Brain Storm (18 page)

The steward shrugged a tiny shrug and smiled at his little old friend. Of course he didn't expect a tip.

But he did expect a polite thank-you for going so far out of his way.

He got nothing.

Once a few pleasantries were exchanged, the old man and his friend—along with the blond-haired dreamboat—fell in step, abandoning the young steward without so much as a backward glance. They passed through the automatic doors and slipped into the back of a waiting limousine. The car then sped off.

"Doctor, it is such a pleasure to meet you."

They had shut out the noise of the surrounding traffic when they had entered the limo. A row of parked yellow cabs slipped away to their right. Lothar Holz practically beamed with pleasure.

"I am sure," von Breslau said crisply. He nodded to the front seat of the car. On the other side of the tinted bulletproof glass, they could just barely make out the long blond hair of Holz's assistant. "He serves you well?"

"One of your many great successes, Doctor. And now that you are here, we will have yet another very soon."

Von Breslau didn't seem pleased by Holz's enthusiasm. He settled back in his seat, crossing his arms.

"I hope for your sake that you have not dragged me away from the village on a fool's errand."

There was a cautionary edge to his voice.

"Hardly," Holz answered. "I am told you know of Sinanju."

The old man nodded. "There was a rumor that I heard after the war concerning this Master of Sinanju," he said vaguely.

"I have heard the same rumor. You know, then, of their capabilities? The amazing physical feats they are able to perform?"

"That I do not know about," von Breslau stated.

"All I know are rumors and conjecture. I warn you again—for your sake I hope you have not brought me out of retirement because of a fairy tale."

Holz shook his head.

"You will be amazed by what we can do. Do you understand anything at all about computers?"

"Yes, yes, yes. I know of this technology. I own a personal computer myself. Do not assume because a person is old that he is out of touch."

"Oh, no, I did not mean to insult," Holz hastened to reassure him.

Von Breslau drew his mouth up in an impatient grimace. "Yes, I know something of computers. Yes, I know something of your interface system. I am not an expert, but I understand the basic premise. You purport to have captured the Master of Sinanju with it?" Holz seemed hesitant. "We believe it was his pro-tege."

"Was?"

4'He has vanished. But we have everything we need," he added quickly, heading off an outburst.

"We have even tested downloading the information into a host."

Von Breslau's eyes narrowed. "Did you succeed?"

Holz shrugged. "A first test is rarely one hundred percent successful, Doctor," he said. "Let me just say that the results were...promising. With your assistance, I hope that we can refine the process so that there is no rejection." He grinned triumphantly.

Von Breslau studied his host for a long minute.

"We will see," he said at last.

"You will be amazed," Holz assured him.

"Amazement is for the very young or very stupid," von Breslau countered. "Is it far to your facility?"

"It will take some time. The roads at this time of day are already quite crowded."

"Wake me when we arrive." And with that the Butcher of Treblinka closed his eyes and settled back comfortably in the seat.

Within moments he was snoring peacefully—a man with not a single care in the world.

The Master of Sinanju assured Smith there was nothing to worry about.

"We will vanquish this dastard and destroy his vile machines, Emperor Smith."

"I vote for a little caution, Smitty," Remo said, glancing at Chiun. "I'm not convinced we have this interface signal licked yet."

"Then you do not have to come," Chiun sniffed.

"The van is safe?" Smith interjected. After the grueling night they had all spent, he didn't wish to mediate a shouting match between the two men.

"It's out back," Remo answered. He nodded toward the large plate-glass window. Past the trees, streaks of orange painted the sky above the rising sun. Smith checked his watch. The night was gone.

Even if they left now, Remo and Chiun wouldn't arrive in Edison before the PlattDeutsche plant was fully staffed. He would have preferred to send them in under cover of darkness, but he dared not give Holz another day with either the CURE or Sinanju information.

"You should go," he said to Remo.

"Smitty, I want to punch this guy's ticket more than anyone. I just don't think Chiun really understands what he's up against."

