Warren Murphy: Market Force

Chapter 34

Two days later Remo and Chiun were back at Folcroft Sanitarium. Even though it was Christmas morning, Harold Smith was at his usual post. He met the two Sinanju Masters in their basement quarters.

"Wollongong appears to be the only Vox facility in the entire News Company family equipped with the subliminal technology," the CURE director was saying. "There is no indication that it was deployed anywhere else."

Smith was sitting on the sofa in the living-room area. Remo sat on the floor. Across the room, the Master of Sinanju was ignoring them both. The tiny Asian was in the process of packing his trunks.

"That's good," Remo said absently, one eye on his teacher. "Wouldn't want the general viewing public turned into mind-numbed zombies."

"BCN has announced that it plans to sue Vox for the attempted takeover," Smith continued. "There are federal investigations into charges that Robbie MacGulry used the cryptosubliminal technology to unfairly influence the FCC."

"I guess it's easier to slap handcuffs on a corpse than on a microchip," Remo said dryly.

"About Friend," Smith said seriously. "That was an isolated system he was backed into at MacGulry's home. If that was the only version of himself in existence, we should not encounter him again."

"What do you mean only version?"

"It's possible he could have copied his program while en route to MacGulry's computer system and sent the backup file elsewhere. We can never know for sure."

"Swell," Remo grumbled. "And I didn't get you anything for Christmas. If that's everything, why don't you get out of here, Smitty? Even Ebenezer Scrooge took Christmas Day off. Speaking of which, where is CURE's answer to Bob Cratchit?"

"If you are referring to Mark, he flew back home to be with his family for the holidays," Smith explained.

"You gave him a whole week off?" Remo asked, surprised. "Wow. He must be in rougher shape than I thought."

Smith considered telling Remo of Friend's final victim, but decided against it. Mark seemed to be coping with what he had been forced to do. Luckily for CURE, Detective Davic had been working on a drug-related case at the same time as his investigation at Folcroft. Since he had closed out the Folcroft aspect of the Purcell case, when his body was found on Christmas Eve in a warehouse in New York City, his death was linked to the other case. For his assistant's sake, Smith decided it would be best to let this particular aspect of the matter die quietly.

"Actually, Mark is doing quite well," Smith said. "I believe now that Purcell had been attempting to manipulate him on some psychic level for months. I blame myself for not seeing the signs of trouble sooner. And my briefing on CURE matters could have been more thorough. Mark didn't know much about Purcell beyond the fact that he was a CURE patient in the special ward. Had I been more forthcoming with him about Purcell's mental abilities, perhaps he would have recognized what was happening to him. As it was, Purcell was forcing exhaustion and confusion on Mark. The more fatigued he became, the more Purcell was able to force his will on him."

"He's been down there for years," Remo said. "I still don't know why he picked Howard and not somebody else."

It was the Master of Sinanju who replied.

"Are you blind?" Chiun said with an impatient hiss. "The prince is possessed of the Sight."

Remo frowned. "You saying Howard's like the Dutchman?"

"I am saying what I am saying," Chiun said.

Smith had grown visibly uncomfortable. "Mark does seem to have certain abilities," he admitted guardedly. "I believe that's what made him more susceptible to Purcell's mental advances." Before Remo could question further, he forged ahead. "It seems as if Purcell left some vestiges of himself with Mark. Mark is still trying to sift through it all. I'm hoping we can use the knowledge to locate Purcell. Understandably, Sinanju appears to play a large role in Purcell's thoughts. Mark said he seemed to be particularly distressed over his relationship with Nuihc." At this there came an angry grunt across the room. Remo pitched his voice low. "Smitty, that's a name we could do without hearing around here on Christmas Day."

"Oh," Smith said, nodding. "I understand." He checked his watch. "I should be going," he added, climbing tiredly to his feet. "My daughter and her husband are in Connecticut for the week. My wife invited them to my house with their children for Christmas dinner."

"Hold the phone," Remo said as he followed the CURE director to the door. "You've got grandkids?"

"Three," Smith replied.

"Huhn," Remo grunted. "I suppose it shouldn't surprise me. Half the time I forget you even have a daughter. Lately, I've been thinking of Howard as your only child."

Out in the hallway now, Smith frowned. "What do you mean?"

"You're a bright guy," Remo said. "You figure it out. "

He shut the door in the CURE director's puzzled face. Remo turned his attention back into the room. The Master of Sinanju was still fussing to pack his things. Most of his fourteen lacquered steamer trunks were already packed and stacked against the wall. For Remo it was a sad image.

Back in Chiun's house in the village of Sinanju were piles of gold and silver and jewels. Much of the tribute there had been collected by Chiun. But those bits of metal and shiny glass didn't really belong to any one Master. They were Sinanju's. No, a lifetime's worth of Chiun's worldly possessions were here. In those fourteen trunks.

Remo wondered how many more times at this stage of his life his teacher could pack and unpack them. "I've been trying to figure out what happened back at MacGulry's house," Remo announced all at once. His voice was soft. "Why you didn't get hypnotized there like you did at his office. I know why now. It's because you didn't get hypnotized back in his office, did you?"

"I told you I did not," Chiun said annoyed. He didn't lift his head.

"So when you attacked me at his office you were-what, trying to teach me a lesson about age discrimination? Peeved? You weren't gonna hurt me. You were just venting."

Chiun said not a word.

Sadness suffused Remo. He understood.

"I'm sorry I was quicker, Little Father," he said. At this the old Korean looked up, a dark scowl on his leathery face. Without a word he returned to his luggage. His packing became more violent. Stolen ashtrays and stale packets of restaurant saltines slammed into trunks.

Remo knew he had insulted his teacher. But he had told the truth. He was sorry. Sorry that time had moved on for both of them. Sorry that they weren't as young as they once were. Sorry that things couldn't stay the same forever.

Chiun had been going on about age because he finally knew he was getting old. And he was right. Remo had been treating him differently lately because of it.

For a moment, the younger Sinanju Master wasn't sure what to do to alleviate his own guilt and the hurt he had caused his teacher. All at once it came to him.

"No," Remo announced. "Wait a second. I'm not sorry. I'm better than you."

The room stilled. The Master of Sinanju's head rose on his craning neck. His hazel eyes were cold slits.

"That's right," Remo said. "I'm better. I'm the Transitional Reigning Master of the House of Sinanju and I'm better than you are. And why wouldn't I be? I was trained by the best. Who else could have taken the pale piece of a pig's ear that was me and turned it into something better than himself? No one but you, Little Father, that's who. You did the impossible. The only reason I'm better than you is because you're better than the best."

Chiun let his pupil's words hang in the basement air for a long moment. At long last, he began nodding. The gossamer tufts of hair above his ears whispered in the air.