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"Four, five, six, seven."
Adler began counting on his fingers. "Displays ... unusual ... abilities."
He finished with a weak shrug, unconvinced by his own argument.
MacGulry exhaled. He could still taste the kangaroo blood on his breath. The
scowl never left his face as he examined the screen.
Adler had looped the footage. It skipped off of Cindee Maloo, cutting back to
the point where the stranger was walking along the street.
"Freeze frame," MacGulry ordered.
A technician quickly did as he was told. The image froze on the thin man on
the Harlem sidewalk. The subject's face remained maddeningly out of focus.
MacGulry studied the picture for a few seconds. The camera work was sloppy,
but enough was visible to make an educated guess. The image of the man in
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Harlem did match the description he had been given. MacGulry made an abrupt
decision.
"Get outta here," he ordered the men, twirling back around in his seat.
The nearby men didn't need to be told a second time. They were joined by the
rest of the Vox employees. Rodney Adler in the lead, they quickly fled the
room.
Eyes locked on one monitor, MacGulry snatched up a phone receiver from the
console before him. Without looking, he stabbed out a number. He didn't have
to look to know he hadn't misdialed. He'd never misdial that number.
The phone didn't ring. It never rang. As usual, it went from empty air one
moment to the voice the next. To MacGulry, somehow that familiar voice seemed
more insubstantial than the dead air that preceded it.
"Hello, Robbie."
MacGulry used to wonder how the man on the other end of the line always knew
it was him. He had realized in recent years that the man with the smooth voice
had to have had some early version of caller ID long before it had become
available to the general public.
"G'day, mate," MacGulry said. "Thought you might be interested in seeing
something one of my people taped in the States."
"Yes. The younger of the two men I asked you to look for."
MacGulry's tan face bunched into a frown. He knew. Somehow he already knew.
There had been two men described to MacGulry initially. An old Asian and a
young white. He had been ordered to report if they showed up in Harlem. "I
think the mob action must have worked," MacGulry said.
"I wasn't entirely certain it would," said the smooth voice. "I'm pleased that
it did. I only wish I'd been certain one of them would show up at the police
station. I could have monitored the situation personally rather than rely on
the automated signals. But with the rioters in custody there was no certainty
they would follow up. It's clear I made in error calculating those odds. Oh,
well. No harm. Actually, Robbie, I was wondering how long it would take you to
call about all this. It's been some time since your people received the
Caucasian's image."
"I didn't think your friends would show up so soon."
"One did. And instead of being where you were supposed to be, you decided to
go hunting."
"You knew that, too?" MacGulry asked dully.
"There is precious little I don't know, Robbie. I told you to remain in
Wollongong. I told you this situation would have to be monitored carefully if
it is to turn out beneficially for both of us. I told you the subjects could
arrive very quickly. They have a history of doing so."
"I heard all that, mate," MacGulry said, his tone apologetic. "I just didn't
think it'd be so soon." MacGulry was starting to sweat. He got nervous every
time he talked to the cold bastard on the phone. In those brief phone
conversations, he caught a glimpse of the torture he lived to inflict on his
own employees.
The smooth voice didn't miss a beat. "Next time, be more conscientious."
"Yes, sir," MacGulry replied.
"Don't call me that. It's far too formal for longtime business associates like
us."
"Sorry, mate," MacGulry said.
"That's better. Now, with the Caucasian on the ground in Harlem, you'll need
to act quickly. With this particular crisis now over, he might not remain in
the New York region long."
"I'll get started right away," MacGulry promised. "I just have one question.
How could you possibly know about this before me? The footage was only sent to
us via satellite a few hours ago."
"I intercepted it in transit. Remember, I am very interested in the events in
New York. Keep in touch." The line went dead.
Robbie MacGulry replaced the receiver. He was screaming even as he dropped the
phone in its cradle. "Turn up the bloody air conditioner!" he bellowed. The
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door sprang open and a dozen men piled into the room. Rodney Adler was
tripping along at the head of the pack. He raced over to the thermostat.
As his employees stumbled to accommodate their boss, Robbie MacGulry pulled
out a handkerchief to mop the sweat that glistened in the grooves of his dark,
lined forehead.
"Taking over the world'd be a hell of a lot easier without a silent partner,"
he muttered to himself. He got up from his chair. On the monitors behind him,
Remo's blurry image remained frozen in place.
Chapter 12
Behind his locked door in the administrative wing of Folcroft Sanitarium,
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