The Master of Sinanju had placed one cupped hand to the left of Remo's sternum. The other hand was placed atop it. He began a slow up-and-down massage of the area over Remo's heart, his hands acting as suction.
"He has knowledge of some unusual healing techniques."
"Acupressure?"
Chiun snorted.
"Something like that," Smith said. "Doctor, if you would not mind-"
Grant turned from Chiun, interrupting. "The reason I mentioned the UFO nuts is because they'll have a field day if they find out about your friend here."
Smith blinked. "What do you mean?"
"In case you haven't heard, there's some lunatic out there who's frying people alive. Mr. Halper is the first one to meet him and come out alive."
"Yes," Smith said evenly. "There have been a number of deaths, as I understand it. The killer or killers are setting people alight."
Major Grant shook his head. "They've been fried, yes, but they haven't been set on fire. The killer uses electricity. And from what I've heard around base, there's only one man."
"One man?" Smith asked, surprised. He thought of the "subject Roote" reference picked up by the CURE computers. The story jibed with the initial reports.
"That's right," Grant said. "And your friend met him. He took a powerful hit of electricity. Somehow he survived. If you lump that in with his strange muscular contractions and his supercomplex nervous system, the UFO people could begin to think that he's not quite human."
"That is ludicrous," Smith sniffed dismissively. Major Grant nodded agreement.
"I'm just telling you the spin people put on reality around here. The latest rumor I heard was that the killer is an alien who's come back to look for some ship that supposedly crash-landed here years ago."
Smith was ready to tell the doctor how foolish he sounded but was distracted by a noise from across the room. A low moan had issued from Remo.
Major Grant turned in surprise. He was stunned to see his patient's eyes open. They rolled around, unseeing, in their sockets for a few seconds. Then, as he moaned once more, Remo's eyelids fluttered shut.
"Amazing," the doctor hissed, stepping toward the bed.
Smith quickly restrained him. He took the major firmly by one arm, leading him swiftly to the door. "Your assistance has been appreciated, Doctor," Smith announced efficiently. "We will assume control of this patient's care now."
"But what about-"
"Thank you very much," Smith said as he shut the door in the doctor's startled face. Quickly he joined Chiun at Remo's bedside. "Will he recover?" he asked worriedly.
"I do not know," Chiun replied, his face a mask of tight concern. "The witch doctor did speak some truth. Remo has been exposed to a great deal of electricity. It has affected the parts of his body controlled by such impulses."
"Do you think he spoke while he was under?" Smith asked, addressing his greatest concern.
"It is not likely," Chiun replied, annoyed by the question. "His body has concentrated all of its energies on restoring itself to health. He would not expend resources on anything as unnecessary as speech."
Smith felt the tension drain from his shoulders.
"That is a relief," he sighed.
"Would that I shared your opinion," Chiun responded, his singsong voice hollow. He waved a bony hand. "Leave us now," he insisted. "Remo's heart beats incorrectly. I must minister to him without interruption."
Smith did as he was asked. At the door he paused, glancing back at CURE's-and America's-two greatest weapons.
One lay on his back, unconscious, while the other seemed very old and frail as he toiled to save him.
This was supposed to have been a simple assignment. Now Remo's health and possibly his life were in danger. And the force that had felled him was still out there. Loose.
The nature of his work had long ago made Smith surrender any vestiges of the religious ideals of his distant childhood. Still, as he closed the door on the two Masters of Sinanju, Harold Winston Smith said a silent prayer. For all of them.
Chapter 9
His quarry had disappeared.
For a time, Arthur Ford considered the possibility that the mysterious G-man and his strange Asian companion had been beamed up to a circling spaceship, Hertz car and all. But then he found the tracks in the dirt that led back out to the desolate road. Ford was pretty certain spaceships didn't use Goodyear radials.
They'd outsmarted him.
Annoyed, he got back on the highway. He was still in a funk when he arrived at the desert surrounding the military base just outside the White Sands Missile Range.
Ford tried to purge the thoughts of the government agent from his mind as he drove out into the vast expanse of burning flat desert beyond Fort Joy.
He planned to make the big trip this time out; he would circle down around Joy National Cemetery where it extended into Texas, and swooping up through El Paso, he'd come around White Sands from the west.
He had brought along enough food and gasoline for the several days he would spend in the desert. As he bounced along the rough terrain, Ford sipped from one of the bottles of Lubec Springs water he had packed in two insulated cases in the rear of the jeep.
The sun was dropping lower in the lateafternoon sky. Night would soon follow. It was best at night. Sometimes they would come out in the daytime, but at night the show was always better.
At times there would be a single ship. Flying high above the endless desert. At other times there would be multiple craft. These occasionally would fly in formation above the desert watchers, multicolored running lights blinking cheerfully at the planet inhabitants below. The lights would break formation all at once, darting up into the heavens.
Ford had never seen any of the smaller, grouped spacecraft. He had seen many of the larger ones in his life. He even used to report them years before, but the sinister forces in the United States government were always one step ahead of him. Their stooges always got to the local police or airport or FBI or civil-defense offices first, passing out the old "landing airplane" cover story. Ford was so upset at the blatant cover-up that he was nearly ready to stop calling anyway when the cease-and-desist order was issued.
This was part of the reason he had been so anxious to follow the G-man from the airport. If the guy wasn't a ufologist, then he was the enemy. Especially dressed like that. Arthur Ford might have been able to expose the whole conspiracy if he'd been able to tail the guy.
Too bad for Ford. Everyone knew the government was always involved in all sorts of coverups. He would have been a hero if he'd been able to expose the mother of them all-the great Roswell UFO conspiracy.
One thing was sure-if he had exposed the truth, his family would finally stop snickering whenever his name was mentioned. Except for his mother. She'd stop crying.
Though he had tried since losing the G-man's car outside of Roswell, as Ford drove through the ATV furrows and around clumps of desert scrub, he could not help but think of the opportunity that had slipped through his fingers. Tonight, dammit, the universe owed him a spaceship.
He steered his jeep down into a well-worn trail that led down into a dried-out riverbed. He followed the contours of the old river for fifty yards, driving up the angled path that led up the far side. Bouncing, the jeep crested the hill.
It was as he was leveling the jouncing vehicle off for the short trip down the rocky incline at the far side of the old riverbank that Arthur Ford saw the spaceship.
It was directly ahead of him in the gathering redness of the afternoon desert sky. A tiny black dot moving swiftly toward him.
Ford was so shocked it took him a moment to realize he'd slammed on the brakes. A cloud of dust kicked up from beneath the skidding wheels.