Warren Murphy: Death Sentence

"All of it," Remo said bitterly. "Mostly how you rigged my very own house so you could dispose of me like used facial tissue."

"When you joined the organization, you understood that we were all expendable."

"Except me, of course," Chiun put in smugly.

"You're siding with Smith on this?" Remo accused. "I don't believe it. After all we've been through together."

"I serve Smith, as do you," Chiun rejoined. "Smith serves his president. What more is there to be said?"

"Thank you. Now I know where I stand. And what I said earlier still goes. I quit."

"Remo, let me explain," Smith said quickly. "First, what you went through was a contingency operation. Designed simply to get you out of circulation in the event of my being incapacitated. Upon my recovery, you would have been salvaged."

"I love your choice of words," Remo growled, folding his arms.

"It was Ransome's doing that brought you to the brink," Smith went on. "And he has been paid back in his own coin. You did that yourself. That is the end of that. But I have a higher responsibility to America. As you know, in the early days of our association, I had an arrangement with Chiun. Were CURE compromised, and I forced to swallow the poison pill I carry at all times"-Smith extracted a coffin-shaped pill from a pocket of his bathrobe-"it would be his responsibility to end your life quickly and painlessly and then quietly return to Korea. CURE would disappear as if it had never been. No one would ever know that democracy had survived the twentieth century because of our important work."

"Do me a big favor," Remo shot back. "Skip the lecture. My memory's fine now. Too fine."

"If you wish, we can ... ah ... edit out all recollections of your recent death-row experiences. There is no need for you to suffer from them."

"No, I'm keeping them. They'll remind me what a prince of a fellow you are, Smith."

Smith cleared his throat. "I devised this contingency plan after the crisis of a few years ago when the Soviets learned of our existence and blackmailed the last president into turning Chiun over to them."

"I remember it well," Remo said acidly.

"As do I," Smith said without rancor. "It was the first time I had been called upon to order you terminated. An order which Master Chiun refused pointblank."

"I did not feel like killing Remo that day," Chiun said officiously. "Not in front of my villagers. They foolishly believe that Remo will support them after I am dust. They would not understand."

"On that day, I took my poison pill. I would have died had it not been for you," Smith said tonelessly.

"I like your concept of reciprocity," Remo remarked dryly.

"You brought me back from the brink of death, but the problem remained. We solved it, you and I. Not as friends, but as uneasy allies. Do not misunderstand our relationship, Remo. I have orders and obligations to my country which come before everything. I will never shirk them as long as I live. But the events of that affair showed me without doubt that the old contingency plan was no longer valid. You have grown beyond your deep-seated patriotism. You are perhaps more Sinanju now than American. And Master Chiun sees you as the heir to Sinanju. You mean more to him than his loyalty to me."

"I could be persuaded to reconsider that attitude," Chiun said hopefully. "For additional gold." Neither Remo nor Smith looked in Chiun's direction. The Master of Sinanju watched them intently. "CURE cannot operate without safeguards to prevent our existence from becoming public knowledge," Smith went on. "It is not pleasant, but it is necessary. I hope you will see the events of the last week in that light."

"What I said before still goes," Remo snapped. "I quit. C'mon, Chiun." Remo started for the door. A squeaky voice stopped him in his tracks.

"Write if you get work," Chiun called pleasantly. Remo turned, his face hurt. "You aren't coming?"

"Alas," Chiun said in a forlorn voice, "I am under contract to Emperor Smith. But do not let that stop you."

Remo hesitated. "I'm really going," he said.

"It is always sad when a child takes off on his own. But perhaps one day you will return." Chiun turned to Smith. "If Remo changes his mind, Emperor, will you forgive him the heartbreak he is causing us both?"

Smith nodded. "Now, if you'll excuse me," he said, "I must return to my office. My examination of Ransome's message-traffic files indicates that our exposure extends to the governor of Florida. I have a very difficult decision to make."

Smith spun his wheelchair about.

"Maybe we should discuss this first," Remo said slowly.

At the door, Smith stopped and turned his head.

"Would you two please take your discussion elsewhere?" he asked. "The technicians need this room." Smith sent the wheelchair into the swinging door and was gone.

"So," Remo asked Chiun, "where do I stand with you?"

"I will tell Smith whatever he needs to hear, for I accept his gold. But you are the future of my village."

"I'll accept that," Remo said. "For now. You know, he probably has a contingency plan with your name on it too."

Chiun beamed happily. "I am not worried. And rest assured that should any harm befall you due to any action by Smith, he will pay dearly."

"I think Smith understands that."

"You see?" Chiun said, his elfin smile widening.

"And I think he's counting on that," Remo said flatly. "He already took his poison pill once. And he didn't like it. He probably figures you'll be quicker."

Chiun's beaming face quirked. His smile collapsed. "The fiend!" Chiun flared. "Is there no limit to his craftiness? Come, let us discuss this unpleasantness where the walls do not have ears. And I would like to examine our house for more of Smith's infernal devices. The man is truly a sneak. Invading our very home to work his underhanded schemes."

"All right," Remo said. "I could use a good meal. You wouldn't believe the kind of slop they serve in prison. "

"No brown rice?" Chiun asked, aghast. "Only white?"

As they left the room, they passed an attendant wheeling a bundled woman in a wheelchair. Her face was shaded under a wide sunhat.

"Hey!" Remo called as he watched the woman being wheeled into the memory-altering room. "I think that was Naomi. Smith's going to-"

Remo started back. Chiun stopped him.

"It is better than eliminating her," he cautioned. Remo hesitated.

"Guess you're right," he agreed reluctantly. "Besides, she was a twit. Hell of a business we're in, isn't it?"

Chiun shrugged. "It puts duck on the table."

In Starke, Florida, Harold Haines sat in his easy chair, a loaded .38 revolver in his lap. The TV was off. He had not watched it in days. He had not slept in days. His eyes were fixed on the triple-locked door as if on his own tombstone.

"He's coming back," Haines muttered. "I know he is. It's just a matter of time."

He was all alone now. The scuttlebutt was that Warden McSorley had been transferred to Utah. Haines did not believe that. He knew he would be next to disappear. He looked at the weapon in his lap. He picked it up. He wondered if a .38 had enough stopping power to kill a dead man. Did anything have enough stopping power to kill Remo Williams? He shuddered. The answer, of course, was no.

Slowly he placed the oily barrel of the .38 into his mouth. He bit down hard and with his thumb pushed on the trigger.

The report was loud in the tiny motor home. The window in back of Harold Haines' head shattered. Haines looked down the smoking barrel of the weapon he had yanked from his mouth at the last possible moment. It was like staring down a tunnel without another end.

"I ... I can't do it!" he sobbed.

Then Harold Haines remembered something he could do. He laid aside the weapon and got his toolbox out from under the sink.