The Destroyer - 28 - The Destroyer 028 - Ship Of Death by Warren Murphy & Richard Sapir

Author:Warren Murphy & Richard Sapir [Murphy, Warren & Sapir, Richard]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Pulp Action
Publisher: PINNACLE BOOKS
Published: 2010-03-19T14:53:19+00:00

CHAPTER SEVEN

Un­der the new Free­dom-​of-​In­for­ma­tion Res­olu­tion by which the Unit­ed Na­tions had abol­ished press cov­er­age of its ac­tiv­ities and barred all jour­nal­ists from Ship of States, there was no tele­vi­sion cov­er­age of the ship­warm­ing par­ty.

But cam­eras were at work. From hid­den lo­ca­tions around the sta­di­um, they ze­roed in on Re­mo and trans­mit­ted his im­age to the se­cret city of rooms deep in­side the hody of the ship. At least one cam­era kept trans­mit­ting back tele­vi­sion im­ages of Chi­un.

The ship had ini­tial­ly been flood­ed with TV cam­eras so that del­egates could be spot­ted any­where and marked against dai­ly progress sheets. Ob­servers had been told that when all the sheets were pro­grammed af­ter just a few days’ ob­ser­va­tion, com­put­ers could then cal­cu­late where any­one would be with a high prob­abil­ity of be­ing cor­rect. Peo­ple fol­lowed rhyth­mic pat­terns with as lit­tle imag­ina­tion as a tree, the dif­fer­ence be­ing that trees nev­er thought they were any­thing but ser­vants of the weath­er, grow­ing leaves by the sun, drop­ping them at frost. Peo­ple, how­ev­er, thought they act­ed from free will. Yet there were times of the day when they would need com­pa­ny and oth­er times when they need­ed to be alone, times when they felt alive, and oth­er times when they felt drowsy, and all these came from an in­ter­nal clock that they could not read.

Ex­cept for Re­mo.

Since the in­ci­dent at the el­eva­tor and in the pas­sages, Re­mo had been giv­en a con­stant track, eye ob­served and taped, be­cause it was pos­si­ble to get a rhythm on some­one from an in­tense four-​hour ob­ser­va­tion.

Os­car Walk­er be­lieved that. He was bet­ting his life on it. Num­ber One had said he want­ed it and Os­car Walk­er had promised it and now, deep in the ship, Os­car tried to or­ga­nize all the in­for­ma­tion tak­en since midafter­noon when there was the first warn­ing re­port on Re­mo.

The prob­lem for Os­car Walk­er in the twen­ty-​sev­enth year of his life was that there was too much in­for­ma­tion on this per­son and much of it clear­ly did not read out prop­er­ly.

Cam­bridge Uni­ver­si­ty had been noth­ing like this. They had nev­er told Os­car that there were hu­man be­ings walk­ing around with a breath­ing rate more akin to a three-​toed sloth than to an ap­par­ent thir­ty-​year-​old man. More con­fus­ing was that the breath­ing rhythm was ex­act­ly that of the old Ori­en­tal in the Ira­ni­an sec­tion, an ap­par­ent eighty-​year-​old. Two new se­cu­ri­ty men, Ira­ni­an hired, high po­ten­tial.

Os­car Walk­er went over Re­mo’s record per­son­al­ly. Yes, he trust­ed his com­put­ers but there was noth­ing like hu­man eyes read­ing hu­man mes­sages in print.

The first man Re­mo had met in the el­eva­tor that day and then tak­en his gun away… the gun­man had had three years of train­ing in Britain’s Spe­cial Air Ser­vice. Well, so much for his be­ing care­less or a stranger to dif­fi­cult ser­vice. SAS were just the finest com­man­does in the world. Even if Os­car were British him­self. He was not so British as to get him­self killed by a mis­cal­cu­la­tion.

Os­car went through the records of oth­ers lost to the Ira­ni­an-​em­ployed killing ma­chine, Re­mo.

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