Destroyer - Master's Challenge Part 18

"Robin's a.s.sistant," Smith said. "I'm new here."

"Oh. I guess it's all right then. Vishnu's the chairman of the ERA movement. Vishnu's not really his name, but it was his name last year when he was G.o.d, and everybody liked the name, and he kept it even if he isn't G.o.d anymore."

"ERA?" Smith said. "Equal rights?"

"Naaah," she said in disgust. "End Racist America. It's our new movement. Turn America over to Cuba as a colony."

"Good idea," Smith said.

"Robin's idea," the woman said.

"Who's the other man?" Smith asked.

"Jeez, you don't know anything,. That's President McHale."

"He's younger than Vishnu," Smith said.

"We're against ageism," she said. "Students don't have to be young."

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The two men on the small knoll were arguing now. The college president said, "What racism?"

"We want black professors in every department."

"We've got them," President McHale said.

"Tokens," Vishnu said. "Meaningless tokens. What about Agent Orange?"

"What about it?"

"What have you done about it?" Vishnu demanded.

"We've kept it off campus," McHale said.

"Words. More words. What about dioxin?"

"What the h.e.l.l have we got to do with dioxin?" McHale demanded.

"What did you ever do about it?"

"What did you ever do about it?"

"I'm not on trial here," Vishnu said.

"I didn't know I was either," McHale said.

"What about AIDS?"

"Campus health center's got a program."

"More words. Just words," Vishnu said. "All that's necessary for evil to triumph is for people like you to do nothing.''

"What do you want me to do?" McHale asked.

"It is not for us to dictate your responses."

"Since when? You try to dictate everything else."

Smith had heard enough. He turned back to the young woman. "Where is Robin?" he asked.

"She wanted to be with us today, but she had other business."

Smith was reminded of reluctant generals in World War II who were always bemoaning the fact that they wouldn't be able to go over the top with their men when the shooting started.

"What business?" Smith asked. "I thought everything she did was here."

"Robin's a leader," the young woman said. "She's got 167.

organizations all over the country. Not just this one. We're small."

The student leader turned his back on President McHale and pulled a paper from his pocket. He looked at the students ma.s.sed a few yards away from him, then turned back to the college president.

"Our leader," Vishnu said, "warned us of this. She said and she told me to repeat it to you: that this fascistic, imperialistic, genocidal college administration ..."

McHale snapped, "What genocidal, for Christ's sake? This is Minnesota. What genocide?"

"You'll find out when the war crimes tribunal convenes."

"What war crimes? What war?"

"Crimes against Mother Earth; crimes against humanity in the never-ending war between evilness and lightness."

"Oh, go f.u.c.k a gra.s.s-filled duck," the college president said and stomped away, back toward the national guardsmen still standing impa.s.sively along the front of his mansion.

Vishnu turned toward the rest of the students. From this vantage point, Smith could see that Vishnu dyed his thinning hair to cover the gray.

"Our leader warned that this genocidal, fascistic college would not listen to our just pleas," Vishnu said. "And she gave me this to read to you." He cleared his throat and began to read.

" 'I had so wanted to be with you today when the forces of all that is good on earth confront the forces of all that is evil and sick in evil and sick America. I cannot be here, but you must carry on as if I was.

" There comes a time in the lives of all when they must stand for freedom. Cowards might cry peace at any price but the brave and those who would be truly free in this evil nation know that there are times when one must fight to secure persondom's rights. In the interests of 168.

ERA, in the battle against dioxin and Agent Orange and other terrible poisons being injected into our bodies without our consent, in the fight against genocide against our yellow brothers, black brothers, and our Third World brothers, who hold the moral hopes of all mankind, we must never surrender. We must stand and fight. We must let our wisdom and our love shine through.' ''

Vishnu looked up and put the paper back inside his shirt.

"Will we be poisoned?" he yelled.

"No," the students roared.

"Will we kill as they want us to be killers?"

"No," came another roar.

"Will we surrender to this fascist regime, a representative' on our beloved campus of an even more fascist regime in Washington?"

"No, no, no," came back the roars.

