Warren Murphy - Total Recall

The three of them watched the woman as she made her way down the street toward the church. When she reached the front steps, she ascended them without hesitation and entered the building.

"Damn!" Walter said.

"Take it easy—" Remo said.

"You can't do it, not now," Walter said. "I don't know exactly what you and Chiun are planning to do, but from hearing you talk, I think a lot of people could end up getting hurt."

"No one is going to get hurt," Chiun said.

"How can you be so sure—"

Chiun put his hand on the back of the boy's neck and said, "I am sure, and you can be sure, can't you, Walter?"

Walter's face went blank, and he nodded his head.

"Yes."

"Good," Chiun said. He exerted a little more pressure, and suddenly Walter slumped over. Remo lowered him gently to the ground, where he began to snore.

"Put him in the alley behind the fence," Chiun said. "He will be out of the way there."

After Remo had taken care of Walter, he and Chiun prepared to cross the street. This time Remo himself stopped them.

"Do you see?"

"I see," Chiun said.

A man had come out the side door of the church, carrying a black attaché case. He walked to a dark car, got in, and drove away.

"The drugs are on their way to the plant," Remo said. "By the time we get there, they should be in the fender wells of the cars."

"Let us go to church," Chiun said.

They crossed the street to the church and then moved around to the side entrance. Opening the door without a sound, they entered and stood out of sight behind Moorcock, who was already into his sermon.

"Sins of the flesh are not condemned here, my dear followers," he was saying, "as long as it is your own flesh you sin against. You may do what you will with your own body, your own mind, your own soul. That is a modern-day belief."

Remo and Chiun could see that the church was half-full. Most of the people were sitting toward the front, with the stragglers— winos and derelicts— toward the back.

Remo looked around and spotted a stairway leading up and a closed door near it. He nudged Chiun.

"Down," he said, pointing to the door.

They moved toward the door. Remo tried the knob, and it turned freely; he pushed the door open. The stairwell was dark, but at the bottom he could see a crack of light beneath another door. He led the way down, with Chiun right behind him. The stairs were wooden and rather flimsy, but he and Chiun barely touched them as they descended.

At the bottom Remo put his ear to the door and, listening intently, became aware of the sound of a man breathing on the other side. If he opened the door violently, the man was sure to turn and possibly sound an alarm. His best bet was to open the door normally and hope that the man simply thought it was Moorcock.

Remo opened the door and saw one man standing to his left. As he stepped through the door, the man began to turn slowly, opening his mouth to speak, but he never got the words out. Remo took him from behind, and with the touch of one hand, drove the life out of his body.

He lowered the man gently to the ground and looked around. There were about half a dozen other people in the basement, but none of them heard a thing, as they were busily performing their own tasks— mixing heroin with other white substances: salt, sugar, anything that closely resembled the drug. In its pure form, heroin was deadly to anyone who used it. The purer it was, however, the more times it could be "stepped on"— or "cut"— and the more times it was cut, the more it became worth on the street, because it could be stretched that much further. With the garbage junkies were used to shooting into their arms, this stuff would be like heaven.

It was interesting to Remo that the lighting in the basement was provided by kerosene lamps on the tables and the walls. Apparently Moorcock had seen no reason to fix the electricity in the basement. The basement was not finished, either. It was just concrete floors and bare walls, and Moorcock had moved wooden tables in where his people could do their jobs. If these people had had a union, they surely would have filed grievances about the working conditions.

Remo closed the door behind them and moved the body of the dead man aside.

"This is where they prepare the vile substance to be sold to children by children," Chiun said to Remo. "A doubly disgusting crime against the children of the world. These people must be punished in the severest manner."

"I agree, Chiun. Let's go."

They strode across the room to the half-dozen workers whose backs were to them. And they would have snuffed them out as effortlessly as so many candles, except that one of them chose to turn around at that moment. When he saw Remo and Chiun, he gaped and then shouted a warning to the others.

The others turned to face their imminent death, but one was quicker to think than the others. As he turned, he threw a handful of powder toward Remo. The grainy substance flew into Remo's eyes, burning and blinding him.

Remo backed up a step and gave full attention to his ears. He knew he would have to rely on his hearing to complete his task.

"They're both blind," someone yelled. "Get 'em."

Apparently Chiun was in a similar predicament, but Remo did not worry about the old man. Chiun could take care of himself. He closed his eyes tightly and listened intently.

The sound of three people rushing at him was deafening to his ultra-sensitive hearing, and the three were of such different sizes that he could easily discern one from the other.

The heaviest of the three reached him first. He allowed the man to put his hands on him, then he reached out with his own hands, found the man's throat, and crushed it like an eggshell. The man croaked and gurgled as he slid to the floor and choked to death.

The other two reached him at the same time, each taking hold of one of his arms. He did not throw them both off because he would have had to locate them again in order to finish them off. Instead, he brought both of his arms around in front of him. With the men still hanging on to him, he kicked first one in the groin and then the other. They both screamed, and as they released his arms and fell to their knees, his hands shot out and took hold of their throats, ending their lives as he had the first man's.

That done, Remo listened for the sounds of Chiun's combat. He heard nothing.

"Chiun!"

"Here," Chiun replied. Following the sound of his master's voice, Remo also became aware of the sound of water. Chiun was washing out his eyes, a prospect that greatly appealed to Remo as well.

As Remo approached, Chiun reached out to take his hands and guide them into the water. Remo bathed his face and eyes several times until the burning subsided and his vision returned.

"We underestimated—" he started to say, flushing his eyes again, but Chiun didn't give him a chance to finish.

"I did not underestimate anyone, except perhaps you," the old man said. "I allowed the powder to enter my eyes so that I could set an example for you. That is all."

Remo looked at Chiun, then nodded and said "Of course, Little Father. You were an inspiration to me."

"Of course," came the reply.

They both looked over at the dead men, and Remo saw that Chiun's three had met the same fate as his own.

"Well," he said, shaking the water from his hands, "I guess the next step is to get those people upstairs out of here, and then take care of this place. These lamps ought to serve us nicely."

"Yes," Chiun said, nodding, and then the old Oriental cocked his head as he heard something, "Someone is coming."

"I hear it," Remo said. Listening intently, he could hear noise in the stairwell, and he realized that there were two separate and distinct sets of footsteps.