Warren Murphy - Skin Deep

"It was necessary for the doctor to give you four separate injections, directly into your arteries and veins. That way, you could not reject the poison in your system without rejecting your blood itself. It was what kept you unconscious. And made you pliable. Clever, no?"

Now Remo understood why the drugs had affected him. But had he talked? Had he really told them about CURE? They knew his name. What else might he have said?

As if in answer to his unspoken question, Captain Wolfe said, "You told us a very great deal. Yes, we know who you work for."

"That's too bad," Remo said.

"Why?"

"Because it's your death warrant," Remo said.

"That is why I have these men behind me," Wolfe said. "To keep you from killing me. Oh, I have every confidence in your ability to do so. You broke the steel bands of the table in Dr. Lustbaden's laboratory. You killed a number of well-trained soldiers with only your hands. And you escaped from a high-voltage electric containment area, sustaining a shock that would have killed a herd of cattle. Yes, indeed, you are a most extraordinary fellow."

"Mail the citation to my house," Remo said. "I'm getting out of here."

"You may," said Wolfe. "Your friends have escaped."

"Good-bye," said Remo, heading for the room with the escape window.

"Except..." he heard Wolfe's voice say.

Remo turned. "Except what?"

"Except the girl. She is still here."

"Then I guess you'll just have to take me to her, won't you?" Remo said.

"If that is your desire," Wolfe said. "But there are things I must first explain to you."

He was trying to buy time, Remo knew. But why? To allow the F-24 to take off? But they could can that idea. Chiun was free now. With him and Smith outside, the F-24 had as much chance of getting to New York as a paper airplane.

Remo eyed him suspiciously. "Frankly, I'd rather kill you," he said, although he already knew he would not kill him, not until he heard the strange young man out. "All right. What do you want to talk about?"

Wolfe smiled. "Come with me."

His soldiers still stationed in position, Wolfe led Remo through the cave's labyrinth of corridors until they arrived at a door with a darkened pane at eye level.

"One-way glass," Wolfe said. "Take a look."

The room behind the door looked like a bachelor's apartment. A cluster of sofas, a small table, and a magazine rack were in the front of the room, near the door. Behind them stood a desk covered untidily by maps and flight manuals. On the wall was a large map of the United States, with a single red pin on a spot in lower Manhattan.

Beyond the room was more living space, but Remo couldn't see past the doorway, where a young man walked purposefully toward the desk, straightening his tie.

His back was to Remo. He was in uniform. Remo watched him with mild curiosity as the man affixed a swastika armband to his sleeve. It was a routine motion, obviously one the soldier had performed many times. Then he turned and sat at the desk, unfolding one of the maps.

"It can't be," Remo said, his breath clouding on the glass as he strained for a better look.

There was no mistaking it. The Nazi soldier was Lieutenant Richard A. Caan, U.S. Navy.

"Quite an improvement, wouldn't you say?"

"Depends on how you look at things," Remo said. "His health seems a lot better from this morning, if that's what you mean."

"That is the point. Come. I want you to see something else."

They walked a few more yards down the corridor until they came to another door. Through the glass Remo could see a scarred old man, nearly Chiun's age and with only one leg, performing an astonishing series of rapid calisthenics. He looked strangely familiar, although Remo couldn't remember seeing anyone on the island in such superb condition, especially such an old man with a missing leg...

"He's the one your men dragged away yesterday, isn't he?" Remo asked, no longer amazed at anything he would find in Dr. Zoran Lustbaden's cave.

Wolfe nodded. "Yes. During your dinner festivities. Now we can talk. Will you follow me?"

This time he took Remo into a narrow passageway.

"Look, you're wasting your time if you're thinking of throwing me in the slammer again," Remo said.

"I wouldn't think of it."

The passageway led into a large chamber, plastered and curtained, even though it had no windows, to resemble a Victorian drawing room.

Two ornate stuffed chairs flanked a small, round table set with a tea samovar, two cups, and— strangely, Remo thought— an ornament of some kind. It was a transparent red glass ball with a wire filament inside.

"I see Herr Doktor has set out a toy to amuse us," Wolfe said jocularly, picking up the red ball. "He is very considerate that way. Look, this one has a mechanism."

He wound a small silver key at the base of the ornament, and the filament inside began to turn, glowing dimly, then brighter as it gathered speed. Within seconds sparks were flying from the filament, filling the red glass ball with magnificent, rhythmic fireworks.

"Amusing, yes? But I am sure a man such as yourself is not concerned with useless trinkets." Wolfe set the ball down on the silver tea tray in front of Remo. "Now, then."

The pattern of the tiny fireworks display became even more spectacular than it had been. With an effort, Remo tore his gaze from the ball and directed his attention to Wilhelm Wolfe.

"You have seen Lieutenant Caan and the old man down the hall. No doubt you will agree that, from a physical standpoint, their improvement has been quite radical."

"Radical," Remo said, blinking at the red sparks inside the glass ball.

"Zoran Lustbaden is responsible for that. His work with the birds has resulted in medical breakthroughs of the highest order. When the drugs he has developed are perfected, there will be no more sickness anywhere in the world. Just imagine it."

"If he's so good, why hasn't he helped the lepers?" Remo asked slowly, his eyes glued to the ball.

Wolfe gave a short, dismissive laugh. "Why prolong the lives of the unfit?" He shifted in his seat. "Besides, there are still some minor problems."

"Like what?"

Wolfe stared into a corner of the ceiling. "Unfortunately," he said, "the average human organism is unable to withstand the drugs themselves."

"You mean those guys we just saw... "

"The old man will die within the hour," Wolfe said.

"Hmmm," Remo said, entranced by the red ball in front of him. "Hey, why are you telling me this stuff, anyway?"

Wolfe leaned forward earnestly in his chair. "I want you to trust me," he said. "So I begin by trusting you."

"Makes sense, I guess," Remo said dreamily.

"Tea?" He offered a cup to Remo.

He waved it away. "Might poison me," He said, smacking his lips sleepily. "Not that I don't trust you, understand."

Wolfe laughed. "As you wish." He set the cup down. "But I would not poison you."

"Why not?"

"The doctor needs you. As I said, the old leper will die soon. Caan, who is stronger, will live considerably longer. Several days, perhaps."

"Just long enough to blow up New York City," Remo said, not particularly concerned about New York City, or the summit meeting, or the lives of the two heads of state that were about to be snuffed out. "That's the biz," he said.

"Indeed it is," Wolfe agreed. "You see that the effects of the drugs are dependent on the physical stamina of the user. Also, to some extent, on one's mental stability."

He sipped his tea gracefully. "The drugs sometimes trigger unusual mental fixations," he said off-handedly. "The old man's penchant for pushups, for example. We showed him how to perform one, and he's been at it for two days." He laughed heartily.

"What about Caan?" Remo asked.

"We were careful to fixate him on his mission. Nothing else is in his mind."