Brain Storm (24 page)

After all, if she wasn't of the people, she never would have been caught dead wearing those rags.

The foyer to her apartment building was merci-fully empty and Acting Ambassador Eckert rode up to her penthouse apartment in peace and quiet. Quiet was important to her after the morning she'd spent.

She was a diplomat even though there were those who said behind her back that Helena Eckert wasn't very diplomatic.

Acting Ambassador Helena Eckert didn't care what anyone thought. In spite of what the naysayers said, her work gave her the opportunity to prove her affinity for all persons of all creeds and races.

But those Lobynians were a matter all to themselves.

She didn't understand the issue too clearly. The President had phoned her personally to explain something about oil rights and a sunken boat and missing inspectors, or some such nonsense. She had listened to him for a while before finally stopping him and demanding to know what it was he wanted her to do.

He told her, she thanked him and hung up. Her boss had an unfailing ability to complicate matters.

The elevator stopped one floor below her own, and she got off.

She went over to her private elevator and punched in her personal security code.

It was a wonderful feeling to be home. She wondered if she shouldn't just quit this whole State Department nonsense once and for all. It was really only a lark, after all. But her predecessor had been so utterly dreadful, it was unlikely anyone would let her go back to being just a plain old full-time UN ambassador. They were afraid he might come back were she to vacate the post.

Helena decided to forget about the United Nations and the State Department for the time being.

It wasn't even three o'clock in the afternoon, and she was done with that nonsense for the day. She would ride up to her apartment, have the servants draw her a nice hot bath and soak her tired old body until her weary old blood positively boiled.

The elevator opened into the main hall of her apartment. Helena was surprised to find someone standing in the foyer near the great marble staircase.

He appeared to be waiting for someone.

"Can I do something for you?" Helena Eckert asked, annoyed by the distraction.

"Lady, run."

The young man seemed positively urgent. His deep-set eyes were pleading. But he didn't seem to realize something of vital importance. Helena Eckert didn't run.

"What are you doing here?" the ambassador snapped. "I'm going to call the authorities."

He must be with one of the servants. Probably the new Latino maid. Clamidia's friend or no, Acting Ambassador Eckert was not about to be verbally assaulted in her own home.

She had wheeled and was marching on the designer phone on the foyer table when the young man charged.

He seemed to be giving contradictory messages.

His body language said one thing; his voice said another.

"Run!"

His advice suddenly seemed quite prudent. Unfortunately Helena Eckert had no time to follow it. The young man with the tortured skull-like eyes was upon her. His hand slapped down soundly. The telephone was instantly pulverized. Gold and silver plates shattered and skittered across the floor as the inner work-ings of the device spilled out over the edges of the small table.

Helena Eckert gasped. It was the last sound she would remember making.

The man's other hand flew around and seemed to flutter before her green contact lenses for a moment But only for a moment.

The hand descended as if pulled by an invisible line. It made contact with the jowly side of Helena Eckert's neck.

The ambassador slumped to the floor.

Her assailant made a disgusted face. But, he found, his work wasn't finished.

Another signal charged like an electronic stampede through his brain. Against his will, Remo Williams lifted the unconscious woman from her apartment floor.

His face etched in grim lines, he carried Helena Eckert onto the elevator. The silver doors closed on his skeletal visage.

Lothar Holz sounded thrilled as he talked into the cellular phone.

"All three without a hitch. You're a genius, Curt."

"You're risking a lot, Lothar," Newton replied.

"We've never had great luck with the satellite signal.

In tests we always got noise on the line eventually.

You could have waited for the van."

Holz checked his watch. "The van is back right around now. And we're already through." He stifled a laugh. For the first time, it sounded to Newton like the laugh of a madman. "I couldn't wait another minute for this."

"I'll just feel better once they're hooked back into the office system."

"Don't worry. We'll be leaving in a minute."

"Please get them back here soon, Lothar."

