Shock value, p.12
Shock Value, page 12
“Circe!” Remo called, running back through the scrub pines. He had found his way to the shoreline, and followed it back to the cave. Now, as he retraced his steps, he spotted the white car.
The place beside it where the girl had lain was empty.
The car. He went back to it and made a quick examination. Just as Circe had said, there was a small transmitter taped to the Opel’s underside. With the strength of rage, he hurled the tracker high into the air and into the sea beyond. Then he returned to the place where he’d left the girl.
The ground was cold. She’d been moved some time ago. It could have been the police, he thought. But there were no tire tracks besides the Opel’s. There was only one other explanation.
LePat hadn’t been alone.
Remo got on his hands and knees in the grass by the car. He widened his pupils to maximum. The action made the blades of grass glimmer with unseen light. And on the grass were spots. They looked like water, but these spots were dark and thick and already beginning to harden. He rubbed some on his fingers and sniffed.
Blood.
She had left a trail for him.
The moon came out for a moment, illuminating the bloodstains to the road, where they continued. Toward South Shore. Whoever took Circe hadn’t used a car.
A cloud passed overhead, blotting out the brief light of the moon, and a wave of sorrow passed over Remo. He was not a seer, but he knew when death was near. It was brushing against him now, and he knew that before the night was over, death would fold its dark wings and claim its victory.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
A SHIVER OF APPREHENSION ran down Chiun’s spine. Ever since he heard the shots fired from the island, he, too, felt the wings of death flapping in the night breeze. Remo could take care of himself against bullets. But there was something else on that island, something indefinable and dangerous. It was as if the black cloud that obscured the stars was covering the whole earth, with the spectre of death heralding a new Dark Age.
Smith lay on the bunk where Remo had placed him. His eyelids fluttered. He looked at Chiun groggily.
“Where are we?” he whispered.
“Ah, Emperor Smith. You have come back to us at last. We are on a boat. It is safe here. Remo is on the island.”
Smith shook himself awake. “My head,” he said, cradling his head in his hands. “It feels like…”
“Like you drank too much?” Chiun offered.
“I beg your pardon? I don’t drink.”
“You did. Quite a bit, in fact, O Illustrious One. You were, as Remo would say, doused.”
“Soused,” Smith corrected, groaning. “It’s coming back to me now. The injection…those pink cocktails. Good God. The printouts.”
“They are here. We brought you from that place.”
“Thank you,” he said, raising himself to his feet. Chiun handed him his clothes. “I can’t imagine what would have happened if Abraxas got hold of them.”
“You have seen him?”
“No. No one’s seen him; just his name. It’s been transmitted by satellite into every television set in the world. People are beginning to think that Abraxas is some kind of god.”
“The masses are fools, easily duped,” Chiun said loftily, averting his eyes. “But surely no one is in danger because of a name on a television set.”
“That’s just the beginning,” Smith said, climbing into his trousers. “He’s got a plan—the Great Plan, he calls it, the arrogant swine—to take over the world.”
Chiun laughed aloud. “Others have tried that, most worthy emperor.”
“He can do it,” Smith said earnestly. “I know it’s preposterous, but he’s got everything organized to the last detail. You’ll forgive me if I don’t tell you the exact nature of his ideas. It’s a matter of national security.”
“Of course,” Chiun said, trying to sound as if he cared one way or the other about national security.
Smith buttoned his shirt hastily. “What we’ve got to concern ourselves with now is stopping him before this insanity goes any further. Can we reach Remo?”
“I am not his nursemaid,” Chiun sniffed. “But he will show up. Bad pennies always do.”
“Very well,” Smith muttered. “Then we’ll have to do this without him. I’ll tell you some of what I know, but I must have your oath never to reveal what I am about to say.”
“The Master of Sinanju gives his word,” Chiun said, stifling a yawn.
