thedestroyer.deathcheck-第22部分

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as　a　balm　for　the　mind；　the　mind　that　could　appreciate　it。
　He　had　donned　his　smoking　jacket　and　wore　slippers；　befitting　a　man　who　had　done　a　hard　day's　work。　Who　could　have　expected　that　the　little　Jewess　worked　for　that　vengeful　gang　that　did　not　know　World　War　Two　was　over？　They　were　insane。　And　now　that　she　was　dead；　another　would　be　ing　for　him。　But　he　would　be　gone。　The　pictures　would　enable　the　Russians　to　control　the　scientists　at　the　Forum；　and　that　had　been　his　mission。　He　had　done　his　job。　Naturally；　it　would　not　be　adequately　appreciated；　but　appreciation　was　for　the　days　as　a　young　man。
　He　looked　at　the　board　again。　Only　a　king　left；　against　his　black　king；　queen；　two　knights；　a　rook；　and　a　bishop。　But　before　the　drug　took　effect　the　Jewess　had　said　that　no　matter　how　bad　things　looked；　there　was　a　way。　There　was　no　way；　of　course。
　He　was　about　to　reset　the　pieces　for　a　new　game　when　the　door　to　his　study　was　pushed　open。　It　swung　back　on　noiseless　hinges；　then　the　knob　cracked　into　the　wall。
　It　was　the　Brewster　Forum　security　officer；　looking　as　though　he　had　climbed　out　of　an　oven。
　〃Hello；　Stohrs；〃　Remo　said　to　the　man　who　was　Brewster's　Forum's　chess　instructor。　〃I've　e　for　my　？game。〃
　〃Well；　not　right　now；〃　Stohrs　said。
　〃Oh；　yes。　Now　is　fine。〃　He　walked　in　and　closed　the　door　behind　him。
　〃What　do　you　want？；〃　the　chess　instructor　asked。　〃This　is　nonsense　at　such　a　late　hour。　You　look　terrible。〃
　〃I　want　to　play　chess。〃
　〃Well；〃　said　Stohrs　with　a　sigh；　〃if　you　insist。　Let　me　take　your　jacket。〃
　Remo　took　it　off　himself　and　as　he　did；　the　frail　fibers　separated　and　a　sleeve　was　torn。　He　noticed　that　his　arms　were　red　and　swollen。
　In　the　center　of　the　room　was　the　chess　board　on　a　metal　stand　on　a　bare　parquet　floor。　Two　heavy…armed　oak　chairs　were　attached　to　the　table。
　〃Sit　down；　Mr。　Pelham；　I　will　set　the　board。〃
　〃No；　this　end　game　is　fine。　I　will　take　white。〃
　〃You　cannot　win　with　only　a　king。〃
　Remo　reached　into　his　shirt　pocket　and　withdrew　the　white　queen　that　Deborah's　hand　had　surrendered　to　him　in　death。　〃I　have　a　queen；〃　he　said。　〃That　will　be　enough。〃
　Remo　rested　his　arms　on　the　chair　arms。　Under　his　right　forearm；　he　could　feel　the　chill　of　metal　conducting　heat　from　Ms　arm　into　the　chair。　He　picked　up　his　king　to　examine　the　piece　and　as　he　did；　looked　down　at　the　chair　arm。　He　saw　three　small　metal　rings　buried　in　the　wood；　with　small　holes；　the　diameter　of　needles；　in　the　centers。　That　was　it；　Remo　thought。　A　knockout　injection。
　Stohrs　had　taken　his　seat　opposite　Remo。　〃An　interesting　conclusion；〃　he　said。　〃It　was　reached　through　the　Silician　opening。　Are　you　familiar　with　the　Sicilian？〃
　〃Yes；　of　course。　He　fought　on　the　side　of　the　Nazis。　It　was　his　responsibility　to　count　the　number　of　baby　rapes　mitted　by　Hitler's　thugs。〃
　Remo　smiled；　and　resisted　the　impulse　to　reach　forward　and　to　crush　Stohr's　adam's　apple　between　his　fingers。　Time　for　that。　Deborah　had　been　here。　She　had　sat　in　this　chair；　and　looked　in　Stohrs'　eyes；　loathing　him　and　what　he　stood　for；　but　there　because　duty　demanded　it。　She　had　lost　the　game。　And　then　her　life。　The　life　was　gone。　But　Remo　could　salvage　the　game。　And　he　could　give　her　life　and　her　death　at　least　that　much　meaning。
　〃Your　move；　Stohrs；〃　Remo　said；　and　Stohrs　slid　a　pawn　one　space　forward。　〃The　pawns；〃　he　said。　〃The　little　men　of　the　chess　board。　But　they　can　bee　fighting　pieces；　the　most　dangerous　in　the　game。〃
　〃Particularly　when；　like　Nazis；　they　fight　against　women　and　children。　They　then　are　truly　devastating。〃
