Arkady Rokossovsky, Russian ambassador to the United Nations, had entered the offices of Schuler Designs on the fifty-seventh floor of the Empire State Building at approximately one o'clock, Eastern standard time.
He was questioned by the firm's receptionist, but Rokossovsky had ignored her.
Rokossovsky had wandered beyond the woman's desk and into the office. Several people asked what he was doing, but he trudged resolutely past them. It was only when he got to the window that someone thought to call security. By then it was too late.
The window panes had been specially devised for high-buildings.
They were triple-enforced plates of high-density polymer. Invisible steel strands crisscrossed the pane.
Each window was guaranteed by the manufacturer to withstand a thousand pounds per square inch of pressure.
A marketing embellishment, as most people had imagined, but it was understood that the panes could not be shattered by conventional means. It was agreed by all that Arkady Rokossovsky should never have been able to break one.
In a crowded conference room, Rokossovsky
kicked out with the heel of his foot. It impacted with the center of a high windowpane.
Against all design specifications, the heavy plastic rattled on its frame, a long, spidery fracture spreading up its middle. Finally the pane cracked apart in a half-dozen huge sections. Broken sheets of simulated glass exploded out onto Fifth Avenue.
Rokossovsky followed them.
Those who witnessed the obvious suicide found it troublesome for more than just the apparent reasons.
To a man, they all said the same thing. Arkady Rokossovsky didn't look or sound like someone who wanted to die. His actions were incongruous with his words. Or at least to his tone.
From the moment he stepped through the office door to the instant he impacted with the sidewalk far below, Rokossovsky could be heard screaming in Russian.
An immigrant who was standing nearby when Rokossovsky hit the ground translated his final words for the networks. Psychologically, it all seemed to fit.
Loosely interpreted, Arkady Rokossovsky had been pleading for someone to stop the voices inside his head.
Holz had wanted Rokossovsky to do a swan dive off of the observation platform at the top of the Empire State Building, but was disappointed to find that the powerful antennae high atop the structure would have interfered with the signal. Reluctantly he had opted for the fifty-seventh floor.
The Dynamic Interface System van had several portable signal boosters tucked away behind the other equipment. Holz had positioned one in a hallway on the twenty-seventh floor. He was worried that the signal strength would not be strong enough even with special enhancement, but any concerns he might have had were dispelled the instant Arkady Rokossovsky splattered like a fat Russian meatball across the pavement of Fifth Avenue.
A crowd had quickly formed around the ambassador's body. The gawkers offered unintentional cover. Holz had slipped back inside the building to retrieve the booster.
When he was gone, Erich von Breslau motioned Holz's assistant to him. Even though they were alone in the back of the white van, he pitched his voice low. 'I have been in contact with the village,' von Breslau whispered to the young man. He had left the truck seconds after Holz had gone to place the booster signal, returning not long before the R&D
vice president. He had been unable to speak freely until now. 'Our Lothar Holz has not been entirely forthright with me.'
The blond-haired man was listening, but there was a distracting twitch at the corner of his mouth. It was a nervous tic that had developed late in the morning.
It had grown steadily worse as the afternoon wore on. Von Breslau's expression was dubious as he watched the young man attempt to suppress the twitch.
'He lied to me,' von Breslau growled. 'He was instructed to return to the village. He disobeyed a direct order. Kluge is furious.'
The young man stared at the Nazi doctor. Despite the muscle spasm at the corner of his mouth, his face remained impassive.
'We have the new Sinanju information, collected from you and the other test subjects. I will bring this back to the village.' Von Breslau glanced at the door that led into the cab. 'Kluge does not want attention drawn to Four. Not yet. When this fool takes us back to where the Britisher and American are being held, you will kill him.'
Von Breslau leaned back in his chair, intertwining his fingers over his slight paunch. He had spoken the words as casually as if he had just given the afternoon train schedules.
Holz's assistant of the past eight years did not even raise an eyebrow at the command. He nodded obediently.
Ever so slightly, the corner of his mouth twitched in punctuation.
24
'It was risky for the two of you to go out like that,'
Smith admonished.
'Sorry,' Remo replied across Smith's desk, 'but we didn't exactly feel like sitting around for a month twiddling our thumbs.'
'It appears that might not be necessary.' Smith went on to describe the incident involving the Russian ambassador.
'It sounds like the poor guy was programmed to off himself,' Remo said once the CURE director was through.
'I agree,' Smith allowed. 'And to shatter the window as he did obviously required Sinanju skills.'
'Only minor ones, Emperor,' Chiun interjected, lest Smith believe his or Remo's skills to be any less valuable. He stood beside Remo in the Spartan office, hands tucked snugly inside his kimono sleeves.
'That is neither here nor there,' Smith said. 'The point is, Holz has retrieved the Sinanju information from his victims.'
Remo shook his head. 'It won't do him any good, Smitty. All the guys we went to were either dead or dying. They can't adapt.'
'Yes, that is true. However, if they slow down the process to take weeks, months or perhaps even years in order to allow the host time to absorb the information, the process might still work. Your skills could conceivably be sold to terrorist nations or organized-crime syndicates. Or for that matter, to any petty criminal.'
'Savages!' Chiun hissed to Remo. 'They would be stealing prospective clients away from Sinanju.'
Remo steered the conversation back to the problem at hand. 'The British and American ambassadors haven't turned up?' he asked.
'Not yet. But we can assume Holz has similar fates planned for each of them. It is clearly his way of paying back the Allied nations for the defeat of Nazi Germany.'
'Have you been able to find out anything about him yet?'
'No, but I have a suspicion,' Smith replied, vaguely. His tired eyes stared off distractedly at the distant wall.
Remo snapped his fingers in front of Smith's face.
'Earth to Smitty. Care to share it with us?'
Smith's head snapped back. He blinked a few times, hard. 'I am sorry,' he said, businesslike once more. 'The past three days are beginning to take their toll.' He took a deep, cleansing breath before responding to Remo's query. 'My suspicions concerning Holz are unfounded at the present time. And they are irrelevant to the current investigation.'
'If you say so.' Remo shrugged.
'I have done some further checking. Though I was unable to locate any concrete information concerning
