Warren Murphy - The Last Dragon

"Not without checking in first."

The Master of Sinanju indicated Skip King, his head in the steel basket.

"That one has ears."

"I'll fix that," said Remo as he reached into the basket and squeezed a place near King's spine. He went limp and the bubbling sound of him exhaling into his own vomit came.

Remo got Smith on the phone.

"Smith, forget everything you heard about African environmentalists. This is a Burger Triumph scam all the way."

"What?"

"They have it all worked out. A promo tour, an accidental death. Guess what happens next?"

"I cannot imagine."

"Every yuppie in the universe getting in line for a once-in-a-lifetime taste sensation."

Smith's gasp was a dry, shocked sound. "You don't mean-"

"It'll be bigger than cabbage patch dolls, except you can eat Bronto Burgers."

"Have you traced the animal?"

"No. But we scared the truth out of King. He says the board has moved up the timetable."

"Interrogate the board."

"Just wanted you to know before we did it."

"Try to do this delicately. Burger Triumph represents a significant slice of the American economy."

"They don't lie, they don't die. How's that?"

"Satisfactory," said Smith.

Skip King was still bubbling away when Remo hung up. On the way out the door, the Master of Sinanju kicked the basket over. King fell with it and began breathing normally.

The board of directors of the Burger Triumph corporation wasn't sure what to make of the thick-wristed man and his colorful companion.

They tried to bluff their way through the intrusion on their emergency board meeting.

"Are you employed here?" asked the CEO.

"No. We're dissatisfied customers."

"Dissatisfied?"

"We like our Brontosaurs on the hoof and not between slices of stale bun."

"I do not follow."

"They are temporizing, Remo," the old one warned the other.

"Must be expecting help," said the one called Remo.

He walked around the table, running his fingers along the polished cherrywood top. He stopped when he came to the right-hand corner at the CEO's elbow, reached under, and yanked a push button out by its wiring.

He dangled it in the CEO's face. "Who'd you call?"

"Security. And I suggest you two plan to leave quietly or charges will be filed. Federal charges."

"Lordy me," said Remo.

The Burger Berets burst in a moment later. There were four of them and they toted AR-15 assault rifles. Captain Mustard led them. He paled at the sight of Remo and Chiun. He started to back out of the room, but his team was in the way.

"Nice guns," said Remo.

"Please put your hands up," Mustard ordered in a quaking voice.

Remo's confident smile didn't involve his eyes. "Remember to load them this time around?"

Captain Mustard and his Berets hesitated, looked momentarily blank, and various uncomfortable expressions crawled over their faces.

Remo looked to the CEO and said, "You know, I think they forgot their bullets again."

The CEO stood up and shook an angry fist. "Shoot them! They've threatened the board and by implication all your jobs!"

The Burger Berets made a valiant attempt. Their lack of ammunition was a serious handicap, but it probably saved their lives. As the weapons filled the boardroom with noise and flame and gunsmoke and not much else, Remo and Chiun moved among them, using their jaunty purple berets to gag them-after first relieving them of the weapons and all limb volition with hard fingerstrokes to shoulder and hip joints.

They made a pile in one corner, and Remo addressed the board. The Master of Sinanju stood behind him like an emerald-and-gold genie, his hands tucked in his sleeves.

"The scam is out in the open," said Remo, his voice clipped. "So tell us where the bronto is and maybe you won't have to end up like Skip King."

"How-how did Skip King end up?" a man quavered.

"Breathing his own puke."

The board of directors looked queasy and the CEO said, "We have no idea what has happened to the poor animal. We agreed to allow Dr. Nancy Derringer to transport it to a secure place, and the hauler did not arrive. We were just discussing what it could mean when you two barged in."

"You aren't trying to tell me this hasn't anything to do with Bronto Burgers?" Remo said skeptically.

"Obviously Dr. Derringer has tricked us."

Remo started to scoff when the Master of Sinanju said thinly, "He is speaking the truth, Remo."

"I can smell their sweat," said Remo.

"As can I. But it smells of truth."

Remo looked dubious. He lowered his tone. "Their pulses are racing. That means they're lying, right?"

Chiun shook his head coldly. "It means that they are frightened. If they lied, their pulses would jitter."

Remo looked from the Master of Sinanju to the board and back again. "So who hijacked the Bronto? It sure wasn't Nancy."

"There is only one person left," Chiun intoned.

"Can't be Colonel Mustard. He's in a pile with his beret in his mouth." Then it hit him. Remo snapped his fingers. "King?"

Chiun nodded firmly. "King."

"Damn." Remo slipped from the room, calling back, "Anyone who interferes is hamburger. Literally."

Chiun hung back a moment. "I have spared you your miserable lives," he told the trembling board. "I will expect your gratitude to be without measure."

Then he was gone.

"I move we all submit our resignations," the CEO said stonily.

When no one answered right away, he added, "On the condition that the severance packages are commensurate with our contributions."

The motion was seconded, voted on, and passed unanimously. That left only the dicey question of to whom to tender their resignations.

Skip King was gone when Remo and Chiun reached his former office. They followed the trail of partial footprints to the elevator bank. King had stepped in his own vomit and tracked it along the carpet.

The head of security in the lobby confirmed that King had left the building.

"What kind of car does he drive?" asked Remo.

"Why should I answer that question?" the guard wanted to know. "Did you two sign in? I don't remember buzzing you in."

"We do our own buzzing. Watch."

The man had a computer terminal at his station and Remo laid a hand on it. He described a quick circle and reversed it.

The guard noticed that the data on his screen was breaking up. An electronic beeping came from the system. It sounded panicky. "How are you doing that?" he gulped.

"This?" Remo said. "This is nothing. Watch this." And Remo ran his hand back and forth along the side. The glass cracked and the broken screen hissed in the guard's face like an upset alley cat.

The guard spat out information in quick bursts. "Red. Infiniti. License plate says KING 1."

"Let's go, Little Father. It's time to crown the king."

They floated out of the building.

Chapter 23

Skip King had climbed the corporate ladder the hard way.

He had started working the drive-in window of a Burger Triumph in Timonium, Maryland, was soon catapulted to store manager, then regional supervisor, and by the tender age of twenty-eight he was working out of the corporate headquarters.

There was one and only one reason for his success. He saw himself as a cog in the corporate machinery. On the franchise level, that meant maximizing the profit even if it meant returning to work after hours and salvaging the unsold burger meat and stale fries and bringing them in the next morning before the day crew arrived.

He saved the company twenty thousand dollars in his first six months as manager. As regional supervisor, he saved six figures by shuttling leftovers between stores. The board never questioned his methods. They only saw the bottom line and the bottom line was what they cared about.