Spoils Of War td-45 Read online

  "The Pentagon. All very hush-hush. They want me to talk to only the best-informed and most intelligent of their field generals. Just between you and me, Arlington, there could be a big promotion in this for whoever turns over the hottest leads on this problem."

  "Europe? You mean Europe?"

  Remo winked. "Could be."

  The general cleared his throat. "Well, let's see. It's my opinion that we must first explore the parameters of this situation and determine the possible consequences of our actions in this matter before undertaking—"

  "You don't know doodly squat, do you?"

  The general bristled. "I have a theory," he said defensively.

  "What's that?"

  The general leaned close to Remo and lowered his voice conspiratorially. "They're unionizing."

  "Who?"

  "The foot slogs. Discipline is at an all-time low. They don't march in formation. They don't wake up on time. When you try to get them to do anything, they just stare off into space."

  "Why don't you throw them in the slammer?"

  "The guardhouse is full. The stockade's full. There's no place else to put them. And the craziest

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  thing is, they don't mind being locked up. When they're arrested, they just trot off happy as pie. This new army's just a mess of worthless jelly bellies. They couldn't fight if their lives depended on it."

  "I don't know about that. I just saw one of your privates murdering another one. Right outside your window, in fact."

  "Is that your idea of a joke, boy?" The general's face grew red. His jowls shook. "Now, Tve been hearing all those reports about the other bases, but I mean to tell you, Senate spy or whoever you are, that I run a tight ship here. There's been no hanky panky since that chaplain wandered off last night. And I won't have you going back to Washington with horror stories about Fort Wheeler and General Arlington Montgomery."

  "Suit yourself. You'll get a report on it soon enough. One guy killed the other with a knife, and then he killed himself. There were seven witnesses."

  In a fury, the general punched one of the buttons on his speakerphone. "You're going to eat your words, boy," he sputtered. "Get Major Van Dyne in here. On the double."

  "Yes, sir," the WAC said between giggles.

  'This had better be on the level, mister, or you're in big trouble. With those candy-ass liberals in Washington, and with me."

  "Saw it with my own eyes," Remo said, smiling.

  Major Van Dyne appeared in the doorway, carrying a walkie-talkie. His uniform was crisp and knife-pleated. He was the same officer who'd had the bodies removed from the grounds. "Yes, sir," he said, saluting.

  "Do you know anything about a stabbing incident on the entrance grounds?"

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  "And a suicide," Remo added helpfully.

  "No, sir."

  "Hey, wait a second," Remo said, approaching the major. "You were there. You witnessed it. The crazy guy with the Bowie knife, who sliced up his buddy and then sent himself to happy land, remember?"

  "I've never seen this man before in my life, sir," the major said. Remo noticed that his eyes held the same faraway look the guards' had. "I suggest we place this person under arrest."

  The major spoke into his walkie-talkie. "Two unidentified civilians in General Montgomery's office."

  "Just as I thought," the general said. "Another crackpot sent by those left-wing apostles of surrender in Washington. Well, let me tell you, wise guy, I'm going to teach you and those faggots at the Pentagon that it doesn't pay to mess with Old-Blood-and-Guts."

  "Want to go down in American military history?"

  Remo asked.

  "How's that?" Montgomery asked.

  "Call yourself Old-Guts-and-Blood. You'll be the first. Everybody and his brother calls himself Old-Blood-and-Guts."

  "Lock him up."

  "I thought you didn't have room in the guardhouse," Remo said.

  "For you, we'll make room. Now get out of

  here."

  At a signal from Major Van Dyne, the six combat soldiers rushed in, grabbing Remo around his neck and chest. He slipped away easily. "No, no," he said. "No touchie, no feelie, guys." They lunged

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  at him again. One of the men upended his rifle to smash the butt into Remo's face. It missed and crashed into the wall behind.

