Warren Murphy - The End of the Beginning

Chiun let the boat back down into the water. Although it dropped fast, it landed without a splash. The old Korean was still trying to get through this skull of granite. A demonstration every now and again was necessary for the dimmer students. This simple trick would impress this numskulled white who smoked cigarettes even after all the time and effort the Master had invested.

Chiun stood on the dock, awaiting the accolades. Remo looked from the boat to Chiun.

"If you could do that, why didn't you help schlepp it out here in the first place?" he complained. When he saw the look on Chiun's face, Remo shrugged.

"Hard to be impressed when I've already seen you dodge bullets, rip up floorboards with your bare hands and scale mountains without breaking a sweat."

Leaving Chiun, Remo went to retrieve the orderly's body. He dumped it in the boat, then hauled over the cinder blocks the boat had been resting on. He laid them carefully up the middle of the boat before climbing down inside, all the time worried about capsizing the heavily laden craft.

He was concerned that the added weight of the Master of Sinanju might prove too much, but the boat didn't seem to recognize an additional burden when the old man climbed down from the dock. Chiun sat in the front.

Remo stuck out the oars that had been stored inside the boat and began rowing.

When they stopped three miles out, he was surprised that his arms weren't as limp as wet noodles. He credited it as much to the hours of rope climbing in the Arizona desert as to the special breathing techniques he'd been taught.

Remo weighed the body down with the cinder blocks. Before he could roll it over, Chiun used his long fingernails to slash open the orderly's belly and lungs.

"Yuck," Remo griped. "What'd you do that for?"

"Emperor Smith did not want this vulgar interrupter of beauty to return," the old man explained. "I have removed the gas and air that bloats all you whites. When you have grown your nails to their proper length, you will be able to do this menial work yourself, without dragging me along."

"You've got a hell of a nerve," Remo said. "I'm only out here hauling bodies around because of you, and you don't even lift a finger except to show off."

"I helped," Chiun said. "Who here didn't see me help?"

"Yeah, some help. Just don't expect me to do this for you ever again."

"Why would I expect anything more from you than sloth and ingratitude?" Chiun asked.

Remo ditched the body over the side. "And I'm not growing Fu Manchu fingernails," he concluded.

"Die as you wish," Chiun said. "But when you do, don't come crying to me."

It took forever to row back to shore. Remo dragged the boat up out of the water and left it upside down on the lawn.

They found Remo's car in the Folcroft parking lot. On the way to Jersey City, Chiun fell into a thoughtful silence. Off Route 440, they turned onto a gravel road. It was ten o'clock.

"The junkyard's up ahead," Remo explained as they bounced along the dark road. "Viaselli called when I was back at Felton's apartment. I told him Felton wanted to meet him here tonight. He should be here soon. We can find out everything we need to from him."

In the passenger's seat, face illuminated weirdly by the green dashboard lights, the old Korean eyed his pupil.

"You told someone who knows he is under attack by forces unknown to him to meet an employee who may now be an enemy in the dead of night in an unfamiliar location?"

"Yeah, but don't sweat it. Felton was holding this Viaselli's brother-in-law as a sort of insurance policy. I let him go with a pat on the head and a big wet kiss from Felton, so everything should be hunky-dory now."

"My apologies, Remo," Chiun droned. "Here all this time I thought you were dumb and you are actually very clever."

Remo smiled. "Thanks."

"No, thank you. It is an honor merely to be in the presence of a brilliant tactician such as you." Remo's smile melted.

"Okay," he sighed. "What's wrong with- Hey, what are you doing on the floor?"

The question was barely out before a blaze of gunfire erupted from the path before them.

The windshield shattered in a hail of bullets. Remo would have been cut to ribbons if a strong hand hadn't reached up and yanked him to safety below the dashboard.

"Remember this next time you try to think," the Master of Sinanju whispered through the gunfire. "Never should an assassin attempt to be anything other than an assassin."

The car was still rolling forward. At Chiun's urging the two men popped their respective doors. Chiun sprang out one side, Remo the other.

Remo hit the ground hard. His shoulder took the brunt of the fall as he rolled across the edge of the dirt road. He landed behind a pile of scrap metal. The metal cubes had been cars that were compressed into solid blocks by Norman Felton's car crusher. They were stacked ten cubes high.

Remo's car continued on without them, passing through the fence into the junkyard. The gunfire stopped abruptly.

Remo's shoulder ached. He'd felt something tear as he rolled from the car. Behind the stack of crushed autos he scrambled to his feet. Fingers pressing gingerly into the joint, he tested his injured shoulder.

It still worked well enough. He sank back into the shadows and waited. It didn't take long. Less than thirty seconds passed before a rifle barrel peeked around the stack of cubed cars. A huge shadow lumbered into view.

Remo couldn't believe the size of the man. He weighed four hundred pounds if he weighed an ounce. A ring of fat encircled his neck like a flesh-colored inner tube. He wheezed rotten breath as he waddled through the darkened alley formed by piled scrap iron.

Remo did as he'd been trained, allowing instinct to take over. When the gunman was close enough, Remo reached out with one hand and grabbed the gun barrel. He yanked.

A startled yelp.

The big man at the other end of the gun was knocked off balance. Before he could right himself, Remo was on him.

One hand grabbed the man's wrist, snapping it. The other hand shot forward, cracking the gunman's temple. Eyes rolling back in his head, the big man fell to the ground.

Remo crouched back against the scrap metal, waiting for the next attacker. None came. After two solid minutes of utter silence, he began to think something was wrong.

He peeked cautiously up over the metal barricade. There was no one in sight. Remo wondered briefly if the others had fled. But then he saw something move.

It was a single figure, small in silhouette. With a confident glide, it came through the gates of the junkyard.

"Criminy," breathed Remo Williams, even as the Master of Sinanju emerged full from the darkness. The old Oriental had a pair of dripping bundles clutched in each hand. The bundles had eyes.

As Remo scurried out of hiding, the tiny Korean tossed the four heads to the oily dirt at Remo's feet. "And what moonbeam were you chasing while I did all of your work for you?" the Master of Sinanju demanded.

"I got one," Remo said defensively.

The old Korean gave him a baleful look. As Remo clammed up, Chiun swept by. With one hand he hauled up the fat man that Remo had knocked unconscious, propping him against the crushed cars. With a few sharp slaps across his blubbery face, he woke the slumbering behemoth.

The Viaselli Family soldier blinked away the cobwebs. When he saw Chiun, a strange look crept across his face. His great sagging jowls drew up in a smile. "It's you," he breathed.

Remo frowned. "You know this guy?" he asked.

"Silence," Chiun admonished. He had seen something deep in the eyes of the hit man. He leaned in close. "Speak, fat one," he whispered sharply.

"Your time is past, old man," the man said. He spoke in a voice that seemed too precise, not at all like that of a Mafia killer. "He knows you're here. He knows you wouldn't work for anything less than the ruler of any country. Your arrogance wouldn't allow it. He's going to kill your charge and send you back home in disgrace, where you'll die alone and shamed in the eyes of your ancestors."