Smith breathed deeply. When he spoke, his voice was weighted with urgency. “Abraxas is planning to reveal himself on worldwide television. He’s going to interrupt broadcasts all over the world to announce the Great Plan of Abraxas. If that happens, the people he’s hypnotized will support the massive destruction he’s going to suggest. It will be too late to stop him then.”
Chiun thought. “But how can everyone see him at once? Half the world sleeps while the other half lives in daylight.”
“He’s projected a time when all the communications satellites orbiting above earth will be in optimum position to broadcast to their widest possible range.” He toyed sheepishly with his shirt button. “I did it for him, actually, from the compound’s computer center. I—er—wasn’t quite myself.”
“Perfectly understandable, O Worthy Emperor,” Chiun said. “You were doused.”
“Messages have been transmitted from individual satellites telling people when to tune in. He’s expecting an audience of a half-billion.”
“Interesting.”
“A half-billion people is enough to begin a world revolution.”
“I see. And when will this announcement occur?”
“On the twelfth. One minute after midnight on the twelfth. That’s odd. On the island I seem to have lost all track of time. What date is it today?”
“The eleventh,” Chiun said.
“The eleventh?” Smith checked his watch. The color drained from his face. “It’s eleven-twenty,” he said.
· · ·
On the South Shore grounds, Chiun regarded the rambling old manor house. “A strange place,” he said.
“I suppose so,” Smith panted, already exhausted from rowing the rubber raft that brought them from the yacht. Scaling the high fence onto the grounds had not been easy, either. Smith marveled at the uncanny strength of the old Oriental, who must have passed his eightieth year. For him the fence had been a child’s barricade, crossed without effort. But then Chiun, he remembered, was special, just as Remo was special. Among the three, Smith alone was vulnerable to fatigue and weakness.
He wanted to rest. His head was still swimming from the effects of the drinks. He would never be young again, and, unlike Chiun, age and mortality weighed heavily on him. “Let’s go in,” he said.
“Are there no guards?”
“Unnecessary. Everyone here is fanatically devoted to Abraxas, and outsiders don’t come in. They claim the place holds evil spirits, or some such nonsense.”
“It may not be nonsense,” Chiun said quietly. “I do not like the feel of this house.”
The interior of the mansion was a labyrinth of small rooms connected by obscure passageways. In the distance were the muffled sounds of voices.
“They all must be in the conference room,” Smith said. He glanced at his watch again. “Waiting for the broadcast.”
“We do not have enough time to search all the rooms,” Chiun said.
“I don’t think we have to. If I can get into the computer center, I might be able to stop him from there.”
“A machine cannot stop a maniac,” Chiun scoffed.
“I’m going to try to get the codes for transmission and scramble them,” Smith whispered as they headed down a series of empty, twisting corridors. “You see, the transmissions are beamed off satellites using codes translated into microwave emissions…” He looked at Chiun, whose eyes were rolling. “Never mind,” he said. “Follow me.”
“As you wish.”
The door to the computer room was locked. “Is this a problem?” Smith asked.
Chiun poked it with a fast jab of his index finger. The steel plate surrounding the knob shattered and fell to the floor like shards of glass. “No,” Chiun answered.
There were only four items in the room: the computer console, a utilitarian chair placed behind it, a television monitor suspended from the ceiling, and the omnipresent camera. Smith sucked in his breath sharply at the sight of the camera. It was stationary. No hum issued from it. He waved his hand in front of it.
“It’s not operating,” he said finally. “Watch the door.”
He sat down at the console. Then, his hands moving like a concert pianist’s, he prepared the computer for conversation.
“GIVE PRESENT LOCATIONS OF COMMUNICATIONS SATELLITES,” he keyed in.
The screen flashed with a series of coordinates in space. Smith picked the first and locked it into the mode he was using.
“GIVE CODE FOR TRANSMISSION.”
“VOICE PRINT REQUIRED,” the screen flashed back. “FOR ABRAXAS’S EYES ONLY.”
Smith stared at it, feeling numb.
“Do you not like its answer?” Chiun asked solicitously.
