Warren Murphy: Dangerous Games

"Very good," Mullin said. He refused to ask which one.

"In fact, the world's most major power."

"Whatever you wish, sir," said Mullin.

"The United States of America, Jack. The United States of America."

Mullin nodded impassively.

"I want all their athletes dead," Mkombu said.

"Whatever you want, Jim Bob," Mullin said.

15

CHAPTER TWO

His name was Remo and he never played games. So instead of climbing up the side of the Hefferling Building in Chicago as he would have if stealth had been required, he walked in the front door, off North Michigan Street, just a wolf-whistle away from the Playboy building. He walked past the guard to the bank of elevators in the back.

As he waited for the elevator, Remo wondered how much energy it consumed to carry people to the higher floors. He thought that people would be much better off if they walked, and it would help solve the energy shortage too. He thought about running up the fourteen floors to the office of Hubert Hefferling, president of the Hefferling energy group, as his personal contribution to solving the energy crisis.

Then he remembered why he was there and decided he was making a big enough contribution to America's energy problems, and when the elevator came and opened its door, he stepped inside.

Remo did not care about heating oil shortages or gas shortages because he did not own a house or a car. But there were people who did care, and it was for these people that Remo Williams was going to kill a man he had never met.

He walked past the receptionist inside the suite of offices on the fourteenth floor and presented himself to Hefferling's pretty young secretary.

18

"I've come to decimate Mister Hefferling. Is he in?" Remo said.

The secretary's name was Marsha. She was equipped with a full range of retorts for people who wanted to bother Mr. Hefferling about the gas shortage or the oil shortage-particularly the gas shortage-but when she looked up, all the retorts became lodged in her throat.

Not that Remo was exceptionally handsome, but he had dark hair and high cheekbones and deepset dark eyes that seemed to rivet her to her chair. He was about six feet tall and thin, except for his wrists which were like tomato cans.

Marsha opened her mouth to speak, closed it, opened it and closed it again. She got that feeling in her stomach that she got when she saw dint Eastwood hi the movies.

"Sir?" she managed to sputter.

"Hefferling. I've come to decimate him. Where is he?"

"Of course, sir. I'll announce you. May I have your name please?" she asked and hoped he would give her his address and telephone number too and wondered why this lean, dark man made her feel so ... so ... well, outright raunchy.

"Tell him that Everyman is here to see him," Remo said.

"Of course, sir. Mr. Everyman."

He leaned closer to her and said, "But you can call me Ev."

"Ev. Yes, sir. Of course. Ev. When can I call you Ev?"

"Anytime," Remo said.

"Tonight? Right now?"

"First Hefferling," Remo said.

"Right." She depressed the switch on the intercom, never removing her eyes from Remo's. He smiled and she felt herself blush.

19

"Yes, Marsha?" a voice crackled over the speaker, Remo leaned nearer her and listened in.

"Uh, Mr. Hefferling, there's a Mr. Everyman here to see you, sir," she told her employer.

"Everyman? What the hell kind of-? Does he have an appointment?"

Remo smiled and nodded his head and as if hers were attached to his, Marsha began nodding too and she lied to her boss and said, "Yes, sir. He does. Something about decimals, I think."

"Decimals? What-? Oh, crap, send him in."

"Yes, sir." She clicked off the intercom and told Remo, "You can go in."

"Thank you. Your name's Marsha?"

"Yes. And I live alone," she said, the words coming out in a rush.

"I'd like to talk to you when I come out of Mr. Hefferling's office. You still be around?"

"Absolutely. I'll be here. I'll wait. I won't go anywhere. Promise. I'll be right here."

"Good. Wait for me."

"I will. I promise."

She buzzed Remo into Harold Hefferling's office. He waved to her before entering.

When the door closed behind him, he looked at the man seated at the desk.

"You Hefferling?" Remo asked.

The man was frowning at his appointment book.

"I knew it," he said triumphantly. "You don't have an appointment, Mister Whatever-your-name-is. How much did you give that bitch to let you in? I'll fire her ass right out of this building, boobs or no boobs."

Remo walked toward the desk and the man behind it stood up. Harold Hefferling was in his forties and kept himself in excellent shape. At six-feet-two and two hundred pounds, most of it muscle, he had even taken some karate lessons since the gas shortage, be-

20

cause people who recognized him on the street some-tunes gave in to their deske to take his head off, over their frustration about gas shortages. Apparently, his standing up was meant to intimidate the smaller Remo.

"You," he said, pointing. "Out the same way you came in and take that piece of fluff out there with you." Remo reached out and took Hefferling's index finger between his own right index finger and thumb and told the bigger man, "Don't point. It's not polite."

Although he had no deske to sit down, Harold Hefferling did and abruptly. He looked at his finger. It did not hurt but it seemed to have had something to do with his sitting down.

"Who the hell are you?" he demanded of Remo.

"I told your secretary," said Remo as he perched on the edge of Hefferling's desk. "I am Everyman. I speak for Everyman. If I opened my shirt, you would see a big red 'E' tattooed on my chest and it would stand for Everyman."

"You're nuts," Hefferling said. Suddenly, for a moment, he was frightened. The man was obviously a lunatic, maybe one whose brain had gone soft from spending too many hours in too many gas lines under too much hot sun. He decided to take a softer tone. "Well, what do you want, Everyman? Something about decimals?"

"No," Remo said. "She got that wrong. I said I wanted to decimate you. But I don't want you to think I'm unreasonable. So first you tell me why you make this gas shortage worse and then I'll decide whether I'm going to kill you or not."

Hefferling's mouth dropped open. He made a sound that sounded like "glah, glah." He tried again and it came out clearer. "Kill, kill?"

"Just once," Remo said. "Kill."

21

"You are nuts," Hefferling said. "Stark, raving mad."

"Mad? We're all mad. We're mad because we have to sit on gas lines, because people are killing people on gas lines and the only line you see is the one at the bank when you deposit your money. Mad? Sure. We're fed up and we're not taking it anymore." Remo smiled. He had heard that line in a movie and always wanted to use it.

"But you're wrong. Dead wrong." Hefferling paused and reconsidered the phrase. "I mean, you're wrong. There is a shortage and it's the fault of the Arabs, not me. Honest, Mr. Everyman."

"You can call me Ev," Remo said.

Hefferling was sweating. He closed his eyes as if he were trying hard not to cry.

"Look, Ev, you just don't understand."

"Explain it to me," Remo said.

"Will you please let me talk?" Hefferling screamed. He jumped to his feet. Remo wondered if the room was soundproof.

"Sit down," he advised. Hefferling blinked rapidly, convincing himself that he didn't have to sit down if he didn't want to. After all, whose office was it and who did this Everyman think he was? Remo touched his chest and he sat down.

"Okay now, go ahead," Remo said. "Explain."

Hefferling's eyes rolled as if on the inside of his eyelids was written what he should say. What could he tell this madman?