The tires smoked as the car lurched forward. Two body-flattening bumps and the road leveled off.
L. Vas Deferens settled, annoyed, back into the seat. He didn't appear at all concerned that he was driving toward a mob of rampaging Luzus.
In the rear of the car, Deferens drummed his pale fingers impatiently on the door's dark molded handle.
The limo crunched up the gravel road, finally breaking around the high hedge and into a circular lot lined with huge pots filled with topiary animals.
There were mutilated corpses scattered in a wide area around the parked cars of the adjacent lot. And standing amid the dead was a lone figure.
The chauffeur had been at the door of the restaurant when Remo eliminated Johnny Fungillo's lunch companions. Seeing the same man calmly standing amid these bodies, the driver felt a hard knot of fear tighten in his belly.
As the car headed for him, Remo neither flinched nor budged. In the back seat, Deferens leaned forward, his eyes narrowing in suspicion at the sight of Remo.
"What is he doing here?" he said to himself.
"Shall I drive over him?" the chauffeur asked hopefully.
Deferens didn't hear him. "Stop the car," he demanded.
"Um, right here, or on him?" the driver asked.
"Now!"
The chauffeur slammed on the brakes. Spitting stones, the long car screeched to a stop five feet from Remo. Deferens didn't wait for his driver to open his door. Popping it open, he jumped out into a pool of coagulating blood. He stormed around the front of the car to Remo.
"What is the meaning of this outrage?" the defense minister snapped at Remo.
"That's a relief," Remo exhaled. "So you're saying this isn't a typical day around here?" More cars raced up the drive. Soldiers spilled from them and from around the side of the building.
"Stay here," Deferens barked at Remo. He hurried to the guards, pointing them in various directions. A few stayed with him when he came back to Remo's side. "Why are you here?" he demanded, his face stern.
"You know, this looks like kind of a bad time," Remo said. "I can come back later."
"Why?" Deferens snarled. "Tell me now or, by God, I will have you shot where you stand."
Remo glanced to the guards. "Just stopped by to see you," he said, keeping his voice low. "But if this is hell week, I think I'll pledge another frat." Deferens seem only to be half listening. With the immaculate toe of an expensive hand-sewn shoe, he flipped over a corpse. Deep gashes slit face and throat.
"This is obscene," Deferens grumbled. He found a clean spot on the dead man's uniform and used it to wipe the blood from his soles. "These men were killed with weapons," he announced as he rubbed every last trace of sticky blood away.
"I noticed that, too." Remo nodded. "Unarmed," he offered, raising his hands helpfully. "Looks like some kind of knife."
Deferens's chiseled face was suspicious. "Machetes," he supplied tightly. He turned to his remaining men. "Search the grounds," he ordered. "Shoot to kill. And be more careful than these idiots." He kicked the man on whose uniform he had cleaned his shoes.
Wheeling to Remo, he barked, "You are with me."
Remo fell in beside Deferens as the minister stormed toward the palace.
"You picked a bad time to visit," Deferens growled as they walked.
"It was either this or the local Global Movieland, but my tour guide said that got blown up by terrorists."
Deferens whipped open the door. A quartet of Citizen Force guards nearly tripped over them on their way out.
"This wing is secure, sir!" one exclaimed. "Join the others searching the grounds," Deferens commanded. As he and Remo entered the palace, the running guards spilled outside.
The interior was cool.
"Have you registered yet?" Deferens demanded as they mounted the marble stairs.
"That's what I wanted to talk to you about," Remo said. "Like I said before, I really don't like to advertise."
"I'm not interested in your likes or dislikes. In East Africa you register with the government. The penalty issued by the finance ministry for failure to comply is far greater than any your IRS could imagine."
"You haven't been to America lately," Remo said. "And anyway, this isn't a tax dodge. I like to keep a low profile. If I register with you and my name gets out to the wrong people, it could prove hazardous to my health."
"Your health is already in jeopardy," Deferens warned.
Remo's smile was coolly confident. "I feel fine." On the second-floor landing, Deferens led Remo to a polished mahogany door. The defense minister noted as they walked that Remo's shoes made not a sound. Deferens's own footfalls echoed like rifle cracks off the fresco ceiling.
At the door, he paused. "You were good with those men at the restaurant," he said, crossing his arms. The movement did nothing to wrinkle his white suit. "Very good. Of course, you realize I could have you shot right now."
"If you shoot me, I won't be able to work for you."
The defense minister's lips tightened. Wordlessly, he slapped the door open and marched inside. The office suite was large and tidy. A few empty desks and a row of comfortable chairs filled the waiting area.
"Wait here," Deferens commanded.
He marched ahead, down a long hallway to a distant office.
"I'm bad at judging interviews," Remo called after him. "Does this mean I got the job?"
In response, he heard what sounded like an oldfashioned rotary phone. The dialing was cut off by the sound of L. Vas Deferens's office door slamming shut with a palace-rattling crack.
Chapter 13
The intrusion of the ringing phone into Mandobar's afternoon came at a time when no servants were present to answer it. It rang and rang and rang in the small house, the last in the isolated village of bungalows that had been constructed for the Great Day.
Looking absently out the window, Mandobar ignored the telephone.
Thoughts drifted to this week's work.
Mandobar was in China. Yet Mandobar was here. It was all so delightful. Gooseflesh appeared on the dark neck of the Great Day's architect just thinking about the timing of the week's events.
A broad smile stretched across the wide, famous face.
It was a face that had gone all around the world. Lauded by presidents and kings, kissed at Hollywood parties, beloved by those who didn't know or refused to see what was truly going on behind those smiling eyes.