"Will we fill the world with our love?" Vishnu yelled.

"Yes."

Vishnu turned and looked at the college president's home, then raised his arm over his head like a wagon master and brought it down, pointing toward the mansion.

"Then let's trash this f.u.c.king dump," Vishnu yelled.

Rocks suddenly began to fly toward the guardsmen standing near the mansion. The young woman next to Smith tossed her rock, with an obscene curse, then pulled more from the pockets of her jeans. She handed one to Smith.

"Here. You too. From the goodness of the earth."

"Thank you," Smith said. He held the rock in his hand. No one was paying any attention to him. They were tossing rocks and screaming, the crowd taking on a life of its own, seeming to swell, then recede, swell, then recede, like an engine pumping its way up to top running speed. It 169.

was only a few moments, Smith thought, before they had worked themselves up into enough of a frenzy to storm the building. And maybe those inexperienced guardsmen facing them might just fire those guns. The guardsmen were now wincing and dodging as rocks began to strike them.

Vishnu was waving his arm in circles about his head. Smith saw his throat muscles working. The next thing would be a command to charge.

Smith backed off two steps, fired his rock, and walked away through the crowd. Behind him, he heard a groan. He felt the students surge past him, moving forward. Twenty yards away, he turned around.

His stone had hit the mark. Vishnu lay on the gra.s.s, unconscious, students kneeling around him, ministering to him. On the steps of his home, President McHale nodded, and an ambulance sped forward to take G.o.d to a hospital. Campus police came out of the presidential mansion and in the confusion began breaking the students up into small, manageable groups, and then dispersing them.

And Smith walked away. His tape recorders had said that "B" was in charge of the murder plans. "B" for Birdie? Robin Feldmar's students called her "Birdie."

He went back to the professor's locked office. Dr. Robin Feldmar, director, department of computer science. When he was sure no one was in the hall to watch, he slammed the heel of his shoe against the hollow-core door, and it sprang open as the flimsy wood of the frame gave way.

There was a pistol in the back of Robin Feldmar's center desk drawer. Neatly arranged on a piece of paper were two chewed pieces of gum. Apparently, Robin Feldmar chewed gum and then saved it for later. There was no address book, no appointment book, but there was a small handwritten memo.

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"United Airlines, 9 A.M. to New York. Earth Goodness. See Mildred."

Smith left the campus for the airport.

Back to New York. And when he let his thoughts get off Robin Feldmar for a moment, he found himself looking forward to seeing Mildred Pensoitte again.

Chapter Nineteen.

The Dutchman opened his eyes, frightened. Above him was smooth rock. The place he was in was fragrant. Cool cloths covered his forehead and neck. A thin, long-fingered hand brought a wooden ladle of water to his lips. He tried to push it away but was too weak. He drank.

Squinting to focus, he made out the wrinkled, frowning old Oriental face above him with its hazel eyes and white hair.

"Chiun," he whispered.

"Can you hear?"

The Dutchman nodded.

"You have been unconscious for several days. You must try to eat." Chiun brought over a bowl of rice mixed with warm tea and held it out to him.

"Why do you offer me food?" the Dutchman asked, straining to raise his head.

Chiun propped a pillow of hops and dried leaves behind his patient. "Because you are hungry."

The young man brought the bowl to his lips, his hands shaking. Chiun steadied them with his own.

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172.

"You are a fool. Don't you know who I am?"

"You have not changed so much, Jeremiah. I can guess why you have come." Chiun set down the bowl beside him.

"And you think, I suppose, that I will spare your life for a bowl of rice?"

"No," Chiun said softly.

The Dutchman let his head fall back on the pillow. "So you plan to kill me while I am too weak to use my powers. You have some sense, at least."

"I cannot."

The Dutchman's eyes flashed. "What will you do with me?"

"I will care for you until you are well." He brought over a basin of cold water and changed the towels on the Dutchman's head. There was a long silence.

"Why?" he asked, searching the old man's face.

Chiun shook his head. "I fear you would not understand."

H'si T'ang walked inside the cave, a basket of herbs in his hands.

"Who is that?" the Dutchman asked.