"Anything else?"
"No. That's it."
"What is your school of attack, by the way? Karate, kung fu, judo?"
"Wow tu," said Remo, making up the most idiotic name he could think of.
"Wow tu? Never heard of it."
"That's why it works so well. Do you think anything really good would be sold out of a gymnasium or a book?"
"Wow tu," repeated Dr. Nils Brewster, Faversham Fellow of Sociology, Ph.D., University of Chicago, author of "Man as Hostile Environment."
"Wow tu," he said again, and in the place where dreams are formed he saw his older daughter's latest boyfriend crumple to the floor in agony.
Now Remo was at her cottage. Mosquitoes and moths held a mass rally near her window and Remo slapped unsuccessfully at them while awaiting her answer. He knocked again.
"who is it?"
"Your security officer, Remo Pelham."
"What do you want?"
"I want to talk to you."
"About what?"
"I don't want to talk out here."
"Come back tomorrow."
"Can I see you now?"
"No."
"Are you busy?"
"Will you go away!" It was not a question.
"I just want to talk to you."
There was silence and the bugs poured in reinforcements. It was the stale hot of the Virginia summer, a deadening sweat-demanding night that buzzed with the insects of the land. And she did not answer.
"I'm not going until you talk to me."
"Does Brewster know you're bothering one of his scientists?
"Yes."
"He does not. That is a lie. Leave me alone."
"After you talk to me."
He heard footsteps pad to the door. It opened, and Deborah Hirshbloom stood before him with the un-amused tolerance of a parent declining to be manipulated by the antics of a child. Her face was set, but calm, enhancing its fine smooth lines. Her eyes were black jewels hi a setting of smooth, milky skin garnished with the joy of freckles. Her lips, unpainted, were tight; allowing nothing for Remo standing before her.
"All right. What?"
"I'd like to talk to you. May I come in?"
"It's late."
"I know. May I come in?"
She shrugged and beckoned Remo to enter. She wore a plain khaki blouse with plain khaki shorts. She was bare and her cottage office was just as bare, except for the books stacked to the ceiling and a chess set open on the small table, near the lamp. There was a metal cot and two chairs. She sat on the cot, but with such stiffness that it obviously was not an invitation.
"May I sit down?" Remo asked, nodding to the chair.
She allowed it.
"As you know, the other department heads of the forum have been interviewing me." She did not respond. Remo continued: "And I wondered why you had not."
"Because I'm not interested."
"I was, well, sort of wondering why."
"Because one man beating up seven ridiculous hoodlums is not exactly the awe-inspiring scientific phenomena my colleagues obviously believe it to be."
"Then you know something about violence."
"I am learning from you, and I like no part of it. I know Hawkins came down with your chute and you with his. I know he tried to kill you and died for it."
"You're Israeli, aren't you?"
"Yes. You know that."
"And violence offends you?"
"Yes."
"Don't all Israelis have to serve in the Army?"
"Yes."
"And violence still offends you?"
"Of course, why not?"
"Because you people couldn't survive without violence. Without being tough. The Arabs could have peace by not firing a shot. You people would have another holocaust."
"Mr. Pelham, what are you driving at? That because we are outnumbered one-hundred-fifty to one by people who unfortunately have made our annihilation a national goal, that I should like what I must do to survive? One must dig latrines, too, for survival. But you do not have to like digging latrines. What do you really want? You do not care that violence offends me. This does not interest you. What do you want?"
"Well, I have a problem and you contribute to it. You see, I'm responsible for the protection of everyone here. And everyone moves around so much, especially you, that to really make sure I can provide the proper security, I have to know generally where I can reach you when I need you. That attack on the forum by the motorcycle gang could be a portent of things to come. I'm not sure they will, but if those people try again, I want to make sure they can't reach any of the top staff."
"There is a word in English, Mr. Pelham, that describes beautifully what you have just said. It is both sharp in definition and meaningful in substance."
Remo knew he was opening a door. "What word?" he said, preparing himself for the deserved consequences.
"Bullshit," said Dr. Hirshbloom sweetly.
"That's unfair, Deborah."
"That is your name, Remo, it is bullshit should you deny it to your grave. They called for you. They challenge you. And they got you. Or, as you will, you got them."
"They went for me first so that they could get to you. Certainly you are aware of a situation like that. Russia attacking us through Israel."
"Why must you put everything on an international level? You're sitting here, asking my schedule, obviously not to protect me because you know I do not need your protection. So why else would you want to know where you can reach me, except to do me harm? Right?"
"Bullshit."
"Hah. Mr. Pelham...."
"Remo, remember."
"All right, Remo. Good night."
"Deborah, I would like to see you again."
"I'm certain you will. But, please. Not in such frightening fashion as the other day, or such annoying fashion as tonight."
"Frightening? You were frightened? You didn't seem frightened?"
"Now I am terrified because now I know you even had time to look around at me and the other scenery." Deborah sat calm, but a cool formal smile set it. It did not change, and Remo recognized the personal control people develop when they are faced frequently with danger. They develop it, or they die, or they are incredibly lucky.
"All right. I had time to look around. Suppose that is so. Suppose my defence was really an attack. Suppose all those things."
"Then suppose, Mr. Pelham, you're not a policeman."
"All right, suppose that."
"Then you must be something else."
"Then I'm something else."
"Then I don't feel comfortable. I do not feel comfortable seeing an approach to attack which I recognize, and then seeing added an awesome ability to do things that I do not recognize at all. I was truly afraid the other afternoon, Mr. Pelham. And I was afraid of you. I am afraid of you now."
"Strange for a psychiatrist."
"I am tired also, Mr. Pelham. Good night. I do not know what you are really here for. Perhaps it is even to be, as you say, a security officer. But I have seen your like before. When I was a little girl, a volunteer from America. He taught us that set, and two days ago I saw it on you."
Chiun in Israel? Impossible. The set? It was not Chiun who taught the set, the apparently awkward foot alignment that made you look as if you were about to step backward when really you moved forward. That was not Chiun. The first days of training after the electrocution were.... Of course, the set. Conn MacCleary. Conn MacCleary in Israel?
Deborah rose to usher Remo to the door. Remo re-seated.
"This man, did you like him?" Remo asked.
"As a matter of fact, the whole village loved him. But he is dead now, a fate that awaits us all. It is really only a question of when. And toward extending that when, we are all devoted, no?"
"Where did this man die?"
"You seem very interested in this man. Why?"
"Perhaps I knew him."
"If you did I would not have to fear you anymore because he was a good man. That is what we all remembered about him most. He was a good man. What he did for his livelihood does not attract good men that often. He was rare. And he died. And I believe he probably died sooner than he should. Because good men do not often live long lives in some situations."