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him.
Chiun willed his heart to be momentarily still. It did not stop. It merely
beat with exceeding slowness, a technique that, if prolonged, would result in
a catalepsy that simulated death.
"No fair," Remo complained. "I can't hear your heartbeat."
Chuin said nothing. He was holding his breath. He stepped backward with
exceeding caution, his sandaled feet making no sound on the glassy floor. He
moved aside to allow Remo to pass him unsuspecting.
Without tripping or stumbling, Remo made it down the glass tube and into the
central air pocket, where he immediately fell over the body of the defeated
one.
"Is this him?" Remo asked, feeling the padded body.
"Yes," said Chiun, allowing his heart and lungs to function normally once
more.
"I don't feel any head."
"Proof of its undeniable Martianness. For it has none."
"I saw him. For just a second. It had a head."
"A helmet. I removed it. But no head lay beneath it.
Remo felt the shoulders, then brought his hands together.
"Feels like there's a stump."
Frowning, Chiun went to the bullet helmet and lifted it up.
Shaking it vigorously, he got a head to fall out with an audible bonk.
"Was that what I think it was?" asked Remo, getting to his feet.
"Yes," returned Chiun thinly. "The head."
"What's it look like?"
"Ugly."
"How ugly?" asked Remo, drawing near, his face curious.
"Exceedingly ugly."
"What color skin?"
"Yellow."
"The Martian is yellow skinned?"
"Yes. With hideous eyes and a flat nose."
"Better save it for Smith, then."
"Of course," said Chiun, dropping the head into its helmet and carrying it
like a baseball in a catcher's mitt. "Now it is time that we leave this place
of shame."
Remo fell in behind the Master of Sinanju, his face and voice dazed and dull.
"I only caught a glimpse of him-it," he said thickly. "I was moving on him,
and everything went white."
"You see whiteness still?"
"Yeah. What does that mean? Anything?"
Chiun frowned. "I do not know. Perhaps because you are white, this is
normal."
Remo shook his head and felt for the stepladder top rung with his feet. "Blind
people see darkness. Everybody knows that."
Chiun said nothing in response. His eyes were clouded and troubled.
Remo descended with careful movements. Chiun followed. They worked their way
back through the underground kitchen to the camouflage trapdoor and emerged
into the hot Arizona air once more.
"Follow me," said Chiun.
Remo did. He said nothing. His face was loose with a kind of dull shock.
Several times he licked his lips as if he wanted to say something, but instead
compressed them. The color of his face was very, very pale. His breathing was
out of rhythm.
Chiun let these things pass. There was no danger here, so it was not
important. No danger. No future, either. Not for Remo. Not for the House.
They came upon Amos Bulla and Tom Pulse near the collapsed BioBubble.
"Something happened inside the BioBubble," Pulse said when he saw them.
"It is not important," Chiun said thinly.
"The whole thing shone white for a moment. It was like a big light bulb. Or a
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flying saucer about to take off."
"Yeah," said Amos Bulla. "I saw it with my own eyes."
Chiun's voice climbed to the sky. "What! You saw?"
"Yeah."
"You were blind."
"My eyes cleared up."
Turning, Chiun cried, "Remo, did you hear that?"
"Of course. I'm not deaf. Just blind."
"And you are only blind for now. For the affliction is not permanent."
"Whew!" said Remo in relief.
"He got you, too?" Bulla asked.
"Yeah, but we got him," said Remo, sitting down to wait for his sight to
clear.
Bulla and Pulse gathered around the Master of Sinanju.
"Is that what I think it is?" Bulla asked, indicating the silver helmet in
Chiun's long-nailed grasp.
"Yes. It is his head."
"How'd it come off?"
"It was loose. A mere tap unbalanced it."
"Martians must be made of flimsy stuff," Bulla said, avoiding the sight of the
head in the helmet.
"I don't believe in men from Mars," said Remo, not wanting to be left out of
the conversation even if he couldn't see what was under discussion.
"It has a yellow visage and horrible, catlike eyes," said Chiun.
"Yeah?"
"Truly."
"Hey!" said Remo suddenly, "I think I'm starting to see again." He stood up.
Blinking his eyelids, he waved his fingers before his face. After a while, his
features brightened and the pinpoint pupils slowly relaxed to normal size.
"I can see again. I can see again!"
"Clearly?" asked Chiun, concealing his joy with a stern tone.
"No, just my fingers. They're a blur. But it's coming back."
"Try closing your eyes. That'll help some," said Bulla.
Remo did.
"When the whiteness becomes red, you'll know you're okay," Bulla offered.
"It's starting to happen," said Remo.
"Open your eyes, Remo," Chiun instructed.
Remo obliged. The whites of his eyes had already lost much of their thready
redness. His Sinanju-enhanced system accelerated the healing process.
He found himself looking at the Martian's dead face. "That's the Martian?" he
blurted.
"Yes. Is his countenance not terrible to behold?" said Chiun.
Frowning, Remo took the head in both hands. "This Martian looks suspiciously
Chinese."
"I have always wondered about the Chinese. They seem unsuited for this
planet," Chiun sniffed.
"This guy is Chinese," Remo exploded.
"There's something written inside this helmet," Pulse said.
"What's it say?" asked Remo, striding up.
" 'Property of FORTEC.'"
"What the hell is FORTEC?" asked Amos Bulla.
"It's the Foreign Technology Department of the U.S. Air Force," Tom Pulse
supplied.
"Never heard of it," Bulla scoffed.
"It's ultrasecret. People say it investigates alien technology."
"Space aliens?" said Remo.
"That's the rumor. The truth is they're interested in exotic technology.
Foreign to the US. Unusual propulsion systems. New laser applications. That
sort of thing."
"So they could investigate flying saucers if they took a mind to?" Bulla
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asked.
"It's in their mission. Technically."
"This Chinese guy is one of ours?" Remo asked.
"He is not one of mine," spat Chiun, dropping the head back into its helmet
and kicking the gleaming shell away.
From the cell phone in their rented car, Remo put in a call to Harold Smith at
Folcroft Sanitarium, the cover for CURE.
"Ever hear of FORTEC?" Remo asked Smith after the call was rerouted through
sixteen states and scrambled to avoid eavesdropping by National Security
Agency monitors.
"Yes. You have FORTEC credentials yourself, and have used them in the past."
"I can't keep track of all my covers," Remo growled.
"Why do you ask?"
"They sent one of their guys out here. He blinded me with something that looks
like a flashlight."
"Laser blinding technology is under development by the Army."
"He was wearing some kind of quilted spacesuit," added Remo.
"A high-tech battle suit also under Army development."
"Why wear combat gear on an investigation?"
"Perhaps because he is not certain what he will encounter," suggested Smith.
"You could ask him."
"I could, but Chiun knocked his block off. So to speak."
Smith groaned. "Are there witnesses?"
"Not to the act, but a crowd is gathering around the head."
Smith groaned again. "Pull out," he ordered.
"We haven't got anything. Unless you like Chiun's theory."
"Which is?"
"A sun dragon. It's Korean for 'comet.'"
"The Korean word for 'comet' is hyesong, " returned Harold Smith.
"I stand corrected," Remo said dryly.
"If you have nothing better," said Smith, "pull out."
"The BioBubble PR head is here."
"Find out who is backing the project."
"That should be easy. Hold the line."
Remo walked up to Amos Bulla and said, "We found the big kitchen under the
BioBubble."
"I'm only director of public relations. I don't handle logistics or supply."
"But you're not supposed to have any kitchen," Remo persisted. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]