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didn't have a TV camera trained on him, so the senator tried to dismiss him, but the T-shirted fellow was persistent. "I hear that mostly officers were killed on those bases. What happened to the rest of the men?" Remo asked.
The crowd murmured as the senator took a deep breath. Who was this nobody, he thought, and how did he know about the missing recruits? Only the army's cleanup detail knew the exact number of dead and their ranks, and no one would believe the army after today, anyway.
As Nooner worded his answer in his mind, the group of reporters around him swelled. The cameras whirred. He opted for an offensive position. "I don't know what you're talking about. Everybody knows the camps were entirely wiped out. To the last man ... person. And if you're some kind of crank who wandered into this extremely important conference to deter these fine men and women of the press from finding the truth in this terrible perversion of liberty, then you are as guilty as the Pentagon in protecting the menace to our American way of life that that vile organization represents."
The reporters cheered. Nooner breathed a sigh of relief. But he would have the young man with the thick wrists watched.
A woman reporter wearing a hot pink dress over her lush figure jiggled her way in front of the senator. "Is it true that your daughter is one of the officers at Fort Vadassar?"
Remo's ears perked. As the senator proudly affirmed the question, Remo saw Randy Nooner in her captain's uniform at the speaker's podium, stationed between a harrassed-looking man in white robes and a dark, mustachioed general who some-
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how seemed as if he would be more at home on a camel than in an American army barracks. To the general's left was a string of high-ranking officers, all ethnic-looking men with skins tanned dark from lifetimes of living in blistering sun.
Remo walked closer to get a better look at the men. As he approached, Randy Nooner's face froze in recognition.
"Hiya," he said, stepping up the bleachers to the podium. "Remember me? We had a date to go to prayer meeting, but you ran off with Ali Baba and the forty thieves here." The general' rumbled something in a strange language. The other officers rumbled back.
'Wo comprende, fellas," Remo said. "Back when I was in the army, we spoke English. But then I wasn't an officer."
"Remo, please. These are ranking military leaders."
"In whose army? Genghis Khan's?" The general half closed his lizard eyes and nodded to two of his officers. As they rose, one jerked his head toward the back of the stadium.
"Excuse me, Miss Nooner," Remo said. "I think these gentlemen feel like taking a stroll."
"Oh. Of course," she said. As Remo walked away, wedged between a colonel and a major, Senator Nooner came quietly to her side.
"I saw that man with you, honey," the senator said. "I want you to be careful. He was nosing around about things he shouldn't know anything about. He might be dangerous."
Randy pinched her father's cheek playfully. "Don't worry about a thing, Daddy. He's not going
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to be dangerous much longer. General Elalhassein sent two of his men to take care of him for us."
"Good. Thank you, General." The senator bowed to the reptilian little man wearing the ¦metal-encrusted general's uniform.
"In the service of our country," the general said.
"Ah, yes." The senator looked at the vast expanse of land and sky around him and breathed deeply. "Our country," he said.
Remo got only as far as the bottom step leading to the stadium's deserted back wall before the two officers pulled shiny knives out of their belts and inserted them between their teeth with the precision of Radio City Rockettes. With equally perfect timing, they each withdrew a long, curved saber and circled Remo, slashing as they moved.
"Hey, boys, over here," Remo said, dodging the saber swings so quickly that it seemed he hardly moved. "Missed again. Still, you fight better than you smell."
The slashing became more furious as the two officers moved closer together. Then, as the sabers nearly met, Remo caught both blades between his thumbs and index fingers and hurled them high in the air.
The officers gasped as they saw the lethal swords arcing gracefully over the wall of the stadium, turning, and shooting-downward with increasing speed toward the section of bleachers in which the podium was built.
The major took the knife from between his teeth and, roaring something wild and ancient-sounding, lunged screaming at Remo, who waited until the man was midway through a flying leap before
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grasping his ankles. The move was so fast that the major was still in position, stiff-armed, knife pointed straight ahead, while Remo swung him like a giant acne-scarred blackjack aimed for the other officer. The knife's blade struck the colonel's mid-section at the base. With a rip, it tore through his belly, gutting him amid screams of agony as the colonel's entrails spilled like slippery red fish onto the ground.
"Didn't anyone ever tell you not to play with knives?" Remo chided the major in his arms, whose face had become a study in horror. With one finger, Remo flicked the dagger from the man's hand, then crushed his skull to the consistency of used tea bags.
Back at the podium, a crowd had assembled to marvel at the two sabers, which still quivered on either side of General Elalhassein's legs. He was blubbering and incanting singsong prayers as the other officers tried vainly to remove the swords from the wood of the bleachers. "Did I miss something?" Remo asked.
The general cast a fearful glance his way and began screaming incoherently. He was led away by the other officers.
Randy Nooner stepped from her spot on the podium, catching Remo by the arm. "How did you do that?" she asked, her voice artificially even.
"Aw shucks, ma'am. T'warn't nothing. Who's your friend?" He nodded toward Artemis, who seemed oblivious to the goings-on, immersed as he was in folding and unfolding a piece of paper in his hands.