  As the soldier was pulling the barrel out of the wall, Remo took it between two fingers like a baton, dispatching the soldier at the other end and a corporal standing nearby, who had a bayonet aimed at Remo's belly. With a flick of his toe, he turned a third combat soldier's spine to jelly. The fourth drew a small hand pistol and fired it at Remo, but since Remo had placed himself in a direct line with a soldier who was coming at him from behind with a knife, he weaved out of the way the instant he saw the soldier's trigger finger move, and there was no longer anyone behind him, at least no one with a face. The last soldier fired twice more before his hand was missing. Then his arm was missing. Then, after a quick tap to his forehead, his life was missing.

  "Now, suppose you and I talk, Major," Remo said. With unseeing eyes, Major Van Dyne stared straight ahead at Remo as he pulled out the walkie-talkie he carried. "Intercept and detain," he said into it. In a swift motion, Remo was behind him, pressing the nerves along the base of his spine, and the walkie-talkie clattered to the floor.

  'Talk," he said. But all he could get out of the major was something that sounded like "Hail Artemis."

  "Crackpots," the general said. "Crackpots to the right of me. Crackpots to the left of me. What the hell's he saying?"

  "Beats me," Remo said, and sent the major to paradise with a crack of his upper vertebrae.

  The general surveyed the mass of twisted, blood-

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  ied bodies in his office. "Best damn fighter I've seen since Guadalcanal," he said. "Where'd you learn hand to hand combat, Vietnam?"

  "Close enough."

  "You a Russky?"

  "I'm an American," Remo said.

  "Damn glad to hear it, son. An American who can fight. Warms the heart."

  "Aren't you afraid I'm going to kill you?"

  "Hell, I expect you will. I called for more troops while the ruckus was going on, but you're faster than they are. Hell, I can't even get the bastards out of bed anymore."

  Far in the distance, Remo could hear the sound of marching feet approaching the building. It had to be the general's replacement troops, Remo reasoned.

  "All right, get on with it," the general said, assuming a fighting stance, his portly belly jiggling in front of him. "To tell the truth, I feel pretty silly doing this after all these years, but it's a better way to go than having some idiot recruit misfire his weapon into me during target practice. Get on with it." He formed his features into a combat scowl. "Arghh. Arghh."

  "Whaes that?"

  "Mad noises. Scares hell out of the enemy. Arghh."

  "Calm down, General," Remo said, writing down some numbers on a piece of paper. "Here's where you can reach me in case you find out anything. Van Dyne was in on whatever's going on around here, and I don't think he was alone. Do the country a favor and tell me about any leads you get before you tell any more of your majors."

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  The general followed Remo to the anteroom, where the WAC was batting her eyelashes and attempting to show Chiun a portion of her thigh. "Let's go," Remo said, and in less than a second the general saw the thin young man who could fight so well and an unknown aged Oriental go out the window and shinny down the sheer face of the building.

  "Let me know if you want to enlist," the general called out the window after them. "You can start as a corporal."

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  Five

  Toward the end of his descent down the building, Remo's leg brushed against the chest of a tall, leggy redhead. Her two-piece khaki uniform looked like evidence that the modern army had decided to open up a supply room on Rodeo Drive in Beverly Hills.
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  "Quite a trick," she said. She looked appraisingly at the smooth wall.

  "Something I picked up at summer camp," Remo said.

  "You've got a lot of nerve, you know."

  "Naah, not really. If you can climb up it, you can climb down it. It's not hard."

  "Do not reveal the secrets of Sinanju to outsiders," Chiun cautioned in Korean.

  "I didn't mean the wall," the girl said. "I mean you have a lot of nerve copping a free feel like that."

  Remo looked around at the expanse of ground surrounding them. "If God didn't want your chest rubbed, he wouldn't have given you enough for two. Anyway, you could have stepped out of the way."

  "Then I wouldn't have enjoyed it as much." Her

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  r

  face broke into a pretty smile. Her eyes were jade green. "Work here?"

  "Sort of. See you."

  Remo and Chiun turned the corner. The girl ran ahead of them. They brushed past her without slowing. "Hey," she called. "I won't bite. My job is to make visitors feel at home here. Public relations." The breeze blew the scent of her perfume into Re-mo's nostrils. It smelled woodsy and sensual.

  "We do not relate to the public," Chiun said.