"Just keep monitoring." Holz cut the signal and stuffed the phone back into his jacket pocket. "Will they be out long?" he asked.

Remo and Chiun stood impassively above the prone bodies of the three United Nations delegates.

The ambassadors were bound at the wrists and ankles in shiny copper wire.

Remo and Chiun ignored Holz.

"Blast that speech program," the PlattDeutsche vice president said with a chuckle. "You two look like a couple of cigar-store Indians. No matter. Newton will figure out a way to make you answer. Even when you don't want to."

There was a groan from the floor. Holz shifted his attention away from the two men and looked down at the ambassadors.

Helena Eckert's eyelids had fluttered open.

"Where am I?" she asked. She looked around.

The floor on which she lay was dirty concrete. High above her were exposed girders. A few feeble white rays filtered in through a single filthy skylight.

As she blinked away the fog, she saw that she was in some kind of warehouse.

Lothar Holz crouched down until his face was a foot above hers.

"You have no idea, madam, but you are going to repay a very old debt."

For the first time in her privileged life, Helena Eckert was scared. The fright registered in her voice.

"Is this blackmail? I'll call my brother Rudolph.

He'll pay you anything you want."

He touched her gently on her chin. "I already have part of what I want, madam Secretary," he said softly. "The remainder will come from you." He stood up, brushing dirt off his trousers.

"Gentlemen?" he said to Remo and Chiun. He made his confident way toward the warehouse door.

A van was backed against the open doorway.

As Holz walked, the PlattDeutsche satellite tracked his movements.

Dr. Curt Newton, a state away, picked up the information on his computer in Edison and ordered the Dynamic Interface System signal to animate the men from Sinanju. Just as he had for the three kidnap-pings. The whole procedure took place in under one second.

Remo and Chiun fell in step behind Lothar Holz like dutiful servants.

Holz loaded the two Masters of Sinanju into the back of the waiting van. He had driven it there himself. They were like mannequins dumped in some dark storage space until further display. Though lights were available, Holz hadn't bothered to switch them on. There were no windows.

The van was the same model as the one that housed the mobile Dynamic Interface System equipment, but the rear of this vehicle was empty save for two benches on either side.

Remo and Chiun sat together on one of the

benches.

After a moment, they felt the motion of the wheels beneath them.

"Little Father?" Remo asked. His eyes normally adjusted to the darkness, but Curt Newton obviously hadn't mastered that part of Remo's program. The van was black as a tomb.

"I am still here if that is what you were wondering," Chiun's disembodied voice replied. The all-enveloping darkness made it seem tighter. A plucked violin string.

"What are we going to do?"

"For now we are going to sit."

"I'm serious," Remo pressed. His own voice sounded anxious to him.

"As am I, for at the moment it appears we have no choice."

"That's a pretty damned defeated attitude, isn't it?" "I am not defeated. I am awaiting an opportunity."

Remo didn't seem convinced. "Great. When do you think that'll be?"

"I will know when it presents itself."

"Hmm," Remo said, nodding. "Wait and see.

Isn't that for people without options? I prefer to do something."

"Then do this magical whatever-it-is. And when you initiate your daring escape, Remo, do not forget to bring me with you."

"You're not making this easier, Chiun."

"And you are?" In the dark, the old Korean's singsong was annoyed.

Remo sighed. "I guess maybe not," he admitted.

"It's just that I went though something like this with the Pythia just a couple of weeks ago. Even as helpless as I felt with that, there seemed to be some hope.

A chance I could fight it. We can't do anything here unless Holz's damned machines break down."

"Then that is what we must hope for."

"It seems pretty thin, Little Father."

"It is all we have," Chiun said matter-of-factly.

And in his heart of hearts, Remo knew his teacher was right. One thing was certain. If the interface system did go down—if only for a moment—the final switch thrown would be that of Lothar Holz.

The rest of their trip to Edison was tensely quiet.

