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  Remo's shoulders sank. "He's going, isn't he?"

  "Yes," called a squeaky voice from the hallway. "And if you plan on opening your big dumb mouth again, pack a parachute."

  Chapter 27

  The sleek white Vox jet roared out of the clear blue sky above Queensland, Australia. Its lone passenger tapped his foot in frustration on the floor as he watched the ground rise up to meet the plane.

  Ken "Robbie" MacGulry hated this. He liked to drive events, not sit in the bloody back seat.

  It was all Friend's fault. The sentient computer program had transferred his enemies over to Robbie MacGulry. Apparently, they'd been after Friend for years. Now they had a living, breathing target to trace.

  "Should've just told the yobbo to rack-off that first time he called," he grumbled to himself.

  Maybe Friend didn't understand the human factor. Maybe he didn't realize that actual flesh-and-blood people had a tendency to make things personal. Or maybe just maybe-he wanted them to follow Robbie MacGulry back here.

  Back in New York, MacGulry's suspicions about Friend had finally been confirmed. It was possible Friend didn't want anyone else in on his secret. Maybe Robbie MacGulry was the only one to ever figure out what Friend really was.

  Well, if luring his enemies to Oz was Friend's way of bumping off MacGulry, the smart-ass computer program was in for a big surprise. Now that he knew the truth, Robbie might have an ace up his sleeve Friend hadn't anticipated.

  The media magnate smiled to himself as the plane cut low over a sprawling, isolated mansion. MacGulry's Queensland home was an oasis of green in a drab brown prairie. And buried beneath the manicured lawns and gleaming windows was Friend's deadliest secret.

  The house slipped away. A few moments later, plane tires shrieked as they struck pavement. Gray kangaroos that were part of the preserve around the rural runway bounded off in every direction as the jet rolled to a stop.

  A bewdy of a stewardess opened the door on the parched air. Hot wind blew in from the west.

  A very pale man with a wide-brimmed hat and a sweat-stained cotton dress shirt was waiting for MacGulry when he deplaned. Rodney Adler was giving the Australian salute, waving away mosquitoes from around his sweaty face.

  "Welcome home, Mr. MacGulry," Adler said, his British accent as crisp and dry as his body was damp. "Everything is ready, per your instructions."

  "You cleared out the Wollongong station?" MacGulry demanded, marching past the Englishman. A Rolls-Royce was waiting a dozen yards away, engine running.

  "Some of the staff have been relocated here to operate the special systems," Adler said, hurrying to catch up. "The rest were let go until after the start of the New Year." He swatted a fat mosquito on his arm. "Oh, and your associate called while you were en route. He was curious to know what exactly was going on."

  MacGulry stopped dead in his tracks. Eyes growing wide, he wheeled on Adler. "He called you?" he demanded.

  Adler almost plowed into his employer.

  "Yes," he admitted nervously. "I assumed you would want me to extend him every courtesy. He knew we were clearing out the station. He asked us to do something first. Since he knew so many details, I assumed he'd spoken to you first."

  A swarm of mozzies circled both men. MacGulry ignored the buzzing insects. For a moment the Vox chairman just stood there, fuming.

  This was the worst offense of all. Thanks to this private war he was waging, Friend was no longer content to act behind the scenes. After all these years, he was suddenly contacting Robbie MacGulry's employees directly. For the first time his Vox lackeys were learning the truth-the great and terrifying Robbie MacGulry was irrelevant. There was someone even greater lurking behind the scenes.

  Even Adler was looking at him differently. MacGulry could see the swelling lack of respect in the younger man's eyes. Oh, the Englishman was trying to hide it behind his usual mask of whimpering anxiety as he stood there scratching mosquito bites, but there was no mistaking it.

  Robbie MacGuhy was no longer a king. His stature had been diminished. And it was all Friend's fault. "Get outta my way, you pommie bastard," MacGulry snapped. He shoved Adler aside.

  The Englishman hesitated before running to catch up with his employer.

  "Was that not the right thing to do?" Adler asked. MacGulry didn't even respond.

  "What about the Robbots?" the Vox chairman demanded.

