Remo wasn't listening. He had already twisted the key in the ignition. Throwing the car in gear, he slammed his foot on the gas, flying out of their space after the fleeing truck.
Drivers were forced to squeal their brakes as the big sedan flew across the lot. Horns honked angry protests as Remo twisted in and out of traffic.
Flying off the speed bump at the exit, the rented car landed in the street, a hail of sparks spitting from the vehicle's undercarriage.
Beta RAM was already far down the road. Swerving to avoid striking cars and pedestrians, Remo raced after the fleeing prophet of Salvion.
Chapter 22
Arthur Ford had drained fifty batteries already, and Elizu Roote's condition hadn't changed one volt. The Army private was breathing shallowly. He didn't seem in any immediate danger, but he remained pale and his skin was still clammy to the touch.
The cables connected to his neck continued to transfer power from the batteries to his body.
At first Ford used the tester on every battery just to make certain they had been drained. Eventually he had only checked sporadically, then gave up testing them altogether. The batteries were fine, it was Roote who no longer worked properly.
The time it took to suck the batteries dry had become progressively longer. Although the first few had been drained in an instant, the past thirty or so had taken increasingly longer amounts of time to deplete.
Still, Roate slept.
Forte was beginning to think that it might be necessary to turn his alien over to the military after all. Maybe they had deliberately done something to his physiology to make him dependent on them. It was also possible that if the ship that had crashed at Roswell was Roote's, something might be aboard that could yet save his life.
Even as he considered his options, Ford continued to drag batteries into place. He hooked them up almost out of habit now. When each was done, he'd drag it dutifully away, pulling another one through the dirt to his alien patient.
Arthur Ford had completely lost count of what battery he was on when Elizu Roote finally opened his eyes.
Ford didn't know how long he had lain there like that. He only noticed the washed-out pink eyes of the private when he glanced over, bored.
Roote didn't blink. He stared up blankly at the tin roof of the shack.
His breathing was more determined now. Like someone who had just returned from a long trek through rough terrain.
Crawling on his knees, Ford moved swiftly over to Roote's side.
"Are you feeling better?" Ford asked hopefully. The eyes twitched, moving spastically. A single blink followed. All at once, the eyes rolled in their sockets, turning slowly over to Arthur Ford. Trailing in their wake, Roote's head lolled in the same direction.
"I saved your life," Ford whispered proudly. "They were trying to kill you. But I revived you."
Roote didn't hear.
As Ford watched, the private's eyes rolled back dramatically, irises eckpsed by fluttering lids. Consciousness fled once more.
To Arthur Ford, it didn't matter. He had just gotten all the encouragement he needed. Gone were any thoughts of turning Roote over to the Army. The treatment Ford had prescribed was obviously the proper one.
Scurrying back through the dirt, Ford collected the next battery. Working feverishly, he redoubled his efforts to revive his precious alien.
Chapter 23
Harold Smith was sitting anxiously before his computer when he heard the familiar muted chirping sound emanate from his tattered leather briefcase.
His cellular phone automatically rerouted phone calls from both CURE's dedicated White House line and the special line used by Remo and Chiun. Smith hoped that it was not the president who was calling as he dug out the phone and unclipped the collapsible mouthpiece.
"Smitty, we need help, fast," Remo's familiar voice announced.
"What is the situation?"
"The situation is that car you rented is a piece of flaming horse dung. We were tailing one of the Camp Earth nuts and it overheated. We lost him somewhere off of I-25."
Smith was already typing at his laptop. "Are you able to acquire alternate transportation?"
"I already boosted a car, if that's what you mean," Remo replied. "But the guy we were chasing is long gone."
"That is unfortunate. But at least you have narrowed our search parameters. Where did you last see him?"
Remo told Smith they were a few miles away from an abandoned diner near the Caballo Mountains.
"Stay near this number," Smith said. "I will get back to you."
Terminating the call, Smith placed the phone on the desk near his laptop. Using the CURE computers, he began issuing orders to the Fort Joy command.
ROOTE WAS AWAKE AGAIN. The private's eyes appeared to be more focused now as he took in his squalid surroundings. After scanning the entire one-room structure, his gaze finally settled on the eager face of Arthur Ford.
"You're looking a lot better," Ford enthused. Roote closed his eyes wearily.
The Army private had seen the many batteries lying in the dirt of the shack. Apparently too weak to speak, he beckoned Ford to bring one of the batteries over to him.
Ford was eager to oblige. He shoved the heavy object through the dirt to Elizu Roote's makeshift sickbed.
Once the battery was in place, Roote opened his tired eyes. Struggling at the effort, he lifted one hand from the sand at his side and dropped it atop the battery.
The hum was loud and abrupt. As it had been the first time Ford patched into Roote's system. There was a brief blue sparking around the private's metal fingertips. As soon as it started, it was over. The battery was dead.
The change was instantaneous. A glow suffused Roote's pale cheeks. He closed his eyes once more, a smile playing at the corners of his thin lips.
Panting, Elizu Roote said but one soft, nearly inaudible word: "More."
FROM THE PARKING LOT of a lonely desert gas station, Remo and Chiun watched the helicopters soar out of the thin red twilight clouds in the east.
It seemed that everything from Fort Joy still capable of flight had been thrown at the Caballo Mountains. Almost thirty aircraft of several different types flew in formation. The collective sound was deafening.
"Smitty isn't taking any chances," Remo commented as the choppers raced overhead.
The aircraft soared off toward the mountains, black in contrast to the brilliant setting sun. "Learn from your Emperor's lesson," Chiun said. He was looking up at the passing aircraft, face impassive.
Remo sighed. "I promised to give you first crack at Roote," he said.
"Do not forget," Chiun replied.
"If I did, would you let me live it down." Remo asked.
"No," the Master of Sinanju replied simply.
"So there we go," Remo surrendered.
"Assuming you were alive afterward," Chiun added somberly.
His hazel eyes were unreadable slits as he watched the helicopters rattle off into the nearby hills.
HE WAS ADDICTED. There was no doubt in his mind.
Roote hadn't been certain of it until now. But he felt the change come over him with each successive battery.
He had tried a few different drugs in the past, but never really liked them. Alcohol had been his mind-altering substance of choice. And the buzz he was getting right now was not unlike the feeling he got when drunk.
The squalid room seemed to rise up from the shadows around him. It was as if with each successive battery someone were gradually turning a dimmer switch higher.
But there was no switch. He was the only source of true power in the tiny metal shed.
An addict. A freak. A monster.
They had made him like this. When his power was drained, he had collapsed. A marionette without strings.
A fail-safe? Probably not. They had never expected him to be careless enough to allow himself to be grounded.