Warren Murphy - The End of the Beginning

"I object because he is nowhere near ready," Chiun replied. "As soon as he is out of my sight for five seconds, he forgets all that I have taught him. He reeks of alcohol, cigarettes and loose women. Smell him. Go ahead. Smell."

With a bony hand he propelled Remo forward. Remo had to grab the edge of Smith's desk to keep from falling.

"Knock it off, will you?" Remo groused. "I needed a drink 'cause I was in a crappy mood. And did you ever stop to think that maybe, just maybe, I needed the cigarettes because you've gotten me so wound up I needed to relax?"

"So it is my fault?" Chiun said, his eyes saucering wide. "Me? I am to blame? Blameless me is to blame for your failings? Me? Me?" He wheeled on Smith. "Do you see what you have given me? Do you see the impossible task you've asked me to perform?"

Smith took in a breath to respond, but the old Korean had already wheeled back to Remo.

"And I suppose I am to blame for the harlot? Don't deny it. The emperor and I were both nearly overpowered by that cloud of vile white musk that trailed you in here."

Smith's blank face indicated his utter lack of ability to smell anything but stale, recirculated office air. "Actually, Master Chiun-" the CURE director began.

Chiun interrupted with an upraised hand. "I know you are bothered by it, Emperor Smith. Who wouldn't be? I am afraid you will have to take shallow breaths until you get someone to clean the odor of carnality from the carpets." He crossed his arms and stared at Remo. "Well?"

"She was just pleasure in the line of business," Remo said, annoyed. "I told you about Felton's daughter when I checked in," he said to Smith. "I used her to get to him."

"Remo told me his intentions, Master Chiun," Smith said. "I understand what he had to do."

"Do you?" Chiun challenged. "Then it must be some cabalistic white thing, because I am at a loss." He waggled a stern finger in Remo's face. "You are not taking time off from your training to care for the baby."

"There's not gonna be a baby," Remo exhaled.

"There is always a baby with you people," Chiun said darkly. "My teacher always said every time a bell rings another white female has been impregnated."

Remo folded his arms. "So you come from a long line of racists, do you?" he asked.

"And there is another thing," Chiun said to Smith. "That tongue. It is a vicious thing incapable of showing proper gratitude or respect. If you send him out with that tongue, he will insult the wrong warlord or khan and the next thing you know you will have hordes of Visigoths swarming over your palace walls. I have seen it happen a hundred times."

Smith shook his head firmly. "Remo has proved competent enough, Master Chiun. If you are having a personality conflict, that is something that the two of you will have to work out on your own. For now we have a grave crisis to deal with. Remo, use the cover documents you were already issued. The phone codes are still in effect. I'll refresh your memory on proper procedure before you leave."

The Master of Sinanju crossed his arms. "I am going with him," he insisted.

"Huh?" Remo asked flatly.

"He has taken the glory that is Sinanju and squandered it all on dissolute living," Chiun argued to Smith, ignoring Remo. "I have wasted months on him, but it is like throwing pearls before swine. No matter how flawless the pearls, the swine will always prefer wallowing in mud. If you insist on sending him back out so soon, I insist on accompanying him, lest his incompetence bring disgrace to me as a teacher."

Leaning back in his chair, Smith considered the old man's words. "I would ordinarily resist such a suggestion. "

"Good," Remo said, the first strains of worry in his voice. "Resist away."

"These circumstances, however, are dire," Smith continued. "War has been declared against a branch of the United States government. At the moment there is only the three of us to stop the other side from winning."

Remo glanced at the Master of Sinanju. The old man raised a superior eyebrow.

"Oh, goody," Remo muttered, shoulders sagging.

"They were acting cautiously at the outset, but they have raised the stakes," Smith pressed. "We have no time to waste. Start with the Viaselli Family itself. Use any means necessary to stop them and end this madness. If you try to call me and get no answer, assume Folcroft has been compromised. The MacCleary matter is quiet for now, but that doesn't mean it will remain so. If I am gone, do not return here. Continue in your mission without me."

"Can do," Remo said.

"We live to bring glory to your throne, O Emperor," Chiun said, offering a deep bow.

Orders given, Smith focused his attention back on his computer. The two men turned and headed for the door, Remo with a deep scowl on his face.

Behind them, a thought suddenly occurred to Smith. He raised his eyes from his monitor.

"Oh," Smith called after them, "there is one matter you will need to attend to before you go."

Chapter 24

They had to wait until nightfall when most of the sanitarium employees had gone home for the day. Only when the administrative wing was completely empty of non-CURE personnel did the rear delivery door open. Harold Smith's gaunt face appeared for a moment. He glanced around, checking to see that the coast was clear.

Smith ducked back inside and Remo and Chiun appeared a moment later. Remo hauled a heavy bundle through the door. The door closed behind them.

"You and those damned soap operas," Remo complained as he dragged the orderly's corpse across the loading dock and down the side stairs. "I knew this was gonna happen one of these days. I just thought it'd be me."

"The night is young," Chiun replied thinly.

The Master of Sinanju was wearing a blue business suit instead of a kimono. Smith had managed to track down one in Chiun's size in less than an hour. The old man fussed at the sleeves, which at his request were a little too large, allowing for freedom of movement.

As Chiun fretted about his suit, Remo struggled with the dead orderly. The corpse was too big for him to carry. He had to drag it down the damp lawn to the boat dock.

"You know you're the one responsible for Mr. Spoonhead here," Remo griped. "You could grab a leg."

"It is bad enough I have to train garbage. I will not stoop to carting it around," Chiun sniffed.

"You're not much of a people person, are you?" Remo grumbled.

The dock jutted far into the sound. A single light on a post at the far end usually illuminated the warped wood. Smith had doused the light from inside the building.

Remo dumped the body in a pile of rotting leaves. There was a boat upended on some cinder blocks at the edge of the woods near the dock. Remo struggled to haul it up the dock. He dropped it into the water with a splash.

"That was heavier than it looked," he grunted. Though the night was cool, he was hot from his exertions. Thanks to his months of training, he hadn't broken a sweat.

"What do you expect?" Chiun said. "You are still straining muscles like a typical American."

"How the hell' d you expect me to get it in the water, balance it on my pinkie?"

The Master of Sinanju shook his aged head. A dispirited sigh escaped the old man's papery lips. Without a word Chiun bent at the waist. One bony hand reached for the boat. The next minute it was back out of the water and above the dock. The boat flipped up and around until it was standing directly upright.

Remo couldn't believe it. The prow was balanced on the tip of the old man's right pinkie. Although gusts of wind howled in across the sound, the boat remained rock still, as if the Korean and boat were one fused unit.

"I do not expect you to understand, smoker of tobacco," Chiun said blandly as he balanced the boat in the air. "I tried to teach you. I tried to show you men could be more than beasts of burden. If you still think strength comes from mere muscle alone, have Smith hire you another trainer. One who will tell you to hold heavy weights above your head to make your muscles big and fat. Perhaps when the day comes, your swollen American muscles will even slow down the bullet that will inevitably kill you."