Randy called him over. "This is Artemis Thwill, our new religious leader," she said quietly, clasping
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her hands tightly together to keep them from trembling. It was an activity she had begun as soon as she saw the sabers falling from the sky.
"Well, nice to meet you, Artemis. Say, you aren't the same guy who was talking to the troops at Fort Wheeler, are you?
Artemis did not respond or change his expression. The worn piece of paper in his hands folded and unfolded.
Randy Nooner looked at Artemis, then at Remo. She looked back at Artemis. Her hands stopped shaking. She smiled. Brilliantly. She had an idea. "He's the one," she said, suddenly cheerful. "I'll arrange for you to talk to him at his home after the conference. Would you like that?"
"Oh, yes I would," Remo said. "I certainly would like to meet Mr. Artemis and talk things over with him."
"Good. Artemis?" She poked at Thwill's inert figure, as he folded and refolded his speech in his hands. "Artemis!" Randy yelled.
Thwill looked up, bewildered. "What? Did you say something?"
"Remo is going to pay you a visit after the press conference. Isn't that nice? He's going to be your special friend."
"Uh huh," Artemis agreed tonelessly, resuming folding his speech.
"I said he's going to be your special friend, dumdum. Get it?" She dug her nails into his arm.
"Special ..." His face colored as he remembered with pleasure the parade of drifters and loners whom he took to be his special friends back in the days before celebrity took his one amusement in
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life, killing people, away from him. He recalled fondly the special friends of his past and the inventive methods by which they met their ends. "Sure," Artemis said, gratitude pouring from his heart. "My special friend. Thank you, Randy. Thank you."
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Ten
In light of General Elalhassein's indisposition, Randy Nooner took the podium. "Ladies and gentlemen of the press," she said. "I stand before
you now in defiance of the army which I serve. I and the other officers at Fort Vadassar do this in order to protect the men under our command from the same fate that befell those innocent soldiers at Forts Ant-werth, Beson, Tannehill, and Wheeler, whose lives were snuffed out by the machinations of the United States government under the direction of the Pentagon."
Chiun shifted restlessly in his seat, grumbling. "There is not even marching in this army," he complained. "No singing, no combat, nothing. Just speeches. Talk and swimming pools. Let us go back to the other camp, Remo, the one where you are rightly considered a dangerous lunatic. That place was much more enjoyable."
"Smith wants us here."
"Talk, talk, talk," he groused. "The Quati have always been excessive talkers."
"Quati?"
"Those men who were seated here with the gold
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decorations on their hats and their silly sabers. Knives, always knives with the Quati. They fear using their hands for anything more exerting than feeling melons."
"They're the ranking officers of this base," Remo said.
"Quati," Chiun insisted stubbornly. "I can still smell the stench of roasted lamb in their bellies."
Randy Nooner looked back at them angrily, demanding silence. Remo sat back smiling attentively, his arms folded in front of him.
"The first and foremost question each of you undoubtedly is asking is why," she continued. "Why would the military headquarters of our nation wish to murder its own soldiers? For this I must direct your attention to one who was well loved by those martyred soldiers, for it was out of love for him that the victims of the Pentagon's purge of the faithful were forced to give up their lives rather than forsake their savior."
She breathed deeply, allowing a stricken look to settle over her face. "He was injured yesterday by the agents of the Pentagon, who wished to silence him, but faith is stronger than death, and by a miracle, he is with us now to shed light and understanding for all peoples. Ladies and gentlemen, I present the earthly vessel of our undying faith, our beloved Artemis."
She stepped down, and the strange-looking longhaired man in white robes took her place at the podium. At the instant he appeared, the 6,000 soldiers stationed in the center of the stadium fell to their knees, bowing low and crying, "Hail Artemis!" and "A miracle!" and "Artemis lives forever!"
The throng of attendant newsmen buzzed with
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questions and speculation. Flashbulbs popped. Gamera lenses zoomed in for closeups. Teams of reporters for national news magazines whispered possible headlines to one another that were sure to boost circulation. "America's New Savior" would be boxed beside the lead story on the Pentagon Slaughters.
Artemis unfolded his carefully practiced speech and read it exactly as it was written. It was a marvel of prose, ambiguous yet insinuating. It hinted that the soldiers at the stricken camps had turned to Artemis in despair after their maltreatment at the hands of the U.S. Army. It suggested that the military bigwigs learned of the soldiers' new-found faith and regarded it as a threat to their own demands for unquestioned loyalty. It outlined in veiled terms the army's punishment of its chaplains for being powerless to contain the surge of faith directed now at Artemis. The speech did not state that Artemis was God, but left those listening to it assured that he was. It was Artemis Thwill's finest hour.
"And now the greatest fear of all men who cherish faith in their souls has come to pass," he concluded. "The secular powers have determined to obliterate the holiness inherent in all by murdering those of the faith. Even now, a government plot to ..." His voice caught, but he forced himself to go on. ". . . To destroy me is in operation, and it will succeed." '
Gasps of "No!" emanated from the stadium, not only from the recruits but even more loudly from the media representatives who were now won over by the fresh attack on the government that protected attacks on itself, even if they were unjustified and untrue.