“I should have known. The computer’s been programmed to screen everyone but Abraxas himself from the data concerning the broadcast.”
“Machines are never to be trusted,” Chiun said. “We must seek out the false god ourselves.”
“There isn’t time. He could be broadcasting from anywhere on the grounds.” He sat unmoving in front of the computer, his face a blank.
“I will go, emperor.”
“Wait,” Smith said. “Let me try something.” He rearranged the mode on the computer keys.
“GIVE LOCATION OF TRANSMISSION CENTER,” he typed.
A blueprint appeared.
“Now it draws pictures,” Chiun said irritably.
“This is the layout of the house,” Smith said, his eyes scanning the blueprint expertly. When he had memorized it, he turned off the machine and rose. “He’s on this floor,” he said.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
THE TRAIL OF CIRCE’S BLOOD led Remo to the rear of the mansion on South Shore. The sea was visible here, roaring behind the deep shadows of the house. Two areas of the place were lit. One wing was bathed in light, and the dim sound of people talking emanated from the brightness. On the opposite end of the manor, a single light glowed from behind a pair of narrow French windows that opened onto the lawn. It was to these windows, directly, that the bloodstains led.
As he neared the source of light, he felt the shadows swallowing him. The place had an aura of perversion and monstrousness about it that made him shiver. It was as if the house itself were alive, infused with the evil of its owner.
Death, Remo was sure, had chosen this place to fold its wings.
The glass doors were open. Inside, Circe lay on a divan, her eyes closed, the front of her dress covered with blood. By her head was a wheelchair facing a paneled wall opposite the windows. Above its leather back Remo could see the top of a man’s bald head.
Remo stepped in silently.
“Welcome,” a deep voice called from the wheelchair. It was a strange voice, sounding as if it came from an electronic amplifier. A hand motioned toward the wall. “Your shadow gave you away. But then I was hoping you would come.”
The wheelchair spun around at a touch from the man’s hand to a panel of buttons on the chair’s arm. At once Remo recognized the humming, electric sound he had heard in the cave.
The sight was shocking. Circe had told him about her employer’s disfigurement, but nothing had prepared Remo for the creature who now stared at him from across the room. He was a man, or had been once. Both of his legs had been amputated at the hip. The trunk above them was strapped into the electric wheelchair by two long leather thongs. His arms were powerfully built. One of them looked normal, the only normal part of his body. The right arm ended in a two-pronged metal claw.
His face was a mass of scars and metal plates grafted over motley skin that had obviously been burned to the bone at one time. He possessed no hair, not even eyebrows. One eye stared roundly out of the lesions; the other was an empty socket discolored to a deep purple-red. His head sat immobile on his neck, which was collared by a thin band of steel. On the band, in the middle of where his throat would have been, protruded a small black box.
“I am Abraxas,” he said. The black box vibrated. “I trust you will forgive my appearance. I do not entertain often.”
He pressed a button on the wheelchair’s arm, and the metal collar moved his head stiffly to the right. “This is Circe, whom you have already met.”
Remo walked forward. “It was you,” he said.
“At the cave? Indeed it was. Oh, I wouldn’t come any closer if I were you.” Abraxas jutted his claw hand over the girl’s exposed throat. His head was still facing Circe, but his eye was fixed on Remo. “She’s alive, you see, and any move you make will change the situation drastically.” He laughed, the sound coming low and distorted from the artificial voice box.
Remo halted. “Okay,” he said. “What do you want?”
Abraxas’s one eye opened wide in mock innocence. “Why, to talk. I wish to talk with both of you. Wake up, Circe. This is for you, too.” He jabbed her flesh lightly with the claw. She came awake moaning. “That’s better. We can talk now, can’t we, my dear?”
She turned toward Remo weakly, her eyes half closed. “Don’t stay,” she whispered, struggling for breath.
Abraxas shook with laughter. “But of course he’ll stay. The man is your lover.” He spat out the word with sudden malevolence. “He doesn’t want to see you get hurt. Isn’t that right…Remo?” The metal claw toyed with her throat.
