Warren Murphy - Misfortune Teller

Chiun's eyes instantly narrowed into savage slits. For the second time in less than an hour, the tension between the two men was as it had never been at any time in their near three-decade relationship.

For his part, Remo refused to back down. Chiun had always taught him that the art they both plied was a link to ages past. Passed on from Master to Master, Sinanju had woven its invisible deadly thread throughout history. It was a craft and a way of life far too important to be wasted on the likes of the Reverend Man Hyung Sun, no matter if the swindler learned only the basics. To his very marrow, Remo knew that he could never allow the ultimate betrayal of Sinanju to take place, even if the betrayer was his own adopted father.

They stared at one another for a long time across the well of the limousine. Finally, with no words spoken between them, they both broke away, staring out opposite windows.

Man Hyung Sun repressed a smile. "Are we finished?" he asked, one eyebrow raised.

"Yes, we are," Chiun said coldly.

And the way in which he spoke the words told Remo that the old Korean was speaking about more than just a simple breathing exercise.

As he stared out at the dreary Korean countryside that was passing rapidly by the limo, Remo felt a welling hollowness slowly drag away the anger he was feeling. It pulled and pulled until there was no fury left.

When it was gone, there was nothing inside him but a vast emptiness. So great was the sensation of isolation, he found himself longing for the rage. It was as if the blackness of eternity had opened up and swallowed his soul.

It no longer mattered to Remo what happened here in Korea, or in the rest of the world for that matter. Let the world sort out its own problems. Remo had his own to deal with. In the blink of an eye, his entire life had ended.

Chapter 28

The wealth of information coming out of both Koreas was matched only by the amount Smith had yet to learn.

He had hooked into the Central Intelligence Agency database at the outset of the latest crisis. The computer monitor buried in his high-tech desk showed him up-to-the-minute satellite images of the movements in the North. Scrolling text from CIA headquarters indicated what the Langley analysis teams were coming up with as explanations for the sudden, bizarre activity.

Smith had his own theory.

Remo.

There were strange reports coming from the South. Only the Reunification Democratic Party was talking, and then only in cryptic statements. From what Smith could gather, there had been some kind of disruption at the National Assembly. Afterward, the president had gone into seclusion.

Somehow, Remo had affected the man. To what end, Smith had no idea.

He had only sent CURE's enforcement arm into Korea to await orders, not to stir up trouble. Smith could only guess that the problem Remo was having with the Master of Sinanju had caused him to act unilaterally in this crisis. And now it looked as if the divided country was ready to erupt because of his actions. Whatever they might be.

Smith had tried to get in touch with the Master of Sinanju at the Sun estate. His hope was that Chiun could stamp out the fuse Remo had set. The CURE director was upset to learn that Chiun had departed with Sun to parts unknown. It was only when he tried to trace the old Korean that Smith, to his horror, had learned that the cult leader, and presumably the Master of Sinanju, had taken Sun's jet to North Korea. They had apparently landed without incident.

And so both Remo and Chiun were likely there. Each with his own hidden agenda. Neither obeying orders from Smith.

It was the worst crisis Smith could think of facing in recent memory, including his dire trip to the hospital. The two Masters of Sinanju were like rogue nuclear warheads, ready to blow the entire Korean Peninsula to kingdom come.

And all Harold W. Smith could do was monitor the increasingly tense situation.

The phone to the White House rang suddenly. Smith was relieved for the distraction.

"Yes, Mr. President?" he asked, cradling the red phone between his neck and shoulder. He continued to access reports even as he spoke.

"What the hell is going on in Korea, Smith?" demanded the President. He felt confident asking about the country now. Someone had shown him a map, and he was pretty sure he could find where it was without help.

"Unknown at present," Smith said truthfully.

"Didn't you send your people in?"

"Not exactly," Smith hedged.

"What's that supposed to mean? Did you or didn't you?"

Smith stopped typing for a moment. He closed his eyes as he spoke. "As best as I can tell, they are both somewhere on the Korean Peninsula."

"Somewhere?" the President asked. "That's pretty damned vague."

"I cannot get more specific at the moment," Smith said. He quickly changed the direction of the conversation. "But I can tell you a few things. To begin with, the student protestors in the South have grown even stronger since the Tomahawk incident. The streets of the South-and those particularly in Seoul-are no longer safe. The reports I have read detail rioting on a huge scale."

"What about their president? Some of my people are saying that he's gone underground."

"I have heard similar reports, though they are unconfirmed at the present time."

"Whew," the President said. "It sounds like it's falling apart in the South."

"Indeed," Smith echoed. "And it looks as though the North might be capitalizing on the social instability. Even as we speak, a line of vehicles is approaching the border between the countries."

"I've heard," the President told him. "My people are saying it's an invasion force."

"They are wrong," Smith said crisply. "I am looking at highly detailed images right now. While there are military vehicles in the convoy, there are also civilian cars. I seriously doubt even Kim Jong Il is insane enough to mount an invasion of the South using limousines."

"There are limos?"

"Yes, Mr. President."

The chief executive sounded more than a little annoyed. "I wonder why my people didn't tell me that," he complained.

"Perhaps they were preparing you for the possibility of invasion," Smith suggested. "However, it is never my intention to deliberately mislead a President. I will give you the facts, and allow you to make a judgment. For good or bad."

"Thanks for not sugarcoating it for me," the President said levelly. It was obvious he was irritated by Smith's contention that he might make a bad decision. "So what do we do about the situation?"

"Nothing."

The President was surprised. "Shouldn't we do something?" he asked. "It won't look good to the world if I just sit on my fanny during all this."

"It is not always necessary, Mr. President, to respond to every little thing that happens in the world. Sometimes, when left alone, things work out on their own."

"So we should take a wait-and-see attitude?"

"Yes," Smith agreed. "But I think none of us need worry about a long wait. Whatever is going on there, things appear to be progressing at a brisk pace."

"Armageddon is supposed to happen fast, isn't it?"

Smith did not respond to the pointless question.

"Our troops along the Thirty-eighth Parallel are on high alert for any eventuality," the CURE director said. "They had been prepared for many years for an assault from the North. The last few days, they have had to worry about the South. Now it appears as if they have to be concerned with both directions. If you are looking for something to do, I would recommend that you have your strategists prepare some sort of withdrawal plan for our men on the ground."

"Retreat?" the President asked.

"The social order of the South is on the verge of collapse. The North will most certainly sweep in to fill the power vacuum. If the Koreas unify under Pyongyang, it goes without saying that our troops will no longer be welcome."