Warren Murphy: The Final Crusade

"Great. Who's supposed to be mad at whom now?" Remo said aloud.

He walked up to Chiun, making sure every step was audible.

"Remember me?" Remo asked politely. "Your adopted scapegoat?"

"And you smell like one," said Chiun petulantly. "What have you been doing-playing in the mud?"

"Grease," said Remo, showing his black-streaked hands. "I guess I need a change of clothes."

"You will not have time. Already, because of you, I have been forced to wait here for many hours. All through the long night and day. And now, as I watched the sun set for a second time, you finally return, noisy and smelly and late."

"Hey, who stuck who with a twenty-hour round-trip flight to Honolulu?"

"At least you had something to do, you ... you mechanic," Chiun sputtered.

"All right, all right," Remo said, raising his hands in angry resignation. "Just answer me this. Where are we?"

"Dullsville."

"I thought we agreed to move on to more fruitful areas of discussion."

"I have told you. We are at Dullsville Airport. It is near one of your Washingtons."

"Dullsville ... Washington," Remo mused. He snapped his fingers. "Right. Washington, D.C. This must be Dulles Airport."

"Dulles, Dullsville-all American places sound alike to these aged ears. As for what we are doing here, Emperor Smith refused to tell me. He said it was for your hearing only, and I am insulted."

"Why?" asked Remo, hurrying into the terminal. Chiun flew at his heels, skirts blowing with the fury of his pace.

"Because I am still senior Master."

"Smith probably figures he'll save time by explaining it to me and having me explain it to you later. He's always complaining that you're hard to deal with."

"I?" squeaked Chiun, stopping in the middle of the crowd. "I, hard to deal with? Emperor Smith said that? Of me? Poor Chiun? Aged Chiun? Chiun, who is in the end days of his life? Hard to deal with?"

"Excuse me, sir," a skycap who was loaded down with two suitcases under each arm interrupted politely. "You're blocking the way."

Chiun whirled on him with the blunt fury of a tornado. "You would not have to take up so much room if you did not carry so many suitcases," the Master of Sinanju said scornfully. "Have you never heard of packing light?"

"But these aren't mine," the skycap protested.

"Here, since you insist upon intruding on the serene placidity of my existence, I will relieve you of your burdensome baggage."

And, moving with controlled rage, the Master of Sinanju slashed the handles of the suitcases so that they fell from the skycap's clenching fingers. The luggage, seeming to weigh no more than down pillows, floated to the tips of Chiun's long-nailed fingers and, spinning briefly like gyroscopes, suddenly careened toward an escalator. They landed in a pile. The heaviest pieces, flying open, spilled a profusion of brightly colored garments.

A matronly woman who had been walking behind the skycap screamed in horror.

"My luggage!" she wailed.

All eyes turned to them as the skycap pointed an accusing finger at Chiun.

Remo moved in swiftly, and taking Chiun by the elbow, guided him to an empty phone booth.

"Serene placidity?" Remo asked pointedly as he slid a quarter into the slot.

"That man was rude," Chiun fumed. "I am amazed that he stayed married to that woman for so long."

"I don't think they were married, Little Father. And what was that crap you were giving him about too much luggage-you who won't go on a pleasure-boat ride without taking along fourteen steamer trunks?"

"Which are forever being misplaced by incompetents or having to be shipped separately. And do you know why?"

"Let me guess," Remo said as he dialed the special code. "Because guys like him hog the room that rightfully belongs to your luggage."

"That is correct, Remo," Chiun said in a mollified voice. "I am glad you understand."

"No, I don't understand," Remo returned as he listened to the dial-a joke. When the punch line was about to come in, he inserted his own. "I don't know who he was, but his driver was Gorbachev," Remo recited wearily. He hated Smith's security rigmarole. Then, while a series of phone relays clicked, he returned to Chiun. "He's entitled to his four pieces just as much as you are to your fourteen."

"Philistine," spat Chiun, turning his back.

"Hello, Smitty," Remo said when the parched voice of his superior, Dr. Harold W. Smith, came over the line. "I'm at Dulles. I guess you know that, because you rerouted my flight. What's up?"

"Remo, I don't have much time," Smith said. "I'm on my way to Washington myself."

"Want us to wait for you?"

"No, you and Chiun have a critical task before you. A terrorist group has taken control of the Lincoln Memorial. They have explosives. Fortunately, there are no innocent people involved. The National Guard has the monument surrounded, but one of the terrorists claims he's holding a pressure-sensitive trigger device. If he lets go of it, either voluntarily or in death, the memorial will go up."

"Terrorists? I just dealt with a terrorist hijacking. So did Chiun. "

"It's like a plague. The police killed one Middle Easterner while he was attempting to wire Mount Rushmore with explosive charges. Another group simply opened fire in a crowd watching an air show in Dayton, Ohio. It was a slaughter. One perpetrator was captured alive. He's been sent to FBI national headquarters in Washington for interrogation. That's where I'm going. Every few hours, another incident is uncovered. It's as if the terrorist world has declared all-out war on the U.S."

"What else is new?"

"Believe it or not, Remo, as vicious as these people can be, they are very canny and politically astute. Until now they have carefully targeted U.S. interests abroad, but this time there seem to be no restrictions. We have no idea what has triggered this, but it's big. Huge. That's why I'm on my way to Washington. I'm going to personally interrogate this man. The sooner we have answers, the quicker we can move effectively against the instigators. Right now, we're reduced to putting out brushfires."

"Why not let Chiun and me handle the interrogation? We can squeeze the truth out of him faster than you can call your travel agent."

"No good. The Lincoln Memorial is a national symbol. If it goes, even without loss of life, it would be a blow to our national prestige worse than Pearl Harbor. It would show the world that we cannot even protect our nation's capital."

"I guess I follow, but Chiun could have handled this. "

"I could not take that chance. I wasn't certain he would understand the technical problem of the detonator."

"I heard that," said Chiun loudly.

"What was that?" Smith asked.

"He's pissed. I let slip that you sometimes find him difficult."

Smith sighed. "His feelings will have to take a back seat to this situation."

"I heard that too," Chiun shouted.

"Never mind," Remo put in. "We're off to the Lincoln Memorial."

"Don't let it be destroyed, Remo," Smith warned.

"Not me. Count on it."

Remo hung up and turned to the Master of Sinanju, who fumed, his foot tapping impatiently.

"After all these years," said Chiun. "After all these years of faithful service, now I know how that man truly feels about me."

"Can it, Chiun. Smith has a lot on his mind. Let's grab a cab."

"And who is he to order us around like chess pieces? Without proper rest or nourishment. For too long we have done his bidding. And for what? What?" demanded the Master of Sinanju as he followed Remo out of the terminal and to a taxi stand.

"For gold," Remo said, flagging a cab. He opened the door for Chiun and slid in after him. The cab got going.

"Yes," said Chiun. "For mere gold."

"Gold? Mere? I never thought I'd hear you say those two words together."