Warren Murphy: Rain of Terror

"Through the weapons-shipping hatch," Remo said sourly. "I told Chiun he wouldn't go down the conning tower, but it didn't discourage him. The sub captain tried to bluff Chiun too, but Chiun's been on too many subs in the past. He knew about the big hatch. He made them open it and Chiun prodded Rambo inside."

"Hmmm," said Smith absently. He pulled out an aerosol can, on which the words "FREE SAMPLE" were marked in red. Remo had never heard of aerosol aspirin, and he wondered if Smith was going to fool him and shave instead. But Smith's jaw looked as if it had seen a straight razor in the last hour.

Remo watched with growing puzzlement. Smith's odd New England habits fascinated Remo in a peculiar way. For many years Remo had resented the cold Smith. It was Smith who had set Remo up, so that his faked execution wiped away all traces of Remo's existence. It wasn't done out of malice, but because Smith had been charged with running a supersecret government agency called CURE. It was set up to deal with national-security problems in an off-the-books manner. Officially, it didn't exist. So its single agent, the former Remo Williams, could not exist either. Twenty years and countless operations later, the bitter edge of their working relationship had softened. And so Remo watched with faint amusement as Smith upended the tiny aerosol can and squirted a white, foamy substance into the paper cup. It was not shaving cream. It lacked the pungent medicinal smell--although there was a faint lime scent.

"Free sample, huh?" Remo said to fill the lull in the conversation.

Smith nodded and brought the cup to his lips. His skinny Adam's apple didn't bob as it usually did when Smith drank something. He tilted his white-haired head back further. Smith looked very uncomfortable. Maybe it was whipped cream, Remo thought.

"Can I get you a cupcake or something?" Remo offered. Smith's head came back down and the cup dropped from his face. His expression was especially sour, and annoyed. There was a dab of the white stuff on the tip of his nose.

"I must be doing something wrong," Smith muttered. He turned the can around in his hand as if looking for directions.

"Try squirting it directly into your mouth," Remo suggested in a pleasant voice.

Smith considered Remo's suggestion with a serious expression. Remo hadn't been serious. He leaned forward, anticipating Smith's next move.

But instead of squirting the stuff into his mouth, Smith dipped a finger into the cup and brought the foam-laden digit to his lips. He licked the finger clean, and went back for more.

"This is very inconvenient," Smith said to himself.

"Use your tongue," Remo prompted.

Much to Remo's surprise, Smith did. He scoured the bottom of the cup, getting more foam on his nose. Some of it collected at the corners of his mouth too. Remo decided not to bring it to his attention.

Finishing up, Smith capped the can and returned it to his desk. He looked at the cup as if considering its reuse. Reluctantly he threw it into a green wastebasket that Remo happened to know was purchased used from a grammar school that had been forced to close down. Smith had sat through a three-hour auction to get it, thereby saving forty-seven cents.

Smith looked up, his face businesslike except for the dabs of white substance.

"When did you become a whipped-cream fiend?" Rema asked with a straight face.

"Never," Smith said humorlessly. "That was an antacid product."

"Aerosol?"

"It's new. Supposed to be easier to take, but I didn't think so."

"I'll bet you go back for more anyway."

"Can we get back to the matter at hand?"

"Talk to Chiun. It's his elephant."

"I will need your assistance, Remo. I sometimes think the Master of Sinanju does not understand my concerns. He seems to listen, and gives positive answers, but then he forgets our conversations ten minutes later."

"Chiun understands more than you think. If he doesn't understand something, it's because he doesn't want to. He loves that elephant. I know. He's got me trained to see to its every need. You tell him he has to get rid of it and I guarantee you he will not understand a word you say."

"I have to try. Every day that elephant remains at Folcroft places us at risk."

"So talk to Chiun. I'm not stopping you."

"I would like you to back me up. Help me get through to him."

Remo sighed. "Normally, I'd say no way. But I'm facing a lifetime of stable cleaning if Rambo doesn't go. I guess it can't hurt to try. Chiun can't get any madder at me than he already is."

"Good," said Smith, buzzing his secretary.

"But I'm telling you right now, it won't work."

The Master of Sinanju arrived moments later. He ignored Remo and bowed politely before Smith.

"A thousand greetings of the morning, O Emperor Smith," he said roundly. "Your servant informed me that my presence was required, and my sandaled feet flew with wide-eyed anticipation to your sanctum sanetorum."

"Er, thank you, Master Chiun," Smith said uncomfortably.

Chiun beamed at his emperor.

Smith cleared his throat. He cleared it a second time. Chiun cocked his head to one side inquisitively.

"I ... I crave a ... a boon," Smith said at last. He fidgeted with a pencil.

"A boon?" asked Chiun, who had never before heard Smith use such kingly words. It was good at last to see Smith embrace his true state in life. Although Chiun knew that Smith did not exactly rule America, he understood that Smith wielded power second only to the President. And for centuries Chiun's ancestors had worked for royalty of all nations. Therefore Smith was royalty of a sort.

"What boon?" Chiun asked in a delighted voice. "Merely state it and I will consider it my duty."

Smith hesitated. He looked at Remo helplessly.

On the couch, Remo tensed. "Here it comes," he said, bracing himself for the explosion.

"I wish . . . that is, I request ... I mean, for security reasons your pet elephant presents serious problems." Chiun clapped his hands suddenly. The sound was so loud Smith jumped in his cracked leather chair. Even Remo was taken by surprise. He wisely started to inch toward the door.

"Say no more," proclaimed the Master of Sinanju in a loud voice. Loud, but not angry. Remo hesitated with his hand on the doorknob.

"But I-" Smith began.

Chiun lifted a quelling hand imperiously.

"I had not planned for this so soon," said Chiun, "but so be it. Be so good, Emperor, as to gaze out yon window." Uncertainly Smith swiveled his seat around. He stared out the big picture window overlooking Long Island Sound. There, by the docks, Rambo grazed contentedly. "Your elephant?" Smith said hesitantly.

"No, O Emperor," Chiun corrected. "Not my elephant."

"It's not mine," Remo said quickly.

"Of course not," Chiun said. "It is the Emperor Smith's elephant. His royal elephant, to do with as he pleases."

"As I please?" Smith asked unsteadily.

"Yes, did you think I have had Remo training him all these weeks for my own pleasure? No. As a Master of Sinanju, I must be ready at a moment's notice to travel to any corner of the globe to do your bidding. As much as I love pets, I cannot be so encumbered. I knew this when I rescued the poor beast from the cruel Vietnamese. I knew that you were a lover of pets, and would therefore delight in owning him. Consider it a token of my esteem for long years of fruitful employment."

"Smith?" Remo said incredulously. "A lover of pets?" Behind his own back, Chiun made quieting gestures at Remo.

"I ... I had a pet turtle once," Smith muttered. "That was a long time ago. It died."

"The loss still marks your kingly visage," Chiun announced. "But now you have many years of joyous pleasure to catch up on and I will not take up any more of our valuable time."