Warren Murphy: Oil Slick

"Nothing much," said Remo. "Just you."

"Men, start the cars," said Clogg. He backed off toward one of the limousines. The man Remo had put to the ground did not stir, not even when Remo reached in under his light jacket and withdrew his revolver.

Remo moved into his own car.

"Hey, these cars won't start." Remo heard voices. He started his Ford and backed it away thirty feet before stopping it. A light pinkish patch appeared in the eastern sky.

"How will we get back? The sun's coming up."

Remo called out. "Easy. You walk."

Clogg protested. The men protested. One man protested so much that he came up to Remo with a gun in his hand. He hit the ground before the gun did.

Remo still held the gun in his hand. He turned on the Ford's headlights and fired a shot into the air over the men's heads. "All right. Everybody drop their guns."

He watched and counted, as the men, blinded by the high beams, complied. Then with another shot into the air, Remo herded them back along the road to Dapoli, Remo behind them driving in first gear, slowly, but fast enough so the men had to walk briskly to avoid being run down.

The sun lingered before making up its mind to rise, then jumped to its act with passion and soon was beating down. The heat shimmered from the sand, the black macadam road absorbing most of the heat and hurting the feet of the men.

Clogg began to lag behind the young men, and twice Remo bumped him with the car. The second time Clogg stumbled but caught himself and almost trotted to get some distance in front of Remo.

"What is it you want?" he called over his shoulder.

"To see you dead."

"How long are we going to walk?"

"Until you die from the heat."

"We could overpower you, you know."

"Try it," said Remo.

The men marching ahead heard Clogg. They knew that only a few hours exposure to the merciless Lobynian sun could weaken a man to the point of death. Fighting was better than giving up. They turned and split into two groups, all eight of them moving toward the car, circling it now.

Remo ignored them and looked toward the left, searching for something.

"Look, men," he called. "Water." He pointed to the left.

The men turned and saw the trees of the oasis that had been marked on Remo's map. They forgot everything else and began to run through the sand toward the trees.

Remo put the car into second and drove through the soft sand, skirting the men. He turned off the engine and was standing beside the car waiting for them when they arrived.

There was, behind him, a pool of crystal water, shaded from the sun by an overhang of palm trees, surrounded by a ring of bushes.

The men saw the water. They saw Remo, too, but ignored him and plunged through the almost knee-deep sand toward the oasis.

"Hold it, men," yelled out Remo. "We just can't have everybody filling up every which way."

"Why not?" one yelled. "There's plenty of water."

"Yes," said Remo holding the gun in front of him. "But we've got to have even distribution. We're going to take all this water and ship it to England."

"Why?" gasped one of the men, panic and confusion fighting for control of his face.

"Because you never can tell when the water shortage is going to hit England."

"Screw you, I'm getting water," one man said and plunged forward.

He was moving past Remo when he was felled by a hand to the throat. His falling body kicked up light puffs of silvery dust and then he did not move.

"All right, men," called Remo. "Now let's do this right Everybody get in line."

The men sullenly complied.

"Now you've got to wait your turn," said Remo. "Straighten that line out."

The line formed, Clogg in front, and started to move forward.

"Hold it," called Remo. "We can't have any chaos here. It's got to be orderly. Wait your turn."

"It is my turn. I'm first," protested Clogg.

"Oh, no," said Remo. "There's a bird drinking over there. And there's a monkey waiting. You've got to wait. Stay where you are."

Remo hopped up onto the hot hood of the Ford and waited.

"And don't forget. There's a one-spoon limit No more."

The men just stared at him.

"That's right," Remo said. "One spoon. We've got to have enough for our regular customers."

The bird on the far side of the oasis flew up into one of the trees,

"Can I go now?" said Clogg.

"Wait a minute," Remo said. "This is an even numbered day. Are you odd or even?"

"Even," gasped Clogg.

"Sorry," said Remo. "I don't believe you. You all look like odd numbers to me."

The men snarled and surged forward.

"That's it," Remo said. "Closing down for the day." He hopped off the car and stood before them with his gun. Even though they were frantic, they declined to challenge his weapon.

"Everybody to the car," he said.

The men looked at him, then trudged toward the open convertible. They piled in and watched Remo, half-fearing, half-hoping, and in a flash of hands, Remo put them all to sleep, still alive.

He slid into the driver's seat, started the engine and drove out away from the oasis, toward the limitless sands that stretched away forever on Remo's map, unbroken by so much as a single tree.

As he drove, Remo found a wrench in the glove compartment and reached down to wedge it between the gas pedal and the firewall. It stuck tightly and the motor began to race. Remo threw in the clutch and let the car coast to a stop, then shifted into first gear, grinding the gears past the racing engine.

He let the clutch out slowly and the car powered forward. He estimated that there was an hour's gas left in the car, even in first gear. The men would be out in two hours at least.

Remo waited until the car was moving nicely, tracking straight across the flat straight sand, then he stood up on the seat and jumped out of the convertible. He watched the car continue forward, picking up speed, carrying its unconscious cargo. They would come to when the car had run out of gas. And they would die in the desert.

Remo watched the car leave, then threw it a salute. So they would die. What did they expect?

"You expect more from an American," he mumbled. "And you get it."

Remo turned back toward Dapoli and started out in a fast trot to the capital city. It was a good day for a run; he had not been getting enough exercise lately.

He saw one car on the way back to the city, but it was on the far road leading from the Mountains of Hercules and he ignored it. He didn't feel like riding anyway.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Remo and Clogg's party had not been the only people on the desert in the predawn darkness.

Colonel Baraka had awakened in his bed with a vague feeling of fear. He glanced around and saw Nuihc standing next to his bed, looking down at him. The small night-light that burned in the room cut Nuihc's soft yellow face into harsh angles of black, and he looked evil and angry.

"Up, wog," said Nuihc.

Without bothering to protest, Baraka rose and dressed, then followed Nuihc wordlessly out of the palace to the back, where they entered a limousine. Baraka got behind the wheel and Nuihc directed him out into the desert on the most southerly road, leading through miles and miles of desert toward the Mountains of Hercules rising in the background.

Baraka spoke to Nuihc several times, but he got no answer, and finally he stopped trying to make conversation.

They were an hour out of Dapoli when Nuihc finally spoke.

"This will do," he said.

Baraka looked at him, and Nuihc snarled, "Stop the car, wog."

Baraka stopped the limousine in the middle of the road, turned off the key and waited.

"I should have known better than to expect honesty from a swineherd," Nuihc said.

Baraka only looked at him. Nuihc was staring out the windshield at the Mountains of Hercules far in the distance.