Warren Murphy - Death Sentence

"Hail, servant of Smith. Please inform him of my arrival."

"I ... that is ... you haven't heard. I mean-"

"Why do you babble so, woman? Do this!"

"One moment." She stabbed at an intercom button and said, "There is a ... person here who is asking about Dr. Smith. I believe he's a former patient. "

"Yes, I have been expecting him. Allow him to enter, Mrs. Mikulka."

Chiun's parchment wrinkles scattered at the sound of the unfamiliar voice. Before the woman could rise from her seat, he hurried to the door and closed it behind him so rapidly it seemed to Mrs. Mikukla he melted through the unopened panel.

"I am Chiun, Master of Sinanju," Chiun announced in a cold voice. "And if you do not present to me a certain document, I will lay your entrails at your very feet."

The fat man sitting behind Dr. Smith's desk lost his composed expression. Tiny globules-that was the only word for them-of sweat erupted from his corrugated brow.

"Yes. Of course. I have it right here," he said quickly.

The Master of Sinanju accepted the proffered document. His hazel eyes glanced over it; then he returned to the fat man.

"What has become of Smith?" he asked, stiff voiced.

"I am Norvell Ransome. I am the new director of Folcroft. "

"And I do not care. Where is Smith?"

"Dr. Smith is ill. I have taken his place by presidential directive, as that letter implies. I was informed by the Harlequin's captain that you had returned to America prematurely. May I inquire why?"

"No, you may not. I will see Smith."

"That is quite impossible right now. As your superior, I must ask you-"

"You are my superior only in body fat, gross one," Chiun snapped.

"I beg your pardon!" Norvell Ransome exploded. Indignation sent spittle spewing out of his round mouth.

"I do not serve you. Only Smith. No Master of Sinanju is permitted to serve a succeeding emperor, lest it be thought that Sinanju arranged the downfall of the first emperor. Now, I ask again: Where is Smith?"

"I promise you that you will see him shortly. And I have not succeeded Smith, as you so quaintly put it. I am merely replacing him until he is well. I believe that gets around your ancestral injunction against succeeding, er, emperors, does it not?"

"One does not get around correct thinking," Chiun sniffed. "One follows it. Now, Smith."

"As you please," Ransome said nervously. "Come with me."

The Master of Sinanju followed the corpulent man to the elevator, up to the third floor, and to a hospitalroom door.

"Please wait here while I see if Smith is presentable."

"Be warned, I will not wait long."

"I'll only be a moment." And true to his word, Ransome returned shortly to open the door for the Master of Sinanju. The man's body reeked. Every pore exuded mingled food odors that each movement renewed.

Chiun drifted to the bedside of his emperor. At a glance, he could see that Smith was dying. The deathliness of the skin. The ragged breathing.

"The doctors say his prognosis is quite good," Ransome purred.

"The doctors are wrong," Chiun snapped. "He is failing. "

"Oh, dear. I sincerely hope not." Ransome's voice was plaintive. "I have a very important assignment for you, which must be undertaken immediately."

"I will honor my contract," Chiun said simply. Ransome's jowly face perked up. "While Smith lives," he added.

Ransome's face sagged like taffy under a heat lamp. "I wish a few moments with Smith," Chiun said.

"Why?"

"Respect. A word you should commit to memory."

"I shall be outside," Ransome said aridly.

After the man had gone, Chiun lifted the oxygen tent and felt Smith's neck artery. The pulse was thready. He noticed the shower cap over Smith's sparse hair and wondered if a brain operation-a barbarism whites practiced because they lacked knowledge of the correct herbs-had been performed on Smith. Pushing the plastic back, Chiun saw no marks of bone saw or suture. Only a plastic bandage on the forehead with the words DO NOT RESUSCITATE inscribed in ink.

The Master of Sinanju removed the Band-Aid before he replaced the shower cap. He laid a bony hand over Smith's heart. Its muscles beat very close to the ribs. Enlarged. There was a gurgle in each beat, indicating damaged chambers.

Chiun laid both hands over Smith's heart. He closed his eyes, moving his fingers exploringly. When he found a certain vibration, he struck. His fist lifted, fell. Smith's body jumped. Chiun's eyes flew open. He lifted one of Smith's eyelids. His expression registered disappointment.

He laid an ear to Smith's heart, and then, his face sad, he replaced the oxygen tent. Solemnly Chiun returned to the corridor.

"He is gravely ill," Chiun intoned.

"He is receiving the best of care, I assure you," Ransome said. "Now, shall we conclude our little get-acquainted session in my office?"

Back in Smith's former office, the Master of Sinanju stood in silence as Ransome pulled a copy of the National Enquirer from a drawer. He displayed it so that the likeness of Remo Williams faced the Master of Sinanju.

"I believe you know what this means," he said. "It means that Smith's mania for secrecy does not sleep with him."

"No. The woman who's responsible for this outrage called Folcroft only hours ago, asking questions. We don't know what she wants. Or how much she knows about CURE. With Remo still on assignment, you are my only resource."

"Remo's assignment. It is not going well?"

"There are some problems. I believe I explained in my first message that Remo had gone undercover in a prison."

"That message was from you?"

"Ah, yes. I signed it 'Smith' so you would not be concerned."

"The second message was not signed at all," Chiun pointed out.

"A lapse on my part."

"I see," Chiun said vaguely. "Tell me of this assignment of Remo's. It is very unusual?"

"It's too complicated to explain," Ransome assured him. "But I expect him to remain there at least another three weeks, gathering evidence."

"I understand," Chiun said softly. But he thought: What madness is this? Remo is not a compiler of evidence. Such duties are for file clerks and detectives. Remo's task to is eliminate enemies.

"Here," Ransome was saying as he transferred his gaze from his computer screen to a notepad. He wrote furiously and handed the top sheet to the Master of Sinanju.

"Her name is Naomi Vanderkloot. That is her address. Eliminate her. Today."

"Do you wish it to appear as an accident, or would something more public be preferred?"

Ransome's mouth became a red rosebud. "Public?"

"Yes. Something to warn your enemies that such will be their fate should they dare uncover your secrets. "

"No. That would be counterproductive. But I don't mind if it's messy. In fact, why don't you make it look like a rape?"

Chiun stiffened. "A rape?"

"No, better," Ransome said, licking his pursy mouth. "Like she was gang-banged to death. Can you arrange that?"

"I will consider it," Chiun said distastefully.

"Excellent. By tonight. There's no telling what that woman is up to. I will make the arrangements for your travel. Please wait in the downstairs lobby."

"As you wish," the Master of Sinanju said, bowing formally. He noticed that the gesture went unheeded as Norvell Ransome picked up the telephone and began dialing.

Chiun withdrew. As he rode the elevator down, he looked again at the address on the sheet of paper Ransome had given him. He was not reading the address. He had memorized it at first glance. He was comparing the loops and swoops of the handwriting with the notation on Smith's forehead. They were the same. Chiun placed the scrap of paper in a hidden pocket of his kimono as he stepped into the lobby.

The guards looked at him warily, and he ignored them, for he was deep in thought.