"Do not assume your failing will be mine," Chiun said to Remo. "I understand this innerfaze sigmoe implicitly," he announced boldly to Smith. "Send me to it, that I might break it in twain." Hands directed chopping blows to the invisible air before him.

Remo rolled his eyes. "I guess it was silly of me to be worried," he concluded with a sigh.

"You might not encounter a problem, Remo,"

Smith said, trying to sound reassuring. "If you can get to Holz first, the interface signal becomes a minor problem. If you can get to the apparatus that controls the interface signal first, you can handle Holz easily" "And if Holz gets to us with the signal first, then what?"

"It will not happen," Chiun proclaimed.

Smith rubbed his eyes beneath his glasses and then replaced the rimless frames on his patrician nose. "I wish there was some alternative. My impulse, Master of Sinanju, is to err on the side of caution." He nodded toward Remo. "But we do not seem to have any viable alternatives. Holz remains the primary target.

If you are able to get in and neutralize him, we might be able to clamp the lid tightly down on this affair.

Once we have access to the Edison facility, I will hook into the PlattDeutsche system and destroy our respective files."

"What about that Nazi doctor?"

Smith shook his head. "I have had no luck checking the manifests of flights into either of the major airports. Of course, he would not be traveling under his own name, but the number of arrivals at La-Guardia and Kennedy International is prohibitive for an in-depth search. It would help if we knew where he was coming from."

"Don't all the old fascists retire to the sunny beaches of South America?"

"It is never that simple, Remo. There have been suspected or confirmed Nazi sightings on nearly every continent over the past fifty years. Of course the numbers have dwindled with the passing of time, but the Jewish Documentation Center in Vienna has had reports of suspected war criminals from Africa and Europe, as well as from South America. In spite of several hoaxes of late, some collaborators have even been discovered living in the United States and Canada. It is just too broad a search parameter."

"Well, cliche or not, I'd check South America first."

"I will continue to investigate," Smith said. "But we should not allow the presence of von Breslau to cloud our perspective. Holz is your primary target. If von Breslau is with him, you may eliminate him, as well."

"With pleasure," Remo said.

"My secretary will be here soon," Smith directed, indicating the door with a slight tip of his head.

Remo got the message. "We'll be back as quick as we can, Smitty. Hopefully," he added. He slipped out the door.

Chiun had been right behind him, but paused at the open doorway. He turned. "Do not concern yourself, Emperor. Remo is still young. The incidents of this past day have been disturbing to him. We will return with this villain's head on a rail." And bowing, he slipped from the office. He was so graceful, so swift, it was as if he had never been there at all.

Smith stared at the closed office door a long time after Chiun had gone. He hoped the old Korean was right. He and Remo had skills greater than anyone Smith had ever before encountered, but the CURE

director feared the pair might have finally met their equal.

And as the early-morning sun stole up over the windowsill, its bright, warming rays heating the back of his worn leather chair, Smith's orderly mind began sorting through possible scenarios. In spite of the Master of Sinanju's assurances, Harold W. Smith found himself devising an alternate plan. On the chance that this would be the first time Remo and Chiun failed.

15

Dr. Curt Newton hadn't slept for two days. At first it had been the exhilaration at unexpectedly finding the key to perfecting the Dynamic Interface System in the mind of an unwitting bank patron. But that had only been the first night. Now there was another reason for his restlessness.

He wanted to take the matter up with Lothar Holz, wanted to discuss what he felt was totally unethical behavior on the man's part.

But Holz wasn't in.

It was 7:00 a.m., and many of the lab people were already at work.

Even some of the paper pushers were trudging off the elevators.

Lothar Holz was generally in his office at seven on the dot. The day before had been understandable—he had been meeting with Dr. Smith—but where could he be today?

When he couldn't find Holz, Newton decided to Pass the nervous minutes until the confrontation by discussing some minor aspects of the interface program with the computer people. He was surprised to find that more than half of the programming staff weren't present.

