Warren Murphy: Ship Of Death

As Remo came back toward Skouratis and Chiun, there was a sound that washed over the deck from the men at the stern. It was a song. They were singing.

God bless America,

Land that I love…

"I won't ask you how you did that," Skouratis told Remo.

"Just my native charm, I guess."

The first officer joined them. "Everything is secure, Mr. Skouratis."

"Good," the Greek said. "You have done well. You are a good sailor." He pronounced the word with the reverence usually reserved for speaking God's name.

"Thank you, sir." The young officer's face flushed with warmth and pride.

Suddenly, a pair of arms were thrown around Skouratis' neck from behind.

"Oh, Demo. I was so worried." It was Helena. She tried to kiss Skouratis. He turned and pushed her away.

"Your father is a pimp," he said. His voice dripped hatred.

"I am not my father."

"No. But you are a Thebos. And the slime that runs in his veins runs in yours. That pimp tried to destroy this vessel."

"I didn't… I don't…"

She stood there as a supplicant in her white gown, her hands raised gently near her hips, looking for solace but finding none in Skouratis' eyes.

"Another thing," he said coldly. "Tomorrow, in the press of the world, will be a story that will seem to indicate that your father was my secret partner in the building of this ship. I want you to know that is not correct. I engineered that story to embarrass your father. But this is a ship. It was built by a seaman. By me. Skouratis. What could your father have to do with such a thing? Pimps build nothing, except stupid daughters. Begone, piece of filth."

Helena backed away as if his words were blows. Her face went white, then red. "Shoeshine boy," she spat. "My father will crush you like the beggar in the streets you deserve to be. And I will help him. There will be no rest for the Thebos' clan until garbage like you is swept away. Pig."

Skouratis waved his hand at her, as if dismissing a naughty child, too stupid to be punished.

Helena backed away a few more steps, stared at Skooratis hard as if impressing his visage on her memory forever, then walked away without a look back. Her shoulders were straight; her back a ramrod. She was a person with a mission, a mission that would sustain her all her life, because the mission was hatred and when everything else died, hatred still lived.

"You didn't exactly win any points there," Remo told Skouratis.

"It had to be done," the Greek said.

"Of course. It had to be done," Chiun said.

"She hates you, you know," Remo said.

"I want her to. What would life be without a Thebos whose nose I can rub in dung? And there is no joy in it if they are just victims. They must hate me to make my moment even sweeter."

Remo looked over toward the Thebos yacht, barely visible a thousand yards from Ship of States, cruising easily along through the Atlantic.

"I'd think he hates you enough," Remo said, "without your getting the daughter turned against you, too."

Skouratis looked at his watch.

"Too late for him. Too late." The words died out in a tremendous explosion. A thousand yards away, the center of the Thebos yacht erupted in a giant ball of fire.

The force of the blast shot flames skyward and against the flames could be seen bodies flying into the air. Then there was another explosion and the stern of the yacht blew into the air.

Remo saw Helena Thebos move to the rail and scream.

"Too late for Thebos," said Skouratis, smiling slightly. "It is always too late for a pimp."

"How the hell did that happen?" asked Remo. As he watched, the Thebos yacht exploded again. It broke into sections and they dropped into the water like jagged stones.

"Who knows?" said Skouratis with an expressive shrug. "Perhaps all the explosives he had stored on board?"

Then Remo remembered something he had seen earlier: two thin streams of air bubbles leading from the Skouratis launch to Thebos' yacht.

"Or maybe some underwater mines planted by frogmen?" Remo said. He looked at Skouratis carefully.

"One never knows. The sea is a risky mistress," Skouratis said. He turned and looked out at the ocean, which had swallowed up Thebos and his ship.

"Good-bye, pimp and panderer. You were never of the stuff to be a seaman."

Helena Thebos stopped screaming. She shouted at Skouratis. "Murderer! Murderer! Murderer!"

"A pimp's death is not murder. It is garbage removal," Skouratis said coolly.

"Now I know what they mean," said Remo.

"What do they mean?"

"Never turn your back on a Greek," Remo said.

Skouratis laughed, then leaned closer to Remo and said, "I like you and the Oriental gentleman. Would you work for me?"

Cbiun's eyebrows raised and, as Remo started to speak, Chiun tapped him on the shoulder. "Remo. Please leave this to me. I should handle all such negotiations."

"Not this time, Little Father. The last time you did it, you had us working for Persians." He turned to Skouratis.

"Thanks, but; no thanks," Remo said.

"You have a job?" asked Skouratis.

"We have a job," Remo said.

"With whom?" asked Chiun. "Whom do we have a job with? I would like to know of it. This is the first I have heard of it. Who has a job?"

"Ignore him," Remo said. "We have a job." Remo's lips were pressed tight. Skouratis shrugged.

"Just for my own curiosity," he said, "whom do you have a job with?"

Remo pointed down to where Dr. Harold W. Smith slumped unconscious against the deck railing.

"With him."

"Oh," said Chiun. "Remo, you are gross."

"Shhhhh," said Remo.

"If you ever change your mind," Skouratis said, "you need only call on me."

"Thanks," said Remo.

"We will," said Chiun. "We will. We most certainly will."

"Don't count on it," Remo said.