“She needs a doctor,” Remo said.
“You don’t know what she needs!” The wheelchair hummed and glided behind the divan in seconds. “I know. I alone. Abraxas.” His mouth twisted. “I made you, Circe. And this is how you repay me.”
The girl stifled a sob. Her fingers opened and closed on her bloody chest.
“Don’t waste your tears. You have no right to them. Have you ever heard of loyalty, Circe?”
“Leave her alone,” Remo said.
“Keep out of this,” Abraxas hissed. He turned back to Circe, the claw dangling over her face. “I’ll tell you about loyalty. When I was a young man, you performed a service for me that enabled me to carry out the work of my destiny—a destiny that was planned for three thousand years, ever since Abraxas, the all-god of the ancients, disappeared into oblivion. He had given up trying to sway men in their corruption, you see. He didn’t have the power. But I have.” He bent low over her. “I have! Out of the rubble of this body, I created Abraxas anew, Abraxas the perfect god, the giver of life, the force of good and evil, because it was my destiny to do so. For your part in preventing my destruction at the hands of my father, I have given you the world. The world!” he shouted.
“I took a servant from the slums of Corinth and gave her a mind. You have traveled the world and lived in splendor. You have received the finest education possible. You have been privy to information that will shape the future of mankind. I have repaid my debt to you, Circe. All I required of you was your loyalty.”
He breathed heavily, the claw scraping against her white skin in a sensual rhythm. “Others give their loyalty willingly. At this moment, millions are waiting for just a glimpse of Abraxas. I am their leader. They are depending on me to protect them from their enemies. Enemies like you, Circe. For those who are disloyal to Abraxas are the enemies of all mankind.”
“I…I should never have saved you,” the girl said, weeping. “Your father was right. You should have been destroyed.”
“It was not my destiny,” Abraxas said softly, craning mechanically toward her face. “It was my fate to live and rule all the people in all the lands of the earth, just as it was my fate to be betrayed by a woman with the lusts of a common slut.”
“That’s enough,” Remo said, stepping forward briskly. Without warning, a thin, bright fiber of electricity shot out from the base of the wheelchair. It struck Remo in the leg, sending him sprawling, dazed, across the room. Circe screamed.
“Do you see how easily life is ended?” Abraxas continued in the same soft voice. “In one moment, the man you thought would save you has ceased to exist. Abraxas gives life, and he takes it away.” He raised the claw, crying in despair. “Oh my beautiful, sullied enchantress!”
The claw came down. The body on the divan jerked convulsively, a fountain of blood pouring from her throat.
Remo heard a strangled wail come out from the depths of his soul.
Feeling as if he were dragging himself out of some hideous nightmare, he pulled himself to his feet and staggered toward the other end of the room. Against the wall, he could make out the blurred figure of the creature in the wheelchair.
“You’re still alive,” the magnified voice said with some surprise.
Remo struggled to focus. Below him lay the woman he had made love to an hour before. Her throat was ripped out brutally. Her eyes stared upward in final terror. The flesh of her face was still warm. It couldn’t be, he thought, his brain a confused mass of pain and crazy images: Circe huddled in the cave; Circe lying beneath him, her flesh hot and provocative; Circe asking for help, her face lit by the flame of a flickering candle. What was this thing, this slaughtered beast lying dead in front of him? And the man in the wheelchair, a blur, hard to reach…
“You’ll die for this,” he said evenly. “I swear you’ll die.” Drunkenly, still shaken from the electric shock, he lunged for the wheelchair.
A cloud of white smoke hissed from the chair and filled the room.
A moment later, Abraxas was gone.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
SMITH AND CHIUN BOTH heard Circe’s scream. The smoke was clearing from the room as Chiun rushed in through the door to the hallway. Remo was standing near the divan, his eyes fixed on the dead girl drenched in her own blood. His hand was touching her face. He neither moved nor acknowledged the old man.