20

Holz pulled into the PlattDeutsche America parking lot beside the battered interface van. It was the executive lot, and most of the other spots were empty this late in the day. He got out of the cab and went over to the other truck. He eyed the damage to the rear door critically.

As if on cue, Remo and Chiun came around the rear of the van, guided by the interface signal. Their faces were bland reflections of one another.

"Did you do that?" Holz demanded of Remo.

Remo did not respond.

"Your silence is getting very old, very quickly,"

Holz said impatiently. "This equipment cost a fortune. I hope for your sake it is not damaged." He rattled the handle but found the door was sealed shut.

"Splendid. I'm going to have to send this out for repairs," he said with a resigned sigh.

The three of them left the truck and took the rear stairwell up to the lab.

When they entered Newton's lab, the first thing Holz noticed was the man on the ceiling. He was crawling like a spider, as if his palms and toes were glue. He slipped across to the wall and climbed rapidly down to the laboratory floor.

Von Breslau stood at the computer terminal near Newton, making little scratch marks in a yellow legal pad. Holz's assistant stood behind the two men. His arms were folded across his chest. His face held the same unreadable expression as always.

"That was incredible!" the man who had just scaled the wall enthused. Holz knew him. His name was David Leib and he was a manager in the sales department. "Did you see that?" Leib asked excitedly. He looked up at the ceiling and then down at the palms of his hands. It was as if he were seeing them for the first time in his life.

Von Breslau fixed his rheumy eyes on Holz. "We have had great success thus far, Lothar," the old man said. He made another mark on his paper.

"I can see that," Holz said, nodding to the incredulous sales manager. "How many test subjects have you used so far?"

"Eight so far, I believe. Eight?" Newton glanced at von Breslau for confirmation.

The old man consulted the yellow legal pad, then nodded.

"Yes, eight," Newton said.

"Have there been any ill effects?"

"None so far," Newton confirmed. Hesitant at first, he had thrown himself wholeheartedly into the experiments.

"There appear to be no side effects on our subjects," von Breslau said. He was unhappy to have someone answer for him. His lips puckered unpleasantly as he glanced at Curt Newton.

"Then it is obvious to me. Fischer moved too quickly with the first test subject."

"I think that is pretty clear, Lothar. But remember, that's not the only thing to consider. The nervous systems are different. We are still only downloading very basic material. It would take some time for the new systems to adapt. Basically what we have is a new program overriding an old one."

"But it is possible?"

"Hey, they're living proof," Newton said, waving his hand toward Remo and Chiun. "I patched them back into the internal system once you were back on the grounds, by the way."

Holz sloughed the words off as if they were irrelevant. He was watching the sales manager, who had taken to the wall once again. The man climbed ef-fortlessly up and then back down again. The PlattDeutsche vice president's eyes held an envious gleam.

"I think we can bring these tests into a new realm," Holz announced boldly.

"That would be acceptable," von Breslau agreed.

His tired eyes strayed to the EKG monitor.

"Hold on, here." Curt Newton jumped in. "I think we should do some more tests. We have no idea what sort of long-term neural side effects there could be to the process."

"That is the problem with scientists, my dear Curt.

You people want to test and test and test, while the rest of us are looking for solutions today. And we have one, in your brilliant research. We also have our next volunteer." Holz snapped his fingers. Obediently his assistant stepped away from the two doctors. He hopped up onto the hospital gurney.

"You will step up the process."

"Agreed," von Breslau declared.

"Are you sure?" Newton said. "I mean—" he pitched his voice low so that the sales manager could not hear "—does your assistant realize there are risks?" he asked. He nodded to the blond-haired man.

"He was bred for risk, Doctor. By me." With a minimum of fuss, the old man proceeded to connect the electrodes from Newton's equipment. He worked with the confidence of a man who had been with the Dynamic Interface System program for months.

When finished, he stepped over to the computer and proceeded to study the commands Newton gave to the machine. He had done this for the bulk of the day. For his part, the young man sat on the bench, silent. His eyes were blue stone.