thedestroyer.deathcheck-第12部分

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　back　of　the　chief　of　security。　Remo　was　smiling。　And　humming。
　If　the　time　came；　he　thought；　Schulter　would　be　easy。　A　wiring　switch　on　the　helmet　and　a　tragic　laboratory　accident。　A　quite　different　sort　of　accident　from　the　one　which　almost　befell　another　Brewster　Forum　scientist；　five　minutes　later；　at　theyhands　of　Remo　Pelham。　
　
　CHAPTER　THIRTEEN
　
　One　inch　and　one…fiftieth　of　a　second。　Death　had　e　that　close　to　Anthony　J。　Ferrante；　director　of　bio…feedback　research　at　Brewster　Forum。
　Rerno　had　knocked　at　the　white　cottage　door　bearing　Ferrante's　name　and　pushed　the　door　open　when　a　voice　called　〃e　in。〃
　The　desk　facing　the　door　was　empty　when　Remo　entered。　His　eyes　scanned　the　room　looking　for　Ferrante。
　Did　he　hear　the　sound？　Or　did　he　sense　the　infinitesimal　change　in　pressure　as　an　air　mass　moved　toward　his　left　ear？
　Remo　pivoted　to　the　left　on　the　ball　of　his　left　foot。　His　right　foot　extended　behind　him　and　his　body　dropped　into　a　deep　crouch；　in　time　to　see　a　hand　flashing　down　toward　him　in　a　karate　slash。
　There　was　no　time　to　think；　no　need　to　think。　Thousands　of　hours　of　training　and　practice　had　made　defense　automatic　and　retaliation　instinctive。　Remo's　left　hand　flashed　up　to　the　side　of　his　head　to　catch　and　deflect　the　blow　on　his　wrist。　His　right　hand　had　already　retracted　to　his　hip；　and　without　stopping　had　fashioned　itself　into　the　classical　hand　spear　and　was　moving　forward　toward　the　left　kidney　of　the　man　Remo　had　not　yet　seen。
　Remo's　breath　exploded　in　a　violent　cry　of　〃ai…ee〃　as　his　iron　hand　flashed　on　toward　its　target。　As　it　finished　its　deadly　course；　Remo　felt；　rather　than　saw；　his　opponent's　hand　stop　on　its　downward　path　before　making　contact。　The　man　had　pulled　his　punch。
　Attack　is　instinctive；　triggered　by　the　spinal　column；　its　message　bypassing　the　brain　and　moving　directly　to　the　muscles。　But　calling　off　an　attack？　That　is　an　act　of　intellect；　belonging　to　the　brain；　and　the　brain　was　not　swift　enough　to　stop　Remo's　hand；　to　relax　the　braided　rope　muscles　of　his　arm；　to　soften　the　intensity　of　these　gently　curled　fingertips　which　could　smash　cinder　blocks　into　powder。
　Remo's　brain　did　the　best　it　could　in　one…fiftieth　of　a　second。　It　changed　the　course　of　his　hand　one　inch。　The　hand　spear　slid　over　the　hip　bone　of　his　opponent；　past　the　vulnerable　kidney；　and　crashed　into　a　wooden　coat　rack　standing　alongside　his　assailant。　Fingers　hit　wood　with　the　crack　of　a　china　dish　splintering　on　a　stone　floor。　The　top　half　of　the　coat　rack　paused　drunkenly；　then　fell　to　the　floor；　its　two…inch　thick　wooden　support　split　cleanly　by　the　killing　power　of　Remo's　hand。
　His　opponent　looked　at　the　coat　rack。　Remo　looked　at　his　assailant　for　the　first　time　and　a　saw　a　husky；　middle…aged　man　wearing　the　classic　judogi；　a　black　sash　wrapped　low　around　his　waist。　He　had　a　plexion　like　oiled　olives。　Dark　rings　surrounded　his　eyes；　seeming　even　darker　in　contrast　to　his　highly…glossed　bald　head。　It　was　Ferrante。
　Remo's　left　hand　snaked　out　and　snared　Ferrante's　right　hand。　His　thumb　insinuated　itself　into　a　ganglion　of　nerves　on　the　back　of　the　hand；　just　alongside　the　base　of　the　index　finger。　The　move　brought　excruciating　pain　and　immediate　submission。
　The　man　screamed。　〃Stop　it。　I'm　Ferrante。〃　His　eyes　met　Remo's　in　pained；　embarrassed　truth。
　Remo　squeezed　once　more；　then　released　the　hand。　〃What　the　hell　does　that　make　you？　The　mugger　in　residence？〃
　〃I　wasn't　going　to　hit　you；〃　Ferrante　said；　rubbing　his　damaged　hand。　〃I　just　wanted　to　see　how　good　you　are。　After　yesterday。〃　He　looked　at　the　fractured　coat　rack。　〃You're　good。〃
