"You've heard of it," Remo said. "Fielding's Wondergrains. This is it."
"I've heard of it, sure. But that doesn't mean I have to believe it. Look, friend, there's one miracle nobody can do. Rice cannot be grown in anything but mud. Mud. That's dirt and water. Mud, pal."
"In this process, the plants draw their moisture from the air," Remo said patiently.
The botanist laughed, too loud and too long.
"In the Mojave? There is no moisture in the air in the Mojave. Humidity zero. Try drawing moisture out of that air." And he was off laughing again.
Remo stuffed his samples back into his pockets. "Remember," he said. "They laughed at Luther Burbank when he invented the peanut. They laughed at all the great men."
The botanist was obviously one of those who would have laughed at Luther Burbank because he was giggling when Remo left. "Rice. In the desert. Peanuts. Luther Burbank. Hahahahahaha."
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
With the ratchety click of a child's toy, the small 16mm movie projector whirred into fan movement, flashed light, and fired a string of pictures on the beaded glass screen in front of Johnny "Deuce" Deussio.
"Hey, Johnny, how many times you gonna look at this guy? I tell you, you just give me three good guys. No fancy stuff. We just go and pop him."
"Shut up, Sally," said Deussio. "In the first place, you couldn't find three good guys. And if you did, you wouldn't know what to do with them."
Sally grunted, his feelings hurt, his hatred for this skinny, bone-faced motion picture subject growing by the second.
"Anyway," he grumbled, "if I had a chance at him, he wouldn't be throwing no people off no roof."
"You had your chance at him, Sally," said Deussio. "The night he sneaked in here. Right past you. Right past all your guards. And he stuffed my head in a toilet"
"That was him?"
Sally looked at the screen again with greater interest. He watched as Remo seemed to stroll casually down a street, while bullets pinged around him. "He don't look like much."
"You dumb shit," Deussio yelled. "What do you think you would do if somebody was on a roof across the street, popping away at you with a rifle and a night scope?"
"I'd run, Johnny. I'd run."
"That's right. You'd run. And the shooter would give you a lead and then put a bullet right in your brain. If he could find one. And this guy that you don't think is much made that goddamn shooter miss just by walking away. Now you get your stupid ass out of here and let me figure out how."
After Sally left, Johnny Duece settled back in his chair and watched the film again. He watched as Remo climbed a drainpipe as effortlessly as if it were a ladder. He watched as he made the marksman miss up close and then threw him off the roof into the flagpole rope.
He watched Remo come back down the drainpipe and watched Remo pause on the pipe, feeling it with his fingertips, and he knew that at that moment Remo had sensed that someone else had followed him up the pipe.
But Remo had continued down and Johnny Deuce watched the movie and watched his own man come back down and he watched three of them stake out Remo in the alley and the three of them wind up dead.
The last shot was of Remo standing in the light at the opening of the alley, looking upward at the marksman's body twisting slowly, slowly in the wind, and tossed a salute.
Deussio hit the rewind button and the film started clicking back to the load reel. As he sat in the darkness, Deussio knew there was something in the film, something he should be able to figure out.
He had sent a modern attack-an armed rifle man against this Remo and he had sent an Eastern-style attack, three Ninja warriors. Remo had wiped them all out. How?
Johnny Deuce pressed the forward button again. The projector lamp lit and the screen filled with the black and white images. Deussio watched Remo, seeming to walk casually, dodging sniper's bullets. Deussio had seen a walk like that before.
He watched the film as Remo climbed the drainpipe easily. Deussio had seen climbing like that before.
He saw Remo dodge bullets on the rooftop. He had been told before of people who could do that.
He stopped the projector to think.
Where before?
Where?
Right. Ninja. The Ninja techniques of the Oriental night-fighters involved things like that-the walk, the climbing, the bullet dodging.
OK. So Remo was a Ninja. But then why didn't the three Ninja men get to him? Three should have been better than one.
Johnny Deuce pressed the button again. The projector whirred and the pictures flashed. He sat up straighter as he saw his three Ninja men surround Remo, in perfect positions, and then all wind up lumps of deadness.
Why?
He stopped the projector again. He sat and thought.
He ran the film to the end. He rewound it. He showed it again. And again. And again. And he thought.
And finally, just before midnight, Johnny Deuce jumped out of his chair, clapping his hands together, whooping in joy.
Sally came into the room on the dead run, automatic in hand. He saw Deussio alone in the middle of the floor smiling.
"What's wrong, boss? What happened?
"Nothing. I figured it out. I figured it out."
"Figured what out, boss?"
Johnny Deuce looked at Sally for a moment. He didn't want to tell him, but he had to tell somebody and even though the brilliance of it would all be lost on Sally, it was better than keeping it inside himself.
"He mixes his techniques. Against a Western-style attack, he uses an Eastern defense. Against an Eastern attack, he uses a Western defense. When our Ninja guys went after him, he didn't do any fancy moves. He just dove into them like a goddamn machine and piled up the bodies. Rip. Slash. He had them. That's the secret. He defends in the way opposite to the attack."
"Dat's terrific, boss," said Sally who had no idea of what Johnny Deuce was talking about.
"I knew you'd appreciate it," said Deussio. "Well, I know you can appreciate this. He gave us the key for going after him. The way to get him."
"Yeah?" said Sally, paying more attention now. These were things he understood. "How?"
"Simultaneous attacks. Eastern and Western style at once. He can't use just one style to defense them. If he goes East defense, the East attack'll get him. If he goes West defense, the West attack'll get him." Johnny Deuce clapped his hands again. "Beautiful. Just goddamn beautiful."
"Sure is, boss," said Sally who had again gotten lost.
"You don't know, Sally. Because, we get this guy out of the way and we move in on Force X."
"Force X?" Sally was getting more and more out of it.
"Yes."
"Well, okay, boss, but listen. You want me to get some guys from the east and the west to go after this lug? Back east, there's a terrific pair of brothers. They say they're great with chains. And for the western attack, I got these two friends of mine in LA and…"
Sally had been smiling. He stopped when he saw the cloud come over Deussio's face.
"Get out of here, you stupid shit," said Deussio and dismissed Sally with a wave of his hand.
It wasn't worth it. How could he explain Force X to Sally who thought a Western attack meant one from Los Angeles and an Eastern attack meant New York City?
How tell him about the computer printouts, gathering all the information on arrests and convictions and crooked politicians bagged, and how the computers had confirmed the existence of a counterforce to crime and had high-probability located it in the northeast in Rye, New York. High probability, Folcroft Sanitarium.
It all waited for him now, wiping out Force X. But first this Remo would have to go. First him.
Deussio went to his desk, took out paper and pencil and from the bottom right-hand drawer a pocket calculator, and he set to work. There was no margin for error.
Well, that was all right. Johnny Deuce didn't make errors.