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"Before long, I will—I will be dead," Artemis said. "The devils who fear the strength of the faithful will wield their evil might to kill me, hoping to kill the faith that I, in my humble way, have spawned."
He paused. Now that the hard part was over with, Artemis threw himself into the last of his speech with renewed vigor. "But that faith will not die," he intoned, his voice recapturing his former zeal. "The enlightened leadership at Fort Vadassar has made this base a haven for those of the faith. And so, before' the perverted military powers of this government succeed in disposing of my earthly body and bringing calumny to bear on my name, I invite all who cherish truth and the salvation of their souls to gather at Fort Vadassar as a new and independent army to forge the beginnings of a military force founded upon goodness and righteousness."
Cheers went up from the troops in the stadium, their tear-stained faces gazing up at Artemis.
"Hail Artemis," chanted the soldiers.
"Hail Artemis," shouted the reporters.
One of the younger newsmen from a midwestern daily turned to his photographer and asked, "What the hell did he say?"
The photographer pulled away from his eyepiece-long enough to cast the reporter a look of profound contempt. "Stupid, he said that the Pentagon killed those guys, and that any soldier who doesn't want to get his head blown off had better get his ass over here fast."
"But that's desertion," the reporter said.
The photographer shot off another five frames of Artemis standing before his kneeling legion of troops. "Nope," he answered. "That's God."
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Within an hour, news bulletins about the Pentagon Slaughters charged the air waves of every radio and television station in the country. Time and Newsweek had consulted one another about which photographs of the massacres each would use for the covers of their next editions. "Artemis" had become a household word with the media, as a symbol of hope and justice. The Pentagon was bombarded with demands that members of the Joint Chiefs of Staff appear on national television to face the charges against them. A special senate committee, to be headed by Osgood Nooner, was formed on the spot to investigate all military officials.
Members of Congress signed a petition to request that the President issue a statement about his role in the Slaughters. A special Gallup poll was devised to determine the amount of trust the average American citizen held in his government.
And already thousands of army recruits were deserting their bases for Fort Vadassar.
Remo waited for the crowd that gathered around Randy Nooner to clear away before approaching her. She was speaking to her father, who cut his own words short when he saw Remo. Senator Nooner whispered something in his daughter's ear. While he talked, she looked at Remo, laughed, and blew him a kiss.
"Don't worry, Daddy," she said reassuringly. "I'm going to take care of everything." Without acknowledging Remo, the senator left.
"I guess that's that," Randy said breathlessly, taking both Remo's and Artemis's arms in her own. "It seemed like a successful conference."
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"Depends on what you want to succeed at," Remo said.
Chiun pulled up the rear, alongside Samantha. "AU talk," he said.
In the guest quarters, Randy and Samantha entertained Chiun in the living room while Artemis took Remo upstairs to a plush den furnished in rich velvets and French antiques. With a rustle of his long white robes, Artemis closed the door behind them and leaned on it, triggering a lock Remo could hear even through the ample insulation of Thwill's body.
"If I really wanted to leave, I could use the window," Remo said.
Artemis smiled. "Just ensuring us a little privacy," he said, lifting a cut crystal decanter. "Care for some brandy, friend?"
"No thanks. I care to know what's going on around here."
"I don't know what you mean," Artemis said, pouring himself a snifter. He held the glass up to the light. Through the dark liquid, he saw Remo's outline and felt his old hunger rise in his throat. He wanted to leap at him that second, to
press his weight onto the young man's neck and hear the satisfying crunch of breaking bones, but he restrained himself so that he might fully savor the moment when it came.
"There's something fishy about this place," Remo said.
"Oh?" Artemis sipped his brandy languidly, picturing in his mind Remo's truncated limbs spread around the floor in interesting patterns.
"There are people who don't think Vadassar existed until yesterday."
Artemis gestured expansively out the window to-
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ward the buildings on the base, the tennis courts, the swimming pool, the recruits who stood in stiff formation on the grounds, gazing at their leaders with blank, zombielike stares. "Does this look like a figment of somebody's imagination?"
"What about all the foreigners running this base?"
Artemis shrugged. "The army is an equal oppor; tunity employer," he said. "I suppose they can make officers of anyone they choose."
"Let's put it this way. Whatever else might be strange about Fort Vadassar, it's full of runaway soldiers from the camps where the killings took place. Camps where you spoke to the troops." He was bluffing, but the look of surprise on Thwill's face confirmed Remo's guess.
"Who sent you?" Artemis asked.
"Never mind. And you just invited every soldier in the country to go AWOL and join Randy Noon-er's space cadets here. I want to know why."
Artemis was silent for a long moment as he realized the effect of his speech at the press conference. "That's how she's building her army," he said slowly. "Deserters. That's what she needed me for."
"Nooner?"
"Of course. Everybody else around here either doesn't speak English or is too stoned to tie a shoelace." A small smile of resignation played bitterly on Thwill's lips. "I wish I could help you," he said, shaking his head. "You know, it didn't start out this way. I mean with me being the messiah of a new military elite and all that. I never even knew about this place until this morning. And now that my usefulness is over with, she's going to get rid of me." He raised a hand to halt any possible objections from
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