Destroyer 129: Father to Son by Warren Murphy & Richard Sapir

Author:Warren Murphy & Richard Sapir
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 20

Remo's flight from Berlin dropped him in Madrid late in the morning. It was just over an hour's drive from the capital of Spain to his next meeting spot.

The Alcazar at Segovia was a massive castle that seemed to grow up out of solid rock. If it seemed postcard perfect, that was only when viewed from the comfortable side of civilization. The castle was largely gray and functional, built at a time when strong fortifications oftentimes meant the difference between life and death.

Remo parked his car far down the road from the castle. Ducking into the woods, he found the little clearing just where it was supposed to be. For generations groundskeepers at the Alcazar had no idea why they were ordered to keep this one lonely spot in the middle of nowhere neatly mowed.

Remo found the tallest tower of the castle. It rose up high in the air, casting shadows across the rock. He felt the watchful eyes of the deceased Masters of Sinanju following his every move. As usual, a vague sense of dissatisfaction emanated from the spirits of the Masters' Tribunal.

"You've all done this before," he grumbled. "You'd think one of you could rattle a chain in the right direction."

Careful to keep the tower over his right shoulder, he began walking away from the palace, counting as he went.

"...seventy-eight, seventy-nine, eighty."

He stopped at an angled wall of rock. It jutted from the ground far from the castle.

He looked back. The very top of the tall tower peeked at him over the nearby treetops.

Pushing aside the bushes that grew wild in front of the rock face, he found a cave entrance. Beyond the opening was a long tunnel. The scent of stale earth and old moss drifted from the tunnel's ancient mouth. "About damn time something went my way."

Whistling a happy tune, Remo ducked through the weeds and disappeared inside the ancient tunnel.

THE PRIME MINISTER of Spain was the first to hear the sound. He cocked an ear, listening intently.

It was difficult to isolate over the cooing of the birds. He strained hard, but the sound was gone. He had to have imagined it. Small wonder. The ancient room in the gloomy old castle had everything but a rack and a black-masked torturer wielding a cat-o'-nine-tails.

"What was it?" asked a nearby voice as the prime minister fussed, irritated, at his jacket cuffs.

"Nothing, Your Majesty. My ears playing tricks on me."

The king had arrived early that morning. He had been waiting on his throne for hours in the secret chamber of the Alcazar that was opened only once in a generation.

The king of Spain's throne was set back under a stone arch in order to avoid the sloppy white pigeon droppings that fell from the ceiling. The floor was thick with a paste of bird waste, fresh and drying intermingled.

When that room was opened to the first assassin from the East, there weren't pigeons. The first Master of Sinanju to stand in that room was the fifteenth-century Master, Lee-Piy, assassin of Pope Calixtus III.

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