Mervin Fischer, Ron Stern and several of their key people hadn't come in to work yet, either.

To make matters worse, the interface van was missing. Holz had sent Ron Stern out on some mysterious mission with nearly eight million dollars'

worth of equipment, and the dumb ox hadn't even brought it back yet. It was probably parked outside some Jersey City brothel getting picked over by scientists from Japan's Nishitsu Corporation.

Years' worth of research could be lost because of one man's abundance of testosterone. He'd take that up with Stern when he finally staggered in. He only wished he had access to the van now.

Newton wandered aimlessly through the lower levels of the Edison facility. He could be on the verge of something miraculous, but the tools to complete his work had been taken from him.

Holz had ensured that a duplicate file was created of the results obtained in the prior day's interface exercise, but Newton had no idea where the computer information was. All he had gotten from the van when they returned from Rye were a couple of CDs and a few other things grabbed in haste. The original file was, by and large, still in the van's system and Newton was anxious to take a look at it.

That man was incredible. But he also posed a problem for Curt Newton.

While he didn't enjoy going on Holz's little outing yesterday, Newton himself wouldn't necessarily forgo the opportunity to rifle through the mind of yet another unwilling test subject. It was, after all, in the name of science.

And some good might as well come out of something that he found personally distasteful.

Newton felt justified with the argument. Even though the information was obtained under questionable circumstances, the scientific benefits far outweighed any moral qualms he might have in not obtaining the prior consent of his test subject.

And after all, who was he to say what was or wasn't moral? He was just a scientist. A man who, in his mind, was already preparing his words to the press for his inevitable Nobel prize.

It was the increasing recklessness of Lothar Holz that was agitating Dr. Curt Newton. Didn't the fool know what was at stake?

If, God forbid, some unwilling test subject successfully pressed charges against PlattDeutsche, the whole program could be shot.

Some other company would surely take up the research where he'd left off, and all the laurels would go to them. A man who was locked out of his own scientific research didn't win Nobels.

Newton had been meandering fecklessly through the ground floor of the building and he was surprised-when he looked up to find that he was in the main lobby, beneath the huge bronze plaque bearing the company logo.

When he turned, he almost ran into Lothar Holz, who was marching in through the main doors. He was in the company of his assistant and a cross-looking old man. The three of them swept past Newton as if he were a common secretary.

"Lothar?" Newton called after him. He hurried to catch up.

Holz and his entourage were standing at the elevator that the assistant had summoned. When Holz turned, he looked displeased. "Yes? Oh, Curt. What is it?"

Newton was somewhat taken aback by the sharp-ness of his tone. The old man hadn't even turned to face him.

"Um, this is really kind of private," the scientist said, nodding toward the old man. "I just need a minute."

The elevator doors opened, and the old man stepped aboard.

"Sorry, Curt, I don't have a minute. Tight schedule." Holz tapped his watch. He stepped on the elevator, followed by his assistant.

The doors slid closed on the three of them before Newton was able to voice an objection. Holz didn't even glance his way again.

Newton was stunned. He stood, staring at the closed elevator doors for several long seconds. Lothar Holz had just blown him off. Him. Dr. Curt Newton. Physical cryptologist. That hadn't happened once in the five years he had been here.

A bell chimed nearby, startling Newton. He glanced up. The light above the doors indicated that the elevator had stopped on 4. That wasn't right. That floor wasn't even in use anymore. It housed all the original interface experimental equipment. It was virtually abandoned. He was sure Holz had made a mistake, but when the elevator car returned a few seconds later it was empty.

What were they doing on the fourth floor? And more importantly, who was the old man?

A horrible thought suddenly occurred to Newton.

What if that fossil was a scientist Holz had brought in to work on the final stages of the Dynamic Interface System?

Newton set his jaw firmly. One thing was certain.

If that ancient geyser wanted his name on Curt Newton's hard-earned Nobel Prize, he'd better damned well be prepared to kill for it.