　Remo　backed　away　to　let　the　man　move　from　the　corner　behind　the　door。　He　breathed　deeply；　slowly；　to　drain　the　tension；　to　allow　his　body　to　back　off　the　heroic　blast　of　adrenalin　that　had　flooded　his　muscles。
　Well；　that　was　it。　If　the　word　came；　Ferrante　would　die　in　the　gymnasium　of。　a　broken　neck；　suffered　in　an　incorrect　judo　fall。　Remo　would　take　great　pleasure　in　bouncing　him　off　a　wall。
　Ferrante　walked　slowly　back　to　his　desk；　still　rubbing　his　hand；　eyes　on　Remo；　spewing　apologies。　Remo　began　to　feel　sorry　tor　the　karate　buff；　for　his　pain；　for　his　embarrassment。　He　wondered　what　Ferrante　would　think　if　he　saw　the　pornographic　photos　of　himself　wearing　only　the　top　of　his　judo　garb。　If　he　hadn't　seen　them　already。
　Ferrante　was　still　talking；　still　apologizing。　〃Look；　it　was　stupid。　How　about　if　we　forget　it　happened；　and　start　al！　over？　You're　probably　wondering　why　you're　here。　What　we　do　here。〃
　Remo　grunted。　He　wasn't　ready　to　forgive　and　forget　yet。
　〃What　we　do　here　is　study　the　mind。　How　it　works。　Each　of　us　has　a　different　discipline。　Mine　is　biofeedback。　Basically　that　means　using　the　pain…pleasure　principle　to　train　people　to　regulate　their　involuntary　body
functions。　For　instance；　we've　had　some　great　success　in　training　people　to　slow　their　pulse　rate。　If　their　rate　goes
too　high；　they　receive　a　small　electric　shock。　As　their　pulse　rate　drops　toward　the　goal；　they　receive　a　pleasurable
electronic　impulse。〃
　〃What　good　is　it？〃　Remo　asked。
　〃Well；　medically；　it's　very　important。　We　could　help　save　lives　of　people　who　are　troubled　with　heart　irregularities。　Asthmatics　could　learn　to　will　their　way　out　of　serious　breathing　attacks。　Psychosomatic　illnesses　could　virtually　be　wiped　out。〃　He　was　warming　to　his　subject　now。
　As　he　talked　on；　Remo　thought　that　Chiun　should　have　been　sent　here　to　investigate　this　place。　The　aged　Korean　with　his　fishheads　and　rice　and　Zen　could　give　all　these　big　brains　a　run　for　their　money。　During　those　long　training　sessions；　he　remembered　seeing　Chiun　slow　his　heart　beat　until　it　was　almost　imperceptible；　his　breathing　rate　until　he　appeared　to　be　dead。　Chiun　had　told　Remo　that　Chiun's　father　could　stanch　the　flow　of　blood　by　thinking　about　it。　〃The　mind；〃　he　said。　〃You　cannot　control　the　body　until　you　control　the　mind。〃
　〃Where　did　you　learn　to　do　it？；〃　Ferrante　intruded　on　Remo's　thoughts。
　〃Do　what？〃
　〃The　business　with　those　shits　out　in　the　courtyard。〃
　〃Around。　Correspondence　courses。　A　one…hour　work…out　every　month　whether　I　want　to　or　not。　Helps　keep　me　in　trim。〃
　Ferrante　had　recovered　his　poise　now。　Still　wearing　the　incongruous　judo　outfit；　he　was　very　much　the　world…renowned　scientist。
　He　showed　Remo　the　equipment　he　worked　with；　and　Remo　thought　that　scientific　equipment　everywhere　on　every　project　is　probably　interchangeable。　These　fakers　probably　trade　it　around　among　themselves　like　used　books。　There　was　a　chair　with　a　hand　grip　through　which　a　minor　electric　shock　passed　into　the　subject　if　he　failed　to　respond　and　another　helmet；　like　Schulter's；　through　which　pleasurable　waves　passed　by　induction　into　the　brain。
　Ferrante　was　offering　to　test　Remo。　Well；　I　owe　him　one。　I'll　give　him　something　to　chew　on。　He　sat　in　the　chair　and　his　resting　pulse　rate　was　sixty…eight。　If　the　rate　went　up；　Ferrante　said；　he'd　get　a　slight　shock　through　the　hand　grip。　A　down　rate　would　bring　a　pleasure　impulse　through　the　helmet　he　placed　over　Remo's　head。
　Ferrante　set　a　metronome　at　sixty…five　beats　per　minute。　〃That's　the　goal；〃　he　told　Remo；　〃but　don't　be　disappointed　if　you　don't　make　it。　Hardly　anyone　does。〃
　The　metronome　was　ticking；　Ferrante　was　holding　Remo's　wrist　in　a　running　check　on　his　pulse；　and　Remo　was　remembering　the　trick　Chiun　had　taught　him。　Set　up　your　own　rhythm；　wipe　out　external　impulses；　speed　up　your　breathing　pattern　to　match　the　desired　heart　rate；　and　let　the　hyper…ventilation　of　the　lungs　slow　the　heart　by　flooding　the　blood　with　oxygen。
