Warren Murphy: Hostile Takeover

"I know exactly how they feel," Remo snapped.

Smith cleared his throat. "Today's panic seems to have some of the same earmarks of having been engineered," he went on. "I mention the confusion over who started the initial sell-off-Tokyo or Hong Kong. They happened almost simultaneously, but my analysis is that Hong Kong started it, and Tokyo followed the trend. The difference is less than fifteen minutes, but is there. Hong Kong claims that they received a Reuters report of the Tokyo sell-off fifteen minutes before it actually began."

"I don't follow," Remo said vaguely. "High finance isn't my strong suit."

"The Reuters report was false," Smith said firmly. "Possibly even fabricated. My task-the task I was about to give you-is to follow up on that. Find out how Reuters could have reported an event that did not begin until fifteen minutes after it transpired."

"I get it now," Remo said suddenly.

"You do?" Smith asked in surprise.

"Sure. It's from that dippy movie. Batman."

"What is?"

"The cup. The aspirin. They're Batman merchandise. Like the T-shirts and caps I see everyone wearing these days. I hear they've made a couple of billion in merchandising bucks on this little design alone."

"They did?" Chiun asked, suddenly interested.

"Sure. They slap this thing on everything from baseball caps to soft-drink cups and they get a royalty each time. A nickel here, a dime there, but it adds up."

"Billions?" Chiun's voice was awestruck.

"Yeah. Now that we're unemployed, maybe you can figure out a way to merchandise Sinanju the same way. We'll never have to work again."

"Billions!" Chiun said feverishly. "Think of it, Remo. The symbol of the House of Sinanju on every coin in the world. We will be billionaires."

"Forget it, Little Father. The sign of Sinanju is a trapezoid bisected by a slash. It just doesn't cut it."

"And this does!" Chiun shrilled. "A mere bat, which, if you look at it wrong, looks like a broken-toothed mouth?"

"It's not the bat that people are buying, it is what it symbolizes. Batman. He's a guy who goes around-"

"Yes, yes. I have seen that insipid TV show."

"The TV show is history. This is the new Batman. He kicks ass. Kids love him."

"How anyone could love a man who dresses like a winged rodent is beyond me," Chiun said dismissively.

"Trust me. Or better yet, rent the video. But enough of all this. Smitty, this is it. I'd say it's been fun, but that was before you booby-trapped my house."

"I do not share Remo's bitterness," Chiun said loftily. "I forgive you for such minor transgressions. It is your failure to bequeath me Cheeta Ching that I find unconscionable. But this sad ending to our association lies on your head. Had you fulfilled the terms of our last contract, I would be bound to service."

"I understand," Smith said, spinning his wheelchair toward a green file cabinet. He pulled a folder from a lower drawer. "Before you go," he added, pulling a sheaf of stapled papers from the file, "there is one last bit of unfinished business to transact."

"Yeah?" Remo said sourly.

"I must have the Master of Sinanju sign a document. It is a mere formality."

"What is this document?" Chiun asked, approaching Smith.

"The firm I mentioned earlier," Smith said. "Nostrum, Inc. For security reasons, neither I nor any Folcroft employee could be listed in its papers of incorporation. I took the liberty of using your name, Chiun."

"My name?" Chiun asked, accepting the papers.

"Yes. Simply sign this release, signing over control of Nostrum to me, and you are free to leave. I will attend to all the legal details."

"One moment. I wish to read this document," Chiun said.

"Come on, Chiun," Remo said impatiently. "We've wasted enough time here."

"Speak for yourself, Remo," Chiun snapped.

"I thought I spoke for both of us," Remo retorted.

"That was before I discovered I was the president of an important corporation."

"It's a shell corporation," Smith explained. "Of course, it does own an office building and has assets of over seven million dollars."

"Seven million?" Chiun gasped. His wispy beard trembled. "Mine?"

"Technically, yes," Smith admitted.

"Oh, no, you don't!" Remo said, snatching the documents from Chiun's clawlike hands. "I can see where this is going. You're going to dangle this under Chiun's greedy nose, and he's going to take the bait. Nice try, Smitty, but we quit."

"You have quit, Remo," Chiun said, snatching the document back. "I have not."

"What happened to I-spoke-for-both-of-us?" Remo demanded hotly.

"You spoke for Chiun, CURE employee. Not for Chiun, CEO of Nostrum, Inc."

"CEO?"

"It means chief executive officer," Smith supplied.

"I knew that!" Remo snapped.

"But I did not," Chiun returned. "Emperor Smith, I cannot sign away my rights without conferring with my attorney."

"Oh, here we go!" Remo wailed. "You don't even have an attorney."

"This is true," Chiun admitted, lifting a long fingernail. "Therefore I must remain in Smith's employ until I can find one and this matter is settled with correctness and fairness."

Remo groaned an inaudible word.

"Emperor," Chiun asked Smith, "am I correct in assuming that I have an office in this Nostrum entity?"

"Yes, it has never been used, but your name is on the door. "

"Then I wish to inspect my office and my building. I must know that it was not being run into the ground during my unavoidable absence."

"I can arrange that. But if the stock market crashes on Monday, it won't matter. All of Nostrum's assets are tied up in stocks and other securities."

"Sell!" Chiun cried. "Sell them immediately. Buy gold. Everything else is mere paper. Gold is eternal. It cannot be burned, or lost, or made worthless by manipulative men."

"We cannot sell until Monday," Smith explained. "The market is closed. Your best protection is to help me uncover these unknown stock manipulators."

"I will crucify them on their own worthless paper," Chiun raged. "The baseness of them. The perfidy. Attempting to ruin my wonderful company."

"I'm not hearing this," Remo said weakly.

"Shall I book you on the next flight to Hong Kong?" Smith inquired.

"At once," Chiun said, furling the Nostrum documents and slipping them up one sleeve for safekeeping.

"And you, Remo?"

Remo was leaning into the wall, his eyes closed in pain.

"Okay, okay, I'm going to Hong Kong. But don't count on me coming back."

"I know you'll do the right thing."

"Come, Remo," Chiun said imperiously floating from the room.

Remo started for the door, then doubled back. He advanced on Smith with such purposeful violence that Smith reached for his wheel rims and sent the chair retreating to the wall.

Remo leaned over.

"You've gotten very clever at manipulating him," he said in a chilly voice.

"I need him," Smith said simply. "And you."

"Just don't try to manipulate me anymore. Got that?"

"Yes," Smith croaked. He watched Remo leave the room with tired eyes. He wondered how much longer he could keep the organization together. It was falling apart.

Then, as he sent the chair rolling to the safety of his desk, he caught a glimpse of his wasted face reflected in the one-way picture window that looked out over Long Island Sound. He wondered how much longer he could hold up.

He looked over to his cracked leather office chair, sitting forlorn and forgotten in one corner of the room, and abruptly stood up. He pushed the wheelchair aside and dragged the chair back to its rightful place.

When he sat down, he felt immensely more comfortable. He made a mental note to remember to be back in the wheelchair when Remo returned.

Chapter 6

Remo Williams endured the flight across the continental U. S. in smoldering silence. He spoke not a word to Chiun during the Pacific crossing. He now stood with his lean arms folded outside Hong Kong's Kai Tak Airport as Chiun disdained the taxicabs in favor of a bicycle-powered pedicab.