thedestroyer.deathcheck-第2部分

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　breathing　in。the　balcony…the　snorting　sort　of　oxygen　intake　of　overweight　people。　So　that　day　Remo　worked　on　moving　in　silence。　It　was　a　down　day　anyway；　between　two　of　the　innumerable　alert　peaks。
　Today；　on　the　other　hand；　was　an　up　peak　and　Remo　carefully　locked　the　three　doors　on　the　gym　floor　and　the　one　to　the　balcony。　He　had　been　on　alert　for　three　months　now；　ever　since　the　study　package　had　arrived　at　the　hotel。　There　were　no　explanations。　Just　the　reading　material。　This　time　it　was　Brewster　Forum；　some　sort　of　think　tank。　Some　sort　of　trouble　brewing。　But　there　had　been　no　call　yet　for　Remo。
　Remo　felt　upstairs　was　not　quite　on　top　of　things。　All　his　training　had　taught　him　you　do　not　peak　every　week。　You　build　to　a　peak。　You…plan　for　a　peak。　You　work　for　it。　To　peak　every　day　just　means　that　that　peak　gets　lower　and　lower　and　lower。
　Remo　had　been　peaking　every　day　for　three　months　now；　and　his　eyes　adjusted　to　the　darkness　of　the　gymnasium　just　a　little　less　easily。　True；　not　down　to　the　level　of　ordinary　men　or　even；　for　that　matter；　people　who　saw　well　in　the　dark。　But　he　was　less　than　he　should　be；　less　than　he　was　trained　to　be。
　
　The　gym　smelled　of　a　decade　of　dirty　socks。　The　air；　felt　dry　and　tasted　like　old　dictionaries　stored　in　late　　summer　attics。　Dust　particles　danced　in　the　minute　rays　　ing　from　the　specks　in　the　black　paint。　In　the　far　　corner　where　rotting　ropes　hung　from　the　ceiling　came　the　　buzz　of　a　fly。
　Remo　breathed；　steadily；　and　relaxed　the　centrality　of　　his　being　to　lower　the　pulse　and　expand　what　he　had　　learned　was　the　calm　within　him。　The　calm　which　the　　European　and　especially　the　American　European　had　forgotten；　or　perhaps　never　knew。　　The　calm　from　which　　came　the　personal　power　of　the　human　being…that　power　　which　had　been　surrendered　to　the　machine　which　had　　apparently　done　things　faster　and　better。　The　machine　had　　lowered　industrial　man　to　the　use　of　less　than　seven　per　
cent　of　his　abilities；　pared　to　the　nine　per　cent　average　　for　primitives。　Remo　remembered　the　lecture。 　
　At　his　peak；　Remo…who　eight　years　before　had　been　　officially　executed　in　an　electric　chair　for　a　crime　he　did　　not　mit；　only　to　be　revived　to　work　for　an　organization　that　did　not　exist…at　his　peak；　this　man　Remo　could　　use　nearly　half　the　power　of　his　muscles　and　senses。
　Forty　five　to　forty　eight　per　cent　or；　as　his　main　instructor　had　said；　〃a　moment　of　just　more　darkness　than　　light。〃　This　poetic　phrase　had　been　translated　for　upstairs　　into　a　maximum　operating　capacity　of　46。5　plus　or　minus　　1。5。
　Now　Remo　could　feel　the　dark　in　the　gym　grow　heavier　r　as　the　peak　descended　day　by　day。　One　had　to　laugh。　So　much　effort；　so　much　money；　so　much　danger　in　even　I　setting　up　the　organization；　and　now　upstairs　the　only　two　officials　in　the　country　who　knew　exactly　what　he　did　were　ruining　him。　Faster　than　Seagrams　Seven　and　Schlitz　chasers；　without　as　much　fun。　
　The　organization　was　CURE。　It　did　not　appear　in　any　government　budget　nor　in　any　report。　The　outgoing　President　verbally　told　the　next　ining　President。
　He　showed　him　the　scrambler　phone　where　he　could　reach　the　head　of　CURE；　and　then　later；　as　they　smiled　to　the　world　from　the　back　seat　of　a　limousine　headed　to　the　inauguration；　confided：
　〃Now；　don't　you　fret　none　about　that　group　I　was　tellin'　you　about　yesterday。　They　do　everything　real　quiet　and　only　two　of　'em　know　what　in　a　cow's　ass　they're　doing。
　〃It's　just　that　a　crooked　prosecutor'll　be　discovered　by　some　newspaperman　who　just　happens　to　get　some　damaging　information。　Or　some　evidence'll　turn　up　during　a　trial　and　the　D。　A。　will　win　one　that　was　going　down　the　chute。　Or　someone　who　you'd　just　never　think　would　goes　and　turns　state's　evidence　and　testifies。　It's　just　the　extra　little　edge　to　make　things　more　workable。〃
