"We'd better get to the next one on the list."
Remo sighed.
As they hurried back to the car, one thought kept passing through Remo's mind.
What was Holz doing?
Simon Waxman s wife was leaving her apartment when Remo arrived.
She was accompanied by her mother-in-law.
Simon's father was off handling the funeral arrangements.
Holz had already been there.
The young woman was so distraught Remo didn't detain her.
The same was true for the next four names on the list. All had met with Lothar Holz earlier in the morning; all were dead.
It was afternoon before they reached the final name on the list.
The apartment complex where David Leib lived was near Rutgers University in New Brunswick, New Jersey. Remo left his car in a guest spot in the small parking area, and he and Chiun made their way to the string of two-story buildings.
Before they had even gotten near Leib's building, Chiun was sniffing the air like a dog on a scent.
"They have been here already."
The heavy door splintered and fell back inside the small hallway.
They found David Leib on the floor of his bedroom. All around the room was in disarray. The walls were broken, the bed collapsed. A bureau had been split into two neat halves.
Chiun crouched down near the body. "This one still lives," he announced somberly to Remo.
Remo stooped down beside the Master of Sinanju.
The pupils of the young man on the floor were pin-pricks. His eyes roamed their sockets sightlessly.
"How long ago was Holz here?" Remo asked softly.
Leib shook his head. When he spoke, his voice was distant.
"Hours... hours."
"What did he want?"
The young man nodded. With an effort, he pointed to his own forehead. Suddenly his limbs shuddered as if charged with electricity.
"The interface system," Remo said to Chiun.
The Master of Sinanju nodded gravely. "He steals back that which was not his to give."
Below them, Leib had another violent spasm. The man who had been so delighted to climb walls the night before had become a wasted shell.
He gasped once, grabbing Chiun by the forearm.
"The breathing," the young man said. "It felt so...so right."
Chiun nodded his understanding.
Leib smiled. A final frantic shudder racked his slender frame before he finally grew still.
Remo noted that, in death Leib had centered himself. His arms and legs were in perfect harmony with the forces of the universe. Chiun gently closed the young man's eyelids.
Slowly Remo stood. "I better call Smith," he said.
"Remo, where have you been?" Smith demanded.
His lemony voice seemed distraught.
Remo explained about the list Chiun had found in the PlattDeutsche lab and about the deaths of Holz's test subjects. He also informed Smith of his suspicion that Lothar Holz was retrieving data from the minds of his victims.
"Why did Chiun not show the list to me?"
"I guess he thought it was family business,"
Remo said.
"It was," Chiun intoned, even of voice.
Smith did not press the issue. "Please return to Folcroft immediately."
Remo glanced at the Master of Sinanju. Chiun was frowning down upon the body of David Leib.
"Why, is something up?" Remo said into the phone.
"They have found one of the missing ambassadors."
23
Wearing grim expressions, the network anchors broke into the afternoon soap operas, each telling the same story.
Arkady Rokossovsky, Russian ambassador to the United Nations, had entered the offices of Schuler Designs on the fifty-seventh floor of the Empire State Building at approximately one o'clock, Eastern standard time.
He was questioned by the firm's receptionist, but Rokossovsky had ignored her.
Rokossovsky had wandered beyond the woman's desk and into the office. Several people asked what he was doing, but he trudged resolutely past them. It was only when he got to the window that someone thought to call security. By then it was too late.
The window panes had been specially devised for high-buildings.
They were triple-enforced plates of high-density polymer. Invisible steel strands crisscrossed the pane.
Each window was guaranteed by the manufacturer to withstand a thousand pounds per square inch of pressure.
A marketing embellishment, as most people had imagined, but it was understood that the panes could not be shattered by conventional means. It was agreed by all that Arkady Rokossovsky should never have been able to break one.
In a crowded conference room, Rokossovsky
kicked out with the heel of his foot. It impacted with the center of a high windowpane.
Against all design specifications, the heavy plastic rattled on its frame, a long, spidery fracture spreading up its middle. Finally the pane cracked apart in a half-dozen huge sections. Broken sheets of simulated glass exploded out onto Fifth Avenue.
Rokossovsky followed them.
Those who witnessed the obvious suicide found it troublesome for more than just the apparent reasons.
To a man, they all said the same thing. Arkady Rokossovsky didn't look or sound like someone who wanted to die. His actions were incongruous with his words. Or at least to his tone.
From the moment he stepped through the office door to the instant he impacted with the sidewalk far below, Rokossovsky could be heard screaming in Russian.
An immigrant who was standing nearby when Rokossovsky hit the ground translated his final words for the networks. Psychologically, it all seemed to fit.
Loosely interpreted, Arkady Rokossovsky had been pleading for someone to stop the voices inside his head.
Holz had wanted Rokossovsky to do a swan dive off of the observation platform at the top of the Empire State Building, but was disappointed to find that the powerful antennae high atop the structure would have interfered with the signal. Reluctantly he had opted for the fifty-seventh floor.
The Dynamic Interface System van had several portable signal boosters tucked away behind the other equipment. Holz had positioned one in a hallway on the twenty-seventh floor. He was worried that the signal strength would not be strong enough even with special enhancement, but any concerns he might have had were dispelled the instant Arkady Rokossovsky splattered like a fat Russian meatball across the pavement of Fifth Avenue.
A crowd had quickly formed around the ambassador's body. The gawkers offered unintentional cover. Holz had slipped back inside the building to retrieve the booster.
When he was gone, Erich von Breslau motioned Holz's assistant to him. Even though they were alone in the back of the white van, he pitched his voice low. "I have been in contact with the village," von Breslau whispered to the young man. He had left the truck seconds after Holz had gone to place the booster signal, returning not long before the R&D
vice president. He had been unable to speak freely until now. "Our Lothar Holz has not been entirely forthright with me."
The blond-haired man was listening, but there was a distracting twitch at the corner of his mouth. It was a nervous tic that had developed late in the morning.
It had grown steadily worse as the afternoon wore on. Von Breslau's expression was dubious as he watched the young man attempt to suppress the twitch.
"He lied to me," von Breslau growled. "He was instructed to return to the village. He disobeyed a direct order. Kluge is furious."
The young man stared at the Nazi doctor. Despite the muscle spasm at the corner of his mouth, his face remained impassive.
"We have the new Sinanju information, collected from you and the other test subjects. I will bring this back to the village." Von Breslau glanced at the door that led into the cab. "Kluge does not want attention drawn to Four. Not yet. When this fool takes us back to where the Britisher and American are being held, you will kill him."