"Don't be too hard on yourself, Smitty," Remo said. "Who would have thought Gordons would return?" But Smith wasn't listening. He was at his terminal again, tapping keys like some demented concert pianist. "What're you doing, Smitty?" Remo asked curiously. "I'm setting up a program to collect statistics on infertile couples. It will feed off the AMA computers and Health and Welfare files."
"You're going to track Gordons that way?"
"No, this is in case you and Chiun don't stop him before he succeeds in sterilizing more people. I can count on your help, can't I?" said Smith, thinking of Anna Chutesov's promise to influence Remo into solving the Gagarin mystery.
"Sure," said Remo. "I promised Chiun I'd pitch in on this one. And I have six months to kill before returning to Korea."
"This could take much longer to resolve than six months," Smith warned.
"How long?"
"Weeks, months, years," said Smith. "We don't know what form Gordons will take next. But based on the car-wash experience, he will probably assume the form of a commercial structure, something through which large numbers of people pass daily."
"Like an airliner?"
Smith shook his head. "Not efficient enough. Something stationary. A skyscraper, or possibly the Lincoln Tunnel. The World Trade Towers, perhaps."
"You're talking about a needle in a haystack here," Remo protested. "Chiun and I can't just walk up to every big building on the continent, tip our hats, and ask, 'Pardon us, but are you Mr. Cordons, the sterilizing machine?' "
"When we find the transmitter, we should be able to track him through it," Smith said. "It's our only lead."
"Okay," Remo said, settling back onto the floor. "So we wait."
"Wait!" cried Anna Chutesov. "Thousands of people are being sterilized with each passing hour and you want to wait! Does he not understand what is happening?" she asked no one in particular.
"No, he does not," said the Master of Sinanju. "He cannot understand. He thinks it is some unfortunate minor ailment, like a hangnail."
"What'd I say?" said Remo plaintively.
"For every person who loses the ability to procreate," Smith said, "the world not only loses the 2.3 children most couples bear in their lifetimes, but also the grandchildren and great-grandchildren and so on who will never be. Future leaders, scientists, entertainers, and ordinary hardworking people will never be. The loss to our social and economic future is incalculable. If Gordons only partially succeeds, Americans may become scarce in the next century."
"Smith is right," said Anna Chutesov.
"I'm glad you said that, Ms. Chutesov," said Harold W. Smith, "because I would like some information from you. Please give me the specifications on the microwave satellite. I believe that Gordons' survivalist accomplice referred to it as the Sword of Damocles."
"I regret I cannot," said Anna Chutesov. "That is a state secret."
Smith nodded imperceptibly and returned to his computer.
"Do any of you know the Russian words for 'Sword of Damocles'?"
"Damoklov Mech," answered the Master of Sinanju. "Thank you," said Smith, keying the phrase into his computer. He waited, and in a matter of seconds he was reading an on-screen file.
"The Sword of Damocles is a phased-array microwave transmitter," he reported. "It's very powerful, capable of affecting a massive landmass during an approximately four-year orbital sweep. As you may know, microwave ovens heat by exciting water molecules in food. This satellite uses the same principle to raise the human body temperature just enough to neutralize the reproductive system. Slow but certain sterilization results. The transmitter is very powerful, but for it to accomplish its full task, the sterilizing of America, it must be placed in orbit. That part at least is good news. On the ground, Gordons can do limited damage. But we're still talking thousands of people each month, under optimum circumstances. And Gordons, being a machine, has no limitations on his lifespan. If not stopped, he could conceivably sterilize the entire earth."
"Where are you getting that information?" demanded Anna Chutesov, blinking furiously.
"From the computer files of the Glavnce Razvedyvatelnoe Uprevlenie," Smith said nonchalantly.
"You ... you have access to GRU files!"
"Normally, no," Smith admitted. "I am usually rebuffed by the obstructive passcodes placed over the files. But knowing the codename Sword of Damocles makes it possible to penetrate this particular file."
"When did you obtain this capability?"
"Recently. I've been working on it in my spare time. Oh, don't worry. I'm sure you'll inform your superiors, and they'll enter new buffers. Just be certain you don't tell them about my operation."
"And if I do?"
"You know I could not allow you to live under those conditions," said Smith without hesitation.
"I will not allow this woman to be killed until she has fulfilled an obligation which she has incurred with the House of Sinanju," said Chiun sternly. "Afterward is a different matter."
"What obligation is that?" asked Remo.
"It does not involve you," said Chiun, eyeing Anna Chutesov and shifting his gaze to Remo suggestively. Anna came over to Chiun's side and whispered in his ear. "What would you have me do?"
"Remo liked you before," Chiun breathed back. "Get him to like you again. Offer him anything, but extract from him a promise to remain in service to America."
"I will do my best," said Anna. She drifted over to Remo, who had been watching the exchange with open-faced curiosity.
"Hi!" said Anna Chutesov breathily. She smiled. Remo smiled back tentatively.
Anna placed her slim hands on his bare biceps and almost purred. "I was thinking that when this is over we should get reacquainted."
At the familiar stroking, Remo felt a delicious tingling deep within him. Memories of Anna Chutesov, the soft Anna Chutesov, the one who was a tiger in bed, rushed back to him.
Suddenly Anna Chutesov felt her hands clutching themselves instead of Remo's hard arms.
"Bad idea," Remo said sheepishly.
Anna allowed herself a moment of puzzlement, then pressed closer.
"Perhaps we could discuss this outside," she breathed.
"I can't," Remo pleaded.
"Yes, you can. Help him overcome his shyness," said the Master of Sinanju. "He has grown very shy lately."
"Little Father, did you put her up to this?" Remo asked.
"Never," said Chiun.
"How could you say such a thing, my Remo?" asked Anna Chutesov. She had met Remo's earlier indifference with scorn. That had not worked. She had ignored him and he had ignored her back. She had insulted him, to no avail. Now she was throwing herself at him. That never failed.
Until now.