Warren Murphy - Line of Succession

At Kennedy Airport they were escorted to a holding area, where they were given preprinted pamphlets describing customs procedures. When the time came for them to pass through the turnstiles, the customs agents asked them for their passports. This was the moment Jalid had feared. They had none.

But the man called Tulip handed the customs official a collection of green customs passes. The customs official glanced at them briefly and then handed them back, careful to give each man his correct passport.

Jalid opened his passport, intensely curious to see the picture the customs guard had used to verify his identity. He had no idea a photo of himself even existed.

Jalid saw instantly that one did not. The photo in the picture was of a woman.

"Look," whispered Sayid in his ear, showing his passport photo. It was of an old man at least forty years older than Sayid, who was nineteen. The other passports were also clearly the property of other people. The man called Tulip had made no attempt to doctor them at all.

When the customs officials went through their luggage, the others relaxed. Not Jalid. Although Tulip had specifically forbidden them to carry in weapons, Jalid could not resist placing a dagger in the lining of his suitcase. The customs guards saw the evidence of tampering and stripped the lining. The knife gleamed under the cold airport lights. "What is this?" the airport guard asked harshly.

The man called Tulip stepped in, smiling. "Allow me," he said. And with a movement so quick that the human eye could not register it, he was holding the long dagger, bending the blade double.

"It's only a toy," Tulip said. "Rubber painted silver. These men are touring magicians. They could not resist a little practical joke. Please forgive them. "

The customs guard did not see the humor, but he replaced the dagger and returned their luggage without further comment.

Jalid took his suitcase and carried it with a blank, uncomprehending expression on his face.

"That dagger was of fine steel," he said thinly.

"It still is, fool. The guard saw what I wished. All of you did."

"How did you do that?" Jalid wanted to know.

"With my mind."

"With your mind you conquered my best men back in Beirut?"

"With my mind I can conquer the world, just as I have conquered you," explained Tulip.

At the Parkside-Regent Hotel overlooking Central Park, the man called Tulip brought out stacks of weapons. Fine handguns, modern Uzis and Kalashnikov assault rifles, other close-in fighting weapons, and boxes of ammunition. Jalid and his men fell upon them eagerly. With weapons in their hands, they felt like men again.

"I am going to leave you after today," said Tulip, uncrating a case of hand grenades with one hand. "There is spending money in the ammunition boxes. The rental on this room is paid up for the next three months. From this moment on, there will be no communication between us until your mission is completed."

"What is our mission?" asked Jalid, spilling bullets and money onto the sofa.

"You are to assassinate the U.S. Vice-President and the Democratic nominee for the American presidency; whose name is Governor Michael Princippi."

Jalid's men exchanged wide-eyed glances. "The President too?" Jalid asked.

"I don't care. Kill whoever else you want-after you have carried out my orders. Here are photos and the current itinerary of the two targets. You can follow any schedule changes through newspapers and by watching television."

"What about our money?"

The man called Tulip set a leather briefcase on the coffee table and unlocked it for all to see. In neat packages were stacks of American money. Each stack had a thousand-dollar bill on the top. Jalid picked up a stack at random and riffled through it. It was a stack of thousand-dollar bills. So were the rest. Jalid checked every single one of them, showing the bills to each of his men as he did so.

"I will place this briefcase in the hotel safe," promised the man called Tulip. "When your mission is completed, I will return, give you the briefcase, and help you escape America for your homeland, such as it is."

"How do we know you will do this?"

"You may accompany me to the hotel's security safe. I will instruct the hotel manager not to release this briefcase to any of us unless at least two of us are present, myself and you-or one of your men if you do not survive."

"I will survive. I have spent my entire life surviving."

"I know how that is," said Tulip in a flat voice.

"But how do we know you will not abandon us, briefcase and everything?"

"You have met me. You know my face. You can describe it to the American authorities and with my description possibly plea-bargain your way out of any legal difficulty you encounter."

That made sense to Jalid and his comrades.

"Done," Jalid said, satisfied. He felt suddenly confident. How hard could it be to kill two political leaders in a soft country like America, where successful assassinations were often carried out by fools and idiots? He was a trained soldier. The money was as good as spent, Jalid thought as he followed the handsome man with the long blond hair down to see the hotel manager.

On the way, they passed a mother towing a little boy down the hallway. Jalid noticed the boy suddenly cower. He thought the boy was frightened by him, but the boy's wide eyes were fixed on Tulip's impassive face.

"Did you torment that boy with your mind?" he asked.

"No," said Tulip. "Children are sensitive. That boy simply recognized death when it walked by him."

Chapter 6

The Master of Sinanju paused at the door to Remo's room and listened intently. The sound of breathing came shallow and regular through the wood. Good, his pupil was asleep. It was the perfect opportunity to have that important talk Emperor Smith had been avoiding.

Dressed in his ceremonial robe, Chiun took the steps, because he did not like or trust elevators, and knocked sharply at Harold Smith's office door.

It was night, and Smith was still in his office. "Come in," he said hoarsely.

Stepping in, the Master of Sinanju saw a Harold Smith who was more haggard of face than he had been in a long time.

"Hail, Emperor Smith. It is fortunate that you are still holding forth at Fortress Folcroft, the true seat of your power, for the Master of Sinanju has an important matter to discuss with you."

Smith waved an irritable hand. "I'm sorry, Master Chiun, but I'm afraid it is beyond even my abilities to reinstate your American Express card."

"A mere trifle," said Chiun. "I have come to renegotiate the contract between your house and mine."

"I'm afraid that may be premature in this instance."

"Premature?" asked Chiun. "Our current contract has mere days left before it expires. Do you not wish a smooth transition from our current terms to the new ones?"

"Actually, I should have said moot, not premature."

"Excellent." Chiun beamed happily. "Let us make it a point that all our future negotiations are moot. They will be more fruitful that way."

"You don't understand," Smith said wearily. "By this time next month there may not be an operation. The American Vice-President has apparently discovered the truth about CURE and is hinting that he will close it down."

"Whisper the command and I will deal with him as the traitor he obviously is," Chiun said resolutely.

"No, no," said Smith hastily. "It is the President's option to terminate CURE when he assumes office. I go through this every time the administration changes. The President tells his successor about the operation and the new President makes the decision whether or not to retain our services."

"Ah, then I will fly to the President of Vice's quarters and assist him in his decision-making. I guarantee that he will make whatever decision you desire, O wise one." Chiun bowed.