He brought it up. His fingers were uncurling like a pale sunflower opening. He was not making them uncurl. He was certain of that. They were uncurling on their own. He had nothing to do with it. And he could not stop it because his hand was suddenly numb, as if from a local anesthetic.
The orb was slowly revealed. Dr. Axeworthy found himself staring into the glowing purple-black orb.
Even though it was as featureless as a licorice drop, he experienced the eerie sensation that the eye was scrutinizing him.
Dr. Axeworthy brought the orb to his face. He didn't want to. He had no control now over his own arm. His other hand joined the first to lift the orb closer to his own widening eyes.
He screamed then.
Chiun, Reigning Master of Sinanju, beheld the look of terror on the face of the physician. It was washed in a violet radiance. He held his ground, sensing danger.
In his ear came Harold Smith's harsh voice.
"Master Chiun, what is happening?"
Before Chiun could venture an answer, the physician's upraised cupped hands began to glow from within. Through his purplish skin his finger bones shone white.
"Help . . . meee. . . ." The physcian's voice was tiny, almost squeezed down to inaudibility. "Help . . . meeeee!"
Without any warning, his hands began to melt into a lavender vapor. The vapor wafted and flowed into the physician's mouth and flaring nostrils like a viper seeking sustenence.
Chiun swept backward, pulling his emperor from the room.
"What is happening?" Smith repeated, his face stark as marble.
"It is the orb of Shiva," Chiun hissed. "It is doing the only thing it can do. Destroying."
The double doors gave before them. Chiun pushed Smith into the safety of the corridor. He turned and leaned his weight against the double doors, one hand on each.
After several seconds the Master of Sinanju put his surprised face to the round window of one door. His eyes narrowed at the sight that was transpring within the operating room.
Rooted like a lightning-lashed tree, Dr. Rance Axeworthy watched the stumps of his wrists as they melted away. He was screaming. At least his mouth was screaming and his chest heaved air in and out. But no sound was emerging from his straining lungs.
His forearms melted into gaseous exhalations, eating down to the elbows. Then the biceps went, until the last of his arms were a violet mist swirling around him.
The decay did not stop there, Chiun saw.
It continued until his head, a cloud of purple smoke, simply floated off his shoulders. The inexorable process worked its way down his chest to his waist, consuming Dr. Rance Axeworthy's torso until his legs stood apart and disarticulated.
They wobbled, tipping over. One went left. The other right. They swiftly lost all substance and then there was only a purple fog rolling along the white tile floor.
In that mist, the orb of Shiva rolled.
Smith, hearing nothing, put his patrician nose to the window of the other door.
"Where is Dr. Axeworthy?" he croaked.
"He is the mist," intoned Chiun, his eyes cold slits.
"Impossible!"
"You saw it begin with your very eyes," Chiun said. " I have seen it end. And I say that mist is the doctor."
Angrily Dr. Smith pushed his way back into the room.
Slowly he approached the operating table, where Remo lay oblivious.
His feet disturbed the mist, sending little clouds and twists and vortices eddying silently away. There was no scent, no odor at all.
In the center of the floor, the black orb glowed violet.
"What is it?" Smith asked.
Chiun approached. "The thing I have told you of. It is the third eye of Shiva. According to legend, it had the power to destroy all it beheld with its awful fury."
Smith swallowed. "Are we safe?"
Chiun's eyes narrowed to dark gleams of concern. "We are never safe from Shiva. But it did not harm the physician until he dared to threaten Remo. It should be left alone."
"We cannot just leave it there. It is too dangerous."
"I will not touch it. Nor will I allow you to do so," Chiun said firmly.
Smith pursed his lips silently. His haggard face was very pale now. His eyes had a haunted, sunken look about them.
Then, as they watched, the orb of Shiva began to collapse like a melting ice cube. It lost shape, fell in on itself, and was soon a moist black puddle resembling hot tar.
Then it just evaporated in place, becoming nothing, leaving no trace, and offering no explanation for its actions.
Harold Smith cleared his throat noisily.
" I cannot account for what I have just witnessed," he said softly.
"There is no need to," said Chiun, going to his pupil's side and examining his facial bandages for spots of blood or loose windings. "But in having Remo liberated from Shiva's third eye, we may have saved him from a premature incarnation."
Smith tore his stricken eyes from the spot on the floor where the orb of Shiva had vanished.
"Remo will be out of commission for some time," he said, forcing his voice to remain steady. " I must count on you to accomplish his mission."
Chiun bowed formally. "If it can be accomplished by Sinanju, O Emperor, I will accomplish it for you."
"Do I have your word on this?" Smith asked.
"No sacrifice is too great to fulfill your wishes."
"Then here is what you must do . . . ."
It was fortunate that Folcroft Sanitarium housed among its patients several insane persons, because the scream of pure anguish the Master of Sinanju emitted was passed off as an inmate awakening from a particularly horrific nightmare.
Chapter 13
Antony Tollini could not avoid it any longer.
All morning long, the phone messages had been piling up.
"Mr. Tollini, the Boston client said the last customer-service person had been unable to fix the problem."
"Call him back. Tell him we're sending another."
"Mr. Tollini, the Boston client says that the last person you sent not only refused to fix their system but also threw it into the trash."
"My God. Tell them I sincerely, sincerely apologize. He's a new employee. They sometimes make mistakes."
"Mr. Tollini, the Boston client says they want a Jap."
"A what?"
"A Jap. He actually said 'a fuggin' Jap,' but I think he means a Japanese technician."
"Are you sure?" Tony Tollini demanded. "Are you positive?"
"The client said something about their being good in what he called computertry."
"Do we have any Japanese applicants on file?"
"Applications are not filed by race or ethnicity. But the Boston client insists that he have a new customer service engineer today. He's very insistent."
"What were his exact words?" asked Tony Tollini from the safety of his office. He was communicating by intercom.
The secretary could be heard swallowing.
"He said, 'Don't make me look like a jerk or I'll have your fuggin' nuts.' Unquote."
"My God," moaned Tony Tollini, clutching his head. "Listen, you go through those resumes. Pull out any Japanese, Chinese, Vietnamese names you can find. Have them all on my desk within the hour."
"Yes, Mr. Tollini."
"And send in Miss Wilkerson."
"Yes, sir."
Tony Tollini sank behind his desk in his office at the very end of the corridor of the southern wing of IDC world headquarters burying his face in his upraised hands.
"I'm having a migraine," he moaned. "As if my life wasn't already falling apart. I'm having a colossal migraine."
There was a knock on the door. Tony jerked his head up, drawn face whitening.
"Who?"
"It's Wendy."
"Are you alone?"
"Yes."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes!"
"No one has a gun to your head, do they?"
"Stop it! Don't talk like that. You're scaring me half to death."