  "That's a beautiful robe," the redhead said, tentatively touching Chiun's kimono. "You can always tell hand-brocaded silk."

  Chiun stopped and said, "Remo, don't keep walking while this lady is talking to us." To the woman, he explained, "Rude. He has no manners. Ignore him. The women of my village toiled long to make this robe. It is perfect."

  "I can see that. It suits you well."

  "The Master of Sinanju always cloaks himself in perfection," Chiun said with a smile.

  "What was that about giving away secrets?" Remo asked.

  Chiun sniffed at him. "Unfortunately, so few things on the earth are perfect. It can be disheartening for one who seeks after beauty and truth to be surrounded with loutishness and ingratitude."

  "How very sad. But the grinding that would wear a lesser stone to nothing only serves to give luster to a diamond."

  Chiun beamed. "True. Very true. You are a wise child. She is very wise, Remo. Proof that some whites can think."

  "Come on, Little Father," Remo said. "She's playing you like a harp."

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  The girl continued, "I didn't make it up. My father always says that."

  "Your father is Korean?" Chiun asked.

  "I'm afraid not, but he does what he can."

  Chiun nodded sympathetically. "He might be nice anyway."

  "Well, it's been swell," Remo said, taking Chiun by the elbow. The Oriental yanked his arm away.

  "Unhand me, lout," he said. "Do you see how I must suffer at the hands of my ungrateful pupil who ¦does not even recognize a pure spirit when he encounters one? Tell me again, child, about the grinding."

  She smiled at Remo. "The grinding that would wear a lesser stone to nothing—"

  "My grinding teeth arc wearing away to nothing," Remo said. "Could we at least move away from here? The place'11 be crawling with zombies in à minute."

  "That's a great idea," the redhead said. "How about my place?"

  "Alas, I must return to our dwelling," Chiun said, "for I am weary from lack of sleep. Perhaps we shall meet again to.discuss other adages of your respected father's." He tottered away, wiping his brow weakly.

  "He's precious," the girl said to Remo. "You ought to take better care of that frail old man."

  Out of the corner of his eye, Remo saw Chiun walking in a collision course with another of Fort Wheeler's automaton soldiers. When the soldier neglected to give way before the Master of Sinanju, he was flattened into the dirt by Chiun's flailing right hand.

  'Til remember to be more gentle with him," Remo said.

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  T

  "Now how about my place?"

  "Thanks, but I've got some work to do."

  "Maybe I can help. Try me."

  Remo shrugged. "Know anything about a missing chaplain?"

  "He was murdered, most likely. Just like the chaplains at Antwerth, Beson, and Tannehill."

  "Not bad. What else do you know?"

  "I'll tell you in bed, Brown Eyes."

  The redhead in the captain's uniform lived off the base in a sprawling ranch house furnished in brass and satin.

  "Nice place," Remo said. "I guess army salaries are higher than they used to be."

  The girl laughed. "This isn't army issue. Daddy rents my living quarters for me while I'm on the road."

  "Then I take it you've been to the other bases where people have been disappearing."

  "That's right."

  "And you're not in public relations, are you?"

  "Army intelligence. I'm here to investigate the same things you are."

  "And who's Daddy?"

  "Osgood Nooner. Senator Osgood Nooner, the champion of human rights. You've seen him on TV. Your three questions are up."

  She unbuttoned her jacket and blouse in front of Remo and stepped out of her skirt easily. Her flesh was creamy, and her red hair fell to her nipples. "I'm Randy," she said throatily as she put her hands on him.

  "I can tell."

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  "That's my name, silly. Randy Nooner. What about you?"

  "Call me Remo," he said, as she led him to a plush bedroom dimly lit by soft pink light.

  "I'm glad we know each other, Remo. I never have sex with strangers,"

  "It's good to know there are still some women who hold out for a meaningful relationship."

  Randy wiggled and pinched and probed and caressed and otherwise irritated Remo, who just wanted her to hold still so he could get the whole boring process over with. Along with not being able to sleep, dream, or sweat, Remo had acquired a problem with women as a result of his training with Chiun. For someone who at one time had drooled at the sight of a pretty tush, Remo's interest in fooling around with girls had dwindled to near nonexis-tence. Sinanju had done that.

