Warren Murphy: The Final Crusade

"There are more things in life than gold," said the Master of Sinanju.

"I know that, but I didn't know that you knew that. While we're in traffic, regale me with a few choice examples."

"There are coffee breaks. When has Smith ever given us a morning coffee break? Even lowly cabdrivers get those."

The driver peered into the rearview mirror sourly.

"We don't drink coffee, Little Father. Caffeine is like rat poison to our digestive systems."

"It is not the coffee. It is the break. We could have a rice break."

"I'd like a break from eating rice."

"And what about a pension plan? And health insurance?"

"We're assassins. If we live to see our old age, it will be a miracle."

"You perhaps, but I expect to see my old age. Someday. Years from now."

"Uh-huh," Remo said. "I think you're just cruising for a grudge. You can't blame Smith for finding you tough to take sometimes."

"Why? Why? Tell me what I ever did to annoy him."

"For one thing, you carp a lot."

"Carp? Carp? Me? Carp? I never carp. Or complain. Although I have a good reason, what with a white for a pupil and another white for an emperor. And Smith is not even a proper emperor. When was the last time he wore a crown upon his head?"

"Got me. I can't remember the first time."

"I must write these things down. They will all go into my next contract negotiation. In the future I will require that Smith wear a crown when he deals with me. It is what my ancestors were accustomed to. It is what I am entitled to."

"And that's another thing. Your escalating demands. Another five years of contracts, and America will be bankrupt."

Chiun raised a finger. "But safe. And safety has no price. Let the American people work harder. Let them pay more taxes. Do you know that if fewer Americans cheated on their taxes, Smith could afford to pay us more?"

"We should stop in at the IRS when this is over," Remo sighed, folding his arms. "I'm sure they'd be captivated by your collection ideas."

"They are not for sale," Chiun sniffed.

"They pay a finder's fee, you know. Based on percentage."

"When you pay the driver, ask him for the IRA's address."

"That's IRS. The IRA is a different terrorist group. But you could probably find work with them too, if you're so unhappy with Smith."

The driver turned back to face them. They were on the Virginia side of the Arlington Memorial Bridge, which spanned the Potomac River. "This is as far as I can take you two," he said. "Looks like they have the bridge shut down. Must be an accident or something."

"I heard the Lincoln Memorial is under siege," Remo said.

"No shit. Those Democrats sure took the last election hard," the cabby remarked.

"Guess so," Remo said, paying the man off. Chiun followed him through the lines of stalled cars, which honked and grumbled up to the banks of the Potomac.

"This is going to be a tough one," Remo said as the brilliantly lighted Lincoln Memorial came into view. The night was alive with the red and blue lights of official vehicles. There were National Guard troops deployed even on this side of the Potomac.

"Not with me to help you avoid mistakes."

"Smith told me we don't have any innocent lives at stake. So our objective will be to take out the terrorists before they blow up the building."

"I understand."

Remo whirled. "You do?"

"Yes, of course. That fine building is obviously a temple of worship. Is it one of your churches, Remo?"

"No, but it's important. We can't let it go up in smoke. "

"I suggest the Flying Dragon attack," Chiun said, surveying the building.

Remo shook his head. "Too wild. We gotta pinpoint the man with the explosive detonator. Once we take him out, the rest will be just mopping up."

"I do no mopping, up or down," snapped Chiun. "I am no menial. I will consider mopping up when I receive a proper rice break."

"Look, this is very serious. And mopping up is just an expression."

"So is respect. And I see none of it from either Smith or you."

"Simmer down," Remo said, slipping around the ring of National Guardsmen. "The reason Smith didn't brief you on the mission was that he wasn't sure you'd understand about the detonator. It's very tricky stuff."

"What is so tricky about something that goes boom?"

"Not being on the premises when it does go boom," Remo said dryly. "Ask any bomb-disposal expert."

"I will leave boom disposal to you. I will handle the garbage disposal, heh, heh. "

"I think our best bet would be to sneak up on the building," Remo said as he studied the Lincoln Memorial, just across the river. It was as still as a photograph. "The National Guard has a clear view of the whole grounds. The terrorists have the same advantage. We should swim for it, then sneak up on the building."

"Ah, the Sea Dragon attack. A sound approach," said Chiun, girding his waist as he headed for the sparkling waters of the Potomac. "Then we will descend upon these villains, faster than a serpent's fangs, and steal the very breath from their mouths."

"Not so fast," Remo said, touching Chiun on the shoulder. "It's more complicated than that."

Chiun turned and looked up at Remo curiously. "How so?"

"I thought you heard what Smith said. About the detonator."

"I only listened to the meaningful portions. The painful words. The low, base lack of appreciation. Besides, we are faster than any finger on any button."

"It's not striking before they push the button this time out, Little Father. We've got to hit them so they don't let go of the button. One of those guys is holding a device. I'm not sure what it looks like. But the instant he lets go, ka-boom!"

Chiun considered. "I liked the old buttons better."

"That's progress. Got any ideas on how to handle this? An appropriate legend about the days of the pharaohs perhaps?"

Chiun frowned. "Pharaohs did not have explosions."

"Let's hope we don't either," Remo said. "And I take it I'm on my own figuring this one out."

Chiun shrugged. "You are an American. You are used to dealing with the irrational."

Remo looked at Chiun and started to say something. He changed his mind and instead said, "No comment. Just follow me. Maybe when we spot the guy with the detonator, something will come to us."

And Remo, moving low to the ground, slipped into the water like a duck, the Master of Sinanju following him. Their heads vanished under the surface so cleanly that within seconds there was no ripple to betray their penetration.

As the cold current of the Potomac closed over them, Remo and Chiun moved through the water like two purposeful dolphins. They held air in their lungs so that no water bubbles betrayed their passing. They were like human submarines, silent, efficient, undetectable. Their lungs contained just enough air to keep them floating under the surface, but not so little that they touched the silty river bottom. Their feet kicked in small controlled motions, their arms trailed at their sides, hands moving like little rudders.

Emerging on the other side of the river, they lurked in the shrubbery while they scanned the situation. The Lincoln Memorial shone in the glow of its ground spotlights. The long Reflecting Pool it faced was tranquil. The air was cool, but Remo sensed the tension that gripped the night.

"I see no persons," Chiun whispered.

Remo shifted to another vantage point, confident that even the National Guard could not see him. He spotted a figure in khaki. His head was swathed in a black kafflyeh.

"See the one pacing behind the columns?" Remo whispered.

The Master of Sinanju nodded. "He carries a boom stick, but no other weapon."

"He's yours if we have to move quickly."

"He is already history," said Chiun, repeating a phrase he had picked up from American TV.