Ilsa Gans ran the videotapes simultaneously on three monitors. The videos covered three angles, one head-high and the others from the ceiling. Each one told the same story, and the story was that the two spies who called themselves Remo and Chiun were invincible.
Ilsa watched them intently. The overhead films showed clearly why the five soldiers had been confused. First, the two men ran faster than the camera could record. Ilsa set the VCR for slow motion, but even then they were just slow-moving blurs. The blurs looked like they were running through a crossfire of water pistols. The bullets were real, though. Ilsa saw the walls behind them collect dusty bullet pocks.
The men were superhuman, both of them. They were more superhuman than Konrad Blutsturz, who Ilsa thought possessed superhuman will and drive. But the Fuhrer's superiority was that of a man painstakingly overcoming great odds. These men seemed to be routinely superhuman, as if it were as normal as walking or breathing.
Ilsa watched the tapes over and over with glowing eyes. The taller one's movements were strangely exciting, like a tiger slinking through the jungle, only this man slinked at high speed. The play of his lean muscles and the flash of his limbs, even from the overhead views, held Ilsa spellbound.
A quick glimpse of his face, handsome, even cruel in a slight way, made her heart skip a beat. It was as if the eyes could see her, even though his eyes were only a videotape image. Those eyes made Ilsa feel like she was prey. She shivered deliciously.
Ilsa forced herself to stop watching. She pulled the tapes and went running to the Fortress Purity auditorium, now being used as the operating amphitheater. Ilsa burst in breathlessly.
They were wheeling Konrad Blutsturz out on a hospital gurney.
"Oh no," she moaned.
"Ilsa, it is finished," Konrad Blutsturz said, his face a ghastly gray hue.
"But you're not walking. You're not walking. It didn't work?"
The head surgeon interjected himself.
"We won't know for several days. We were able to repair the nebulizer. All the parts are in place, but the surgical openings we made in Herr Fuhrer's stumps must heal first."
"We've got to get out of here before then," Ilsa pleaded.
"Out? Why, Ilsa?" asked the pitiful face of Konrad Blutsturz.
"Those new recruits. They didn't die at the rifle range. They killed our brave Aryan soldiers like they were children. They aren't human. Look at these tapes."
"Bring the tapes to my bedroom."
"Herr Fuhrer," the doctor began, "you must not exert yourself."
"Hush! Ilsa knows danger. Come. Ilsa."
In the bedroom, Konrad Blutsturz was laid on a specially reinforced iron bed. Six hulking soldiers handled him. He was covered by sheets. The sheets draped a complete human form.
It excited Ilsa to think that he was whole at last, but she quickly loaded the first tape and, after Konrad Blutsturz had dismissed the others, they watched it together.
After they had seen all three tapes, Konrad Blutsturz spoke.
"You are right, my Ilsa. They are a great danger. And I am too weak to face them just yet."
"I'll bring the van around."
"No. There still may be a way. Remember my plan to invite the Harold Smiths of America to Fortress Purity? I have just now thought of a way to test the feasibility of that plan and to rid ourselves of all of the people who stand in our way."
"Just tell me what you want me to do."
"Call a meeting in the auditorium immediately. Everyone must attend. Tell them I will make a great announcement. The doctors, too. We do not need them anymore."
"Okay. Are you sure you're up to it? You're supposed to rest."
"My fury will give me strength. Do this, Ilsa."
"Look at this, Little Father," said Remo. He pointed to a painting on the wall. They were in an office they had found. Two guards had attempted to stop them in the corridor but Chiun had taken their guns and, after learning that they knew nothing of Ferris D'Orr, spoke to them very quietly on the evils of racism. He held their hands to keep their attention. Sometimes he squeezed to emphasize key points.
By the time the Master of Sinanju was finished lecturing them, the two guards were on their knees nodding in furious agreement.
Chiun had locked them in the next room, where they were collaborating on a paper extolling the superiority of the Korean people especially those hailing from the fishing village of Sinanju. Chiun had told them he would collect it on the way out.
On the wall where Remo pointed was a portrait of the old man in the wheelchair they had seen kidnapping Ferris D'Orr in Baltimore.
"Another clue," said Chiun. "Does this mean we are closer to Ferris?"
"Probably," said Remo. Hearing footsteps coming down the hall, he glided to the door. "Someone coming," he said.
"Probably another racist," spat Chiun.
Remo caught the person as he entered. The he was a she.
"Oh!" said Ilsa Gans, struggling in Remo's arms.
When her struggles only caused the arms to tighten around her, she looked into the face of her captor. "Oh!" she said again. There was fear in her voice, but an undertone of pleasure too.
"It's the blond girl from Baltimore," Remo told Chiun.
"Where's Ferris?" he asked her.
"Somewhere," Ilsa said. His eves, close up, were brown and very large. They looked as warm as polished wood. For some reason, that made her tingle.
"I want an answer." Remo warned.
"I'll give you everything you want. Just squeeze me harder. "
"Damn," said Remo, suddenly thinking of Mah-Li waiting for him back in Sinanju. "Here, you take her, Little Father," and he sent Ilsa spinning across the room.
Chiun plucked her wrist, bringing her to a skidding stop.
"Oohh, you're some kind of icky Oriental," Ilsa cried, looking at the Master of Sinanju.
Chiun released her wrist disdainfully.
"And you are some kind of icky racist," he said. "I am losing my faith in American enlightenment, Remo." Remo pushed Ilsa into a leather chair and towered over her.
"Answers," he said, pointing to the wall portrait. "Who's he?"
"Herr Fuhrer Blutsturz. He is a great man."
"That's open to discussion. He's in charge here?"
"Until you got here," Ilsa said meltingly. She was staring at Remo's belt buckle hungrily. "There's something I must tell you. It's very important."
"Shoot," Remo said.
"I'm a virgin. I've been saving myself for someone else, but you can have me if you want."
Remo groaned inwardly. Women always reacted like this. It was some kind of animal magnetism generated by Sinanju rhythms. It had been a long time since he had enjoyed the effect he had on women. Usually it was a bother turning on the airline stewardesses or secretaries he happened to encounter. Sometimes Remo could use it to his advantage. A little Sinanju sexual stimulation could be a quick interrogation technique. But that was in the past, before Mah-Li.
"I want some answers," Remo said. "Not until I get what I want."
Remo grabbed Ilsa by an earlobe. He squeezed. Ilsa screeched. Her eyes watered.
"Get your mind onto business. Why did you and this Fuhrer what's-his-name-Bloodsucker-kidnap Ferris D'Orr?"
"Blutsturz," Ilsa moaned. "We needed his nebulizer."
"For what?"
"To make Herr Fuhrer walk. He has been in a wheelchair since the war. The creepy Jews did it."
"He's lucky they didn't do worse," said Remo, noticing Ilsa's Nazi armband.
"We needed the nebulizer to rebuild him in titanium. It was important. We tried to kill the Smiths one by one, but there were too many."
"What Smiths? You were talking about the Jews."
"Harold Smith is the leader of the global Jewish conspiracy."
"Harold Smith?" asked Remo.