thedestroyer.deathcheck-第5部分

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　The　fat　man　tried　to　squeeze　the　trigger。　He　was　still　trying　when　his　muscles　stopped　receiving　signals。　They　stopped　receiving　signals　because　there　was　something　wrong　with　the　remnants　of　his　spinal　column。　A　whole　vertebra　was　in　his　throat。
　The　two　big　men　were　retching　on　the　floor。　The　man　who　had　held　the　package　just　gasped。　When　he　saw　the　now…hard　brown　eyes　stare　into　his　mind　and　feed　upon　his　fear；　when　he　suddenly　smelled　his　own　death　upon　him；　he　urinated。
　〃How　did　you　know　my　name　was　Pelham？〃
　〃I　was　told。〃
　〃By　someone　at　Folcroft？〃
　〃I　never　heard　of　Folcroft。〃
　〃Who　told　you？〃
　The　man　had　edged　away　from　the　package　along　behind　the　paint　store　counter。　Now　he　said　calmly；　〃There's　a　man　behind　you　with　a　gun。〃
　The　man　was　a　pro。　He　could　suffer　a　setback；　regain　his　posure；　then　try　a　very　old　trick　that　almost　always　worked。　The　trick　assumed　that　the　person　it　was　used　on　was　so　engrossed　in　the　tension　of　the　conversation　that　he　had　shut　off　his　perception　of　other　things。
　This　was　true　of　most　people。　But　most　people　had　not　stood　for　hours　in　empty　gymnasiums；　dodging　three　swinging　knives；　suspended　by　ropes　from　the　ceiling；　while　being　expected　to　yell　out　how　many　doors　behind　them　opened　and　closed　when　they　opened　and　closed。　When　practiced；　enough；　this　indelibly　trained　the　perception　so　that　it　took　a　conscious　act　of　will　to　turn　it　off。　It　did　not　turn　off　during　tension。　But　how　was　the　man　behind　the　counter　to　know　it？
　He　was　so　terribly　involved　with　the　gun　he　was　bringing　up　from　behind　the　counter　that　he　just　assumed　the　trick　would　work。　He　knew　it　would　not　when　his　wrist　ceased　to　function　and　he　lost　consciousness。
　Remo　permanently　ended　the　convulsions　of　the　two　athletes。　Then　he　placed　the　fat　man　behind　the　counter　where　he　belonged。　He　lifted　all　three　of　their　wallets。　He　was　taking　the　wallet　from　the　pocket　of　the　man　with　the　package　when　the　man　stirred。　Remo　had　another　question：　〃What　happened　to　the　messenger？〃
　The　man　was　no　longer　afraid　of　death　since　it　had；　he　knew；　bee　inevitable。　〃I　killed　him。　I　shot　his　eyes　out。　I　enjoyed　it。〃　He　sneered。
　Remo　reached　down　and　squeezed　his　broken　wrist；　hard　enough　to　feel　one　broken　bone　skid　against　another。　With　a　shriek；　the　man　passed　out　again。
　When　the　man　came　to　a　few　minutes　later；　his　head　hurt　more　than　his　wrist。　His　eyes　bulged　in　horror　as　he　realized　that　his　head　was　squeezed　top　and　bottom　between　the　two　metal　plates　of　an　electric　paint…mixing　machine。　Out　of　the　corner　of　his　eye；　he　saw　Remo　toss　the　〃on〃　switch。　Then　he　felt　his　head　separate　from　his　neck　and　he　never　saw　anything　again。
　Remo　looked　back　over　the　scene。　A　paint　store　owner　was　robbed　and　brutally　attacked。　A　passerby　who　tried　to　stop　the　robbery　had　his　head　locked　in　the　paint　mixer。　Okay。　Then　who　killed　the　two　robbers？　Who　stole　their　wallets？　To　hell　with　it。　Let　the　Daily　News　figure　it　out。　They　were　good　at　that　sort　of　thing。
　Remo　picked　up　the　gray　box；　stuffed　the　four　dead　men's　wallets　into　his　raincoat　pocket　and　locked　the　door　behind　him。
　He　stopped　at　a　stationery　store；　brought　a　strip　of　brown　wrapping　paper；　and　made　a　package　of　the　four　wallets。　He　addressed　it　to　Dr。　Harold　W。　Smith；　Folcroft　Sanitarium；　Rye；　New　York；　and　mailed　it　at　a　small　branch　post　office。
　Smith　read　the　papers。　He　would　know　what　corpses　had　surrendered　the　wallets。　Remo　would　find　out　later　who　they　were。
　On　the　ferry　back　to　New　York　City；　two　nine…year…old　twin　boys　going　bang…bang　with　their　fingers　were　given　a　snub…nosed。38　and　a。32　caliber　Smith　and　Wesson…　both　cartridge　free…to　play　with。