　Stohrs'　face　was　red。　He　was　about　to　speak　when　his　daughter　walked　into　the　room。　She　wore　a　short　red　skirt　and　a　white　sweater　with　no　bra。　The　darkening　of　her　nipples　was　visible　through　the　material。　When　she　saw　Remo；　she　licked　her　upper　lip　and　her　eyes　took　on　a　wild　glint　as　if　an　interior　light　had　flashed　on；　and　pinpoints　were　shining　through　tiny　openings　in　her　eyeballs。
　〃Anna；　we　have　an　unexpected　guest。　Please　prepare　some　refreshment。〃
　〃Of　course；　father；〃　she　said；　and　looked　again　at　Remo。　〃What　would　you　like？〃
　〃Anything　you　have　in　the　house　will　do。　Baby's　blood。　Lampshade　chips　with　cyanide　dip。　A　heroin　fizz。　Whatever　you're　used　to。〃　Confusion　painted　her　face　with　stupidity。　Stohrs　said；　〃Our　guest　is　a　very　funny　man。　Just　prepare　the　usual。　And　hurry。〃
　〃You　seem；　Mr。　Pelham；〃　Stohrs　said　after　his　daughter　left；　〃to　want　to　talk　about　Nazis。〃
　〃I　have　always　been　fascinated　by　insanity；〃　Remo　said。
　〃Our　only　insanity　was　that　we　lost。〃
　〃I'm　glad　to　see　that　it's　we；〃　Remo　said。　〃You　lost　because　you　wasted　your　energies　attacking　unnecessary　targets。　That's　a　sick　toughness。　The　real　toughness　es　from　Americans　who　don't　go　stoking　ovens　from　hatred。　That's　why　we　win。　The　shits　like　you；　the　insane　haters；　always　lose。〃
　〃That；　my　dear　Mr。　Pelham；　is　because　the　winners　write　history；〃　Stohrs　said；　and　Remo　saw　him　reach　his　index　finger　forward　to　touch　a　button　on；　the　arm　of　his　chair。　Needles；　he　knew；　would　shoot　up　now　into　Remo's　forearm；　drugging　him；　putting　him　under。
　How　many　had　they　done　it　to？　Had　they　ever　done　it　to　a　man　who　could　respond　quickly　enough　to　pluck　flies　from　the　air　between　thumb　and　forefinger？　It　had　e　down　to　this：　to　Remo　Williams　and　his　terrible　talents；　against　this　evil　man；　this　evil　product　of　monstrous　wrongs。
　Stohrs'　hand　squeezed　over　the　end　of　the　chair。　Rerno　focussed　his　perception　on　his　right　forearm。　He　felt　the　pinpricks　against　his　skin。　The　act　seemed　frozen　in　slow　motion。　First；　the　three　needles　touched　the　skin。　The　skin　bent　before　them　like　a　marshmallow　refusing　a　stick。　The　needles　insisted。　Then　the　skin　collapsed　and　gave　way；　surrounding　the　tips　of　the　needles。　The　needles　should　now　continue　into　the　arm　and　give　their　narcotic　juices。　Then　the　victim　should　react　by　rubbing　his　arm。
　That　was　the　script　for　a　victim。　But　Remo　Williams　was　in　the　chak　and　he　was　no　man's　victim。　His　arm　rose　imperceptibly；　then　yanked　away　and'he　rubbed　the　inside　of　the　right　forearm。　He　felt　slightly　woozy　and　increased　the　speed　of　his　body　rhythms　to　absorb　what　could　only　have　been　a　trace　dose。　His　head　sank　forward　onto　his　chest。
　〃So　you　will　beat　me；　will　you？；〃　he　heard　Stohrs　say。　Stohrs'　chair　slid　back　from　the　table。　Remo　could　hear　him　walking　around　toward　him。　He　was　a　doctor。　He　would　look　into　Remo's　eyes。　Lids　closed　tightly；　Remo　focussed　his　eyes　on　a　jet　plane　in　the　sky　of　his　imagination；　miles　away。　He　felt　the　practiced　thumb　press　his　eyelid　up。　The　sudden　light　should　have　contracted　the　pupil。　But　the　jet　plane　in　that　bright　noon　sky　had　already　done　that　and　Stohrs　let　the　eyelid　drop　with　a　grunt　of　satisfaction。
　〃He's　under；〃　Stohrs　yelled。　〃I'm　keeping　my　promise　to　you。〃
　〃Stand　up；〃　he　told　Remo。　It　was　a　mand　and　Remo　stood。　〃Open　your　eyes　and　follow　me。〃　With　confident　arrogance；　Stohrs　turned　his　back　on　Remo　and　walked　away。　He　pulled　aside　a　long　velvet　drape；　exposing　a　door。　He　turned　the　knob　and　walked　in；　stepping　aside　to　let　Remo　pass。
　Remo's　eyes　were　fixed　straight　ahead；　but　his　peripheral　vision　swallowed　the　room　in　a　glance。　He　had　seen　the　room　before。　In　the　sex　photos。　A　metal　bed　stood　against；　the　left　wall；　covered　with　white　satin　sheets。　At　the　right　side　of　the　small　room　stood　a　camera　on　a　tripod；　and　reflector…covered　lights。　Behind　the　bed　stood　Anna。　Her　chest　heaved；　disturbing　the　fabric　of　her　sweater　as　she　looked　at　Remo。　〃I've　waited　for　you　a　long　tune；〃　she　said。