  "They are ready, sir," Adler said. He seemed even more nervous at this new subject. "Deployed at all entry points."

  MacGulry's driver was waiting to open the back door. At the side of the Rolls-Royce, MacGulry turned.

  "What did he tell you to do?" he snapped.

  "Who, sir?" asked Adler.

  "The guy who called, dammit. What did he tell you to do when he called?"

  "Oh," Adler said, hesitating. "It's- Well, it's a little thing. I assumed it would be all right."

  His hands were shaking. From a manila envelope tucked under his sweaty armpit, he produced a photoquality computer printout. MacGulry snatched the picture from Adler.

  It was Friend's younger enemy. The Caucasian who had chased Robbie MacGulry from New York. It was the same digitally created picture Friend had supplied MacGulry in the hope that Remo could be eliminated in Harlem. Only now did MacGulry realize why that computer printout had looked so ...computerized. It was straight out of Friend's memory. "We haven't been able to confirm if that image Cindee Maloo sent us from America is the same man," Adler said. "I've never seen anyone able to mask his features like that. That footage she sent was useless. Your associate told us to use the original we used twice in New York. He faxed us another picture."

  Adler pulled another photo from the envelope. This one was of the old Korean. Like the picture of Remo, it had a not-quite-real quality. A computerized version of a police sketch.

  "What are you doing with those?" MacGulry asked.

  "Well," Adler began anxiously, "we've been beaming them out subliminally all over New South Wales for the past twelve hours. Ever since your friend called. The Wollongong station has been set to automatically include them in all broadcast signals with instructions to kill on sight. If they show up in the area, the entire population that has been exposed to the cryptosubliminal images will tear them to pieces like a pack of wild dogs." A nervous smile exposed crooked teeth. "Does that not fit in with your plans, sir?"

  MacGulry held a picture in each hand, glancing from Remo to Chiun. He shoved the photos back in Adler's hands.

  "It fits in with his plans," the Vox CEO said, dropping into the back of the Rolls-Royce. "And with any luck, they'll be as good as he thinks they are and I'll have that stickybeak computer bugger right where I want him."

  His driver slammed the door on the heat and mosquitoes.

  Chapter 28

  "I think you should probably sit this one out, Little Father," Remo warned.

  The two men had just climbed aboard the military aircraft that would take them to Australia. An Air Force lieutenant guided them to their seats.

  "You may think of that and new ways to dishonor me when we are in the air," the Master of Sinanju sniffed. He swept past the offered seat, settling in the one behind it. It looked out over the left wing.

  "I'm not dishonoring you, I'm worried about you," Remo said. "There, I said it. The big dirty word. I'm worried about you. Damn, I'm a crummy son, aren't I? I'm actually worried about you. And why wouldn't I be? We haven't even talked about what happened in MacGulry's office."

  Remo's face held a look of deep concern. Chiun turned once to his pupil. His own expression was bland.

  "You may talk to your heart's content," the old Korean said. "Just do not involve me in your jabbering."

  And with that the Master of Sinanju turned away. For the better part of a day, for the duration of their trip to Australia, Remo's view was of the back of Chiun's age-speckled head. The old man studied cloud and sea, not once so much as glancing at his pupil. Only when the plane started to descend
over Sydney did he turn from the window.

  "I must warn you about Australians," the old man announced unhappily.

  Remo noted his teacher's lack of enthusiasm. He didn't care. He was just happy Chiun was talking to him after so many hours.

  "What about them?" Remo asked.

  "Watch them," Chiun said. He turned back to the window.

  "That's it? Watch them? Watch them do what?" But Chiun didn't reply. He said nothing more as the plane landed and they got off. He remained silent all the way through customs when Remo asked for the tenth time why he should watch Australians and Chiun finally released a little exasperated sigh.

  "A good pupil would just do as he's told-he would not question."

  "Good pupil, good Nazi, good dog. I'm none of those. Why watch Australians?"

  "Because if you do not, they will steal the marrow from your bones and sell it to the butcher."

