make the child's head snap back and forth。
Remo hummed。
Schulter flipped a switch and the projector stopped。 Others switches turned off the console。 The scientist stood up and looked at the long string of paper tape in his hands。 Remo stood up and took the helmet off。
〃Did I pass？〃
Startled； Schulter looked up。 〃Oh； yes。 Yes。 Quite good； really。 Highly stable。〃
Remo tried to leer。 〃Maybe you should have showed me some pornography。 Whips and boots。 You know。 That might have helped。〃
Schulter's reaction was none at all。 If the helmet had been on his head； there would have been no change。 Pornography was just a word to him。 He knew nothing。 Nothing about pornography。 Nothing about toy giraffes。 Nothing about a wild…eyed； black…haired woman with boots and a whip。
〃Perhaps we'll do the test again。 Most often； it's best。〃
〃Well； perhaps some other time； Doctor。〃
Schulter waved Remo out of the cottage； absently； still studying the paper tape。 He looked up as Remo left； staring at the broad back of the chief of security。 Remo was smiling。 And humming。
If the time came； he thought； Schulter would be easy。 A wiring switch on the helmet and a tragic laboratory accident。 A quite different sort of accident from the one which almost befell another Brewster Forum scientist； five minutes later； at theyhands of Remo Pelham。
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
One inch and one…fiftieth of a second。 Death had e that close to Anthony J。 Ferrante； director of bio…feedback research at Brewster Forum。
Rerno had knocked at the white cottage door bearing Ferrante's name and pushed the door open when a voice called 〃e in。〃
The desk facing the door was empty when Remo entered。 His eyes scanned the room looking for Ferrante。
Did he hear the sound？ Or did he sense the infinitesimal change in pressure as an air mass moved toward his left ear？
Remo pivoted to the left on the ball of his left foot。 His right foot extended behind him and his body dropped into a deep crouch； in time to see a hand flashing down toward him in a karate slash。
There was no time to think； no need to think。 Thousands of hours of training and practice had made defense automatic and retaliation instinctive。 Remo's left hand flashed up to the side of his head to catch and deflect the blow on his wrist。 His right hand had already retracted to his hip； and without stopping had fashioned itself into the classical hand spear and was moving forward toward the left kidney of the man Remo had not yet seen。
Remo's breath exploded in a violent cry of 〃ai…ee〃 as his iron hand flashed on toward its target。 As it finished its deadly course； Remo felt； rather than saw； his opponent's hand stop on its downward path before making contact。 The man had pulled his punch。
Attack is instinctive； triggered by the spinal column； its message bypassing the brain and moving directly to the muscles。 But calling off an attack？ That is an act of intellect； belonging to the brain； and the brain was not swift enough to stop Remo's hand； to relax the braided rope muscles of his arm； to soften the intensity of these gently curled fingertips which could smash cinder blocks into powder。
Remo's brain did the best it could in one…fiftieth of a second。 It changed the course of his hand one inch。 The hand spear slid over the hip bone of his opponent； past the vulnerable kidney； and crashed into a wooden coat rack standing alongside his assailant。 Fingers hit wood with the crack of a china dish splintering on a stone floor。 The top half of the coat rack paused drunkenly； then fell to the floor； its two…inch thick wooden support split cleanly by the killing power of Remo's hand。
His opponent looked at the coat rack。 Remo looked at his assailant for the first time and a saw a husky； middle…aged man wearing the classic judogi； a black sash wrapped low around his waist。 He had a plexion like oiled olives。 Dark rings surrounded his eyes； seeming even darker in contrast to his highly…glossed bald head。 It was Ferrante。
Remo's left hand snaked out and snared Ferrante's right hand。 His thumb insinuated itself into a ganglion of nerves on the back of the hand； just alongside the base of the index finger。 The move brought excruciating pain and immediate submission。
The man screamed。 〃Stop it。 I'm Ferrante。〃 His eyes met Remo's in pained； embarrassed truth。
Remo squeezed once more； then released the hand。 〃What the hell does that make you？ The mugger in residence？〃
〃I wasn't going to hit you；〃 Ferrante said； rubbing his damaged hand。 〃I just wanted to see how good you are。 After yesterday。〃 He looked at the fractured coat rack。 〃You're good。〃
Remo backed away to let the man move from the corner behind the door。 He breathed deeply； slowly； to drain the tension； to allow his body to back off the heroic blast of adrenalin that had flooded his muscles。
Well； that was it。 If the word came； Ferrante would die in the gymnasium of。 a broken neck； suffered in an incorrect judo fall。 Remo would take great pleasure in bouncing him off a wall。
Ferrante walked slowly back to his desk； still rubbing his hand； eyes on Remo； spewing apologies。 Remo began to feel sorry tor the karate buff； for his pain； for his embarrassment。 He wondered what Ferrante would think if he saw the pornographic photos of himself wearing only the top of his judo garb。 If he hadn't seen them already。
Ferrante was still talking； still apologizing。 〃Look； it was stupid。 How about if we forget it happened； and start al！ over？ You're probably wondering why you're here。 What we do here。〃
Remo grunted。 He wasn't ready to forgive and forget yet。
〃What we do here is study the mind。 How it works。 Each of us has a different discipline。 Mine is biofeedback。 Basically that means using the pain…pleasure principle to train people to regulate their involuntary body
functions。 For instance； we've had some great success in training people to slow their pulse rate。 If their rate goes
too high； they receive a small electric shock。 As their pulse rate drops toward the goal； they receive a pleasurable
electronic impulse。〃
〃What good is it？〃 Remo asked。
〃Well； medically； it's very important。 We could help save lives of people who are troubled with heart irregularities。 Asthmatics could learn to will their way out of serious breathing attacks。 Psychosomatic illnesses could virtually be wiped out。〃 He was warming to his subject now。
As he talked on； Remo thought that Chiun should have been sent here to investigate this place。 The aged Korean with his fishheads and rice and Zen could give all these big brains a run for their money。 During those long training sessions； he remembered seeing Chiun slow his heart beat until it was almost imperceptible； his breathing rate until he appeared to be dead。 Chiun had told Remo that Chiun's father could stanch the flow of blood by thinking about it。 〃The mind；〃 he said。 〃You cannot control the body until you control the mind。〃
〃Where did you learn to do it？；〃 Ferrante intruded on Remo's thoughts。
〃Do what？〃
〃The business with those shits out in the courtyard。〃
〃Around。 Correspondence courses。 A one…hour work…out every month whether I want to or not。 Helps keep me in trim。〃
Ferrante had recovered his poise now。 Still wearing the incongruous judo outfit； he was very much the world…renowned scientist。
He showed Remo the equipment he worked with； and Remo thought that scientific equipment everywhere on every project is probably interchangeable。 These fakers probably trade it around among themselves like used books。 There was a chair with a hand grip through which a minor electric shock passed into the subject if he failed to respond and another helmet； like Schulter's； through which pleasurable waves passed by induction into the brain。
Ferrante was offering to test Remo。 Well； I owe him one。 I'll give him something to chew on。 He sat in the chair and his resting pulse rate was sixty…eight。 If the rate went up； Ferrante said； he'd get a slight shock through the hand grip。 A down rate would bring a pleasure impulse through the helmet he placed over Remo's head。
Ferrante set a metronome at sixty…five beats per minute。 〃That's the goal；〃 he told Remo； 〃but don