's where he's going."

"Us too," Remo said.

"If we can get you in without trouble," Smith said.

"Who could do that?" Remo asked.

"Ndo. The head of the HIAEO. He's a big shot there. He could do it. But he wouldn't. He's on an anti-American, antiscientific rampage."

"He could be persuaded," Chiun said.

"How?" Smith asked.

"This is negotiable information," Chiun said, casting a glance at Remo.

"All right, Chiun," said Remo with a sigh. "I'll wear the damned thing. I'll put on that stupid kimono. Once, just once."

"I accept your good-faith promise," Chiun said as he walked from the office.

"Where is he going?" Smith asked.

"Don't ask," Remo said.

Director General Ndo was in his office, shining the wooden god Ga with grease from his own nose. There was a scream in an outer office, followed by a thump.