Warren Murphy: Ground Zero

The Master of Sinanju forked his pony around and started up a dirt road. "Farewell, Pullyang," he intoned. "Keep my village safe in my absence."

Remo followed, calling back, "Catch you later, Pullyang."

The dirt road lifted among rocks and leveled off at the edge of three huge empty superhighways marked Sinanju 1, 2, and 3. Chiun selected Sinanju 2 and sent his pony clopping along it.

His face unhappy, Remo rode in his wake.

They rode all the way to the Pyongyang airport, where the communist officials cheerfully stabled their horses for them and so retained their heads. Memories were long in Pyongyang.

Relations between North Korea and the civilized world being what they were, Remo and Chiun had to fly to Beijing to obtain a flight back to the U.S.

The layover in Beijing reminded Remo of his last assignment, the rescue of a Chinese dissident student named Zhang Zingzong, who had left the safety of America with Chiun, seeking the treasure of Genghis Khan. They had found the treasure, but the student had lost his life in the quest. It was the first time in many years that a CURE assignment had ended so badly, although from Chiun's point of view that was irrelevant. He had ended up with most of the treasure.

"Smitty's gonna have a fit about that student when we report in," Remo said casually. "Although I guess he has some idea, since it's been almost two months since we reported in."

They were seated in an airport waiting room. At the sound of Remo's voice, Chiun had flounced around to present Remo with his small back.

"Two can play this game," Remo muttered, ignoring him in turn.

Remo was ignored all the way across the Pacific Ocean too. He was forced to sit by himself during the five-hour transcontinental leg. And the taxi ride from Kennedy Airport to their home in Rye, New York, was thick with interminable silence.

Finally, pushing open the door to his house, Remo relented.

"Do you want to call Smith or shall I?" he asked in a subdued voice.

Chiun said nothing, so Remo reached for the phone. Clapping the receiver to his ear, he started dialing Folcroft Sanitarium when he realized the dial tone in his ear should not be there.

"Hey!" Remo said. "This phone is working."

Chiun, bent over a steamer trunk in another room, declined to look up.

"The line was disconnected before we left, remember? Smith must have had it repaired. That means he's been here. Probably planting more listening devices," Remo added sourly.

Chiun did not react.

"Don't you care?"

This time the Master of Sinanju did reply.

He said, "No." His voice was chilly. Then he shut the door.

"This is ridiculous," Remo exploded, "even for you."

He slammed the receiver and sidled up to the closed door.

"You know," he called through the wood, "I'd suffer a lot more if I knew what I did or said to piss you off."

Silence. Then a squeaky voice said, "It is not what you did, but what you did not do."

"Any hints?" Remo said, brightening. At least he wasn't being ignored anymore.

No further sound came through the door.

"I asked if you wanted to clue me in," Remo repeated in a hopeful voice.

The protracted silence made it clear to Remo that he was being ignored once again.

Remo stood in the middle of the living room-only a big-screen television gave any clue to the room's purpose, for there was not a stick of furniture in it-debating whether to call Smith or drop in, when the phone rang.

Remo scooped it up. His "Hello?" was a bark.

"Remo? This is Smith."

"Nice timing," Remo said, leaning on one hand against a wall. "We just got in."

"Er, I've been calling every half-hour for weeks."

Remo felt tiny vibrations under his palm. Frowning, he drove two stiff fingers into the plaster and extracted a round black microphone.

"It wouldn't be because you've got sensors planted in this place to warn you when we got back?" he asked suspiciously.

The pause was lengthy enough to let Remo know that Smith was debating whether or not to lie.

"What makes you say that?" Smith said at last. His tone was lemony and sharp.

"Well, the phone's fixed. I know the mice didn't do it, because the cheese is untouched."

"A necessity which I attended to as your superior," Smith said quickly. "Now, please, Remo, we have important matters to discuss."

"Yeah, well, Zhang is dead," Remo said, pocketing the bug. "I did what I could, but he bought it."

"I know."

"What'd you do?" Remo asked acidly. "Bug Mongolia?"

"The U.S. has intelligence assets in Asia," Smith explained. "That is the past. I was alerted to your presence in Pyongyang and in Beijing. There was no secure way to contact you en route. That is why I've been calling hourly."

"You said half-hourly," Remo pointed out. "But let it pass. If you're not upset about Zhang, what's the problem?"

"We have lost the town of La Plomo, Missouri. It has been eradicated."

"How so?"

"Poison gas. Every man, woman, and child was killed in his sleep."

Remo's voice tightened. "Is that a lot of people?"

"Less than a thousand. It was a small farm town, but that is not important. The La Plomo gassing took place three weeks ago. An FBI investigation has turned up nothing-no leads, no suspects. We're stymied. Washington has asked me to put you and Chiun on it."

"There's a problem with that," Remo said wearily.

The lemons in Smith's voice gave a sudden juicy squeeze. "Yes?"

"Chiun and I aren't currently on speaking terms."

"What have you done to offend him this time?"

"I like how I'm automatically branded as the instigator," Remo said sourly. "As for why, you'll have to ask Chiun. All I've gotten since Korea is cold silence interspersed with the occasional game of charades."

"Ask Chiun to come to the phone," Smith ordered crisply.

"Gladly," Remo said. He went to Chiun's room and knocked once. "Chiun, Smitty needs to talk to you."

There was no response.

"And boy, is he ticked off about losing Zhang," Remo added warningly. "He says we're through. Both of us. Hope you haven't unpacked."

The door banged open like a mousetrap snapping. Face stricken, the Master of Sinanju shot across the room like a gray ghost. The receiver came up to his wizened face and his squeaky voice poured out a torrent of plaintive words.

"It was all Remo's fault, Emperor Smith," he said rapidly. "He was careless, but all is not lost, for we have recovered the treasure of Genghis Khan, the greatest in history. You should see it. Rubies, emeralds, gold, and jade beyond description-"

Chiun paused, cocking his bald yellow head.

"No, I do not intend to contribute it to the national debt. Are you mad!"

Folding his arms, Remo leaned against a doorjamb, listening. He grinned.

"I thought you would be pleased that we did not allow Zhang to fall into unscrupulous hands," Chiun went on testily. "He was really quite unimportant. America has many defective Chinese students. Almost all of them are such, in fact."

"Chinese student defectors," Remo called over helpfully.

Chiun turned away, placing one hand over his free ear to block out the unwanted intrusion. He listened intently.

"Yes, Emperor. This is a private matter. I will explain later. I have my reasons. Very well. For this urgent assignment I will suffer whatever communications with the ungrateful one that are necessary. We shall leave at once."

Chiun hung up. He turned to Remo. His tiny mouth parted, causing his straggly beard to wriggle.

Remo beat him to the draw by a full second.

"Leave at once!" Remo shouted. "We just got here!"

"Silence," Chiun said imperiously. "I have agreed to suffer your companionship until this assignment is completed. But I will not be drawn into petty arguments. Remember this. Now you must pack."