Warren Murphy - Misfortune Teller

The President sighed. "I'll get on the horn with the Pentagon," he said "With any luck, your people will be able to iron out this mess before it gets any worse." He broke the connection.

Smith dropped the cherry-red phone to its cradle. He stared for a long time at his computer screen.

The images of the cars were fuzzy. The resolution on the satellite over the Koreas was not particularly great. But it was clear enough.

There were a lot of them, snaking back along the road to the North's capital. But were there enough vehicles for an invasion force?

He had assured the President that it was not possible. That Kim Jong Il was not that crazy. But was he?

Smith realized all at once that he had been looking blankly down at the computer screen for almost ten minutes. He was frozen in place, hand still resting on the open desk drawer with its dedicated White House phone.

Things would work out. For better or worse.

He slammed the desk drawer shut. Spinning away from his computer screen, Smith stared out through the one-way picture window behind his desk at Long Island Sound.

Above the waters, the winter sky was sallow. The weathermen promised snow today. Smith would watch for the first flake to fall. He had nothing better to do.

Chapter 29

At a signal from Sun's limousine, the convoy containing the leaders of both Koreas paused on its way to the historic reconciliation. The many vehicles slowed to a stop two miles shy of the demilitarized zone.

The hundreds of North Koreans who had followed Sun from Pyongyang swarmed reverentially around the prophet of the Great Korean Age. Soldiers and politicians alike got to their knees on the bitterly cold road, hands raised above their heads in supplication. Sun waded through the mass of humanity like a conquering god.

"Is something wrong, O Seer?" Kim Jong Il asked from a spot near the second limousine. He, too, was kneeling on the ground, alongside the South Korean president.

"I fear so," Man Hyung Sun admitted. "Tell me," he said, turning to the South Korean leader, "how will our journey to the border be interpreted by your people?"

"Our people," the president corrected.

"Yes," Sun said, smiling tightly. "This was not an attempt to trick you. There is still a government in place in Seoul. They will have heard of our caravan."

"That is likely," the president admitted with a frown. "They will not be pleased. However, there are other concerns in the South right now. Our streets are dangerous. Unrest and violence run rampant through our capital. I am certain that my kidnapping is also troubling. I suppose it is possible that we have not been noticed."

"They know," the Master of Sinanju said. He stood behind Sun, hands tucked inside the sleeves of his kimono.

Remo was the only other person besides Sun and the Master of Sinanju still standing. He remained several yards away from Chiun. As his teacher spoke, he turned away.

"The capitalist troops along the border will be prepared," Kim Jong Il interjected. "Even if the South does not know, they certainly will."

Sun nodded. "Precisely," he said. "It is far too dangerous for us all to proceed, though I know you all wish to share in this glorious moment. Our number must be trimmed to only the most essential, lest we risk destroying all we hope to achieve."

"Can't you see the future?" Remo mocked.

Sun turned to him. "I see," he said, blandly. "And I interpret. It is not my place to tell all."

"Convenient out," Remo snorted. Crossing his arms, he stared off at a frozen rice paddy. As he looked at the barren expanse, he could feel Chiun's eyes boring angry holes into the back of his head.

"The leaders of this divided land should come with me," Sun announced to the crowd. "As should the Master of Sinanju. The rest must stay here."

There was a disappointed groan from those gathered.

Sun raised his hands. "Any slight sadness you feel now will turn to unbridled joy with the coming of pyon ha-da."

With that, the cult leader pushed back through the kneeling throng to the open door of his limousine.

The president of South Korea and the premier of the North followed behind him. Padding silently in the wake of all three men came the Master of Sinanju.

Remo stuffed his hands in his pockets. Sullenly, he left the crowd and wandered over to the waiting car.

When Remo reached the limo and began to climb in, an arm suddenly barred his way.

"You cannot come," Man Hyung Sun announced from the back seat. His eyes were flat.

"Move it or I break it off," Remo warned, indicating the cult leader's arm with a nod.

"Remo!" snapped Chiun. He had been getting in the other side of the black limousine. His head bobbed above the roof now as he stared furiously at his pupil.

"I mean it, pal," Remo said to Sun, his voice perfectly level. "If you don't want to go through the rest of your life with one wing, you'll move. Now."

This was the last straw for Chiun. The old Korean flapped around the rear of the car, coming up beside Remo.

"Forgive this one, Great Seer," Chiun spit. "He is a fool."

"Better a fool than a stooge," Remo countered.

Chiun bridled at the insult.

"This is a holy moment," Sun interjected. "It is not open for disbelievers."

"I don't know what kind of half-assed, get-rich-quick scheme you've cooked up," Remo said. "But there's no way you're going without me."

Remo felt Chiun move in closer. His steady voice chilled Remo to the icy center of his barren soul.

"Leave," the old Korean commanded.

Slowly, like the deliberate movement of a glacier through a mountain-rimmed valley, Remo turned to his teacher.

"Make me."

The challenge was given. Remo did not need to wait to see what Chiun's response would be.

Stepping sideways, the Master of Sinanju moved away from Sun and the limousine, keeping Remo in sight at all times. He circled until he felt that he was a safe distance from the man he had sworn to protect.

Careful to keep up his guard, Remo matched Chiun's moves, becoming the mirror image of his teacher. As they danced around one another, the limo melted farther and farther away.

The crowd of Koreans broke out around them, forming a concentric circle outside the much smaller center that was the two combatants. Even the two Korean leaders scampered back out of the waiting car to watch the inevitable fight. Only Sun did not trail them.

"You are a blasphemer," Chiun hissed as he circled Remo.

Remo shook his head. "He's a liar, Chiun. You know it on some level, I'm sure."

They were far enough away from the limo. Sun had still not followed them.

"He was a confidence man at one time," Chiun agreed hotly. "But are you so blind that you cannot see that is past? People change. The troublemaker Jew you so revere was a carpenter before the onset of celebrity."

"A carpenter isn't a bunco artist," Remo advised.

"No," Chiun admitted. "A bunco artist can sometimes make something of himself."

Still circling and without yet making a single move toward each other, the two men slid off the road and out onto the frozen mud of the rice paddy. Their curious and expectant entourage followed.

THROUGH THE SMOKY GLASS of the limousine, Sun watched them go. He had clicked the door shut after the crowd moved across the road. Now, as the huge group stepped out onto the broad wasteland, he bent over, collecting something from the floor.

It was the package he had retrieved from his private jet back at Pyongyang airport. Tucking the flat box up under his arm, he slid out the far side of the limo.

Stealing back down the long line of vehicles, he found the first jeep with a set of keys left inside. Climbing in, he glanced over to the field where Remo and Chiun and their crowd of followers stood.