Warren Murphy: Hostile Takeover

Remo drifted back to Chiun's side.

"You didn't tell me he was still in a wheelchair," he whispered.

"He has been very ill," Chiun confided. "When that toad Ransome took over the organization, he denied Smith medical treatment. He is recovering. But his legs are still weak. "

"There's nothing wrong with his nerve," Remo said. "He acted like he was going to bite my head off." The anger had seeped from his face. He watched Smith in thoughtful silence.

Finally Smith withdrew his hands from his keyboard.

"Thank God. It's four o'clock."

"Quitting time?" Remo asked.

"The stock market has closed. At last."

"I heard it crashed. Again."

Smith rubbed his tired gray eyes. "Not quite. But it was a near thing. I did everything in my power to reverse it. The Dow lost over five hundred points, but it had been down as low as one thousand."

"Tough."

"It was nearly economic ruin," Smith said. His eyes began to focus on his surroundings. He looked at Remo as if seeing him for the first time. "Remo! What are you doing here! You are not supposed to be seen in public. If someone should recognize you . . . !"

"Tough. I'm here. I got tired of staring at the walls. By the way, I got the governor."

"You went to Florida?" "Yeah, I was sick of waiting for you to give Chiun the green light. So I took care of him."

"My God," Smith said, hoarse-voiced. "You assassinated the governor of Florida! Without authorization?"

"Authorization, my ass. It was personal. And he was a legitimate target. He was in bed with half of the coke importers in the hemisphere. He tried to have me executed. Remember?"

"We were building a case against him. One that would stand up in the courts," Smith said coldly. "What will I tell the President?"

Remo folded his lean strong arms. "Whatever you want. I don't care anymore. I've had it with you, and with America. You, for rigging the so-called retirement plan that landed me back on death row, and America for electing governors like that jerk who signs death warrants without regard for due process."

"Remo, I can understand your feelings. But you know how it is. CURE doesn't exist. Officially. You don't exist. When your face was made public, it was a crisis-made doubly troublesome because I was in a coma. The retirement program was meant to take you out of the public eye until the situation stabilized. Were it not for my replacement's lust for power, you would have spent, at most, a few inconvenient weeks in prison."

"Inconvenient!" Remo came around the desk like a man possessed. " I got news for you, Smith. Prison isn't inconvenient. It's pure hell. Let me remind you, I was a cop before all this. CURE framed me the first time. Walking the last mile to the chair once was enough for one lifetime. I've had it. I'm leaving America."

"Actually, that may be a good idea," Smith said slowly. "For now. Perhaps after a few more months, memories will dim. No one will recognize you as the face from the newspapers. I was going to suggest plastic surgery as an option."

"No chance," Remo said bitterly. "And I'm not talking about a freaking vacation. Get it through your head: this isn't a temper tantrum. I quit!"

Smith's lips thinned. He looked past Remo to Chiun, who had been standing silent and impassive, his hand hidden in his joined sleeves.

"And you, Master of Sinanju? What have you to say about all this?"

" I am letting Remo do all the talking," Chiun said stiffly.

" I see," Smith said. He took hold of his chair wheels and rolled out from behind his desk. He looked up at Remo with unflinching eyes. "You have chosen a difficult time to abandon your country."

"You mean the stock market?" Remo asked. "There's nothing I can do about that. I'm an assassin, not a stockbroker."

"No? What if I told you that CURE just prevented the worst economic collapse since the Great Depression?"

"CURE? You mean you and your computers?" Remo said, pointing at Smith's silent terminal.

"What if I further told you that the near-collapse was no accident?" Smith added. "But a deliberate action taken to wreak economic hardship?"

"Who would do that? Who could do that?"

"That is what I intend to spend the weekend learning. For even though I helped avert a catastrophe, at nine-thirty Monday morning the cycle could begin again."

"Just a minute ago, you wanted me to leave the country," Remo pointed out.

" I still do. According to my computers, this crash originated on the trading floor of the Hong Kong Stock Exchange. It began with a panic selling of shares in the Global Communications Conglomerate, which is considered the IBM of this decade. It's in everyone's investment portfolio-which is why when it tumbled, everything else came down with it. Hong Kong claims that they were responding to a panic on the Tokyo market. Tokyo said it began with Hong Kong. And it did begin in Hong Kong."

"Remo and I are willing to go to Hong Kong," Chiun said quickly.

Remo turned to Chiun. "We are?"

"We can look into the employment situation in China," Chiun whispered, "and Smith will have to pay our air fare."

"Not me. My career ends here."

"As you wish, Remo." The Master of Sinanju faced Smith. "Emperor, I withdraw my offer. Remo will speak for us."

"Thank you," Remo said. He looked back at Smith, who was trying to get the childproof cap off a bottle of children's aspirin. Impatiently Remo reached out and took the bottle from Smith and opened it with a simple upward motion. Tiny spurts of burned plastic sent out an acrid stink. Remo looked at the label. It said "Free Sample" on the front just under the yellow oval that seemed to frame a snaggle-toothed mouth.

"I thought this was aspirin," Remo said, puzzled.

"It is," Smith said, taking the bottle. He popped two pills down dry. He started coughing and Remo went to the water dispenser and came back with a paper cup of spring water.

"Here," he said. He noticed the same openmouthed symbol on the cup. "What is this thing?" Remo asked, holding up the cup. "The Folcroft crest?"

Chiun craned his neck to see.

"It is a bat," he said. "Anyone can see that."

"I don't," Remo said. "Does this look like a bat to you, Smith?"

"No," Smith said, his cough subsiding.

"Anyone can see that it is a bat," Chiun said peevishly. "A bat inside a yellow circle."

Remo looked again. "Oh, yeah. I see it now. It's kinda like an optical illusion. I see it as a yellow oval with a black mouth in the middle."

"And I see it as a bat within a golden circle," said Chiun.

"I see a black blob in a yellow disk," Smith said, lemon voiced. "Now, may I have my water? I assume it is for me."

"You know, Smith," Remo remarked, handing over the cup at last, "you have the imagination of a snail."

"Thank you," said Harold W. Smith, who had been picked to head CURE for precisely that reason-among others. He drained the cup and lifted bleary gray eyes. His face was pale, with an undertinge of grayishness. He looked as healthy as a beached flounder.

"Are you certain you intend to leave?" Smith asked gravely.

"My mind is made up. Chiun's too."

"Remo speaks for both of us," Chiun said firmly.

"I cannot stop you. Especially in my present state. But perhaps I can stop these people from ruining our economy without you."

Remo frowned skeptically. "You? How?"

"When you were interrupting me, I was running a CURE offshoot, a shell corporation called Nostrum, Incorporated. It was something I created after the so-called Wall Street meltdown of 1987. You see, I suspected that that crash was engineered, but I could not prove it. So I created Nostrum. It was designed to shore up the market by buying key bluechip stocks during a future panic-such as today's. I am pleased to say that it worked. Nostrum employees, of course, have no idea they work for CURE."