[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
the Japanese trained men for suicide missions. Through certain techniques they
were convinced they could bring glory to themselves and to their emperor."
"You're talking kamikazes, right?" Remo asked. "What do they have to do with
this?"
"The Japanese method was crude. It was stolen from Sinanju by the first
Emperor, Jimmu Tenno, 2600 years ago."
Remo frowned deeply. "Yeah? Well, I think Jimmy What's-his-name is off the
hook. This guy's not Japanese. He's just some Mafia slug from Jersey."
Chiun said nothing. Remo could see that the old man was troubled.
"Look, I wouldn't sweat it," Remo said. "Two thousand years is a long time.
Jimmy's long dead by now. Besides, I've seen you in action. Who in their right
mind would want to mess with you?"
At this, Chiun turned a hazel eye to his pupil. "Someone who wishes to test
the Master," he intoned quietly.
Page 109
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
And though Remo pressed him to elaborate, the wizened Korean would say nothing
more.
SMITH HAD QUIZZED Remo on the phone codes and gave him another ten-minute
window to call in at eleven o'clock. Remo made the call from the junkyard's
office trailer. Over the scrambled line he quickly explained the situation.
"Is Master Chiun certain?" Smith asked urgently. Remo glanced out the window.
The old Korean stood out in the yard surrounded by a pile of heads. "You're
kidding, right?" Remo asked. "Hell, I almost confessed. It sounds like the
real deal to me."
"I will alert the Secret Service and the local authorities in Washington,"
Smith said.
"I don't think they'll cut it. Chiun's convinced that this is some sort of
special attack that only he can stop. Don't ask me how he knows, but he says
he's certain."
Up the coast in his darkened office in Folcroft sanitarium, the worry lines
formed deep on Dr. Harold W. Smith's face. Smith had already lost one
President on his watch. Granted, CURE was barely operational in those days,
but it had eaten at him for the past decade. He could not bring himself to
lose another so soon.
"This could be even more problematic," Smith said. "The remains of Senators
Pierce and O'Day are to be flown to Washington for a public viewing at the
Capitol tomorrow. It's going to be a big affair. Every major political figure
in the nation is likely to attend."
"Get them to cancel it," Remo said.
"On what grounds?" Smith asked. "A possible assassination attempt? These days
every public function attended by political figures comes at great risk for
those attending. And we don't know for certain that's where the attack will
come, if an attack even comes at all."
"Then let it go on. Just convince the President to skip it," Remo argued.
"The two deceased senators were members of the opposing political party,"
Smith explained. "I doubt he would risk not attending. However, I will convey
my concerns."
"Viaselli's the one behind all this," Remo said, exhaling angry frustration.
"It sounds like he's snapped his twig. Lemme go after him."
"He owns property around New York and around the nation," Smith explained. "He
could be anywhere. By the time you find him, it might be too late to derail
his plan."
"So we go with Chiun's option," Remo said. "Send us both down to protect the
President." Smith's hand was tight on the blue contact phone. "It would be a
terrible risk to send you to Washington," he said.
It was only a few months since Remo had been brought aboard. Even with the
plastic surgery, this could be too great a gamble. And MacCleary had handled
the recruitment. If Smith lost Remo now, he might be losing the only
enforcement arm CURE would ever have. To make matters worse, this conversation
had been far too specific. If the CURE line had been tapped, the agency could
already be lost.
All of this and more did Smith consider in the briefest of moments. He made an
abrupt decision. "Go," Smith ordered. "Get a flight to Washington National
Airport. I'll have documents waiting for you when you arrive. Try to stop
whatever this is. With luck you may be able to save him."
"And if we don't?" Remo asked.
"Have you seen the vice President?" Smith asked. "We've got to save the
president," Remo said. "One thing, however," the CURE director said before his
field operative could hang up. "If there is a hint that you might be
compromised, let the assassins succeed." The words were difficult to get out.
"Better to lose another chief executive than allow CURE to be exposed."
"Gotcha," Remo's voice said. He broke the connection.
The CURE director hung up the phone. With a world-weary sigh he swiveled in
his chair.
Long Island Sound sparkled cold and black under the midnight moon. In the
Page 110
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
quiet of his heart as he watched the waves roll to shore, Harold Smith said a
silent prayer for the nation he loved and for the souls of all the men who
would lead it.
Chapter 25
Eight months ago Alphonso "Rail" Ravello wouldn't have believed it was
possible. Eight months ago he was a Viaselli foot soldier, loyal only to his
Family. Back then he wouldn't have dreamed of swearing allegiance to anyone
but his beloved Don, let alone someone like Mr. Winch.
"Goddamned Chink," Alphonso growled when he first heard about the little
Oriental who had wormed his way into the Viaselli organization. "He ain't
tough. Gimme a crack at him. Kid in my neighborhood got shot down by some
Vietcong. Gimme five minutes with that Winch and I'll show him what's what for
shootin' down our boys."
Everyone was whispering about this Mr. Winch. They said he was unkillable.
That he could disappear at will. They claimed he killed three men in the lobby
of the Royal Plaza, fourteen floors down from where Don Carmine Viaselli ruled
like a feudal lord over his personal fiefdom of Manhattan.
No matter what he thought of the rest, Rail Ravello absolutely did not believe
that last one. Don Carmine would never let someone get away with whacking his
own soldiers in his own building. If that part of the story was true, this
Winch would have been put on ice so fast it would have made his head spin.
When he found out he was being loaned to the creepy little Oriental who had
somehow gotten in good with his Don, Alphonso almost refused. But then he
thought of what might happen to someone who refused a direct order of his
beloved Don Carmine, the boss of all bosses. With reluctance Alphonso Ravello
accepted the assignment.
He soon found that he wasn't the only one from the Viaselli organization who
had drawn Mr. Winch duty. That first day a handful of others stood with him on
the sticky concrete floor of that lost little warehouse in the swamps of New
Jersey. Mosquitoes buzzed the humid air.
Alphonso wasn't nicknamed Rail because of some unique method of execution he'd
developed for the Viaselli crime Family. No matter how much he ate he stayed
skinny as a rail. One of his less creative companions had mentioned this when
they were teenagers. The name had stuck.
Next to Rail stood Lou "Fatso" Fettuci, who was as fat as Alphonso was skinny.
Down the line was five-foot-tall Anthony "Tiny Tony" Meloni. The rest of the
men seemed pretty average compared to these three.
Mr. Winch personally greeted all of them. With him was that freaky little kid
with the weird blue eyes. Winch blabbed on and on about loyalty and
discipline. How he was going to teach them to be better soldiers for their
Don. At first it all sounded like some sort of orientation for freshman
killers.
[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]