"I thought F 5.6 at a hundredth."
"I don't think there's enough light in here for that," said General Haupt.
"Well, I've got slave strobe units on both ends of the line."
Haupt mused for a moment. "Yes, Corporal, that might do it. But be sure and shoot a couple at a fiftieth too."
"Yes, sir."
"All right. How do you want us?"
"I'd like to shoot from behind you, General, at the line of men."
"Will you be able to see me?" asked Haupt.
"Part of your profile," the photographer said.
"Okay. Then shoot from my left side. My left profile's better."
"Hey, general," called a voice from the ranks. "Is this almost a wrap? This rifle is getting heavy."
"Yeah," came another voice. "I've got to work out the PX entertainment schedule for the next week. I can't stay here forever."
"Almost ready, men. Just stay with it a while."
Remo, Chiun, and Sashur stood inside one of the large double doors of the fieldhouse, watching the troops shuffling into the right positions.
"Is that him?" Remo asked Sashur.
"That's him. I'd recognize that voice anywhere."
"All right," Remo said.
"Carefully, my son," said Chiun.
Remo walked across the highly polished basketball floor of the fieldhouse to the general and stood behind him. The photographer, eye to his viewfinder, swore. Who was this person breaking up his picture just when he had it composed correctly?
"General Haupt," said Remo.
The general turned. The look of concerned alert vibrancy that he had carefully constructed on his face for the photographer's benefit disappeared.
"You," he said.
"Right. Me. A little matter about murders."
Haupt looked at Remo's face for a moment, then jumped back. He grabbed the camera from the photographer and threw it at Remo. If he got him, that would do it. He knew that kind of camera would hurt, because once he got hit by an Associated Press .35mm camera with a .235 millimeter telephoto lens, and it was real heavy because it went down to F 2.8.
The camera missed.
"Use your men," Sashur Kaufperson shouted from the corner of the room where she had sidled away from Chiun and stood watching.
But General Haupt had already thrown the only weapon he knew how to use. He began to back away from Remo. Over his shoulder, he called to the major at the end of the line:
"Call someone from a combat battalion."
"The combat battalions are off for the day, General," the major yelled back. "Remember, you gave them the day off for finishing second in the inter-Army shoe shining contest?"
"Oh, yeah. Hell," said Haupt.
He was now backed against the wall. Remo stood in front of him.
"Use your troops," Sashur Kaufperson yelled again.
"Troops," General Haupt yelled. "Protect your commander." He got those words out just as Remo dug a thumb and two fingers into Haupt's collarbone area.
Back in the line, the major with the rocket launchers asked the captain next to him "Do you think we should call the police?"
The captain shrugged. "I don't know if the police will come on the post. Federal property, you know." He turned to a young lieutenant from the judge advocate's office who stood in combat infantryman's garb, holding an M-16.
"Freddy, can the city police come onto the post?"
"Not without express permission from the commander."
"Thanks." The captain looked at General Haupt, who was writhing against the wall, his face contorted in pain.
"I don't think he'd want to sign a paper now inviting the city police in."
"No, I don't think so," the major agreed. "Maybe we could call the Marines. Marines are federal."
"Yes, but the nearest Marine base is far away. They couldn't get here in time."
General Haupt was on the floor now. Remo knelt alongside him.
"I wish violence was my classification," the lieutenant from the judge advocate's office said. "I'd like to put a stop to this."
"Yes," said a captain in the middle of the line. "I would too but I don't know how human relations would apply to this situation." He was a psychiatrist.
A lieutenant with a mortar suggested wrapping Remo up in telephone wire. He was in communications.
The major at the end said, "Perhaps we'd better wait for further orders."
The officers nodded. "Yes. That's probably best," the captain said. He felt sorry that there was nothing in the manuals to cover this situation.
Remo knew something that wasn't in the manuals either. He knew that when you wanted to get someone to talk, fancy wasn't important. Pain was. Any kind of pain, inflicted any way you wanted. Beat them with a stick. Kick them on the knee until it was puffed and bruised. Anything. Make them hurt, and they would talk.
He was inflicting pain now upon General William Tassidy Haupt, but the general was still not talking to Remo's satisfaction.