Warren Murphy: Terror Squad

Unlike Nuihc to be so careless. But was it carelessness? Or was it something else?

Chiun shook him head slightly. And there was Remo to worry about. The child was not always sensible, risking death when he was free to depart. Not that the danger was that terrible. If Nuihc should harm Remo, he would spend the rest of his days in hiding or in flight, because the Master of Sinanju would track him to earth and Chiun's vengeance would be implacable and terrible to see. Surely, Nuihc would know this. So again, why would he use such childish means as hints and telephone calls, to entice Remo to come after him? Perhaps there was something else on Nuihc's mind. There were many things Chiun could not understand.

Chiun passed within inches of Dr. Smith who was marching back and forth, balefully staring at the crowd. He seemed to be trying to focus his eyes. Poor Dr. Smith. Chiun hoped that he would regain his senses before it was all too late.

Chiun seemed to drift in and out among the Army officers, at first visible, then gone, visible, then gone, so that there was no steady vision of him that a guard or a policeman could have moved to intercept. Instead, he was here, in bright sunshine, in front of 20,000 people-like an apparition, an afterglow, which vanishes between one blink and the next.

He was past the guards now and moving briskly with the Army contingent along the corridors of the United Nations building, toward the sections in the back where the main Assembly room was and which was bordered by conference rooms, small meeting rooms and offices.

The group of Army officers was led by a tall, sandy-haired man in his mid-forties who wore the stars of a major general on a pale tan gabardine suit. He carried an attaché case, as did all the men with him, and now the general turned to look over him men, and he saw Chiun's face. Chiun met his eyes, but the general said nothing and made no acknowledgement. Instead, he led the way into a small room alongside the main Assembly hall. Chiun was in the middle of the group as they moved into the room.

Why had not the general acknowledged Chum's existence? It was almost as if he had expected the Master to be there.

The last man into the room locked the door behind them, and now the men moved quickly. They began to peel off their Army uniforms. Underneath, they wore light blue shirts. From their attaché cases, they took thin silk robes which they slipped on, and burnooses which they placed on their heads. And finally handguns.

And all the while Chiun watched, as the men moved wordlessly. Handguns? Why? Why not explosives? Or gas? Why have gone this far to risk all on the poor marksmanship of one's men? Handguns were for single targets in enclosed areas; not for broad masses of men hi a big open assembly room. Only for single targets in enclosed areas.

And then Chiun knew.

The diplomats who were to meet outside in minutes were not the targets of these assassins.

There was only one target, and he was in an enclosed area. The target was Chiun and he was now locked in the room with the twelve armed men who planned to kill him. And Remo would be at Nuihc's mercy. Nuihc would not hesitate to kill, because he knew that his own men would have killed Chiun.

The anger rose in his throat like a roar. The Master of Sinanju did not die like that. For the sin of arrogance, Nuihc would bleed longer than was necessary before Chiun took his full measure of justice.

Churn's eyes met those of the man who had worn the general's stars. He was wearing now a thin red silk robe with a silver moon on its chest, and a silver burnoose, and he held a .45 automatic pointed at Chum's chest. With a smile, he touched his hand to his chest, his forehead, and then moved it toward Chiun in the traditional Arabic salaam, but his mistake was moving his hand toward Chiun.

Chiun took the hand in flight and wheeled with it. The big man's body followed and he went over Chiun into a pile of men, all of whom had faced Chiun with drawn weapons.

And then Chiun was among them.

"You dare?" his voice shrieked, as his hands and arms and feet wreaked destruction on the men in the room. Shots fired. Two. Three. Then a fusillade, but Chiun was among the men and he could not be hit. He grabbed burnooses and men whirled, by their headpieces-crashing into others, and downing them like bowling pins.

"You dare?" Chiun screamed again, and while the men in the room paid the first instalment of the price of his anger, the anger was at Nuihc first, but then also at himself, because he had let himself be fooled, and had allowed Remo to go, perhaps to his death. Because, in a battle of even strengths, the one who planned would win.

There were more shots, scattered, and than a final desperate salvo, and then there were no more shots because there were no more men left alive to fire the guns. And when the door opened and security men poured through, Chiun moved silently through them, out into the corridor, and one of the men asked, "Did you see an old guy?" and the other said, "For Christ sake, how could anybody get past us?"

There might still be time. Nuihc, secure in the knowledge of Chiun's death, might dally with Remo; he might try pain; he might keep Remo alive for minutes, for even hours, to savour him triumph. There might still be time.

In the hall, Chiun saw a familiar figure running toward him. It was Dr. Smith.

"Chiun," he said. "I just realized. The Army officers. What happened?"

"They will kill no one, Dr. Smith."

"The diplomats are safe?"

"The diplomats were always safe. The assassins came for me, and they found me. Now, quickly. Where in this city are there dinosaurs to be found?"

"Dinosaurs?"

"Yes. Ancient reptiles who no longer walk the earth."

Smith hesitated and Chiun snapped, "Quickly. Unless you want yet another death on your hands."

"The only dinosaurs I ever saw are in the Museum of Natural History."

"And that is near here?"

"Yes."

"Thank you. Remo will be glad you are again well."

Chiun was gone. Out in front, the mob still surged and swelled against the police lines as rumour and word began to filter out that there had been deaths inside. But Chiun was through the lines and then the crowd, without ever touching a shoulder to another's body. A half-block away, a taxicab was stopped in traffic. It was empty. Chiun opened the front door and slipped into the front seat.

The driver turned to look at him and Chiun impaled him with him eyes. Then, glancing at the driver's registration over the windshield, he said: "P. Worthington Rosenbaum, you will take me to the Museum of Natural History. You will ride on the sidewalk if necessary to get me there rapidly. You will make no conversation if you wish to live. If you do all these things well, you will be rewarded. Now go."

P. Worthington Rosenbaum decided at that moment that he was leaving the taxi business, and going into partnership in a yarn shop with his sister. But first, he would get rid of this last half-a-deck at the Museum of Natural History.

As he tromped on the gas pedal, Chiun sat back in the seat The ancient legend said that one typhoon was still when another passed. Well, Chiun still moved and if Nuihc began to roar, he would find the truth of the old legend that said one typhoon must die. In the place of dead animals.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

It was very strange, what they were talking about. She was sure it was very significant. But the cocaine had made it so hard to concentrate. It was nice and dreamy. The whole world was nice and dreamy. It was wonderful being a revolutionary heroine.

But there were so many things she did not understand.

Nuihc-it was funny that he had never told her his name before-had said that Remo and the old gook were targets. But he must have been fooling, because the whole filthy exploitive capitalist system was the target. Of that, she was sure. Nuihc was as dedicated to the cause of the righteous revolution of the oppressed as she was. Without any doubt.