Warren Murphy: The Final Reel

"You seemed more than happy to accept this assignment earlier today," Smith said with thin puzzlement.

"Yeah, well, it's been a slow couple of months," Remo muttered. "I forgot what a real assignment feels like."

"That could soon change," Smith said cryptically. "Have you viewed the tape I sent you?" Remo glanced at the Master of Sinanju. The old Korean's ears were sensitive enough to have heard all that Smith had said. Even so Chiun pretended he didn't hear Smith's question. However his smile stretched farther across his delicate features.

"I had a little trouble with that," Remo said evenly. He looked directly at his teacher. "I think Chiun might have trashed the tape when he was snooping through my mail."

The Master of Sinanju's smile vanished faster than a coin up a magician's sleeve. The tiny Asian shot from the floor like a spray of angry steam.

"Do not listen to his exaggerations, Emperor Smith," Chiun called loudly. "The package sprang apart upon arrival. Remo is lucky that I put the magic picture spool in a place for safekeeping--otherwise the beautiful images contained upon it might have been lost forever."

"You want me to tell you what he uses for a strongbox?" Remo said loudly into the receiver. The old Korean's narrowed eyes shot daggers at his pupil. For Remo the glare had the opposite of its intended effect. Somehow the Master of Sinanju's sudden burst of anger helped to raise Remo's own spirits.

"Yes?" Smith questioned expectantly.

"Never mind, Smitty," Remo said dismissively. "And as far as the tape goes I haven't seen it yet. I need a little help with the VCR first."

"Can't Chiun help you?"

"He's not exactly in the helping mood," Remo explained.

The hard stare Chiun had been giving Remo bled into a look of disgust. The old man sank back to the floor. When he resumed his work, his sour mood lingered.

While Chiun scratched angrily at his parchment sheets, Smith talked Remo through the process of inserting the videotape into the VCR. After a few rough starts Remo managed to get the tape to play.

A picture appeared on the television. Remo saw an old man standing on a glass-encased balcony that overlooked a huge square teeming with human activity. Guns sprouted up like desert weeds. The images looked to have been taken in the Middle East somewhere.

"Exterior, desert, night, establishing," Chiun announced tersely, as if reading from a script. "A crowd of greasy Arabs fills a square with 1001 Arabian body odors. Really, Remo, can you not view this hackneyed drivel elsewhere? I am trying to create here."

Remo ignored him. He was busy studying the figure on the television screen. The old man was somewhat familiar, although Remo was relatively certain it was no one he had ever met. "What am I looking at, Smitty?" Remo asked.

"The first man on the tape is Sultan Omay sin-Khalam. He is the ruler of Ebla."

Remo snapped his fingers in realization.

"He's the guy who had cancer," he said. "He put a knot in the diapers of all his old terrorist buddies when he went straight."

"Yes," Smith said flatly. "Although his evolution into a peacemaker began some fifteen years ago, the circumstances of his conversion have always left me with lingering doubts as to his sincerity."

"Trust you to still be suspicious after a decade and a half," Remo said dryly. His eyes narrowed. "Wait a minute," he added, "the picture just changed."

There was a younger man on the screen now. He was a tall, twitchy-looking figure in a long, scraggly beard and mustache. He was walking alone down a busy street.

"That is Assola al Khobar," Smith supplied, tart voice stretched tight. The obvious note of contempt in the usually dispassionate tone of the CURE director surprised Remo.

"Assola?" Remo asked, scrunching up his face. "Why does that sound familiar?"

"He was mentioned extensively on the news last summer," Smith explained. "He is the son of a Saudi billionaire. Al Khobar has used his own millions to finance a campaign of terror against the United States."

"That's right," Remo said. "The embassy bombings."

It had made international news the previous August. Simultaneous explosions at the U.S. embassies in Nairobi and Dar es Salaam had killed hundreds and injured thousands more.

"Al Khobar was linked to the explosions in East Africa," Smith said somberly. "But those were not isolated incidents. There was a bombing at a National Guard training center in Riyadh the previous November. He also supplied the cash for the World Trade Center bombing in 1993."

"Wait, are you saying he backed the Messengers of Muhammad?"

Almost three years previous CURE had encountered a group of Muslim fundamentalists whose well-financed campaign had wrought havoc on the U.S. postal system. The final blow dealt by these messengers of death was to be a radiological bomb called the Fist of Allah. Fortunately Remo and Chiun had been able to cripple its delivery system before the device was able to reach its ultimate target-New York City.

"It appears as if the Deaf Mullah had a supply line of funds unknown to us at that time," Smith said tautly. "Al Khobar can also be linked to the 1983 Marine barracks attack in Beirut. He is partnered with Hezbollah, which has a history of terror against the United States and its allies."

"What about Global Movieland?"

After the East Africa bombings the United States had fired missiles against two suspected terrorist training camps. The attack against the South African franchise of the American-based restaurant chain had followed in the wake of these retaliatory strikes.

"Al Khobar claims direct credit for that bombing, as well," Smith replied. "His activities around the world are run through Islamic charities. As a result of his generous contributions to like-minded individuals, he had set up a network that shielded him from detection. Immediately after the African bombings he went underground in Afghanistan."

"Too bad it wasn't six feet under," Remo muttered.

"Yes," Smith agreed simply. "I attempted for a time to use CURE's facilities to locate him, but he proved impossible to find. Then we were distracted by our own business of the past year. Al Khobar became a back-burner issue."

"I'm glad the heat's back on. I assume by this tape you found the creep," Remo said hopefully. On the TV, Assola al Khobar continued to walk down the long street. The high white wall past which he strolled appeared to be too well maintained for the Middle East. Remo didn't even see a single bullet hole in the facade. The blurry cars that whizzed by looked too new and too big for it to be the Middle East. However the sun that beat down upon the terrorist was hot. Almost like a desert.

"A retired CIA operative took this footage of al Khobar three days ago," Smith explained. "He believes he has sent it to his former agency."

The wall finally broke open at a wide gate. Assola al Khobar turned up the sidewalk, passing alongside a small guard shack. He vanished inside the walls. The last image before the tape turned to staticky fuzz was of a cluster of stars on the front of the guard booth.

"That symbol looked familiar," Remo said, puzzled. He switched off the television.

Smith knew immediately what he was referring to.

"It is the constellation Taurus," the CURE director explained. "It is the constellation that appears northwest of Orion at the beginning of the year."

"No," Remo frowned. "I've seen that specific symbol before." As he thought, his eyes strayed to the other tape he'd brought in from the kitchen.

"Got it, Smitty," he announced, palming the video he'd picked up on Boston Common.

He went on to tell Smith about the drug dealer at the Liberty Rally and the case of videotapes that appeared to contain multiple copies of a current motion picture.