Warren Murphy: Death Sentence

"What was supposed to happen to me if Smith didn't recover?"

"My dear man, you must understand me when I tell you that the answer to that question is classified. Who knows, but Dr. Smith or I may have to implement it at some future point." And Norvell Ransome broke out into bubbling laughter. It shook his bulky toadlike form, but left the Master of Sinanju and Remo unmoved. Ransome subsided.

"Truthfully, that would be up to the President," Ransome said in a subdued voice. "Remo's memory is easily restored in the event Smith's possible demise does not effectively shut us down."

"Well, now that we're all here," Remo said suspiciously, "what now?"

"Now," Ransome said; glancing at his wristwatch, "it is growing late." He pushed himself up from his desk. "I anticipated Master Chiun's return, but not yours, Remo. A room has been prepared for you, and let me suggest you take advantage of it. For the night is no longer young."

"I'm not sure I trust this guy," Remo said, causing a hurt expression to settle over Ransome's corpulent face.

"Remo," Chiun hissed. "Shame on you. You have heard this man's reasonable explanation." Ransome's face brightened. "Let us take advantage of his generous hospitality. Tomorrow will be time enough to discuss the pressing matter of our future. And CURE's."

"Excellent. Let me escort you to your room personally. Would you object to taking the elevator down? It's on the first floor."

Without waiting for an answer, Norvell Ransome led the way. The flooring shook with his thunderous tread.

"I've seen fat before," Remo whispered to Chiun, "but this bag of lard is an elephant. And his explanation may seen reasonable to you, but it sounds fishy to me. Take it from a guy who knows all there is to know about cons and con jobs."

Chiun said nothing as they rode the elevator to the first floor.

"Whew!" Remo said as they stepped out. "Good thing we had the elevator. Walking down an entire flight of steps is more than I'm up to tonight."

His sarcasm was ignored by Chiun and Ransome. Ransome led them to a room in the patient wing. It was large, but sparsely furnished. Chiun recognized it as quarters he had occupied in times when he lived at Folcroft.

"There are sleeping mats and a television, as you can see," Ransome was saying. "I will have dinner sent down if you wish. Would you like a menu?"

"Just rice for me," Remo said, bringing a delighted smile to Chiun's parchment visage.

"And rice for me as well," Chiun added.

"Excellent," Norvell Ransome said, "it will be served presently. Now, if you will excuse me, I must bid you both a pleasant good night."

After Ransome had gone, Remo looked at the solitary sleeping mats and, thinking of Naomi's futon, asked, "Doesn't anyone sleep on beds anymore?" Chiun's answer was lost in hissing white clouds spurting from the wallboards on every side.

It looked like steam but it bit the skin like dry ice. The Master of Sinanju reacted instantly. But instantly was too late, for his limbs were quick-frozen at once, like a TV dinner. He fell, one elbow and a bent knee preventing his rigid body from touching the floor.

Remo fell straight back, his hands on his hips. He hit like a board, still and unyielding. His face was as white as a snowman's. He's still-open eyes stared blindly, the pupils frozen with a dusting of opaque ice.

And out in the corridor, Norvell Ransome turned the hand wheel marked "Liquid Nitrogen" and closed the wall panel concealing it.

He took the elevator back to his office, suddenly regretting that he had not thought to ask either of them what the acronym CURE had stood for. Well, the night was young. Perhaps the computers would finally give up that most stubborn secret.

After all, CURE had surrendered everything else of value. Including its most potent human weapons. The too-brief sensation of weightlessness ceased and brought Norvell Ransome's bulk back down to earth. He stepped past the sliding elevator doors and into the dim corridor, where he spied a peripheral flicker of movement and felt a slight breath of disturbed air.

A fire door was closing, and beyond it came the soft pad of feet on stairs. Norvell Ransome went to the door and opened it. He peered down. The stairwell was empty.

"Security guard, no doubt," he told himself. Then he waddled back to the office, intending to call the captain of the guards about the annoying irregularity.

He had ordered rigorously timed tours of the building and grounds.

Norvell Ransome eased himself into the cracked leather chair and reached for the blue telephone. He stopped, his hand frozen over the receiver. It quivered as his eyes drank in the sight of the CURE terminal screen, up from its well like a blank-faced robot.

"What the devil," he said under his breath. He was certain he had returned it to its well before leaving. It was standard CURE security procedure, which he adhered to religiously.

Ransome blinked. In the exact middle of the screen, a short string of glowing green letters floated. Ransome leaned closer. When he read the words, every muscle in his face went slack. His jaw dropped, giving him two extra chins. He swore aloud, but all that came out was a froggy croak.

For the words on the screen constituted a simple message: I AM BACK.

Chapter 24

Dr. Alan Dooley crept down the third-floor corridor to Folcroft's hospital wing. He slipped into Dr. Smith's room, his eyes haunted.

Smith lay under the oxygen tent. He was the color of fish skin, Dr. Dooley saw. His lips and fingernails were gray. Not blue. They had been a faint blue just minutes ago. Smith was improving. Dooley couldn't understand how.

He stepped up to the plastic tenting and rustled it. Smith's eyes fluttered open. "It's me, Dooley," Dooley told him. "I did exactly as you asked. It was easy, once I located the status key."

"What did computer say?" Smith's words were a croak.

"The words were PALLIATIVE. RESTORE. FREEZE-DRY"

"PALLIATIVE," Smith muttered dryly. "That means he's sanctioned. And you say he ordered you to ignore my medical needs?"

"Not in so many words," Dooley admitted. "But it was clear that he preferred that you never recover. He forbade any significant medical intervention, such as an operation. When I insisted, he sent me away. But my conscience bothered me. I relieved the other doctor."

"You are not part of the Folcroft staff," Smith said.

"I was on staff of New York City Hospital. Ransome contacted me. Insisted I resign and come to work here. He ... he knew some things about me. I don't know how it's possible, but he did."

"The computer told him," Smith said.

"What kind of computer would know-"

"-that you are a suspected child molester?" Dr. Dooley started. "The less you know," Smith added, "the better off you will be. Now let me think. RESTORE means that Remo is out of the picture. FREEZE-DRY can only mean he's used the liquid-nitrogen room. He's very smart. He must have neutralized Chiun." Smith's voice lifted. "Dooley. Listen carefully. Go to the first floor, the dormitory wing. You will find a wall panel outside Room Fifty-five. Open it and depress the red button. Wait one hour and Room Fifty-five will open automatically. Assist the individual you will find inside. Inform him that you are acting on my behalf. Then bring him to me. Is that understood?"

"Yes. I think."

"Now, go. Ransome will be puzzled by the message you left on the terminal. This will be the first place he will look."

Dr. Dooley withdrew from the room. He started for the elevator, but the indicator light winked on. Someone was about to step off the lift. Dooley ducked back and slipped through a fire exit leading to the stairwell.

Norvell Ransome stepped off the elevator. It was most distressing, he ruminated. The CURE computer had been accessed. Remo and Chiun were out of the picture. That left only Smith.