  "Wait, I thought the Chinese were the thieves. Sometimes the Japanese. Now Australians are, too? How do you expect me to keep the racism straight if you're just gonna tar everyone with the same brush?"

  "I am not," Chiun said. "More than one people can be the same thing. Just because the French stink, it does not mean that the Filipinos do not. Believe me, they do. Australians are more than just common thieves. They are murderers and pirates and insurrectionists. This is where England sends all its riffraff who are not royalty."

  "Chiun, that hasn't been going on for a hundred years."

  "See? Just yesterday. My father warned me about Australians. If they like your sandals, they will steal them from your feet while you are walking and then come back for your feet."

  "We walked through Harlem, we can walk through Australia," Remo said.

  But in the next moment even he wasn't sure of his own argument. As they walked out into the terminal, Remo felt a hundred sets of eyes lock on him and the Master of Sinanju. Men who had been sitting stood. A hush fell over the crowd.

  "Oh, crud," was all Remo managed to say before a murderous howl rose up from the airport concourse. The crowd surged toward Remo and Chiun.

  "It's a mugging!" the Master of Sinanju cried, twirling on his heel. "Guard your purse!"

  The old man bounded down the hall, back in the direction they'd just come.

  "A hundred people aren't rolling two guys, Little Father," Remo said, running to catch up. Passengers who had just deplaned from a commercial flight jumped angrily from their path.

  "If you knew Australians like I knew Australians, you would not be so naive," Chiun replied.

  Behind them, the mob gained strength. Remo and Chiun darted up an escalator, across a railing and jumped down into the main terminal. The crowd doubled back in hot pursuit.

  In the terminal, Remo wasn't surprised to see some familiar hypnotic pulses flashing on the arrival and departure monitors that hung from the ceiling.

  "Don't look at the screens, Chiun," Remo warned. But Chiun was already out the door. Remo flew out after him. The Master of Sinanju was bounding into the rear of a waiting cab. When Remo slipped in after him, the driver tried to gouge out his eyes with his keys.

  Remo smacked the cabbie unconscious and snagged the keys on their way to the floor.

  "Just once it'd be nice to go somewhere where everyone isn't trying to kill me," he groused as he dumped the driver to the sidewalk. He hopped behind the wheel.

  "It is not you and your offensive personality for once-it is this floating prison," Chiun squeaked. "Hurry and drive, while my virtue is still intact."

  Remo managed to drive ten feet before a speeding car crumpled his bumper. The driver had the dead-eyed look of Vox's other subliminal victims. When Remo tried to go around it, another cab hopped the curb and slammed them from the other side. They were pinned in a V of crashed cars as the mob from the terminal began swarming into the sunlight.

  The crowd swamped the cab, smashing windows and pounding fists on buckling metal.

  "Any ideas, Little Father?" Remo asked as he leaned away from hands that were trying to strangle him.

  When he got no response other than the animal roar of the mob, he glanced in the back seat.

  Chiun was gone.

  "Why didn't I think of that?" Remo muttered. He popped the door and slipped out.

  The crowd surged. Remo surged with it. As it continued surging, he bled back through it, leaving the mob to crush to death the empty space where he no longer was.

  Their backs were to him as he hurried along the row of cabs. He kept to pillar and shadow to avoid detection.

  He found the Master of Sinanju three cabs down. The driver of this taxi didn't have the look of a Vox viewer in his eyes. He seemed baffled by the activity up ahead.

  "You wanna kill us, too?" Remo asked the driver as he slid in the back seat next to the Master of Sinanju.

  "Only if you're a lousy tipper, mate," the man replied.

  Remo gave the cabbie the address of Robbie MacGulry's flagship station. The two Masters of Sinanju ducked low, avoiding the crowd that was just beginning to realize that the two men they were after had disappeared.

  "What did I tell you?" Chiun said. "This country is not safe for simpler travelers like me."

  "Looks like it's plenty safe for people who aren't us," Remo said. "Friend must be expecting us. Do me a favor and keep from looking at any TV screens, okay?"

  A strange look came over the old man's face. If Remo didn't know better, he would have sworn it was a flush of embarrassment on his teacher's cheeks.

