“Yeah. Her,” said Remo.
“She's the hostess on Amazing Humanity,” said the manager.
“I don't know what that is either.”
“It's people doing fantastic things. Fantastic. They eat frogs, run through fire, build homes out of bottle caps, run races after they've suffered horrible operations,” said the manager.
“I don't watch it. Where can I reach Kathy Bowen?”
“At crusade headquarters in California.”
“What does it take to join?” asked Remo.
“A commitment to truth, freedom of worship, and the American way, plus five thousand dollars.”
“Why do I feel I could join the crusade for free?”
“You can, but the five thousand is a donation to help fight religious persecution in America.”
“I like religious persecution,” said Remo.
The manager sat beneath a picture of clear-eyed, forward-looking Rubin Dolomo. On his desk was a stack of mimeographed bulletins called “Truth Grams.” The manager kept looking at Remo's wrists. He stared at the eyes, not into them. Remo could tell where the man's pupils focused because they always reflected the level they operated from.
“Well, religious persecution is fine. Whatever. Whatever the force of power gives to you. Thank you and good day,” said the manager.
When the especially wealthy new student and his Oriental friend left with their counselor, Ms. Bloom, a low-budget convert to Poweressence, the manager phoned the Dolomo estate.
“Hey, Rubin, I think I saw him.”
“Who? The negative one?”
“Well, you said there was this guy with thick wrists and dark eyes who was the force of negativity. I thought it was just hype, you know. Like course number fourteen, when you ran out of astral planes to clear in course thirteen and you had to come up with a 'Reversion Protection' course. I thought that was brilliant.”
“It wasn't hype. People do revert to unhappiness.”
“Sure, sure, Rubin, but I think I actually seen this guy.”
“He's there?”
“Just left.”
“Where's he heading?”
“Straight for you and our star performer, Ms. Kathy Bowen.”
“Why did you do that?”
“He's been taking courses like there's no end to money. And he says he's got a problem with a jail thing. I thought you could help, you know. You told us to solicit those.”
“But he's the negative counterforce of our positive power.”
“Hey, Rubin. I'm a franchiser. I sell this stuff. Don't try to give it to me.”
“It's true. How do you think we got so big, so fast? I uncovered the truth in the Alarkin planet chronicles.”
“You got so big so fast because Beatrice knows how to make a buck. Look, Rubin, if you have problems with these people, why don't you take care of them in some sane way. And I don't mean some Powie nut with an alligator stuffing it in some pool somewhere.”
“What do you mean?”
“There are professionals who do things right.”
“You mean a professional hit man?”
“You can buy the best right here in Miami. This is the home of the cocaine trade. The best killers in the world are in Miami today. The best, Rubin.”
“We don't have any contacts in Miami except you.”
“What is your safety worth to you and Beatrice?”
“Thousands.”
“You can do better than that, Rubin. You clear fifteen thousand a week from my franchise alone.”
“Tens of thousands.”
“Come on, Rubin.”
“A million dollars. I can't go any higher, Beatrice will kill me.”
“No problem. Now, no more of this Alarkin planet good-force stuff. We buy the best. The absolute best.”
“They don't cost a million.”
“I do. If you want me to get them. I'm here, Rubin. I know everyone.”
“And you'll get the best.”
“The forces of negativity will have more bullets in him than a firing-range target before he leaves Miami.”
“I'll mail you the million.”
“No. Wire it. I always like it in my hands before I do real business. We don't pay these people in reducing astral negativity, Rubin.”
The hit was not complicated, the manager knew. The target would be coming to the airport, and once you knew where someone was coming, you really had a lock on the whole business. That is why of the million dollars, he only had to pay twenty-five thousand dollars to four pistoleros who promised they would empty two magazines apiece into the man and his elderly Oriental friend.
“They'll be going to California. And they'll be with this woman,” said the manager, who happened to have Daphne Bloom's picture on a counselor-evaluation application. It showed her main ambition was to be one with the positive forces of the universe.
“What do you want done with her?”
The manager, seeing that she only earned credits by teaching and was not a major donor, said that whatever was convenient for the pistoleros was fine with him.
“But you got to get the guy with the thick wrists.”
By the time Remo and Chiun reached the airport, Daphne had told them her life story. She was an especially sensitive person. By age seven she realized that five thousand years of Judaism was not the answer for her. By age fourteen she had joined three cults, all proving to lack the answer to her problems. So did Scientology, est, Sedona, Personality Reunification, and the Hare Krishnas.
“In Poweressence I found the answer to the question.”
“What's the question?” asked Remo. He looked for the shortest line at a major airline. This airport seemed to be a collection of forty airports, none of them really doing business with the other. It was strange. Chiun was being bothered by a woman who wanted to know where he bought that absolutely lovely kimono.
“It was made for me,” said Chiun.
“By whom?”
“The mother of Genghis Khan.”
“He must be beautifully clothed.”
“He's dead. And so is his mother. Many centuries now. But the Mongol women were for a while great weavers of animal hair.”
Daphne pinched Remo's arm. She pulled back her hand, startled. She could have sworn the arm pinched back.
“You weren't listening when I told you Poweressence solved the basic question of my life. The basic question of my life is who am I and where do I fit in the world scheme of things.”
“I don't know of anyone who cares about that,” said Remo. The two men in white suits were so obvious that they should have carried signs. While other people walked or strolled, these two were stalking. Their footsteps were stiffer, their backbones more rigid, and their hands never far from the bulges in their pockets. The question was, who were these two looking for? Remo knew Chiun saw them too, but Chiun was busy discussing fabric with a woman who loved his kimono.
The two were looking for something, as though they weren't ready to find it yet. Then unmistakably they made contact with someone across the airport corridor. It wasn't a nod. It was more silent than that. It was a purposeful way of not noticing someone, a smoother move of the head while they scanned. This could not be hidden.
Across the airport were two more men who just as obviously were stalking someone. One of them was looking at Daphne Bloom.
“Do you have any enemies?” asked Remo.
“No. People who truly establish their inner peace don't make enemies.”
“Well, there are four men who want to kill someone and they're looking at you.”
“They couldn't want to kill me,” said Daphne. “I offer no negative threat to anyone. You see, that was my problem before. I would send out all the negativity of my past planetary lives and create enemies. But now I don't.”
Daphne was still smiling when the first bullet rang out and Remo pushed her under the counter. Screams filled the airport. People looked for cover, and the four men advanced toward the ticket counter.