　〃I　don't　like　it；〃　whispered　the　President…elect；　flashing　his　famous'　plastic　smile　to　the　crowds…。　〃It　if　turns　out　publicly　that　the　United　States　government　is　violating　the　very　laws　that　make　it　the　United　States　government；　right　then　and　there　you　might　as　well　admit　our　form　of　government　is　inoperable。〃
　〃Well；　I　ain't　saying　nothin'？　Are　you？〃
　〃Of　course　not。〃
　〃Well；　what's　the　problem？〃
　〃I　just　don't　like　it。　How　would　I　stop　this　thing？〃
　〃You　just　make　a　phone　call　and　the　two　men　who　know　about　it　retire。〃
　〃That　phone　call　in　some　way　sets　off　something　or　someone　who　kills　them；　doesn't　it。〃
　〃I　'spect　so。　They　got　more　safeguards　on　this　thing　than　Uncle　Luke's　still。　Look；　there　are　two　things　you　can　do　with　this　group。　Let　it　do　whatever　it　does。　Or　stop　it。　That's　all。〃
　〃But　you　did　say　I　could　suggest　assignments？〃
　〃Yup。　But　they're　chock　full　anyhow。　And　anyway；　they　only　take　the　kind　of　stuff　that　either　endangers　the　constitution　or　that　the　country　can't　handle　any　other　way。　Sometimes；　it's　fun　figuring　out　just　which　things　they're　involved　in　and　which　things　they　ain't。　You　get　pretty　good　at　it　after　awhile。〃
　〃I　was　thinking　last　night　what　if　the　man　who　runs　this　group　decides　to　take　over　the　country？〃
　〃You　always　got　the　phone。〃
　〃Suppose　he　plots　the　murder　of　the　President？〃
　〃You're　the　only　one　who　can　OK　the　use　of　the　one　person　who　would　do　it。　The　other　man　who　knows　about　that　outfit。　Just　one　man。　That's　the　safeguard。　Hell；　I　know　you're　shocked。　You　shoulda　seen　my　face　when　the　head　of　this　group　got　a　personal　visit　with　me。　The　President　didn't　tell　me　a　thing　before　he　was　shot。　Just　like　you　won't　tell　your　vice　president。〃　He　turned　and　smiled　at　the　crowds。　〃Especially　yours。〃
　He　smiled　a　creased　smile　and　nodded　solemnly　to　the　people　on　his　side　of　the　car。　The　Secret　Service　bodyguards　puffed　alongside。
　〃I　was　thinking　last　night；　what　if　the　head　of　this　organization　dies？〃
　〃Damned　if　I　know；〃　said　the　Texan。
　〃Frankly；　this　revelation　frightens　me；〃　said　the　President…elect；　raising　his　eyebrows；　head　and　hands　as　though　just　spotting　a　close　friend　in　a　crowd　of　strangers。　〃I　haven't　felt　at　ease　since　you　told　me　about　it。〃
　〃You　can　stop　it　anytime；〃　the　Texan　responded。
　〃That　one　man　they've　got　must　be　pretty　good。　The　one　who　goes　on　the　assignments；　I　mean。〃
　'　〃I　don't　know　for　sure。　But　from　what　that　little　feller　told　me　that　day；　they　don't　just　use　him　for　wrapping　up　garbage。〃
　〃Let　me　make　one　thing　perfectly　clear。　I　don't　like　this　whole　business。〃
　〃We　didn't　ask　you　to　take　office；〃　said　the　Texan　with　a　smile。
　
　So　Remo　Williams　stood　silently　in　the　gymnasium　feeling　his　conditioning　leave　him。　He　breathed　deeply；　then　slid　through　the　dark；　in　almost　imperceptible　movements；　and　was　in　the　balcony。　He　wore　black　tennis　shoes　so　that　he　could　not　see　his　feet；　a　tee　shirt　dyed　black　so　that　the　white　of　the　shirt　in　the　dark　would　not　throw　off　unbalancing　brightness。　His　shorts　were　black。　Night　moving　in　night。
　He　moved　from　the　balcony　rail　to　the　top　of　the　basketball　backboard。　He　seated　himself　carefully；　with　his　right　hand　between　his　legs　and　his　legs　stretched　out　over　the　hoop　below。　Funny；　he　thought。　When　he　was　a　policeman　in　his　twenties；　he　would　have　been　puffing　if　he　ran　a　block；　and　probably　would　have　had　to　engineer　a　desk　job　by　thirty　five　or　face　a　heart　attack。　It　was　nice　then。　Just　walk　into　any　bar　you　wanted　when　off　duty。　Have　a　pizza　for　supper　if　you　wished。　Get　laid　when　you　had　a　chance。
