Warren Murphy: Unite and Conquer

"Good."

"Okay. My end is done. Now you have to take care of your end."

"What is your wish?"

"I'm still waiting for that replacement car you promised me at the last negotiation."

"I am working on it."

"It's gotta be impervious to these maniac Boston drivers. And I want you to find my daughter, by the way."

The line was quiet for a moment.

"Excuse me?"

"I have a daughter. I need to find her."

"I had no idea you had a daughter. How old?"

"She'd be about eleven or twelve by now."

Smith cleared his throat. "Until recently you had been searching for your parents. Then you changed your mind. Why is that?"

"I changed my mind. My past is my past. I'm looking to the future now. Find my daughter."

"What is her name?"

"Freya."

"Spell it, please."

Remo did.

"Last name?" asked Smith.

"Search me. She's probably going by her mother's last name."

"And what is that?"

"I have no clue," Remo admitted sheepishly.

In the corner the Master of Sinanju shook his head sadly. "Whites," he said under his breath. "They have no sense of family."

"You have no idea who the mother of your daughter is?" Smith asked in an incredulous tone.

"Her first name is Jilda."

"Is that spelled with a J?" asked Smith.

"Yeah. I think so."

"It is probably pronounced 'Hilda.'"

"Jilda," said Remo, emphasizing the J, "always pronounced it with a J. "

"You are positive?"

"I think a grown woman would know how to pronounce her own name, don't you?"

Smith cleared his throat. "Please do not take that tone with me."

"Mind your emperor, Remo," Chiun said loudly. "He is only trying to aid you in your most recent futile search for relatives who have more sense than to associate with you."

Remo slapped a hand over the mouthpiece.

"I don't need any help from the peanut gallery," he whispered.

"It is good we never found your father," Chiun continued, louder than before. "No doubt he would have cast you into the same outer darkness as when you were born, O misbegotten one."

"That's enough," Remo hissed. taking his hand off the receiver, Remo said to Smith, "Just find them, okay? They could be anywhere. Maybe in Scandinavia. Jilda is from there. She's called Jilda of Lakluun."

"I will do my best," Smith promised.

And the line went dead.

Hanging up, Remo looked toward the Master of Sinanju. And all the anger drained from him.

"I didn't need you chiming in."

"It was necessary to throw Emperor Smith off the scent."

"Smith couldn't smell a limburger-cheese fart if it was piped into a plastic bag tied around his head. All he knows is what his computers tell him."

"If he ever learns that your father lives, there may be dire consequences."

"Yeah, I know," said Remo, his deep-set eyes flickering. "But it's my daughter I'm worried about."

"The words the spirit of your mother spoke to you trouble you still?"

"Yeah. I can't get them out of my mind. She said my daughter was in some kind of danger. The danger was real but not immediate. But I'm not going to wait for it to grow. I need to make sure she's safe."

Chiun cocked his birdlike head to one side. "And if the child's mother prefers that you do not?"

"I'll deal with that then."

"It is difficult being a parent," Chiun said thinly.

"I've never really been a parent."

"It is difficult for you who were born an orphan to know what to do with your feelings. You who had no brother or sisters or parents now have met the father you never knew. You have a daughter you have seen but once in your life. A son, too."

"I don't know about him."

"That truly was your son. He possessed your face and eyes and uncouth manners."

"Well, he's where Smith can't get at him anymore."

"We will find your daughter, Remo Williams."

"Let's hope so."

Chiun drew near, holding Remo's eyes with his own. "But have you asked the logical question?"

Remo nodded. "What then?"

"Yes. What then? What will you do? She cannot live with you. It would be too dangerous, with the work that we do. We are assassins. We go where our emperor sends us. Some day we may go and never return."

"I have an idea," said Remo.

Chiun examined his pupil's face quizzically.

"Sometimes a grandparent is a better parent than the true parent," said Remo.

Chiun's eyes beamed. "You mean me?"

"No. I don't mean you."

"But I am the father you never knew. Who is more fit to raise your child? Now that you are Apprentice Reigning Master, destined to assume the throne of Sinanju if you so choose, perhaps I could ease into my long-deferred retirement and raise your foundling daughter before white ways fully smother her natural grace."

"Actually I was thinking of my father, Chiun," said Remo, rotating his freakishly thick wrists absently.

The Master of Sinanju became still. His thin shoulders fell.

"He, at least, is part Korean, as are you," he admitted.

Remo relaxed. He expected the old Korean to take violent offense.

"It's just a thought. First we gotta find her. Then I have to convince Jilda."

"Smith's oracles will show you the way."

"Yeah. Let's hope they come through this time." Remo laughed awkwardly. "For an orphan I suddenly have a lot of family ties."

"If you have family," said Chiun magnanimously, "then I have family. For your blood is the same color as mine."

And Remo smiled through his worry. After all these years, they had learned that much about each other at least.

Chapter 5

United Nations Secretary General Anwar Anwar-Sadat did not normally accept guests into his Beekman Place home in New York City.

Business was business, and he conducted his business on the thirty-eighth floor of the UN Secretariat Building. Not here among his prized collection of rare Egyptian sphinxes, which symbolized both the secretary general's native country and the prime directive of international diplomacy: keep your damn mouth shut.

But this particular envelope was marked Personal and mailed to his luxury apartments. It enclosed a cryptic black calling card: THE EXTINGUISHER IS COMING.

The follow-up call came the next day.

"Say hello to the answer to all your problems," a voice said.

The voice was definitely male, but had a youthful timbre. It sounded very confident, that voice. Almost cocksure.

"And your name?"

"Didn't you read the card?"

"It said that you are the Extinguisher. But I fail to understand. Are you selling a service? I do not have roaches."

"You have a flash point, the Extinguisher will extinguish it."

"I see," said Anwar Anwar-Sadat slowly, his mind racing. He had many flash points. All stemming from his four-year term as UN secretary general. He had a vision for the world under the United Nations. It was called One World, an idea that surfaced from time to time only to be shot down in ignominious flames by the unimaginative. Anwar Anwar-Sadat was determined that this idea not die when his term of office expired.

"How are you able to help me?" he purred.

"You called for a UN rapid-reaction force tasked to put out every brushfire war and conflict, right?"

"This has been stolen from me. The stubborn and narrow-minded NATO generals have siezed control of my blue helmets."

"That's because you're thinking out loud."

"I fail to follow."

"The US. Navy has a quick-reaction force called SEAL Team Six. But they're clandestine. No one knows who they are and where they go until the dirty work is done and Six is on the move to the next hot spot."

"Yes, I am familiar with this SEAL team called Six. But what has that to do with me? Or for that matter, you?"

"This-I'm your personal SEAL team. A multitasked army rolled into one guy. I have the know-how, the weapons and most of all, the sheer blind guts."