　Stohrs　pushed　the　door　shut　and　locked　it。　〃Take　off　your　clothes；〃　he　manded。　〃All　of　them。〃　Remo　mechanically　removed　his　clothes；　watching　straight　ahead　as　Anna　pulled　her　sweater　off　over　her　head；　her　blonde　locks　splashing　through　with　difficulty。　Her　pendulous　breasts　bounced　when　released　from　the　sweater。　She　returned　Remo's　stare　as　she　reached　behind　her　and　snapped　loose　the　top　button　of　her　skirt；　hooked　her　fingers　inside　the　waistband　and　slid　it　slowly　down　over　her　hips；　until　it　dropped　soundlessly　on　the　floor。　She　wore　no　undergarments；　only　long　black　stockings；　held　up　with　a　black　garter　belt；　and　black　patent　leather　boots　that　reached　above　the　knee。
　Remo　was　naked；　his　clothes　in　a　pile　on　the　floor　in　front　of　him。　〃Lie　on　the　bed；〃　Stohrs　ordered　and　Remo　sprawled　across　the　cot　on　his　back。　Anna　walked　to　the　bed　alongside　him；　and　leaned　over　him；　the　nipples　of　her　breasts　just　touching　his　bare　chest。　〃I　have　something　special　for　you；〃　she　said。　She　stepped　to　a　small　table　alongside　the　bed；　then　back　into　Remo's　view。　She　held　a　black　wig　in　her　hands。　She　trailed　the　long　strands　of　hair　across　Remo's　stomach；　his　genitals；　then　down　his　legs。　Then　she　placed　it　on　her　head；　tucking　her　blonde　hair　under　it。
　She　sat　on　the　bed　next　to　Remo　and　took　a　tube　of　lipstick　from　the　table。　She　slid　the　end　of　the　closed　lipstick　into　her　mouth；　then　leaned　over　Remo　and　let　spittle　from　her　mouth　dribble　onto　his　chest。　Then　she　uncased　the　lipstick　and　painted　deep　red　lips　over　her　own　pale　color。　She　reached　again　for　the　table。
　Now　the　whip；　Remo　thought。
　Kill　them　now？　It　would　be　easy。　But　he　wanted　them　to　savor　their　victory；　before　he　twisted　it　into　death。
　〃Father；　are　you　ready？　I　can　no　longer　wait。〃
　Stohrs；　who　had　been　loading　the　camera；　said　〃Go　ahead。　But　quickly。　We　have　spent　much　time。〃
　The　whip　now。　It　flashed　expertly　across　Remo's　stomach　and　snapped　a　red　welt　into　his　skin。　Again。　This　time　closer　to　his　maleness。　And　again。　Then　she　dropped　the　whip　across　the　bed；　and　lowered　her　head　over　Remo。　The　dark　strands　of　hair　played　across　his　body；　and　then　she　was　on　him；　greasy　lipstick　working　on　him；　moaning　with　passion。
　Remo　allowed　himself　to　respond。　He　wanted　this　woman。　Not　to　enjoy　her。　But　to　punish　her。　He　had　learned　the　secrets　from　Chiun。　This　twisted　Nazi　beast　was　infatuated　by　a　husky　young　policeman；　but　she〃　was　going　to　be　destroyed　by　the　surrogate　for　an　eighty…year　old　Korean　who　believed　that　women　were　no　more　plicated　than　guitars。　The　wrong　strings　produced　disharmony。　It　is　simply　a　matter　of　plucking　the　right　strings。
　The　strings　for　the　blackruiired　woman　in　boots　were　pain　and　suffering　and　torture。　That　was　her　enjoyment。　Remo　would　give　her　that　until　she　was　in　ecstasy；　and　then　give　her　more　until　the　ecstasy　turned　to　pain；　and　more　vet　until　the　soft　erotic　touch　became　the　bitter　rasp　of　a　rawl。
　Her　voluntary　act　of　debasement　was　lighting　the　fires。　〃He's　ready。　Tell　him　to　take　me。〃
　〃Take　her；〃　Stohrs　said。
　〃T　wsut　rape；〃　yelled　the　daughter。
　〃Rape　the　woman；〃　Stohrs　said。
　And　that　was　all　Remo　needed；　and　he　banged　her　down　into　the　bed　so　hard　that　hei　wig　flew　off　and　plowed　into　her；　twisting　her　body　so　that　her　spinal　column　wrenched。
　She　moaned　and　Stohrs　kept　snapping　pictures。　What　process　had　brought　him　to　this；　Remo　thought；　where　he　could　stand　taking　photos　and　living　out　his　daughter's　perversions？　Remo　knew。　It　was　like　any　other　horror。　It　was　done　imperceptibly；　step　by　step；　individual　meaningless　actions　being　built　into　the　habit　pattern；　demanding　pliance；　until　'the　final　act。。。　the　fi