The surge was short and powerful. The major's brain was literally fried by the wave of electricity that fired across every synaptic pathway at once. Hair smoking, the Army doctor toppled over onto Roote's legs.
"Mama always wanted me to marry a doctor." Roote snickered. He pushed the twitching corpse away.
Roote knelt beside the body. He used the tail of the major's white coat to wipe off the worst of the oil and grime that he had smeared on his face before joining the men he had attacked at the fence.
Once he was through, Roote stood calmly. Strolling at a leisurely pace, he wandered across the main infirmary hallway and out the swinging doors.
REMO'S VISION WAS NOT as keen as it had been before his encounter with Roote. He realized it once they had traveled a few hundred yards away from the activity at the Fort Joy gate.
Although the area immediately around the jeep was clearly visible, he was having a difficult time with objects in the distance. It was part of the same problem that afflicted his entire system.
While they drove through the desert, Remo was forced to rely on the Master of Sinanju for directions.
Chiun was having some difficulty, as well, but not for the same reason as Remo. In spite of his exceptional night vision, the aged Korean was having difficulty following the fresh trail across the desert because it was so uneven.
The path was erratic. Even so, it would have been easy for Chiun to see if it had been exclusively through sand. Apparently their quarry had raced across stone surfaces and through fields of thick sage. It was obvious to Remo that the Army private they sought had been in a blind panic as he fled the site of the massacre.
Concentrating so as not to have to ask his mentor for every twist and turn in the route, Remo steered the jeep in a zigzagging pattern, following the trail to a point, losing it, doubling back, picking it up once more, following to the next twist. It was an arduous process that led them miles away from the Army camp.
Far behind, the tiny lights of Fort Joy helicopters swooped back and forth across the night sky. Chiun sat at the edge of his seat, peering intently at the ground as they drove along. The amber headlights seemed to bounce and settle in wild spurts as the jeep hopped rocks and minor bluffs.
"There," the Master of Sinanju announced. A bony finger was aimed at a tangle of brush beyond a long, flat rock.
Remo turned the jeep without question. As they drove off in this new direction, he quickly spied the single footprint in the sand beneath the bush that had signaled Chiun they should turn. He blinked hard, annoyed that he hadn't seen the print himself.
"He couldn't have gone much farther," Remo commented. Sage scratched like the talons of groping demons along the side of the jeep. "There wasn't that much time."
"He is close," Chiun admitted, nodding.
A wave of fresh concern took hold of Remo as they broke through the far side of the field. "There," Chiun said once more.
Remo followed his outstretched hand. He instantly spied the footprints heading away from the cluster of desert brush. They led up a slight incline. Remo followed like a dog on a scent.
A rough path had been left by all-terrain vehicles crossing the side of the long hillock. Remo followed the trail to the crest of the hill.
The winding path of a dry riverbed opened up below the jeep. Above the barren river, Remo no longer needed Chiun to guide his vision. He saw the body immediately.
Lying facedown at the very center of the deep furrow was a lone, battered man.
Stopping at the bank of the long-dead river, Remo cut the jeep's engine. Leaving the headlights on to illuminate the scene below, he climbed down to the dust.
Chiun got out the other side.
"You think he's dead?" Remo whispered.
"Open your ears," Chiun replied tightly.
It was an effort, but Remo forced himself to listen more intently. Straining at the effort, he eventually picked up the sound of the man's heart.
The heartbeat was frantic. Although it was pounding madly, at the moment it sounded more confident to Remo than his own. The thought was not comforting.
"You think he's playing possum?" Remo asked, his voice still pitched low.
"I am not going to stand out in the desert with you all night playing the world-famous Remo Williams 'You Think?' game," Chiun said, peeved.
And tugging up the skirts of his kimono, the Master of Sinanju promptly began hiking down the dry embankment. Remo hustled to catch up with him.
"Be careful, Little Father," Remo whispered. Chiun nodded tersely.
Side by side, the two of them stepped cautiously over to the prone form.
As they approached the body, Remo noted that he didn't feel the same telltale thrill of electricity in the air that he'd noticed during his first encounter with Roote. It was possible Roote had exhausted all of his supply on the attack back at Fort Joy.
There was not a hint of movement from the body as they slid up to it, each on one side.
Remo was relieved to see the Master of Sinanju was being more cautious than he'd expected. Some of what the old Korean had seen and heard this night had made an impact.
One of the prone man's hands was jutting at an awkward angle from beneath his body. Chiun bent at the waist to examine it. After only a glance, the Master of Sinanju rose to his full height, a disgusted look on his face.
One sandal stabbed forward, catching the man under the chest. Before Remo could object, Chiun flipped the body over.
Lying on his back at the bottom of the ancient river, Arthur Ford blinked madly. He looked up at Remo and Chiun, his eyes blobs of white in his dirt-smeared face.
"Ben?" he asked.
"It's not him," Remo announced to Chiun. For the first time he realized that the man had been too tall to be Elizu Roote. He seemed deeply disappointed.
The Master of Sinanju nodded. "His hands were not as you described."
"Then Roote must still be near the base," Remo said, his face growing concerned.
Chiun nodded. "We must hurry." He turned to go.
"Ben Kenobi, is that you?" Ford persisted. He was staring hopefully at Chiun.
"What do we do with this guy?" Remo asked, ignoring the question from the dirt-covered man on the ground.
Pausing at the edge of the river, Chiun looked disdainfully down at Arthur. "The buzzards will enjoy whatever the wolves do not finish." Hiking his skirts up around his ankles, the Master of Sinanju marched up the incline.
"Help me, Obi-wan Kenobi," Ford pleaded. "You're my only hope." He reached out a hand to Chiun's departing back.
"I guess we should take him back," Remo called.
Although it was offered somewhat as a question, Chiun had already crested the hill. The old man disappeared behind the glare of the jeep's headlights.
Remo glanced reluctantly at Ford.