The man watched in horrified wonder down the length of his gun as the side of one of his comrade's heads collapsed into a visible V-shape. Somehow the man had moved into the spot previously occupied by the ancient intruder.
As the first dead Palestinian fell to the ground, the man became aware of similar noises all around him. Horrid crunches of bones being irreparably broken. When the Arab wheeled, he thought he saw flashes of movement. Never in the same spot, and never resolving into human form. When the last of his companions fell to the ground at the front of the jeep, the Arab looked up, his eyes sick.
The old one was back in his original position. The young white stood nearby, ankle deep in bodies. "We need a tour guide." Remo smiled. "You're it."
The Arab looked down at his dead companions. He looked back up. He gulped.
"I will lead you to the very portal of hell and beyond," the Arab enthused.
"PIO headquarters'll do," Remo said.
"Anything you wish," the Arab replied with a frantic nod.
Chiun's face was impassive. "Remo, lash this dog to the reins of your camel that he might precede us to the evil one's lair."
Nodding, Remo grabbed hold of the Arab and began to drag him back down the street. He took only two steps before he noticed that his camel was nowhere to be seen. Only Chiun's animal remained.
Remo stopped dead. "Hey, my camel is gone," he griped.
"Tether the Arab to your neck for all I care," Chiun said, breezing past him. "Just do not let him get away."
Leaving Remo to deal with their guide, the Master of Sinanju marched quickly down the street, lest Remo get any designs for his own mount.
THE DOORKNOB HAD FUSED to a solid mass on the front of the Palestine Independence Organization building. Luckily, a few of Aruch's men were loitering outside the building. They managed to pop the door open with a minimum of effort.
"Get out of my way!" Aruch commanded the instant the door sprang into the foyer.
He bulled his way through the mass of men and into the main hallway. The others followed him inside, propelling Bryce Babcock and the former President before them.
Aruch led the parade to his office.
"The day has arrived at long last!" Aruch sang merrily as he stomped across the room.
Passing his cluttered desk, he breezed onto the veranda. Outside, Nossur Aruch didn't seek the help of his men. This was a special moment. One he wished to keep for himself.
Like a selfish child with a birthday gift, he tore at the netting surrounding his precious rocket.
It was difficult at first. Much of the camouflage remained stubbornly attached to the uppermost portion of the long rocket. A final mighty tug brought the entire plastic covering tumbling to the balcony.
The missile was a slender white tube with two sets of wings-one halfway down the length of the assembly, the other, smaller pair near the tail. A stabilizing dorsal fin extended from the rear.
Two sustainable ramjets were fixed to the dorsal and ventral sides of the missile. In addition to these, four jettisonable rocket boosters were attached in a fan arrangement around the housing.
The menacing black nose of the Bloodhound pointed to the northwest.
At the base of the missile, Nossur Aruch glanced at his guests, tears of joy in his eyes,
"She is beautiful, is she not?" the PIO leader said, sniffling. He ran a hand lovingly along one of the slender boosters.
The former President of the United States remained silent. He stared at Aruch, a grim expression on his weathered features.
"That's a rocket," Bryce Babcock said, shocked.
"A Bloodhound Mk2. British long-range. It will strike Jerusalem minutes after launch."
"It won't work," Babcock blurted.
"Do not attempt to talk me out of it," Aruch warned. "I have waited years for this glorious day."
"That's not what I meant," the interior secretary said. "The rocket won't work. It's metal on metal. The neutrino wave would have neutralized its working components."
Aruch glanced in horror at Babcock. "You lie!" Babcock shook his head.
"Please, Nossur. You saw the evidence out in the street. With your own car. If you try to launch that thing, it will not go up. Worse, if some of its components survived the neutrino wave, it could detonate right here on the pad."
"It could have survived?" Aruch ventured hopefully.
"No," Babcock insisted. "It will never launch like it's supposed to. That's the whole point of the peace bomb. But some of the inner workings could have survived. Lead could have shielded some of the smaller metal parts. Silicon or plastic might have made it through. Enough might work in there to detonate whatever explosives are inside."
Nossur Aruch listened carefully to what was being explained to him. He made an instant decision. "You," he announced, pointing to one of his men. "Fire this missile in precisely two minutes." While the PIO soldier stepped dutifully onto the balcony, Nossur Aruch hightailed it back inside. Running through the halls of the headquarters, he led his entourage--which still included Bryce Babcock and the former President-into the courtyard on the far side of the building.
They had barely gotten outside when the ground was rocked by an explosion.
Leaves shook and fell from carefully tended trees. Birds took flight. The blast shook the three-story building behind them to its very foundation. The rear wall teetered for a long moment before finally crumbling inward. When it fell, it revealed a pile of rubble beyond it. The rest of the building had already collapsed in on itself.
Choking dust filled the courtyard. Thick black smoke poured up from the ruins.
Nossur Aruch took in the devastation with a look of dull incomprehension. That expression slowly melted into one of pure, unadulterated horror. With a shuffling deliberateness he turned, panting, to face the interior secretary of the United States. His insane eyes were as wide as saucers.
"You blew up my headquarters!" Nossur Aruch yelled at Bryce Babcock.
"I warned you," Babcock whimpered, shrugging fearfully. He cringed as if waiting to be hit.
Aruch turned back to the smoking remains of what had for years been the home of his beloved PIO.
"You blew up my headquarters!" he screamed again.
"Sorry," Babcock offered weakly.
"Even the accursed Jews never did that!" Aruch screamed.
Babcock said nothing more, fearful that he might inspire more anger in the PIO leader.
Head shaking in disbelief, Aruch stared at the ruins of his headquarters. Only the back steps remained. He kicked at a piece of shattered brick.
"What made this happen?" Aruch demanded.