  Chiun didn't look at Remo. As they drove away from the airport, he fussed at the knees of his kimono. "Believe me, the last thing I want to see is your ugly white face on television," the Master of Sinanju sniffed.

  He screwed his mouth shut tight for the rest of the cab ride from Sydney.

  REMO HAD the taxi driver park at the back fence of the Wollongong Vox station. Avoiding guard booths and security cameras, the two Masters of Sinanju scaled the high fence and slid onto the grounds. The parking lots were empty.

  "No cars," Remo commented as they headed for the main building. "Little early to be closed for Christmas."

  "This is Australia," Chiun grumbled. "They were probably all stolen."

  "Friend thinks we're coming. He's probably up to something. Just please, be careful."

  His meaning was clear.

  This time, the Master of Sinanju did not dignify his pupil's plea with a single word. Face stony, he mounted a set of rear stairs between security camera cycles. Remo darted inside behind his teacher.

  They found themselves in a long air-conditioned hallway. The walls were thick glass. A door at the end of the hall led into a large control room.

  The room was two stories high and filled with enough high-tech gadgetry to put NASA to shame. The air inside was cold. There was no one in the room. A pair of lonely security cameras scanned from high above.

  Remo had already had enough of cameras lately. And now he knew who might be on the other side looking in.

  On entering the room, Remo feinted left, Chiun dodged right. They each found a blind spot on opposite sides of the room where the cameras wouldn't be able to track them.

  Once Remo was sure he sensed no listening devices, he called over to the Master of Sinanju.

  "Just because they're broadcasting from here, doesn't mean Friend's around."

  "No, it does not," Chiun agreed. "So you wanna be first?"

  "As Master I was first," Chiun replied thinly. "Which means I decide who goes first."

  Remo's eyes sank to half-mast. "Short straw again," he said. Sighing, he stepped down the painted concrete stairs.

  The cameras had continued to patiently sweep the room. But as the first one passed Remo, it stopped dead. An instant later, a phone at his elbow rang.

  "Think it's for me?" Remo said dryly as he lifted the receiver to his ear.

  "Hello, Remo," said a familiar smooth voice. "I'm surprised to see you here so soon."

  Remo's eyes were trained on the secu
rity camera. The unblinking eye of Friend stared back.

  "I got a good tailwind," Remo said.

  "I see. Are you alone?"

  Remo didn't dare shoot a glance at the Master of Sinanju. With his peripheral vision he saw his teacher moving like a wraith down another set of stairs. Both cameras were now trained solely on Remo. They missed completely the old Korean as he crept stealthily forward.

  "Wasn't that your plan?" Remo asked. "You got to Smith and Chiun. You were knocking us off one at a time."

  "That was part of the plan, not the plan itself," Friend admitted.

  "Yeah, I know," Remo said. "You want to take over the world. Don't you ever get tired of singing that same song?"

  "I only want those parts of the world where there is profit to be made. The technology I've developed will help me reach my goal. Imagine, Remo, any product I advertise on my global network will sell to young, old, rich, poor. Demographics will no longer matter. The profit of a single world media market utilizing the cryptosubliminal technology can be measured in the trillions."

  "Right now it's not dollars I care about," Remo said. "It's my face being beamed to every koala coop and outhouse in the merry old land of Oz."

  "They've seen you without actually seeing you," Friend explained. "The image will fade in their minds a day or two after their exposure to it. In the meantime, I have a business proposition for you."

  "If this is the one where you offer me a job, been there, done that," Remo said. "So why don't we just skip ahead to the part where I pull your plug?"

  "Don't bother," Friend said. "You're too far away to be a threat to me. I can move before you can reach me."

  Across the room, Chiun had stopped by some thick electrical cables. They ran through the wall close to his ankles. A steady hum of artificial life surged through them.

  "Wrong again, chips for brains," Remo said into the phone.

  And as he spoke, the Master of Sinanju jumped. The cameras were too slow to track him. Chiun snatched up cables in both hands. They were like thick black snakes. With a yank, the cords snapped one by one, surrendering sizzling sparks from their frayed ends.