Les fous de la justice

The president is calling. Dr. Harold W. Smith, head of the secret agency known as CURE, took the phone from the bottom left drawer of his desk and answered with a sigh, "Yes, sir." The President of the United States could not directly assign CURE to do anything, he could only suggest. The one and only order any president could give CURE would be for its immediate dissolution. And five presidents now hadn't quite done that. Though all five were often tempted. "What do you know about the Lippincott case?" the Southern voice asked. Smith regurgitated a two-page, single-spaced capsule of hard information. "Uh, huh. Well, I hear there's a plot to kill all the Lippincotts, and it has something to do with animals. Weird experiments, like," "I see," Smith gagged. "Yeah, and I think it involves my having the Lippincotts use their clout to open up new trading markets in China." The hint was clear. The White House would like the Destroyer to take a look at the situation. "You'll be using those two, I suppose?" Smith rolled his eyes upward, "I imagine so." "Whatever you say," he drawled, "just, er, um, tell them to keep the deaths down.

Peur jaune

Bain de sang

An ordinary California political campaign turns into a thriller when someone begins killing off the candidates, and it is up to Remo and Chiun to stop him.

L'outsider

IT DIDN'T TAKE TWO TO RAMBO — It didn't matter to Remo that his mentor Chiun told him he was acting like a child to want to go back to Vietnam on a mission of rescue and revenge. — It didn't matter to Remo that his superior Smith ordered him to abandon a plan that could upset the delicate balance of world peace. — Remo was out of his skull with remembered rage, and out of control of anyone who wanted to stop him from trying to spring a wartime buddy from a jungle hell. And the Destroyer plunged back into the past to fight a one-man war against an old enemy that would not die but could still kill without mercy and vanish like a ghoulish ghost....

Les fous de la justice

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