Well, if luring his enemies to Oz was Friend's way of bumping off MacGulry, the smart-ass computer program was in for a big surprise. Now that he knew the truth, Robbie might have an ace up his sleeve Friend hadn't anticipated.
The media magnate smiled to himself as the plane cut low over a sprawling, isolated mansion. MacGulry's Queensland home was an oasis of green in a drab brown prairie. And buried beneath the manicured lawns and gleaming windows was Friend's deadliest secret.
The house slipped away. A few moments later, plane tires shrieked as they struck pavement. Gray kangaroos that were part of the preserve around the rural runway bounded off in every direction as the jet rolled to a stop.
A bewdy of a stewardess opened the door on the parched air. Hot wind blew in from the west.
A very pale man with a wide-brimmed hat and a sweat-stained cotton dress shirt was waiting for MacGulry when he deplaned. Rodney Adler was giving the Australian salute, waving away mosquitoes from around his sweaty face.
"Welcome home, Mr. MacGulry," Adler said, his British accent as crisp and dry as his body was damp. "Everything is ready, per your instructions."
"You cleared out the Wollongong station?" MacGulry demanded, marching past the Englishman. A Rolls-Royce was waiting a dozen yards away, engine running.
"Some of the staff have been relocated here to operate the special systems," Adler said, hurrying to catch up. "The rest were let go until after the start of the New Year." He swatted a fat mosquito on his arm. "Oh, and your associate called while you were en route. He was curious to know what exactly was going on."
MacGulry stopped dead in his tracks. Eyes growing wide, he wheeled on Adler. "He called you?" he demanded.
Adler almost plowed into his employer.
"Yes," he admitted nervously. "I assumed you would want me to extend him every courtesy. He knew we were clearing out the station. He asked us to do something first. Since he knew so many details, I assumed he'd spoken to you first."
A swarm of mozzies circled both men. MacGulry ignored the buzzing insects. For a moment the Vox chairman just stood there, fuming.
This was the worst offense of all. Thanks to this private war he was waging, Friend was no longer content to act behind the scenes. After all these years, he was suddenly contacting Robbie MacGulry's employees directly. For the first time his Vox lackeys were learning the truth-the great and terrifying Robbie MacGulry was irrelevant. There was someone even greater lurking behind the scenes.
Even Adler was looking at him differently. MacGulry could see the swelling lack of respect in the younger man's eyes. Oh, the Englishman was trying to hide it behind his usual mask of whimpering anxiety as he stood there scratching mosquito bites, but there was no mistaking it.
Robbie MacGuhy was no longer a king. His stature had been diminished. And it was all Friend's fault. "Get outta my way, you pommie bastard," MacGulry snapped. He shoved Adler aside.
The Englishman hesitated before running to catch up with his employer.
"Was that not the right thing to do?" Adler asked. MacGulry didn't even respond.
"What about the Robbots?" the Vox chairman demanded.
"They are ready, sir," Adler said. He seemed even more nervous at this new subject. "Deployed at all entry points."
MacGulry's driver was waiting to open the back door. At the side of the Rolls-Royce, MacGulry turned.
"What did he tell you to do?" he snapped.
"Who, sir?" asked Adler.
"The guy who called, dammit. What did he tell you to do when he called?"
"Oh," Adler said, hesitating. "It's- Well, it's a little thing. I assumed it would be all right."
His hands were shaking. From a manila envelope tucked under his sweaty armpit, he produced a photoquality computer printout. MacGulry snatched the picture from Adler.
It was Friend's younger enemy. The Caucasian who had chased Robbie MacGulry from New York. It was the same digitally created picture Friend had supplied MacGulry in the hope that Remo could be eliminated in Harlem. Only now did MacGulry realize why that computer printout had looked so ...computerized. It was straight out of Friend's memory. "We haven't been able to confirm if that image Cindee Maloo sent us from America is the same man," Adler said. "I've never seen anyone able to mask his features like that. That footage she sent was useless. Your associate told us to use the original we used twice in New York. He faxed us another picture."
Adler pulled another photo from the envelope. This one was of the old Korean. Like the picture of Remo, it had a not-quite-real quality. A computerized version of a police sketch.
"What are you doing with those?" MacGulry asked.
"Well," Adler began anxiously, "we've been beaming them out subliminally all over New South Wales for the past twelve hours. Ever since your friend called. The Wollongong station has been set to automatically include them in all broadcast signals with instructions to kill on sight. If they show up in the area, the entire population that has been exposed to the cryptosubliminal images will tear them to pieces like a pack of wild dogs." A nervous smile exposed crooked teeth. "Does that not fit in with your plans, sir?"
MacGulry held a picture in each hand, glancing from Remo to Chiun. He shoved the photos back in Adler's hands.
"It fits in with his plans," the Vox CEO said, dropping into the back of the Rolls-Royce. "And with any luck, they'll be as good as he thinks they are and I'll have that stickybeak computer bugger right where I want him."
His driver slammed the door on the heat and mosquitoes.
Chapter 28
"I think you should probably sit this one out, Little Father," Remo warned.
The two men had just climbed aboard the military aircraft that would take them to Australia. An Air Force lieutenant guided them to their seats.
"You may think of that and new ways to dishonor me when we are in the air," the Master of Sinanju sniffed. He swept past the offered seat, settling in the one behind it. It looked out over the left wing.
"I'm not dishonoring you, I'm worried about you," Remo said. "There, I said it. The big dirty word. I'm worried about you. Damn, I'm a crummy son, aren't I? I'm actually worried about you. And why wouldn't I be? We haven't even talked about what happened in MacGulry's office."
Remo's face held a look of deep concern. Chiun turned once to his pupil. His own expression was bland.
"You may talk to your heart's content," the old Korean said. "Just do not involve me in your jabbering."
And with that the Master of Sinanju turned away. For the better part of a day, for the duration of their trip to Australia, Remo's view was of the back of Chiun's age-speckled head. The old man studied cloud and sea, not once so much as glancing at his pupil. Only when the plane started to descend over Sydney did he turn from the window.
"I must warn you about Australians," the old man announced unhappily.
Remo noted his teacher's lack of enthusiasm. He didn't care. He was just happy Chiun was talking to him after so many hours.
"What about them?" Remo asked.
"Watch them," Chiun said. He turned back to the window.
"That's it? Watch them? Watch them do what?" But Chiun didn't reply. He said nothing more as the plane landed and they got off. He remained silent all the way through customs when Remo asked for the tenth time why he should watch Australians and Chiun finally released a little exasperated sigh.
"A good pupil would just do as he's told-he would not question."
"Good pupil, good Nazi, good dog. I'm none of those. Why watch Australians?"
"Because if you do not, they will steal the marrow from your bones and sell it to the butcher."
"Wait, I thought the Chinese were the thieves. Sometimes the Japanese. Now Australians are, too? How do you expect me to keep the racism straight if you're just gonna tar everyone with the same brush?"