"We did, sir. The first time. They say Fotheringay may walk in two or three years. You remember Fotheringay, sir. Large bloke. Weighed more than fifteen stone."
"I'll just be six minutes," Remo promised. "Maybe seven."
"You can kiss my ruddy bum," said Lord Guy Philliston, slamming the door.
"That man is giving me no choice," Remo warned.
"We have our duty."
"I'll try to be gentle," Remo said. He clapped his hands. Everyone blinked. Then he was suddenly no longer there.
The two armed Source agents looked up at the ceiling. The American with the thick wrists and the cocky manner was not clinging to the ceiling like a spider. Nor had he slipped into a side door. That left only the stairwell.
As they approached the stairwell, the two agents thought that it looked very dark and very foreboding. It was quite strange. Only minutes before, it had been an ordinary stairwell. One they had walked up and down countless times.
After a whispered consultation the agents got down on their stomachs and crawled toward the stairs. They did not want to present standing targets even though the American had so far not produced a gun. Why should he? The blighter was a walking weapon.
They peered over the lip of the stairwell. Dead, deepset eyes stared back.
"Boo!" Remo said. He did not say it loud.
The agents let out a cry and jumped to their feet. Before they could find their balance, they were yanked down into the yawning pit that had moments before been a simple, dim stairwell, and into unconsciousness.
The man at the desk said nothing as Remo walked past him. He kept his hands flat on the desk as if to show he was not going to do anything reckless.
Remo went through Lord Guy Philliston's office door without bothering to knock.
Lord Guy rose from his desk in fury. Having no weapon at hand, he threw his pipe.
Remo caught it by the bowl and walked over to the desk.
"That must sting frightfully," Lord Guy said solicitously, noting that Remo held the pipe improperly. Not by its cool stem, but by the hot bowl.
"Anne Boleyn?" Remo asked, pointing to the pipe.
"Quite."
"I think I saw one of her movies."
"Hardly."
"Then again," Remo said, crushing the bowl into hot ash and pouring the remains into Lord Guy's squirming palm, "maybe I'm thinking of someone else.
"Please, please," Lord Guy pleaded. Remo held the man's wrist with one hand and closed his fingers over the hot ash with the other.
"I am a man in a hurry," Remo said airily.
"Yes, of course."
"I am a man in a hurry in need of answers. You are the man with the answers."
"Please. It burns."
"Talk to me about locomotives," Remo prompted.
"What would you like to know?"
"Why are they falling out of the sky?"
"Because they were dropped?" Lord Guy asked hopefully.
"Wrong answer," said Remo, squeezing harder so that Lord Guy was no longer concerned about the burning, but with the structural integrity of his finger bones.
"Eeeeee," Lord Guy squealed.
"We'll try again. People who should know say you're in back of the magnetic-launcher thing."
"I have no deuced idea of what- Eeeeee!"
"I can squeeze harder."
"I'll scream harder, but I can't tell you what I don't know. "
Remo frowned. Normally, people were only too happy to reveal their secrets when Remo went to work like this. Could the man be telling the truth? Then Remo remembered that Lord Guy was chief of Great Britain's most secret espionage branch. Probably trained to resist pain. Although he certainly looked in pain. Probably an act, Remo decided.
He switched to the other hand.
Lord Guy Philliston shook the hot ash from his burned palm and blew on the red patch. When it was cool, he licked at it.
"I am going to be more specific," Remo said. "And I want you to be more specific. When you're through tasting yourself, that is."
"I'm done, I'm done," Lord Guy said hastily. He licked specks of tobacco ash from his dry lips.
"America is being bombarded."
"Yes, I know."
"Good. We're getting somewhere," Remo said. Then he realized he hadn't started to work on the other hand yet. Maybe this guy worked in reverse. The less you tortured him, the quicker he talked. Remo shrugged and pressed on.
"Since you know that much, maybe you'll tell me who's behind it."
"The South Americans." Remo frowned again.
"I was told the things came from Africa."
"Hardly. Who in Africa could develop such a fearsome weapon?"