  Early in his training, Remo had learned the fifty-two steps toward bringing a woman to ecstasy, although he'd never encountered a woman who could hang on past step 11 before coming in a frenzy. His concentrated technique assured him that the women he was with would end up satisfied, but since the same technique left Remo yawning, sex just didn't have the same kick as it used to.

  "You're really a beautiful person, Remo," Randy said, squeezing off all circulation to his privates.

  "Yeah," Remo said as he touched her in a place beneath her left armpit that sent her into shrieks of pleasure. He was thinking that he hadn't eaten since noon the day before. "Say, is there a grocery store around here?"

  He manipulated her calf muscles with a flutter of

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  his fingers.. "Oooh," she moaned. "What do you want to eat, baby? Huh? Huh?"

  Remo's eyes wandered ceilingward. This one wasn't going to get past step 4. Well, at least it would be out of the way quickly.

  "Huh?" she persisted, clawing at his chest. "Tell me what you want iii your mouth. I'll give it to you. I'll give it to you good, honey. Oooh."

  "Well, actually, I was thinking about rice. And maybe a little duck." He worked his fingers up to her thigh.

  "Oh, duck!" Her head flailed wildly, whipping cascades of red hair into Remo's mouth. "Duck, oh, duck, baby," she yelled, frothing and shaking Hke a mad thing.

  As she lay panting and sated, Remo listened to the little gurgle of hunger in his stomach. He silently cursed Chiun for developing him into a man whose major preoccupation in a woman's bed was a bowl of rice.

  "You've certainly got some funny bedroom patter, Remo."

  "Sorry."

  "Don't apologize, darling. It drove me wild. I felt Hke you were so—so real."

  "Uh huh. Suppose we could talk about the missing chaplains?"

  "I'd rather talk about us."

  "Okay. What do we know about the missing chaplains?"

  She sighed. "Men. You're all alike. Just worried about getting y
our rocks off. If there's one thing I can't stand, it's sexual selfishness."

  "Okay, then, forget it," he said, throwing his legs over the bed. "It's been swell."

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  "You mean you're not coming back?"

  "We don't seem to communicate."

  "They're being killed off by the recruits. Now get back in here."

  "Why?"

  "Because they're the wrong religion. Do it to me again, Remo lover. Lay that duck stuff on me."

  "What's the right religion?"

  "According to the men, some traveling evangelist a.few miles out of town. I was going to check it out tonight. Services are at eight. Go to it, Remo. Down this way." She led his hand to her inner thigh, where he had left off.

  "What about the others who've been getting killed? I saw somebody murdered today."

  "I guess they're the wrong religion, too," she said. "Look, if I had this thing all sewn up, I wouldn't be down here investigating. That's all I know, so sock it to me."

  "Later," Remo said, gliding into his trousers. 'Tve got to get to some duck before church tonight."

  Randy sat up abruptly, teeth bared. "Why, of all the cheap, no good, low down, male chauvinist . . . Ooooh."

  Remo had slid his hand to a spot just to the right of her spinal column and pressed two nerves together until they locked in exquisite pleasure. "There," he said. "That'll hold you for an hour or so, until the nerves relax. Then you'll fall into a gente sleep. So long."

  "Duck," she rumbled, beating the mattress with her fists. "Duck, Remo. Oh, duck." * * *

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  Remo finished his duck and changed into the black T-shirt and tan chinos he had bought at the airport. They were identical to the clothes he'd worn the day before, but working assassins weren't paid to hang around laundromats, so he bought new clothes whenever he had the time to change.

  That was the deal Smith had made him more than a decade before—all expenses for the remainder of his working life, and all the spending money he wanted. What Smith didn't tell him was that men who don't exist don't need a lot of money. Flashy clothes and jewelry would only be an encumbrance; buying a car would be a waste of time, since he'd had to abandon every car he'd driven since he began wofking for Smith; and he would never be able to own a permanent home or raise a family. Chiun was the only family he had ever known, or would ever know.