The Destroyer - 39 - The Destroyer 039 - Missing link 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: 2010-03-19T14:51:37+00:00

CHAPTER EIGHT

Re­mo and Chi­un sat with six oth­er men in the liv­ing room at One-​eleven Wa­ter Street, wait­ing for Fred­dy Zentz, the tit­ular head of PLOTZ, to make his ap­pear­ance. Jes­si­ca, the tall girl from the hot dog pot, was in and out of the room.

Re­mo looked at the oth­er six men. They were wear­ing shorts or tie-​dyed jeans or chi­nos, and tee shirts with mar­ijua­na draw­ings on them, and sweat­shirts that read “Prop­er­ty of Al­ca­traz-​Un­list­ed Num­ber.” But they didn’t ring true; some­thing didn’t fit the ter­ror­ist mold. Per­haps it was their age. The youngest of the men was thir­ty, the old­est push­ing fifty.

Fred­dy Zentz ar­rived just af­ter 8 P.M. Re­mo thought he looked like the head clerk at a Philadel­phia race track. He wore a pow­der-​blue polyester leisure suit and white plas­tic patent leather shoes. Re­mo won­dered if ev­ery man in Amer­ica owned a blue leisure suit. Zentz was a small, slight man. Sur­pris­ing­ly, he had a closed-​cropped hair­cut. He wore thick horn-​rimmed eye­glass­es and was miss­ing his two ca­nine teeth, so that when he smiled, as he did

in greet­ing, he looked like a beaver ap­proach­ing a suc­cu­lent birch tree. He was about thir­ty.

“Hel­lo, hel­lo, hel­lo,” he said. Solemn­ly he walked around the room shak­ing hands with each of them in turn. Jes­si­ca stayed be­hind in the door­way to the room, smil­ing ma­ter­nal­ly, as if this were her son with whom she was well pleased.

“Wel­come to the won­der­ful world of the Pan-​Latin Or­ga­ni­za­tion against Ter­ror­ist Zion­ism,” Fred­dy said to each of them in turn, as his thin bony hand shot from his sleeve like an un­leashed pis­ton. Re­mo shook his hand and re­strained his im­pulse to crush his bones. Chi­un lis­tened to Zentz’s greet­ing with­out ex­pres­sion on his face. But he kept his hands in­side his ki­mono sleeves, and when it ap­peared that Zentz might stand in front of him all night wait­ing for Chi­un to shake his hand, Chi­un closed his eyes, sig­nal­ing clear­ly that the au­di­ence was end­ed.

When he was done mak­ing the rounds of the room, Zentz pulled a chair to the front wall, near the old un­work­able fire­place.

“I’m glad you all came,” he said. “I was hop­ing for more, but this is a pret­ty good nu­cle­us.” He pro­nounced the word “nook-​a-​luss.” Jes­si­ca sat down on the floor in the door­way at the oth­er end of the room. She looked at Re­mo, who smiled at her. She smiled back.

Re­mo want­ed to ask what the or­ga­ni­za­tion was all about.

A man across the room from Re­mo with a face that was cragged and riv­en said to Zentz, “What’s this or­ga­ni­za­tion all about?”

Zentz’s eyes twin­kled with sat­is­fac­tion. “What

you have the priv­ilege of be­ing in on is the first wave of the new wave of rev­olu­tion­ary ac­tion.” He paused as if that had an­swered the ques­tion.

Re­mo was go­ing to ask what that meant when an­oth­er man at the end of the room near Zentz asked, “What does that mean?”

“It means that the Pan-​Latin Or­ga­ni­za­tion against Ter­ror­ist Zion­ism is a new

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