Warren Murphy: Midnight Man

He didn't see the man's hand move, but something struck his wrist. The knife flew from his hand and over the side.

He rolled back away from the man and pulled his last knife from his belt. He stood perfectly still. If he did not move, they would have to come to him. And he was still the Shadow, the man who terrified other men, the man with the power of Ufe and death over others.

"He's standing still, Chiun," the American said.

"He is right there," the old man said, pointing directly at Wimpler. "He has another knife."

"A piece of cake," Remo said.

Elmo tightened his grip on the knife and licked his Ups. The Oriental moved closer to him on one side, the white man on the other.

Wimpler swung the knife with all his power, aiming for the old man's skinny throat. But suddenly the old man wasn't there anymore.

"You can stop moving," said the Oriental into the 152 I 153

blackness. "But you cannot stop breathing, and we can always find you."

Blinded with anger and frustration, Elmo swung at the robed man with his knife again, feeling even more fury as he sharply expelled his air before the thrust.

The Oriental easily avoided the knife.

Then the tall one was behind him. Wimpler looked from one to the other, one to the other. He swung the invisible knife wildly around him. But his breath came in loud puffs and the men avoided the knife slashes. It couldn't be. The greatest invention of all time was being nullified by his own goddamned breathing.

He threw the knife at the white man. It missed as the tall man ducked and clattered harmlessly against the side of the boat.

.. He couldn't let himself be caught. He couldn't. They would ruin it all. Make him visible. Make him a nothing again.

He couldn't stand that.

Elmo Wimpler stood up straight and bolted to the rear railing of the boat.

"Chiun, the rail."

Wimpler jumped off.

The impulse to jump had been blind and suicidal, but without intending it or even thinking of it, Elmo landed in the little, electrically-powered, fishing boat he had been towing. He had planned to use it to motor silently into the Emir's island. As he landed in a heap in the boat, he felt a sharp pain in his ankle.

He started the electric trolling motor and tossed off the small rope that bound him to the bigger

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boat. Even this small boat had been treated with the invisibility paint and now they would never find him.

Remo sensed that Wimpler was jumping the rail. He was surprised when he heard a thud rather than a splash. He ran to the rail just as the electric motor started up. The son of a bitch had a small, invisible boat. Remo watched as the wake of the boat kicked up and it looked as if some giant, finned fish were swimming away from the larger boat.

"Chiun, he's got a boat. Let's get this thing started."

"Too slow," said Chiun. "He will be hidden in darkness by then. Swim."

Remo nodded and vaulted over the railing into the chilly, Atlantic water. He paused for a moment, then picked up the faint trau of the small boat's wake, slapping tiny pressure waves against his face. He straightened out his body atop the water and began stroking after the boat, making his body one with the water, letting the flow of the water surround his body and pull him with itself, stroking only to correct his direction.

Wimpler had looked back in time to see the tall man jump off the boat into the water. Was the fool actually going to try to catch him by swimming? Did he think he could outswim a motor-driven boat?

In disbelief, as he watched, the swimming man began to gain on him.

How could that be?

How could he swim faster than a boat?

And how could he see Elmo's boat to chase it?

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He realized the answer to the second question. The man was following the wake of the boat and the

faint sound of the electric motor. His invisible boat ' Hewas conscious when he hit the cold water. His

was doing him no good. It pinpointed his position beautifully.

Wimpler had to try to outrun the swimming man who, incredibly, seemed to be gaining speed but wasn't even stroking. He turned the boat's rudder, pushing it into a large, curved swing, a circle. Remo stayed close behind.

The circle closed tighter and tighter around the bigger boat.

Wimpler had a plan. He found a small aluminum oar under his seat. He turned the boat again. He glanced behind him. Remo was following tight be-

hind his boat, only fifteen yards away. ' mouthÉledwithwater' He screamed- but '* was

This time, he turned the rudder of the boat sharply. The boat swerved inwards, and as Wimpler gave it maximum throttle it surged ahead, and raced straight on toward the larger boat. Wimpler waited a moment, correcting direction, aiming it at the large, black outline visible for a moment against the whitish clouds. Then he poised in the bow of his small boat. Suddenly, it rammed the bigger boat. Jarred, for a moment, Wimpler jumped up onto the deck of the larger boat, the oar raised over his head.

Chiun, in the corner of the deck, turned just as Wimpler raced for him, ready to swing the oar down atop the Oriental's skull. Then he would start up the large boat and race away from this swimming maniac who was following him.

Wimpler swung the metal oar at the Oriental's

head. It struck something. But then, like a pole

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vaulter, Wimpler found himself thrown upward through the air, out into the ocean.

instinct was to try to swim. He had gotten only three strokes when his arms began to tire and his legs to feel heavy. He began to sink.

Panic.

The clothing he had used to fashion his outfit became heavier as it absorbed water but his great invention—his invisibility paint—began to expand and to form bubbles which began filling up with water. It was swelling, becoming cumbersome. He felt the growing size of it pressing against his arms and legs, making movements difficult.

He opened his mouth to call for help but his

only in his mind.

He tried to

Get rid of the clothes. Get them off.

He tried, but the garments seemed to cling to him like glue. His arms refused to move, to follow his commands to rip at his buttons and free themselves.

He felt as if he were wearing a suit of armor.

He felt numb.

He felt sleepy.

Then he didn't feel anything, anymore.

Remo hoisted himself up over the side of the larger boat.

"What are you doing?" Chiun demanded as he climbed back aboard.

"He crashed, Chiun. He rammed right into you. He probably sank like a stone."

"I know he sank like a stone, you white buffoon," Chiun said. "I threw him overboard. But his uniform. Do you realize we could make a fortune with that?" "What?"

"Can't you see the possibilities?" "I don't give a rat's ass about the possibilities," Remo said. "You're just money hungry."

"You do not want me to be rich. You want my people to forever starve, to be forever oppressed, to . . ."

Anything was better than listening to the whole spiel. Remo looked out at the calm sea. There was a faint, little whirlpool of ripples about fifteen feet from the boat. Remo wondered how deep the water was.

"Well, since I'm wet already," he said. Chiun patted him on the back in encouragement. Remo dove over the railing into the water. When he reached the spot of the ripples, he dove straight down. He could not gauge how deep he had gone, but he could feel the pressure of the surrounding water compressing the air in his lungs. And then before him, he saw Elmo Wimpler. The little man's eyes were open in the horror of death. No more bubbles came from his open mouth. His hair floated around his face like a gang of anarchistic snakes. He had reached the point in the water where the weight of his body matched the weight of the water surrounding him, and he hovered there, neither going up nor down. Some day, when the gases of death had formed inside his body, the specific density of the corpse would change, would lighten, and he would pop to the surface like a cork.