"I will make them right again," said Anna, playfully tugging on Remo's belt. She laughed. Her pink tongue darted out from between perfect teeth and her blue eyes sparkled mischievously.
At his desk, Smith's face flushed and he craned his head closer to the computer screen.
Remo backed away, his hands held palms-up before him, as if Anna Chutesov were some species of poisonous fruit.
"I'm engaged," Remo blurted out. "To be married."
"So?" asked Anna Chutesov.
"I love her."
"You will have all the rest of your life to love her. Love me now."
"Could you please take this out in the corridor?" asked Smith exasperatedly. Open displays of affection embarrassed him. Naked lust such as Anna Chutesov was portraying upset him even more.
"Yes, it is disgraceful," said the Master of Sinanju, who hoped that in the privacy of another room, it would be even more disgraceful.
"I don't want any part of this," said Remo. "I'm going to be a happily married man soon."
"I do not believe you," protested Anna Chutesov.
"Look, don't take it personally," said Remo. "There's just someone else now."
Anna Chutesov looked at Remo, his hard-muscled arms, his lean stomach, and that face that could be so cruel but now had that little-lost-boy look, and experienced a sinking feeling deep within her. Remo no longer wanted her.
Suddenly, clearly, Anna Chutesov realized something that had been true for a long time, but which she had pushed deep into her subconscious.
She wanted Remo Williams. She wanted him sexually, wanted him so badly it made her throat dry and her heart pulse hotly in her neck, and if he were not stronger than she was, she would have flung herself at him, tearing at his clothes until she got what she wanted. Worse, she thought she loved Remo Williams.
Remo Williams, who did not want her.
In one moment of shocked recognition, the entire psychological mindset that had enabled Anna Chutesov to rise to political power crumbled like a sand castle before the inrushing tide.
Anna looked at Remo with uncomprehending eyes. "I want you, but ... but you do not want me," she said hollowly.
"I'm sorry. Really," Remo said, meaning it.
Biting her lower lip like an injured child, Anna Chutesov walked stiffly out of the room.
"You both saw that," Remo said. "I tried to break it to her gently, didn't I? It's not my fault she couldn't handle it."
"You gave her the back of your hand," said Chiun angrily. "And after all she has meant to you."
"She'll be back," said Smith hopefully.
"No, she will not," said the Master of Sinanju, folding his hands into the oversize sleeves of his jacket. "She wanted only two things, Remo and Gordons. Remo has spurned her. She will go directly to Gordons and take her bitterness out on him."
"How can she?" asked Remo. "She doesn't know where to find Gordons any more than we do."
The Master of Sinanju shook his aged head. "Not so. She has the insect thing."
"Gordons' bug? How?" demanded Smith.
"She picked it up, pretending it was a splinter. Did neither of you notice? She was so obvious about it."
"You could have mentioned it, Little Father. Now we have to follow her."
"We do not need the insect device. I know where Gordons is."
"You do?" Remo and Smith said a beat apart.
"Yes. Gordons wishes to make all persons barren. He will thus go to the only place where he can accomplish this easily.
"Where?" asked Smith.
"The one place in all the world where all Americans and non-Americans go. Or hope to go."
"Where?" asked Remo.
"I will not tell you. I will show you. Emperor Smith, I will ask you to make travel arrangements for Remo and myself "
"I would like to know exactly where you are going," said Smith.
"The matter between Gordons and the House of Sinanju is a matter of honor," Chiun said gravely. "Remo and I will handle it."
"Very well," agreed Smith. "I will make the arrangements. Just let me know the necessary details."
Just then, the red telephone rang. Smith picked it up.
"Yes, Mr. President. You picked an appropriate time to call. I have just confirmed the fate of the Russian shuttlecraft."
Smith listened.
"No, it is not intact, exactly," he said uncomfortably. "Actually, the crew is already in Air Force hands. No, the Air Force hasn't quite realized this as yet. I know it sounds strange, sir. In fact, the whole matter is strange. Please bear with me while I try to explain. And by the way, Mr. President, are you sitting down?"
Chapter 15
Carl Lusk loved sex. He loved it in all its splendiferous variety. In an age of AIDS, herpes simplex, herpes complex, and more traditional social diseases, he moved unafraid through the dating bars and computer love services. Carl Lusk was twenty-three and believed that AIDS only happened to fags and heroin addicts and that only stupid people caught social diseases. While he was young he was going to sleep with as many women as possible. Sometimes as many as five in one day. The trick, he believed, was not to sleep with the same woman twice. He knew the chance of catching any social disease from a one-night stand was slim, but it went up with each subsequent encounter. As Carl saw it, monogamy was like playing Russian roulette with five of the six chambers loaded.
Carl Lusk was not completely reckless. There were some encounters he did avoid. Dogs, children, and men were at the top of that list. But that didn't mean that he couldn't fantasize about these things. To that end, he put together one of the world's largest collections of taped and print pornography to facilitate his fantasizing.
Carl was a baggage handler at Denver's Stapleton Airport. It was not the most glamorous job in the world, but it enabled him to copy off women's names and addresses from the luggage he loaded. It was better than a computer dating service. Cheaper, too. Carl Lusk was ferrying a load of luggage to a waiting 747 when the garbage truck that would change his entire attitude toward sex rolled past him.
Carl knew right away there was something strange going on.
First, garbage was not picked up on the runways, where the jets sat.