Smith did not need casualty figures to tell him what was happening. He could see the bodies of the Ebla Arab Army soldiers as the Israelis swarmed over them. As yet Smith had not seen a single dead Israeli.
In isolation the war as it was unfolding would have been a cause for celebration for Jerusalem and its allies in the West. However there was another, darker factor at work in the region. The aspect that was not yet being covered by the press was the effect the Eblan invasion was having on other fundamentalist nations in the Mideast.
Already there were demonstrations in support of Ebla and its sultan in Syria, Lebanon, Iraq and Iran. There were even radical elements in Jordan, Egypt and Saudi Arabia who applauded the decisive conduct of Sultan Omay.
As a result of the action of this one, insignificant little nation, all of the Mideast was ready to ignite. Even Israel would not be able to repel attacks from all sides.
Libya had already announced support for Ebla. It was eager to join the fray, yet was cautious enough to see how America would react to the aggression of others.
So far the United States had remained neutral in the actual conflict. While publicly denouncing the actions of Ebla-which he had done many times in the past few days-the President had ordered U.S. battleships in the Mediterranean not to engage.
American troops on the ground in Kuwait, Saudi Arabia and Egypt had been put on a heightened alert status, but had been similarly instructed. Everyone knew this would last only until the rest of the Islamic world joined Ebla against Israel. When push finally came to shove, there was no doubt anywhere in the region, or indeed in the world, on whose side America's ultimate loyalty would fall. If it came to it, the United States would back its longtime ally, Israel.
And once the U.S. was actively involved, there would be no turning back. Other nations around the world would take sides. As a result of tiny Ebla's actions, the world was heading inexorably down a destructive path it had not ventured on in more than half a century.
It was a tricky situation. Even now the President had put on hold any attempt to rescue the secretary of state and the rest of the hostages lest the presence of American military personnel within its borders inspire Ebla to claim that the U.S. had joined Israel.
In the solitude of his Folcroft office, Smith scanned the minute-by-minute reports with forced detachment. There was no sense in pointless agitation. He had a sinking feeling that there would be enough of the real thing to go around in a very short time.
Chiun would soon be at ground zero.
The situation had become too grave too quickly. Smith was forced to intercept the Master of Sinanju's commercial craft in Honolulu. He had arranged for an Air Force flight out of Hawaii to take Chiun directly to Tel Aviv. But until the Master of Sinanju was in place and ready to defuse one end of Omay sin-Khalam's diabolical trap, Remo could not act.
Smith had not yet gotten hold of Remo to tell him the plan had been accelerated. When he tried reaching CURE's enforcement arm at Taurus, an effete secretary informed him that Remo had left the studio in the company of Bindle and Marmelstein. No matter. With the worldwide crisis that was brewing, Remo would surely not miss his usual check-in time. Smith hoped.
Watching the video images on his computer screen of bodies piling up on the parched mountainous desert of the Golan Heights, Smith realized that he hoped for a lot of things right now.
And as Hell erupted in the Middle East, all any of them could do was wait.
"WHAT DO THEY DO with thieves in Ebla?" Bindle asked.
They were driving through occupied Culver City. Remo was behind the wheel of the Taurus Studios jeep. So far the Eblan soldiers they had encountered had left them alone.
"Probably cut their hands off," Remo said, uninterested.
Hank Bindle was horrified. "But I use mine." He pouted.
Bruce Marmelstein was equally upset. "And my Rolex would have nothing to hold it on," Marmelstein argued. He waggled his new watch, which was a replacement for the Swiss watch with his face. The Swiss watch had broken an hour after he first put it on.
"Maybe you can ask for a substitute," Remo suggested. "I'd recommend your tongues."
The headquarters of Local 529 was in a small office in a complex off of La Cienaga Boulevard. Remo parked on the sunlit street out front and went inside. The two movie executives followed.
Lips Cagliari wasn't there. However they did find a similarly overweight Teamster who told them that Reggio had left about an hour before.
"Was he alone?" Remo asked.
"Sure," the man said. "He had me help load a crate in the back of his truck."
"Did that crate weigh as much as a skinny Arab with rotten teeth?" Remo asked.
The guy cocked his head. "Maybe. Reggio told me it was camera equipment. Say, I heard there's guys who are startin' to wanna fight after seein' that ex-cop on TV. You think old Lips went and joined the resistance against these A-rabs?" He scratched his ample belly as he spoke.
"Only if there's a paycheck in it," Remo said, shooting a look at Bindle and Marmelstein. "Do you have any idea where he might have gone?" he asked the man.
"I'm not so sure about that," the teamster mused. "Reggio always liked the zoo. The lion house is a pretty good spot for dumping purposes, if you know what I mean. If he bagged himself an A-rab, he might go there."
"Thanks." Remo turned urgently on the studio executives. "You guys know where the zoo is?" he asked.
"Ever been to Compton?" Marmelstein replied glibly.
Remo cuffed him in the side of the head.
"Ouch! Yeah, I know," Marmelstein complained, rubbing the edge of his hair plugs. "That hurt."
"Imagine how much worse it'll be without a hand to rub it," Remo said with a dour expression.
He headed back out the door.
Outside they found a group of Eblans standing suspiciously near the front of Remo's car. There were five of them in flowing robes and headdresses.
Two of the Arabs had been in a jeep; three had been on camelback. The camels were tethered to a nearby telephone pole.
"What is your business?" the leader of the group demanded. He was a short man with a thick beard and an even thicker accent.
"We're trying to scrape up a test screening audience for the latest Pauley Shore movie," Remo explained blandly. "So far people are happier with the occupation than the thought of having to sit through it. We're thinking a forty-million-dollar advertising budget."
The beard twisted into a frown.
"You are restricted to your homes unless granted permission otherwise," the confused Arab insisted.
"We're with Taurus Studios," Hank Bindle interjected. "I happen to be a close personal friend of Mr. Koala, who is a close personal friend of Sultan Omay."
This brought a reaction from the Arabs. At the mention of Taurus Studios, five automatic weapons were quickly raised. The Arabs aimed the guns at Remo's group.
"You are coming with us," their leader barked.
"Sorry," Remo apologized. "We're kinda pressed for time. Our projectionist's already on golden time."
Before the Eblan could react, Remo's hand shot forward, fingers stiff.
Their leader had been standing farther ahead of the rest and was therefore the first casualty. When the tips of Remo's fingers met the barrel of the Arab's gun, there was a shriek of protesting metal. With a pained cry the barrel split in two, folding back along its length like a peeling banana. One twisted side of half barrel punctured the heart of the gun's stunned owner. The other side curled farther back, splitting the breastbone of a charging Ebla Arab Army soldier. It came to rest in a second fluttering heart.