The Destroyer - 82 - The Destroyer 082 - Survival Course by Warren Murphy & Richard Sapir

Author:Warren Murphy & Richard Sapir [Murphy, Warren & Sapir, Richard]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Pulp Action
ISBN: 9780451167361
Publisher: PINNACLE BOOKS
Published: 1990-10-18T23:00:00+00:00

"He was seen driving a bread truck through the city."

"Perhaps the bread is poisoned," Chiun said as he followed Remo from the office.

"We've got to get to the embassy," Remo informed Lupe.

"I will drive you," she said.

"Thanks, but no thanks. Just call us a cab."

"I am your host and protector while you are in Mexico," Lupe said stiffly.

"Thanks again, but we don't need protection."

Lupe's hard eyes flicked toward the Master of Sinanju. "The old one. He looks pale."

"Don't let that fool you," Remo retorted. "He's healthier than I am. Right, Chiun?"

The Master of Sinanju said nothing. He sniffed the air with concern.

Remo looked more closely. "You do look a little pale, at that."

"I do not like this place," Chiun said again.

"Fine," Remo returned. "Let's be on our way."

Officer Guadalupe Mazatl led them out to the drop-off area, where she flagged a cab.

"No official vehicle?" Remo asked as they got in.

"An FJP jeep might arrive in five minutes or five hours. This taxi is here now."

They pulled into traffic a moment later, and were soon traveling through a rundown area of scabrous stucco buildings; there was a general air of forlorn hopelessness about the people walking along the streets.

Remo kept an eye on the traffic, looking for bread trucks. Smith had told him the brand name. What was it again?

"You ever heard of Bimbo Bread?" he asked Lupe suddenly.

"Si. It is a well-known brand here in the Distrito Federal. Why?"

"Oh, nothing," Remo said evasively.

They turned on an artery called Viaducto. Remo wondered if it was Spanish for "viaduct," and if it was, why it was called that.

After a while the avenue sank into the ground and their view of the city was cut off by ugly gray concrete walls lifting on either side, like a viaduct that carried traffic instead of water.

The city was incredibly congested, Remo saw. Noxious exhaust poured from the tailpipe of every car and truck. It was worse than New York or L.A. But there was something different about it, too.

As they turned off Viaducto, under a huge electric pinwheel of a sign-"TOME COCA-COLA"-back into ground-level traffic, a blue VW Beetle slithered out of their way, causing a chain reaction of near-collisions.

Their cabdriver kept going as if this were an everyday occurrence. Remo looked back. Miraculously, no one was hurt. Then it hit him.

"Don't the cars have horns down here?"

"Si," Lupe said. "Why do you ask?"

"In New York, you'd hear a million car horns during a near-disaster like that."

A faint smile touched the corners of Lupe's lips.

"Perhaps we are more civilized in Mexico than you would think," she said.

"Matter of fact," Remo added, "I don't hear any horns. It's unnatural."

The cabdriver spoke up. "Many drivers, senior, they carry pistolas."

"So much for civilization," Remo said smugly.

Lupe Mazatl said nothing. In the front seat, beside the driver, the Master of Sinanju was equally silent.

Remo looked around for trucks. He saw none that said "Bimbo Bread." Then he realized that it might not say "bread" at all.

"What's the Spanish for 'bread'?" he asked Lupe.

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