Warren Murphy: Skull Duggery

"Before America, who?"

"Immediately before America, I worked for no one. You know that story, Remo. There was no work. I had no heir, for my wicked nephew, Nuihc, had become a renegade. The village of Sinanju had fallen on evil times. I could find no worthy heir and so I resigned myself to living out the natural span of my years knowing that I was the last Master of Sinanju."

"It wasn't always that way," Remo countered. "If you worked for the Japanese in the thirties, you must have worked for other clients. Fess up. Who?"

Chiun stroked his wispy beard. "Why do you suddenly wish to know this, Remo? We have known each other for many years. Never before have you asked me about my past."

"I never gave it much thought before," Remo admitted. "So who else did you kill?"

"We," Chiun corrected.

"Who? Gandhi?"

"The price was too low and I was too proud to work cheap," Chiun said flatly. "Amateurs got that one."

"Who else?" Remo pressed.

"There were so many. I cannot recall their names," Chiun said evasively.

"Okay, let's try it from another angle. Other than the Japanese, who did you work for?"

"I had clients in my young days, it is true. Some minor princes. No one you would know."

"Hitler?"

"That posturing Austrian?" Chiun spat. "Too late, I was assigned to eradicate that one. I was cheated of my fee."

"By the British or the Russians?"

"By the victim. He heard of my approach and immolated himself. The coward." "I'm not hearing names," Remo said evenly.

"You would not recognize many of them. You are too young. They were before your time."

"Names. C'mon. You're hiding something. For years you've been regaling me with stories of previous Masters, but hardly any of your own. Who'd you work for before America?"

"A Chinese," Chiun admitted.

"Not the thieving Chinese, scourge of the Sinanju collection agency? The one who defaulted on a fifteen-dollar fee in 1421?"

"Not the Chinese. A Chinese. An individual. A mandarin."

"Not an emperor?"

"He was ambitious. This was before the Communists, of course."

"Would I know of him?"

"Not under his true name. But he was known to the West under a silly name, Fu Achoo, or some such nonsense."

Remo made a face. "Fu . . . you can't mean Fu Manchu?"

"See? Even you understand what a ridiculous name it is. It was that lunatic British scribbler's fault. He disseminated all manner of lies and slanders about me."

"You? What are you talking about? I read those books as a kid. I don't remember any Korean assassins in them."

"Precisely, Remo. He changed everything willy-nilly. Where the Master of Sinanju was at work, he improvised Dacoits. I think that was in The Ears of Fu Achoo. Dacoits are always cutting their own fingers off by accident. Poisonous spiders, venomous scorpions, and other insects abound in those ridiculous books. But not one single Korean. I ended up on the cutting-room floor."

"You're mixing your media, but I get what you say."

"It was that so-called author who was mixed up. Imagine a Chinese named Fu Manchu. The Manchus are not even Chinese. They are nomads, like the Mongols. It would be like naming you Remo Apache."

"Little Father, I think you're pulling my leg. Fu Manchu was a fictitious character. He never existed."

"His gold existed," Chiun shot back.

"I don't believe you. You're just telling me this to hide the truth."

"Then do not believe me," Chiun sniffed. "Your lack of faith does not change the truth, only your perception of what is truth and what is falsehood."

"So what happened to this alleged client?"

"He died. Then the hard days began. It was very long ago, and the memories unpleasant. Not like the bird woman,

Amelia. Now, that was a magnificent assassination, the first in the Sinanju line to extinguish both an aircraft and its pilot with a single blow. You see, I attacked the-"

"Save it. It's a depressing thought."

"To the victim, perhaps. But we are Sinanju, Remo. We are never the victim."

Remo's eye sought the floor. He was quiet for several minutes. Presently he lifted his head.

"I am unhappy, Little Father."

"Yes?"

"I am unhappy with Smith."

"The purpose of an emperor is not to make his assassin happy," Chiun intoned solemnly, "only wealthy. It will pass."

"I am unhappy with Sinanju."

"What! Unhappy with the near-perfection of existence? How can this be so?"

"Sinanju has given me many gifts, Little Father," Remo admitted. "The gift of oneness, of correct breathing, of knowing myself more fully than I ever dreamed possible."

"For which you should fall to your knees before me."

"It has also robbed me of my dreams."

"Dreams are for those who sleep," Chiun said joyously. "You have been awakened, Remo Williams. Rejoice in that." His arms lifted in benediction.

"Once I dreamed of a house such as this," Remo said quietly.

"Which you now have-thanks to Sinanju."

"And a wife."

"Take as many as you wish. But keep them in the attic, for they will undoubtedly prattle and complain all day long."

"And children."

Chiun touched Remo's knee tenderly. "You have a daughter. True, this is not exactly a cause for rejoicing, for if the lean times come again, she will be among the first to be sent home to the sea. For as you know, in times of approaching famine, the female babies are always drowned first. The males only after the famine has struck. This way-"

"A daughter born to me by a woman who will not have me because the work I do is too dangerous," Remo interjected. "A daughter I haven't seen in years."

"When you have a son, it will be different. We will train him together, you and I."

"How can I have a son if there is no pleasure in sex for me? How can I have a wife or a family with the work we do, the dangers we face?"

"These are problems each Master must solve in his own way," Chiun said with a dismissive wave.

"But what is my way? I feel empty. I met a woman today, at the rice store. She was interested in me. But I had to walk away from her. She saw me do stuff. And you know how Smith is about security."

"This is bad," Chiun grumbled.

"You understand?"

"Of course. This means I will have to buy the rice from now on. Oh Remo, how could you be so careless?"

"Somebody stole my car," Remo said, annoyed.

"An unworthy excuse. You could have walked the fifteen miles home."

"I walked away from love because I knew it would be too much trouble," Remo said with intensity. "I walked away because I knew the sex would be boring. I need someone to fill the emptiness in my life, and I walked away. Don't you see? I've given up."

"Do you think a woman could fill that void?"

"If I stop believing that one could, I lose my dream."

Chiun considered. "I might be able to show you how to enjoy sex once more."

"For a price," Remo and Chiun said together. Neither man laughed.

"I'll make the call," Remo said instantly.

He got to his feet, but before he took a single step, the phone rang.

Frowning, Remo picked it up. It was either Harold W. Smith or an insurance salesman, he knew. He hoped it was the latter. Smith was a really dull conversationalist.

"Remo," Harold Smith said peevishly. "I need you. At once."

"You have me mistaken for the paper boy." Remo slammed the receiver down. It rang again before he could dial the eight-hundred number.

"Cut it out, Smith!" Remo snapped, hanging up again. This time it ran again instantly. Remo hung up again and the phone kept ringing.

"How are you doing that?" Remo demanded hotly.

"Phone trap."

"What's that?"

"A lever on the side of my telephone," Smith explained. "It prevents the connection from being severed at your end. The phone company uses them to trace obscene phone callers. "