Warren Murphy: Midnight Man

In a third floor office in the island mansion, Perce Pakir put some notebooks into a wall safe, then locked the safe with a flourish. The time had

come.

The Emir's health was failing. If Pakir did not m hi

chored 700 yards off the ocean side of the Emir's

Elmo Wimpler sat huddled under a blanket in the m°ve soo°'he wo"ld "^ out on ** contractshe

rear of the twenty-foot-long speedboat that was an- naoagreeato accept.

S Ei' ^he money was important but it had been more

can and the Oriental, who had almost captured him dead' Done forever' Tt was tímeto scratchsome-

in Central Park.

They were associated with the Emir somehow; he was sure of that. So he would be most likely to find them here on the Emir's island hideaway. Elmo

about the Emir of Bislami. The man had once had a whole country in the palm of his hand and now Wimpler had that man's life in his own hands. Just the thought sent chills through him. And, anyway, when he had killed the Emir, he was sure he would

cost. That magazine had said there was a bounty of as much as twenty million on the Emir's head. Some of that he would collect; he was sure of it.

than money, too. For years the Emir had treated Pakir as a loyal aide-de-camp, but that was all. Never as an equal. Never as a member of the royal family. Never as a friend. Always as a subject. Enough of that. The monarchy of Bislami was

thing from the ruins. Pakir was going to scratch out ten million dollars for guaranteeing that the holder of the throne never went back to his country to reclaim his ancient monarchy.

He had hatched the plan on the very day that he

Wimpler had to repay them. It was that simple be- j^t?- j ^ n ¦ c i. j a j *i.

u-i ,u v a *u i«!, *u~ + and the Emir and the Prmcess Sarra had fled the

cause while they lived, there was always the threat

., . ., J. ., , * u" ntcountry, ahead of the onrushing revolutionary

that there was someone m the world who was not ¦" , ° , J

afraid of Wimpler's power. ^Pf- .^ .^ had g°tten to.thls Umted States

He sipped warm tea from a thermos and thought lsland' he had been able to convmce the Emir that

he should personally supervise security arrangements, coordinating with the United States government's agents. He had insisted that the U.S. agents live on the island as a security measure. Then, with the Emir's own Royal Guard securely under his

find somebody willing to pay their fair share of the command, Pakir had met each U.S. agent as he ar-

rived, disposed of each one of them, and substituted his own men by bringing them in by boat, at night, when the Emir slept.

There were twenty men on the island now, Royal 136 |

Guard and U.S. agents. But the U.S. agents weren't really U.S. agents, the Royal Guard was loyal to Pakir, and it was time for him to dispose of the Emir.

The only person who was not included on his side was the Princess Sarra. He hoped he wouldn't have to have her killed, too. He had plans for her.

It would have all been done before this, but it had taken time for Pakir to make his arrangements with the new revolutionary government of Bislami.

And then that idiot magazine had run those advertisements seeking people to kill the Emir, and those two real U.S. agents had come to the island. These were the only loose ends.

He had tried to dispose of those agents, the American and the Oriental, and had failed. And he had tried to get rid of whoever it was who would take the contract to kill the Emir. He couldn't afford to have anyone else running around, charging their island, taking credit for assassinating the Emir. But he had not been able to contact that man to put him away.

So there was no more time to waste. Tonight was the night the job had to be done.

Once it was over, the fake U.S. agents would just simply disappear. The United States would have to

The world wouldn't buy it. It would simply look to the world as if the United States had killed the Emir and then killed the men who actually pulled the trigger.

It would serve everybody's purposes. Pakir could collect for the assassination from the new revolu-

138

tionary government of Bislami and from the Russians for both the death and the embarrassment of the United States.

And he ... and perhaps the Princess Sarra if she decided to be reasonable . . . would live the lives of the very wealthy. Perhaps in South America. Or Switzerland. Or anywhere. There were very few doors, national or otherwise, that were not open to a man with ten million dollars.

It was time.

The Emir stirred in bed. He opened his eyes for a moment, then closed them again, trying to drift back into sleep. Sleep was all he had left. And then death. He was helpless now to affect his own fate. If the many groups with a price on his head did not get him, the cancer would.

It was probably best this way. Sarra could go on to live her Ufe. His friends in the United States, even though they had abandoned him in his hour of need, would be rid of a national embarrassment.

And the Emir would be removed from pain.

It was probably best

Princess Sarra stepped through the doorway into her brother's room. He slept peacefully, and she sat

talk to the world about the murder of the Emir and ^ ^ rf ^ m a wakm for

the disappearance of almost a dozen U.S. agents. ^

Forhim tQ die? She ^ ^^ and

dered why she had come. Was it because she had pleasured her body with Remo earlier that day, and now felt guilty about disporting herself while her brother was the target of both killers and disease?

* * *

139

The helicopter had landed them on the New Jersey shoreline and a power boat was waiting to speed them to the island.

As they alighted at the main dock, Remo observed: "No one around. They're supposed to have somebody on this dock to check visitors."

"Perhaps they were not expecting guests," Chiun said.

"And perhaps they are discussing what to do about these guests," Remo said.

Chiun nodded. They heard the sound simultane- the house-

ously. Footsteps, someone running through the brush from the main house. When he broke out into the open, they saw who it was.

It was Randisi, the top federal agent on the island. Or the man who played the part of Randisi.

He ran up to them, apparently out of breath and somewhat wild-eyed. Remo ran through Smith's de- aní hissed. ^

scription again in his mind. Randisi, Smith said, was Psssssst.

Chiun was already moving to the house. Remo quickly got to his side. "If they sent him ahead with that phony warning, they're waiting for us to come running right up to the front of the house," he said.

Immediately, they circled off, through the brush, to come around to the rear of the large four-story mansion.

As they passed the side of the house, they saw three men with suits, armed with automatic rifles, crouched near the pathway leading to the front of

"Quietly," Chiun warned.

Remo nodded. If the Emir was still alive, any sign that Remo and Chiun were coming to his rescue might mean his immediate death.

They cut back in behind the three men. When they were only two feet away, Remo pursed his lips

35, six-foot-two, two hundred pounds, with salt and The ^^ men turned around. Remo and Chiun

pepper hair. This man was almost 50, five-foot-eight, fat, with red hair.

"They've taken over the house," he gasped, grab-

struck at the same time. Remo took the man on the right. Chiun handled the one in the middle and the one on the left. Without a sound, the life was

bing Remo by the shoulders. "The Emir is in danger. crushed from their bodies.

You'd better hurry."

"You're Randisi?" Remo said.

"Yes."

"You're right," Remo told him. "We shouldn't waste any time. We should get right down to it."