Warren Murphy: Misfortune Teller

"You deceived me," the Master of Sinanju said menacingly.

Grasping at mental straws, Sun suddenly struck on something that might save him. "Wealth!" he cried, his yellow eyes glowing brighter. "I can divine the future with the Pythia's aid. Together we can make you wealthier than you could ever imagine."

Chiun glanced over his shoulder at Remo. Remo pushed away from the door frame, standing upright, confused at the sudden attention. The Master of Sinanju looked back to Sun.

"I am already far wealthier than you can possibly imagine, dissembler."

Without warning, both of Chiun's hands slashed at angles before him, first the left, then the right. He looked like a demented orchestra conductor.

The raking paths left by his ten curved talons shredded the chest and abdomen of Man Hyung Sun. Blood and viscera poured out onto the floor as the cult leader collapsed.

Even as the body fell, a thick yellow mist began to pour from Sun's mouth and nose.

Remo knew from experience that the smoke signified possession. He and Chiun watched as the thick mist congealed into a tight, swirling ball. It rose dramatically to the ceiling, pausing for a moment.

All at once, the ball of smoke rocketed down toward Remo. He steeled himself against the attack.

As it brushed his skin, Remo felt the faintly familiar presence of the Pythia's consciousness. It was far weaker than he remembered it. Too weak for its purpose.

The spirit in the smoke was unable to take hold. It passed through Remo and back out into the room.

Still swirling-more slowly now-the smoke flew at Chiun. The Master of Sinanju rebuffed it easily.

Afterward, it rolled between the two of them for a long moment. Seemingly uncertain as to what to do. At long last, a decision appeared to be made.

With a final burst of energy, the smoke raced upward. It popped through the ceiling in a puff of yellow, disappearing from sight. A moment later, a terrible faraway cry rattled across the frozen lawns of the estate-as of one whose time had long since past finally expiring.

After glancing at one another, the two Masters of Sinanju crossed to the center of the room.

The smoke and smell were clearing. The strongest stink left in the room was the powerful odor of the noxious after-shave lotion Sun had used to block the stench of the yellow sulfur dust.

Wordlessly, Remo and Chiun looked down at the urn of the Pythia of Delphi. The dust no longer glowed.

Chapter 33

"You were correct," Smith enthused. "The situation in the Koreas adjusted itself back to normal after you left."

"I think I might have had something to do with that, Smitty," Remo said, slightly annoyed.

He was on an outdoor pay phone on Cape Cod. Remo shifted the phone from one ear to another, searching for the Master of Sinanju on the nearby dock. He spotted the wizened Korean in heated conversation with a man in a thick Irish sweater.

"Kim Jong Il has virtually gone into hiding after the Chosun bombing incident," Smith persisted. "If the situation with Chiun was as you say, it is possible we will not hear much from the North for some time."

"What about the South?"

"There is a welcome calm after days of unrest," Smith said. "The student protestors and their proreunification sympathizers in the government were willing to argue their case as long as their fellow countrymen seemed to be sympathetic to their cause. Their outcry worked when it was the United States who had accidentally bombed Seoul National University. But with a bombing raid from the North stopped by the U.S., there are very few people willing to listen to them today."

"So we're right back to square one."

"I am content with the situation as resolved," Smith said. There was something almost bordering on chipper in his lemony tone. It was irritating in the extreme.

"By the way, I mailed you all the floppy disks I found at Sun's mansion," Remo said. "My guess is that the sailors on the U.S. and North Korean boats were Loonies. Probably the guys posing as New York cops at the rally, too."

"I look forward to receiving them."

Remo's face puckered. "Please, Smitty, do you have to be so damned happy? It's unnerving."

"I believe I have a right to be happy. We have come out of a very dark cycle for CURE. I would think that you above all would appreciate a return to normalcy."

Across the windswept wharf, Chiun had just finished berating the man in the sweater. The ruddyfaced man turned away in a huff, pulling a blue knit cap over his shock of white hair as he stepped onto a boat that was tethered to the dock. A nearby sign advertised M. Vineyard Whalewatch Charters, Inc.

"Normal is a relative term, Smitty," Remo said blandly as he hung up the phone.

Remo gathered up the heavy Delphic urn that had been resting at his feet near the pay phone. He hurried over to the Master of Sinanju.

"He demands we pay full price," Chiun complained, waving an angry hand to the boat. "I told him that if we were interested only in seeing whales we could sit on the dock and watch his lard-bellied passengers as they waddled on and off his garbage scow."

"I'm sure that was well received," Remo commented dryly. "Don't worry, I've got the money."

Remo paid the fee, and the two men climbed aboard the boat amid the throng of freezing passengers.

FORTY-FIVE MINUTES later, they were out in the churning black waters of the Atlantic Ocean.

Remo fended off the curious questions of people who had paid seventy-five dollars for the ride and had yet to see a single guppy by telling everyone who asked that the magnificent antique urn he was carrying contained the ashes of his dear departed Aunt Mildred. The people on board quietly thought that Aunt Mildred must have been as big as a house to warrant an urn that size.

When they were far enough from land, Remo began to ladle out heaping portions of yellow dust into the ocean. He used a spoon he had lifted from a restaurant the previous night, allowing each spoonful to dissolve fully in the frigid water before throwing in the next. It took more than half an hour for the big urn to nearly empty.

"Did you mean what you said to Sun yesterday?" Remo asked suddenly. The two of them had remained silent during the entire procedure.

"What did I say?" Chiun asked blandly.

"When he told you he could make you richer. You said you were already wealthier than he could possibly imagine. When you said it, I kind of thought you meant me."

Chiun pulled deeply at the cold salt air. The bleak horizon stretched out to an impossible distance before them.

"You are very important to me, Remo Williams," Chiun said eventually. His jaw was firmly set as he stared at the endless black sea.

"More important even than gold?"

Chiun tipped his head, considering deeply. Finally, he looked at Remo, a glimmer of warm mirth in his hazel eyes.

"You are in the running," he admitted. Repressing a smile, he looked back at the ocean.

Remo grinned, as well. In spite of the bitter cold, he felt a great swelling warmth within his chest. He turned his attention back to the urn.

There was only a small portion of yellow dust left.

"I hope we don't see the Pythia again," Remo said as he scooped out the last few portions.

Chiun shook his head. The tiny puffs of delicate white hair above his ears blew away from his parchment face in the stiff ocean wind.

"Did you not feel it, my son? His consciousness was all but lost." Chiun looked at the clumps of yellow powder as they dissolved and sank in sparkling crystalline patterns beneath the rolling dark waters of the Atlantic. "Even gods die," he said softly.

Remo did not respond. He waited until the last of the yellow dust was out of the stone container. Once it was empty, he brought the urn up to the railing of the boat and heaved it over.