Cheers went up from the troops in the stadium, their tear-stained faces gazing up at Artemis.
"Hail Artemis," chanted the soldiers.
"Hail Artemis," shouted the reporters.
One of the younger newsmen from a midwestern daily turned to his photographer and asked, "What the hell did he say?"
The photographer pulled away from his eyepiece-long enough to cast the reporter a look of profound contempt. "Stupid, he said that the Pentagon killed those guys, and that any soldier who doesn't want to get his head blown off had better get his ass over here fast."
"But that's desertion," the reporter said.
The photographer shot off another five frames of Artemis standing before his kneeling legion of troops. "Nope," he answered. "That's God."
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Within an hour, news bulletins about the Pentagon Slaughters charged the air waves of every radio and television station in the country. Time and Newsweek had consulted one another about which photographs of the massacres each would use for the covers of their next editions. "Artemis" had become a household word with the media, as a symbol of hope and justice. The Pentagon was bombarded with demands that members of the Joint Chiefs of Staff appear on national television to face the charges against them. A special senate committee, to be headed by Osgood Nooner, was formed on the spot to investigate all military officials.
Members of Congress signed a petition to request that the President issue a statement about his role in the Slaughters. A special Gallup poll was devised to determine the amount of trust the average American citizen held in his government.
And already thousands of army recruits were deserting their bases for Fort Vadassar.
Remo waited for the crowd that gathered around Randy Nooner to clear away before approaching her. She was speaking to her father, who cut his own words short when he saw Remo. Senator Nooner whispered something in his daughter's ear. While he talked, she looked at Remo, laughed, and blew him a kiss.
"Don't worry, Daddy," she said reassuringly. "I'm going to take care of everything." Without acknowledging Remo, the senator left.
"I guess that's that," Randy said breathlessly, taking both Remo's and Artemis's arms in her own. "It seemed like a successful conference."
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"Depends on what you want to succeed at," Remo said.
Chiun pulled up the rear, alongside Samantha. "AU talk," he said.
In the guest quarters, Randy and Samantha entertained Chiun in the living room while Artemis took Remo upstairs to a plush den furnished in rich velvets and French antiques. With a rustle of his long white robes, Artemis closed the door behind them and leaned on it, triggering a lock Remo could hear even through the ample insulation of Thwill's body.
"If I really wanted to leave, I could use the window," Remo said.
Artemis smiled. "Just ensuring us a little privacy," he said, lifting a cut crystal decanter. "Care for some brandy, friend?"
"No thanks. I care to know what's going on around here."
"I don't know what you mean," Artemis said, pouring himself a snifter. He held the glass up to the light. Through the dark liquid, he saw Remo's outline and felt his old hunger rise in his throat. He wanted to leap at him that second, to press his weight onto the young man's neck and hear the satisfying crunch of breaking bones, but he restrained himself so that he might fully savor the moment when it came.
"There's something fishy about this place," Remo said.
"Oh?" Artemis sipped his brandy languidly, picturing in his mind Remo's truncated limbs spread around the floor in interesting patterns.
"There are people who don't think Vadassar existed until yesterday."
Artemis gestured expansively out the window to-
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ward the buildings on the base, the tennis courts, the swimming pool, the recruits who stood in stiff formation on the grounds, gazing at their leaders with blank, zombielike stares. "Does this look like a figment of somebody's imagination?"
"What about all the foreigners running this base?"
Artemis shrugged. "The army is an equal oppor; tunity employer," he said. "I suppose they can make officers of anyone they choose."
"Let's put it this way. Whatever else might be strange about Fort Vadassar, it's full of runaway soldiers from the camps where the killings took place. Camps where you spoke to the troops." He was bluffing, but the look of surprise on Thwill's face confirmed Remo's guess.
"Who sent you?" Artemis asked.
"Never mind. And you just invited every soldier in the country to go AWOL and join Randy Noon-er's space cadets here. I want to know why."
Artemis was silent for a long moment as he realized the effect of his speech at the press conference. "That's how she's building her army," he said slowly. "Deserters. That's what she needed me for."
"Nooner?"
"Of course. Everybody else around here either doesn't speak English or is too stoned to tie a shoelace." A small smile of resignation played bitterly on Thwill's lips. "I wish I could help you," he said, shaking his head. "You know, it didn't start out this way. I mean with me being the messiah of a new military elite and all that. I never even knew about this place until this morning. And now that my usefulness is over with, she's going to get rid of me." He raised a hand to halt any possible objections from
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Remo. "Oh, I know that's what she's got in store for me. Why else would she have me constantly talking about plots to do me in?' He sighed. "It's all becoming too much for me. Sometimes I wish she'd just murder me and get it over with." He drained the last of his brandy.
"But why does Randy Nooner want to take over the army?" Remo asked.'
With some effort Artemis hoisted himself from his embroidered wing chair. "That, my special friend, is the question," he said wearily.
He focused on Remo's lean figure. A twig, he ,thought. One good shove against a plaster wall, and those skinny ribs would pop like marimbas. A right hook to the head, and Remo's neck would twist and splinter. A couple of broken legs thrown in. A mashed nose. Good lord, real lord, he thought, how long had it been since he'd mashed a nose?
"You all right?" Remo asked, concerned about the look of frenzy that was beginning to glaze in Ar-temis's eyes.
"Lamb of Artemis," Thwill intoned, lumbering toward Remo. "Do not try to hide your fear. The moment of one's death is one of glory," he said, picking up speed. Remo moved to another corner of the room. Thwill followed at a trot. "Look to the Hereafter," Artemis called, tucking in his shoulder and soaring into a flying tackle. Remo ducked in time to avoid 228 pounds of lurching pork loin. Had Artemis made contact, he would have slammed Remo just below the chest cavity. As it was, however, Artemis's heave propelled him into the wall, cracking his right shoulder and showering him with dried plaster.
Stunned, Artemis dragged himself to his feet and
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lunged again, this time head-on into a rocking chair that swung crazily for a moment before dumping Artemis with a crash onto the bar. Glass flew everywhere. A shard caught Artemis over his left eyebrow, and blood trickled down his face as he rolled shakily to the floor.
"Here, let me give you a hand," Remo said, extending his arm to Thwill.
"So you want to fight dirty, huh?" Artemis raged, slapping Remo's hand away. "We'll see who can fight dirty around here. No more mister nice guy, buddy." As he jumped to a standing position, he slipped on a_pool of Jack Daniels and careened into a bookcase beside the bar. The impact of Thwill's body against the Louis XV étagère caused a shelf to break in two, toppling dozens of leather-bound volumes onto his head. They landed with thunks as Artemis staggered beneath them. "You know how to throw a punch, boy,. I give you that," Thwill said. "Look, I just want to help you up." "Trying to trick me, are you?" Legs buckling beneath him, Artemis pulled himself up to a squat and grabbed the biggest object on the bookcase, a 2-Vi-foot-tall Chinese vase painted with cherry blossoms. Breathing heavily, Thwill aimed himself for Remo, the vase clutched tightly in his arms.