　When　their　shocked　mother　inquired　where　the　two　boys　had　gotten　the　guns；　they　couldn't　really　describe　the　man。
　〃He　was　nice　and…I　don't　know…he　was　just　a　grownup。〃
　〃Yeah。　He　was　a　real　grownup；　Mommy。〃
　
　CHAPTER　SIX
　
　When　Remo　saw　the　first　picture；　he　began　to　chuckle。　Then　laugh。　Then　guffaw；　then　shake　so　hard　he　almost　dropped　the　whole　package　into　the　wet　motel　sink　where　he　had　unravelled　the　strings　according　to　instructions　taught　him　years　before。
　Under　a　half…page　biography　of　Dr。　Abram　Schulter；　M。D。；　Ph。D。；　fellow　of　the　American　College　of　Surgeons；　Diplomate　of　the　American　Neurological　Society；　Nobel　Laureate；　pioneer　in　brain　surgery；　was　a　photograph　of　Doctor　Schulter　in　action。
　He　was　nude；　a　frail　man　with　a　big；　happy　grin；　fornicating　with　a　dark　haired　girl。　Strapped　to　his　back；　and　just　as　obviously　mounting　him；　was　a　toy　giraffe；　the　large　furry　type　children　like　to　pretend　they　are　riding。
　Doctor　Schulter　was　smiling　as　if　he　had　realized　something　very　funny。　Perhaps；　thought　Remo；　that　he　loved　the　giraffe　more。
　The　two　other　pictures　showed　Doctor　Schulter：　
　A）　mounting　the　toy　with　the　girl　mounting　him；　
　B）　mounted　by　the　toy　which　was　mounted　by　the　girl。
　The　biography　continued：　〃Doctor　Schulter。　Foremost　authority　on　brain　waves。　Married　20　years；　two　children；　active　in　Professional　Societies；　American　Art　Association；　National　Disturbed　Children　Foundation。　No　serious　political　connections。　Top　security　clearance。〃
　Then　Remo　went　though　the　other　pictures　and　biographies。
　Dr。　Anthony　J。　Ferrante；　an　expert　in　bio…feedback；　whatever　the　hell　that　was；　stood　in　a　karate　shirt　minus　the　karate　pants。　He　did　not　need　the　pants　to　protect　his　modesty　because　there　was　a　girl　in　the　camera's　way。　On　her　knees。　Apparently　the　same　girl　who　had　been　teaching　the　neurosurgeon　the　secrets　of　the　giraffe　was　now　demonstrating　a　different　kind　of　secret　to　Dr。　Ferrante。　Doctor　Ferrante　was　demonstrating　to　the　camera　a　karate　blow。　His　face　was　dark　and　intent。　Karate；　thought　Remo；　can　be　serious　business。
　Dr。　Robert　Boyle；　a　bio…cycle　analyst；　liked　the　plain　old　missionary　position。　This　was　not　surprising　since　Doctor　Boyle　was　a　Jesuit　priest。
　Dr。　Nils　Brewster；　…　distinguished　head　of　Brewster　Forum　and　author　of　the　famous　〃Dynamics　of　Peace；　the　study　of　aggression　and　containment；〃　discovered　a　new　level　of　containment。　He　was　dressed　in　chains。
　Dr。　James　Ratchett；　biochemist；　was　dressed　formally。　In　a　top　hat；　black　cape　and　bare　front。　He　was　being　whipped　by　the　black…haired　girl　who　appeared　in　all　the　pictures。　Two　other　photos　showed　Ratchett　making　it　with　the　girl。　He　had　dropped　the　cape　and　still　visible　across　his　back　were　the　angry　pouting　welts　of　the　whip。
　But　on　Doctor　Ratchett's　biography　was　a　hand…written　note。　It　was　Smith's　handwriting。
　
　〃Dr。　Ratchett　is　a　notorious　homosexual。〃
　Remo　went　through　the　photographs　three　times。　The　chuckles　had　dwindled　to　boredom　by　the　end　of　the　first　round。　The　girl　was　the　same　in　each　picture。　Remo　regretted　his　only　cursory　knowledge　of　photography；　but　the　pictures　looked　extremely　well　lighted　and　posed；　as　though　a　fine　fashion　photographer　had　played　the　scene　for　drama…highlights；　explosive　beams；　shadows。
　These　were　the　great　minds　America　would　rather　see　dead　than。。。。　Than　what？　Smith　had　said　he　did　not　know　than　what？
　Remo　set　the　photos　out　in　rows　on　the　brown　tile　？motel　sink。　He　opened　his　eyes　wide；　then　splashed　his　eyes　along　the　rows　of　photographs；　blinking　rapidly；　turning　his　eyes％　and　brain　into　a　giant　stroboscopic　system；　registering　every　detail；　every　shadow　indelibly　on　his　brain。　He　performed　the　exercise　twice；　to　be　sure　he　had　missed　nothing。　Done。　He　had　been　peaked　too　long。　Ordinarily；　once　would　have　been　enough。