　〃Ready？；〃　Ferrante　asked。　〃I'll　call　out　your　heart　rate　as　we　go　along　so　you　can　try　to　adjust。〃
　〃How　bad's　the　shock？〃　Remo　asked。　〃I'm　afraid　of　electric　chairs。〃
　〃Nothing　to　worry　about；〃　Ferrante　said。　〃More　like　a　buzz　than　a　real　shock。　Start。。。。　now。〃
　The　metronome　was　clicking　its　sixty…five　beats　per　minute　and　Remo　tuned　his　breathing　pattern　into　it。
　〃Sixty…eight；〃　Ferrante　called。　Remo　quietly　snorted　his　breath　in　and　out。
　〃Sixty…six。〃
　Remo　closed　his　eyes　to　the　metronome　and　blanked　the　sound　of　its　rhythms　out　of　his　mind。　He　chose　a　new　lower　rhythm；　and　adjusted　his　breathing　to　it。
　〃Sixty…four。〃　Ferrante　was　delighted。　Remo　breathed。
　〃Sixty。〃
…　〃Fifty…nine。〃。
　Remo　decided　to　call　a　halt　when　he　had　dropped　his　heart　rate　down　to　forty…two。　Ferrante　didn't　know　whether　to　be　delighted　or　upset；　or　whether　he　had　been　cheated。
　〃That's　incredible；〃　he　said。　〃I　never　saw　anything　like　that。〃
　〃I　told　you；　I'm　afraid　of　electric　chairs。　And　I've　got　a　low　tolerance　of　pain。〃
　And　then　there　was　Ratchett。　Remo　never　had　a　chance　to　figure　out　what　Ratchett　did；　or　how　to　get　to　him；　because　Ratchett　refused　to　open　the　door　to　his　cottage　which；　unlike　the　other　top　staff；　he　used　only　for　an　office；　preferring　to　live　in　his　eggshell　home　a　few　hundred　yards　away。
　〃Go　away；〃　he　shouted。　〃I　don't　like　you。〃
　〃I　thought　you　wanted　to　see　me；〃　Remo　told　the　closed　door。
　〃If　I　never　see　you；　it　will　be　too　soon。　Go　away。〃
　〃Must　I　assume；　Doctor　Ratchett；　that　you　don't　like　me？〃
　〃You　will　be　well　within　the　limits　of　possibility；　Mister　Pelham；　if　you　assume　that　I　loathe　you。　Now　go　away　before　I　call　a　cop。　One　of　your　own　will　know　how　to　deal　with　you。〃
　Remo　turned　and　walked　away。　Ratchett　too　would　be　easy　if　the　call　came。　He　did　not　realize　that　someone　else　would　issue　the　call　for　Ratchett　before　CURE　did。
　
　CHAPTER　FOURTEEN
　
　Later　that　day；　the　staff　department　heads　of　Brewster　Forum　had　held　their　regular　weekly　meeting　in　Brewster's　office。　Dr。　Deborah　Hirshbloom　was　absent。
　Ferrante　was　talking　about　the　new　director　of　security。　〃So　basically；　he's　a　coward。　Terribly　afraid　of　pain。　Just　the　threat　of　the　electric　shock　produced　an　incredible　swing　hi　his　pulse　rate。〃
　He　sat　down。　Abram　Schulter's　chuckle　broke　the　silence。　〃Inadequate　data；　Professor　Ferrante。　Incorrect　analysis　of　the　inadequate　data。　Mr。　Pelham　is　fearless。　Cold　blooded！　In　brain　wave　analysis；　he　had　absolutely　no　reaction　to　any　of　the　external　stimuli。　None　at　all。〃
　〃Probably；〃　Ratchett　snarled；　〃you　failed　to　have　the　machine　plugged　in。　Did　either　of　you　consider　that　Pel…ham's　intelligence　is　probably　just　too　low　to　respond　adequately　to　stimuli　which　is　emotionally　charged；　but　also　intellectually　powerful？〃
　〃Is　that　your　feeling？〃　Boyle　asked。　〃That　Pelham　is　of　low　intelligence？〃
　〃Of　course；〃　Ratchett　said。　〃Isn't　it　obvious？　And　think　of　his　performance　out　in　the　courtyard　with　that　awful　gang。　Is　that　a　sign　of　intelligence？〃
　Boyle　smiled。　〃I　might　suggest　that　there　is　more　intelligence　involved　in　chasing　them　away　than　there　is　in　calling　them　here。〃
　Ratchett　flushed。　Boyle　went　on。　〃I　would　say　Mr。　Pelham's　intelligence　is　extremely　high。　He　is　also　very　devious　and　suspicious。　He　answers　a　question　with　a　question。　It's　a　yid　trick…excuse　me；　Abram…but　it's　also　the　sign　of　a　man　used　to　intellectual　sparing；　who　always　looks　for　a　quid　before　giving　away　a　quo。〃
　Nils　Brewster　listened　quietly　through　all　this；　sucking　on　his　pipe；　his　hands　resting　on　his　corpulent　stomach；　his　nose　encased　in　more