　But　that　was　when　he　was　alive。　And　when　he　was　officially　alive；　there　were　no　such　things　as　peak　periods　with　rice　and　fish　and　abstinence。　Actually；　he　didn't　really　have　to　follow　the　regimen。　He　thought　about　that　often。　He　could　probably　do　very　well　at　less　than　full　capacity。　But　a　wise　Korean　had　told　him　that　deterioration　of　the　body　is　like　a　stone　rolling　down　a　mountain。　So　easy　to　start；　so　hard　to　stop。　And　if　Remo　Williams　couldn't　stop；　he　would　be　very　dead。
　
　He　lowered　his　shoes　to　the　rim；　getting　the　feel　of　its　grip　into　the　backboard。　If　you　know　the　feel　of　objects；　the　feel　of　their　mass；　their　movement　and　their　strength；　you　could　use　that　as　your　strength。　That　was　the　secret　of　force。　To　not　fight　it。　And　to　not　fight　it　was　the　best　way　to　fight　people　when　you　had　to。
　Remo　stood　up　on　the　rim　and　gathered　the　where　of　the　floor　into　his　balance。　He　should　have　changed　the　height　of　the　hoop；　because　sooner　or　later　he　would　be　performing　muscle　memory　instead　of　proper　use　of　balance　and　judgment。　When　he　had　first　learned　the　exercise；　he　watched　a　cat　for　a　day　and　a　half。　He　had　been　told　to　bee　the　cat。　He　had　answered　that　he　would　prefer　to　bee　a　rabbit　so　he　could　get　laid；　and　how　long　was　this　dingaling　training　going　to　go　on？
　〃Until　you　are　dead；〃　he　was　told。
　〃You　mean　fifty　years。〃
　　〃It　might　be　fifty　seconds；　if　you　are　not　good　enough；〃　said　the　Korean　instructor。　〃Watch　the　cat。〃
　And　Remo　had　watched　the　cat　and　for　a　few　moments　thought；　really　thought；　he　could　bee　the　cat。
　Now　Remo　Williams　indulged　his　own　private　little　joke　which　signalled　the　start　of　the　exercise。
　〃Meow；〃　he　whispered　in　the　silent；　dark　gym。
　He　stood　on　the　rim；　straight　up；　and　then　his　body　fell　forward；　shoes　gripping　the　rim　by　pressure；　head　going　forward；　shoes　flipping　up；　rim　adding　force；　body　heading　straight　down；　hair　and　head　aiming　straight　at　the　floor…like　a　dark　knife　dropping　into　a　dark　sea。
　His　hair　touched　the　varnish　of　the　floor　and　triggered　a　body　trunk　flip；　the　dark　form　in　the　blackened　gym　spinning　in　space；　the　sneakers　ing　around　quick…　rocket　fast…arching　and　down　steady　standing　on　the　wooden　floor。
　
　Blat。　The　sound　echoed　in　the　gymnasium。　He　had　held　for　the　last　hair…touching　instant　and　then　let　the　muscles　take　over；　the　muscles　of　a　cat　which　shifted　the　body　in。air　and　put　the　feet　on　the　floor。　An　exercise　the　body　could　do　only　when　the　mind　was　trained；　trained　to　steal　the　balance　of　another　animal。
　Remo　Williams　had　heard　the　blat　in　the　gym；　the　sound　of　his　sneakers　hitting　the　floor。　He　was　not　purring。
　〃Shit；〃　he　mumbled　to　himself。　〃The　next　time　it'll　be　my　head。　That　dumb　bastard　is　gonna　get　me　killed　yet；　with　his　goddam　peak　period。〃
　And　he　returned　to　the　balcony　and　the　backboard；　this　time　to　do　it　right。　Without　a　sound　when　his　sneakers　hit　the　floor。
　
　CHAPTER　THREE
　
　The　sun　reflected　on　the　scales　of　the　fish　and　played　on　the　water　and　warmed　the　covered　wood　…pier　of　Giuseppe　Bresicola's　wholesale　fish　market　which　jutted　out　into　San　Francisco　Bay　like　dirty　toy　sticks　on　a　blue　plate。
　Bresicola's　did　not　smell　of　fish：　it　breathed　of　fish　and　sounded　of　fish；　from　the　splat　of　mackerel　piled　on　mackerel　to　the　scrape　of　steel　across　scales。　Entrails　in　giant　barrels　in　seconds　began　the　inevitable　decay。　Fresh　seawater　sqnooshed　over　the　scale…caked　wood。　And　Bresicola　smiled　because　his　friend　was　again　visiting　him。
　〃I　no　tella　you　the　orders　today；　Mr。　Time…Study　man。　Not　today。〃　He　made　a　playful　stab　at　his　friend's　head。　How　nice　this　boy　moved。　Like　a　dancer。　Like　Willie　Pep。　〃You　don't　get　the　orders　today。〃
　〃What　do　you　mean；　not　today；〃　asked　the　friend　who　was　six　feet　tall　and　husky。　He　scraped　his　brown　shoes　playfully　on　the　woo