Warren Murphy: Terror Squad

He turned and led the way into the museum, through the great entrance hall, up the stairs and into the back gallery where the whale hung.

He flung back his arm dramatically toward the whale, stepped back so Chum could see and said, "There."

"There what?"

Remo turned. Only the belt still hung from the whale's open mouth. Nuihc was gone. Remo ran to the steps and looked down into the gallery. On the floor at the bottom lay the sprawled figure of Joan Hacker.

Remo ran down the stairs to her and turned her over. Her face had been split open. Blood poured from a fracture near her temple and jagged pieces of bone protruded through her fresh young skin.

"Nuihc did it," she gasped. "When you left, he said he loved me. He needed me for his revolution. I climbed down and untied him. Then when I got down, he hit me."

Remo looked at the wound and knew that Nuihc could have killed her instantly had he chosen. He had chosen to kill her slowly. Why?

"Did he tell you anything? To tell me?" Remo asked.

"He said to tell you he would be back. And the next time you would not be so lucky."

She groaned. "Remo?"

"Yes, Starlight."

"Why did he hit me? Didn't he want me with him in the new world?"

And because he did not want to hurt her any more, Remo tried to find an answer. Finally, he said, "He knew I loved you. He could see it in my eyes. He just didn't want to lose you to me, or to my side."

"Would your side have me?"

"Any side would be happy to have you," Remo said.

Joan Hacker smiled broadly, showing a newly capped upper right frontal bicuspid, and died in Remo's arms.

Remo had once seen a picture, painted by Hyacinthe Kuller, of a young girl asleep, and as Joan's eyes drifted closed, he thought again of that picture and how Joan at last looked satisfied.

He put her down gently and looked up at Chiun.

"Should we chase him?" Remo asked.

"No. He is gone now. We have only to wait. When we want him, he will find us."

"When he does, Chiun, he's mine."

"Is it of any importance to me what two amateurs do to each other? I wish to keep you alive only long enough to take me to Brooklyn to visit the Streisand shrine."

"All right, all right, Chiun, enough, enough. Today. I promise."

But there were things to do first. Back at the apartment, Remo changed, and while he was in the bedroom, Smith appeared.

"The antiterrorist pact was approved by the nations today by a unanimous vote," he said to Remo, as he came from the bedroom door.

"Terrific," Remo said, sarcastically. "It won't do one damn bit of good. It's another piece of paper that governments will ignore or tear up whenever it suits their purpose."

"I'm sure the President will be interested in your viewpoints, particularly coming as they do from someone with such a rich background of international political experience." Smith sniffed, as if smelling something bad, and Remo knew he was back to normal.

So Remo said, "Because you threw us a curve ball on this one and nearly got us killed with your meddling. ..."

"Meddling?"

"Yes, meddling," Remo said.

"You are probably the only functionary in the world who thinks a superior's order is meddling."

"Have it your own way," Remo said. "Anyway, because of that, Chiun and I are going out to blow a month's pay."

"Oh? Should I know where you'll be?"

"We're going to Brooklyn," Remo said.

"It's impossible to blow a month's pay in Brooklyn," Smith said.

"Just watch us," Remo said.

By the time Remo was dressed and ready to leave, the afternoon news was on and the announcer was speaking cheerily of the antiterrorist pact which would serve to turn worldwide terrorists into hunted animals.

"The nations of the world today have served notice that civilized people will protect themselves from mad dogs, no matter under what political flag those mad dogs hide."

Halfway across a nation, Mrs. Kathy Miller watched the same newscast. She thought back now of the terror of only ten days ago. It all seemed as if it had happened to someone else, far back in the past. She remembered the rape and she remembered her dead baby, but strangely, equally strong were the memories of the good and gentle man who had sat next to her, and who had told her that life was beautiful and that those who believed in life would survive.

And for that moment, Mrs. Miller believed it. She stood, turned off the television set and went into the bedroom where her late-working husband still slept, determined to join with him in love, to create a new life in her body.