Warren Murphy: The End of the Beginning

When the door was closed and his visitor stood before the desk, Pietro Scubisci smiled a row of yellow teeth.

"You done good work," Scubisci said. "Me and my Family been waiting for a chance. But that Carmine, he's stubborn, you know? I been in this game longer than him. He's just a kid, but I have to play second fiddle. That kind of thing eats at you after a while."

He pulled an ancient ledger out of his top drawer and began carefully writing out a check.

"You don't know what that's like, do you?" Scubisci asked as he wrote. "Always coming in second. Always having to smile and nod when in your heart you know you're better. Sometimes you gotta make your own changes. A push here and there to see things finally go your way."

He tore the check out and slid it across the desk. "A good year's work, I'd say," Pietro Scubisci said. "You thinned out Carmine's soldiers. Can't believe he let you do that. Musta felt safe with you around, you know? The Viaselli Family's dead. I try to take over from Carmine, we woulda had a war. This way it's bloodless." He smiled. "Well, my blood's where it's supposed to be, anyhow."

On the opposite side of the desk, Nuihc said nothing. He picked up the check without looking at it, slipping it into the pocket of his suit coat.

"I added a little to what we agreed on," Pietro Scubisci said, clicking his pen and setting it neatly into a drawer along with the ledger. "You earned it. I just got off the phone with a friend in the police. They said Carmine tried to shoot it out with the Feds. They'll be sponging brains off the ceiling for a month. Don't know how you worked that, but good job.

"Now we cool off for a while. That was Carmine's problem. No patience. I sat behind him long enough to develop plenty of patience. A Senate committee coming to town and he goes all to pieces. Let 'em come now. We'll be quiet while they're here. They find nothing, they go back to Washington. They go, we're back in business."

He looked up with rheumy eyes for a hint of agreement from his guest. Without a word Nuihc turned for the door.

"Hey," called Don Pietro Scubisci, the new head of the New York Mafia. "You innerested in a fulltime job?"

But the Oriental hit man was already gone.

Chapter 29

"So it would seem Alphonso Ravello was the second Viaselli Family enforcer," Smith explained.

The CURE director had come down to Chiun's quarters to meet with Remo. He wasn't comfortable with using his office. While Miss Purvish seemed to have accepted the cover story of Remo and Chiun as Folcroft nurse and patient, she remained too inquisitive. Smith was thinking it was time to replace her. He was leaning toward Miss Hazlitt or the Mikulka woman, both of whom seemed competent in the job.

"The FBI found three watches smuggled into the Capitol inside the coffin with Ravello," Smith continued. "He had apparently gathered them as souvenirs from the three senators he murdered. His record indicated that he was a low-level functionary in the Viaselli organization. But obviously he was operating under everyone's radar, for clearly the data gathered on him was incorrect. It took a particular sort of genius to come up with such a diabolical assassination plot. "

"You say genius, I say lunatic," Remo said. He was sitting cross-legged on the floor. It wasn't as easy as Chiun made it look, but his knees were starting to get the hang of it.

"In the white world the two are indistinguishable," the Master of Sinanju mumbled in Korean. The old Oriental was across the common room, busying himself at the small stove, seemingly uninterested in Smith's words.

Chiun wasn't about to tell Smith the truth about who had been the mastermind behind the presidential assassination plot. Internal Sinanju matters were not open to prying eyes.

"Excuse me, Master Chiun?" Smith asked.

"Nothing, Emperor Smith," Chiun replied. "Words of praise from an unworthy. Please continue."

"What about the other coffin?" Remo asked. "Just another minor Viaselli Family player. Our records indicate he was mostly a numbers runner."

"And we all know what a bang-up job your records did finding out about the maniac-in-a-box," Remo said.

"Yes," Smith said unhappily. "I will have to look into our method of gathering data. In any case, apparently Carmine Viaselli had been growing increasingly paranoid of late. Possibly a result of the agents I had placed in the field over the past few months. His maid even heard him make a threat against the President. She said that he was talking out loud a great deal lately. Having whole conversations with an empty room."

"So in a way you're the one who drove him to it," Remo observed. "Maybe if you'd left him alone instead of dogging him like you were doing, he wouldn't have snapped and sent that Ravioli guy after the President at all."

Smith fidgeted in his hard-backed chair. Leaning forward, he pitched his voice low enough that he assumed the Master of Sinanju could not hear. "Remo, it was suggested from on high for CURE to clean up the Viaselli organization before the Senate got here and, if possible, to remove its enforcer."

"Ever been to Nuremberg, Smith?" Remo asked dully.

"As a matter of fact, yes," the CURE director replied. He forged ahead. "As for the Viaselli matter, it worked out better than I could have hoped, considering the difficulty we encountered. Not only have we put an end to the enforcement branch of the criminal empire, which was our original mission, but Carmine Viaselli is dead and his organization is in ruins. And we've accomplished this without our being implicated. All in all, a job well done."

"And only one of us had to die to get us over the finish line. Rah-rah, team."

Smith's jaw tightened. "Remo, Conrad MacCleary died in the line of duty. I would rather it had been me, but that isn't the hand we were dealt. And the sacrifice he made was one that many patriots have made before him. America is worth a life. He believed that to his core. What's more, he was my friend and he will be sorely missed."

Remo thought he heard a crack in the older man's voice. He was surprised. From what he'd seen, the only friends Smith had were his spreadsheets and filing cabinets.

"The President sends his thanks," Smith continued. "And to you, Master Chiun."

The Master of Sinanju had just padded over from the kitchen area with a bone-china cup of steaming tea. He sank to the floor, balancing cup and saucer on one knee.

"Watch out for that one, Emperor Smith," he warned. "If you will accept the council of a lowly servant, I suggest you seize power now. That shifty-eyed puppet President is up to no good. Say the word and I will present you his perspiring head. For a nominal fee, of course. After all, we haven't yet signed a proper contract."

"No, thank you," Smith said, coughing uncomfortably. "That won't be necessary. However, we do need to discuss a more long-term contract for Remo's training, if you wish to stay on." He quickly changed the subject. "About your living conditions. You may stay at Folcroft for the time being, on one condition. Obviously, we cannot allow another situation like the one involving the orderly."

"Obviously," Chiun agreed, sipping tea.

"Good," Smith said. "Then we're in agreement."

"Why would we not be?" Chiun asked, baffled that they should even need to discuss the matter.

"No reason," Smith said, relieved. "No reason. Good."

Remo shook his head. "He's not agreeing that he won't kill anyone else who gets in the way of his TV, Smith," he said with a sigh. "He's agreeing that he can't allow it to happen. As in, TV gets interrupted, orderly assumes room temperature. Isn't that right, Chiun?"

"Of course," the Master of Sinanju said. He rolled his eyes at his dense pupil who insisted on stating the obvious.

"I see," Smith said slowly. "On second thought perhaps it would be wiser to relocate the two of you from the premises. I will compile a list of hotels. Excuse me." He headed for the door.