　Smith's　words　repeated　themselves　to　Remo　as　he　dropped　the　pictures　into　the　motel　washbasin；　holding　a　last　typewritten　sheet　which　was　a　transcription　of　a　conversation。　Smith　had　told　him：
　〃All　we　know　is　something　is　wrong。　We　can't；　under　any　circumstances；　allow　these　people's　efforts　to　be　used　by　any　other　power。　We　don't　even　know　yet　if　whoever　is　producing　these　pictures　is　international　or　criminal。　We　just　don't　know。　We　do　know　that　we　want　these　scientists'　abilities　to　be　denied　at　a　moment's　notice　to　whoever　is　doing　whatever　the　hell　is　going　on　there。　That　means　they　must　be　eliminated　on　mand。　And　that　means　you　must　set　them　up。〃
　And　other　words　came　back　to　Remo：　〃Stupidity　is　a　function　of　mankind；　ignorance　the　beginning　of　wisdom；　wisdom　the　knowledge　of　ignorance。〃　That　was　Chiun；　his　instructor。
　Chiun　always　had　a　bit　of　wisdom　that　didn't　seem　to　mean　anything；　until　one　day　you　needed　it。〃　Now　it　meant　something。
　He　had　been　kept　at　peak　alert　for　three　months　while　CURE　attempted　to　figure　out　what　it　was　protecting；　and　with　the　first　sign　that　it　was　in　danger；　they　sent　in　their　weapon　to　be　able　to　destroy　it　on　mand。
　〃Brilliant；〃　Remo　said　to　himself；　running　water　into　the　sink。　He　watched　the　photographs　bee　white；　then　separate；　then　dissolve　and　turn　the　water　in　the　sink　to　milk。　〃Brilliant。〃
　And　he　played　with　an　idea　he　played　with　almost　every　month。　Running。　He　could　never　be　a　cop　again；　he　had　no　past。　But　he　might　be　able　to　get　into　the　Teamsters　or　even　into　a　job　where　no　one　cared　about　the　past。　Maybe　a　salesman。　Maybe　open　a　store　somewhere　after　clipping　CURE　for　a　bundle。　A　store。　…　A　wife。　A　family。　A　home。
　And　then　one　day　he　would　lift　a　car　off　a　person；　or　settle　a　dispute　in　a　bar　and　do　it　just　a　mite　too　well；　and　CURE　would　find　him。　And　that　would　be　that；　because　by　then　there　would　be　another　just　like　him　and　if　that　person　came　delivering　the　mail　or　the　milk；　Remo　would　be　dead。　If　a　thinking　man　wants　to　get　you　badly　enough；　he　will　get　you。　How　few　people　realized　their　vulnerability。。。　well；　why　should　they？　No　one　was　after　them。
　And　so　the　pictures　were　now　liquid　and　Remo　Williams　pulled　the　plug　and　let　them　go　down　the　drain　where　they　would　wash　into　sewers　and　then　rivers；　and　then　never　be　seen　again。　Lucky　fucking　pictures。
　Remo　read　the　transcript。　〃A　conversation　between　A　and　B　two　years　ago。　B　is　another　agency；　same'　team。　A　is　the　head　of　XXX。〃
　Even　in　a　water　seal　envelope；　CURE　took　precautions　to　break　links。
　〃A）　What　we're　doing　is　taking　traditional　parts　to　make　a　new　sum。　An　interdisciplinary　approach　to　an　old　situation；　the　dynamics　of　conflict。
　〃B）　You're　trying　to　find　out　why　people　have　conflicts　with　other　people；　correct？
　〃A）　In　a　way；　perhaps。　You　see；　man　as　an　animal　has　conquered　the　world。　Conquered　other　animals。　With　ease；　as　a　matter　of　fact；　even　though　today　individual　man　isn't　sure　of　it。　With　that　out　of　the　way；　man　has　turned　to　the　only　challenge　left。　Conquering　other　men。　The　history　of　war　shows　that。　Well；　why　should　some　men　conquer　and　some　be　conquered？　What　are　the　dynamics　of　that？　That's　our　problem。　If　you　knew；　you　could　defeat　any　army　in　the　world　today　with　a　smaller　army。　You　might　say　a　simple　little　plan　to　conquer　the　world；　which　I'm　sure　some　politician　cr　militarist　would　just　delight　in。　But　you　see　the　plan　is　really　irrelevant；　because　conquest　is　meaningless　until　you　define　conqueror　aria〃　conquered。
　〃B）　You　have　a　plan　to　conquer　the　world？
　〃A）　Oh　gracious；　don't　tell　me　you're　one　of　those。　If　someone　told　you　he　unlocked　the　atom；　would　you　run　out　right　away　to　try　to　use　it　in　a　lightbulb