anitarium to begin training that would never end； MacCleary who had made the incredibly stupid mistake of being vulnerable； MacCleary； who being vulnerable； had to be killed。
MacCleary。 Remo Williams' first assignment and the only one he was unable to plete。 MacCleary who had wound up doing Remo's job by using his hooked arm to rip tubings from his own throat in a hospital bed。 MacCleary； the stupid bastard who believed that it was right to die for a tomorrow where his type would not be needed。 MacCleary； who by his death； had sealed Remo Williams into his new life just as surely as if the bandages covering his fatal wounds now bound Remo。
Remo Williams who had not missed an assignment since。 Remo Williams。 Who if Dial…a…Prayer in Chicago should have said something from Deuteronomy that noon； would have visited that night with Deborah； taken her on a quiet walk。 And killed her。
But the good Reverend had not read from Deuteronomy and Smith had given him a day off； a day from peak。 And it was the good warm August of Virginia。 He would spend tomorrow with Deborah； and he would make a beautiful day。 It was more than many people had。
But then Dr。 Nils Brewster found the body of Dr。 James Ratchett。
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Dr。 James Ratchett had always imagined Ms death would be a dramatic affair。
In his youth； he had visions of stark white hospital beds where he forgave people。 Dying； he forgave his parents； then his sister。 Sometimes he would fantasize dying with a curse； ripping out the tubing from his swollen arm and refusing life。
His mother would promptly slash her wrists； his sister would carry an indelible wound for life。 And his father？ Damn his father。 Even in fantasies； he could not imagine his father being very interested in anything James did。 Even in fantasy； his father would be telephoned at his Wall Street office； the message taken by his trim； attractive secretary。 She would tell him at 6：30 that night over cocktails； before retiring to their apartment。
〃Ripped it out of his arm； you say？；〃 his father would ask。 〃Cursed me on his death bed？ Hmmm。 Never knew little James had it in him。〃
James was nine when he had these fantasies。 When he was fourteen； he had different fantasies。 It was his father in a hospital bed； and James was ripping the tubing from his father's arm； because he had just realized what a filthy； hairy； grotesque pig he was。
At fourteen； James had made concoctions。 He would give them to friends。 He once gave a concoction to a neighbor's boy； five years younger than he。 The boy was in a a for three days and James was sent where people made sure you didn't brew poisons for younger boys to drink。
They sent him to the Bilsey School； Dorchester； England； where proper young English gentlemen went …through a homosexual phase。 For James； it was not a phase。 Denied chemical equipment and chemicals； he devoted himself to theorizing about them。 He continued this at Rensselaer Polytechnic Institute in upstate New York where he； had all the equipment he needed； but remained addicted to theory； it being so much cleaner and neater。
He received a science degree from Harvard and a doctorate in theoretical chemistry from M。I。T。 His senior thesis won him international fame and his evening activities earned him three suspended sentences for contributing to the delinquency of minors。 To get the last two sentences suspended was extremely expensive； exhausting his inheritance。 This meant he could not continue toward his doctorate in mathematics。 He would have to teach。 Teaching meant constantly dealing with people； perhaps as much as five hours a week。
Then came Brewster Forum。 He could design his own cottage。 Of course； Dr。 Brewster understood how people's tastes varied and why not be sensible？ And Dr。 James Ratchett found a home； and sometimes even an audience for his hypnotism which he had learned as a child under the mistaken impression that it would guarantee him endless lovers。
But the hypnotism of the night before had left a malignant； gnawing remembrance of something just about to be remembered； but reluctant to e forward。 It was a cry of ready or not； here I e； and then nothing came。
So。 He would wrestle it away from his memory。 To do so； one must be prepared。 You do not grab a thought like a little boy's neck。 You tease it； coax it。 Ignore it。 You make yourself very fortable without it and then it jumps forward to join the party。
Dr。 James Ratchett undressed and left his clothes outside his very special room。 It was a masterpiece of engineering； that room； a white bowl shape； upholstered all around with white vinyl； over a layer of water that cushioned the floors and the rounded walls as high up as a man could reach。 Ratchett's acquaintances called it his womb…room but he thought of it as his den。
Into the room； he had brought his pipe with a sliver of hashish。 The pipe lit when he pressed a button； and Ratchett brought the smoke deep down into his lungs and held his breath。 He became aware of his limbs： how distant they were and how he was holding his breath。 He was holding his breath forever and his head felt nothing。 Nothing was what he felt in his head and he just let the air out because he felt like it。 But he didn't have to。 He could have held the air in for hours。 Yes。 And deep in again。 My； so cool it was。 He listened to the coolness of the room and felt the vinyl on the ceiling with his eyes and suddenly his white womb was very funny。 Here he was in a water mish…mesh。
〃Mish…mesh；〃 he said and laughed hysterically。 〃Mish…mesh；〃 he said again； wishing he had someone in the room who could appreciate the humor of the joke。
And the vinyl covered door opened。 And that was a woman。 Yes。 Really a woman。 Perhaps she had e for a drag。 Perhaps he would offer her some。 But he would not talk to her at all。 No talking。
Oh； she was undressed too； and she carried a whip and where he had a thing； she just had a brownish…blond blotch。 He would show her。 He would not get an erection。 He never could。 But then she was doing something and he had something。 And then he took another drag； and then。。。。 Cut。 A scream。 Rip。
Dr。 James Ratchett grabbed at his stinging numb groin and nothing was there but warm wet blood； gushing wet blood； splattering around him on the white vinyl； making standing slippery； and he fell； and grabbed desperately looking for something to stop the blood。
〃Oooh； oooh；〃 the cries came out of his lungs； as he slithered around his room； toward the door。 Reach it。 Out。 Help。 But it was locked； and Dr。 James Ratchett slid back toward the center of the room and found he could not even bite his way out； as he chewed into the vinyl harder and harder； and then his teeth tore a hole in the vinyl； and water spilled in； mixing with his blood； and he sloshed around in the pink puddle； in the agony of red death。
And then he remembered where he saw her and who had taken the pictures and why she had now killed him。
CHAPTER TWENTY
Nils Brewster was in a sweat。 His tumbleweed hair was matted with moisture。 His arms flailed and his mouth moved violently as it shrieked out sounds at Remo。 He had stopped Remo on the gravel driveway near Deborah's cottage just as the sun moved overhead into noon。 It was Remo's day off peak。
〃Oooh。 Oooh。 Oho；〃 said the world's foremost authority on the dynamics of hostility； the man who had written what many considered to be the definitive work on mass murder。 〃Uh。。。 uh。。。 uh；〃 he added； and then collapsed at Remo's feet。
It was panic all right。 Remo knelt down and let Brewster recover。 There was no danger of shock。
Soon Brewster opened his eyes。 〃Ratchett。 Oooh。 Ahhh。 Oho。〃
It would be no use to tell Brewster to calm down。 Only idiots offered that sort of advice to panicky people。 To tell someone to calm down when he was panicked was to tell him that you were not aware of the seriousness of the
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situation。 That the situation could not be improved by panic was of little import。 The person had something so awesome to convey that he was unable to convey it。 To keep your head while he lost his only let him know that he was not getting through to you； and made him try even harder with less success