Warren Murphy - The Last Alchemist

"I would want you to do nothing," said Consuelo.

"May I ask why?"

"If I told you, that would be telling you definitely I have seen them."

"You have already told me that," said Braun. He sat with relaxed grace in a chair before her desk. Consuelo had furnished her office without any frilly decorations. All the chairs and desks were cold and drab. The beautiful Francisco looked out of place.

Consuelo in her dark power suit, as she liked to call it, had dressed herself as she had furnished the office: starkly.

"I haven't told you anything," she said.

Braun noticed that she smiled too much. Buttoned a button that was already buttoned several times. Crossed her legs too much. Moistened her lips and then forced herself to be professional by drying them. He saw her struggling with herself.

He rose from his chair and walked to her. He put a hand on her shoulder.

"Don't do that," she said. She did not remove his hand.

He lowered his cheek to hers. She could feel the smoothness of his flesh next to hers. She could sense his body, smell the fragrance of his breath.

His whisper tickled her ear.

"I am only here to help you," he said. She swallowed.

"I am a security officer. I will not be treated any differently from a man." She said this with firmness in her voice, but she did not move away from his hands. One of them played with the top button of her suit.

"I make love to men also," said Francisco.

"Oh," she said.

"And women," he said.

"Oh," she said.

"You are very beautiful," he said.

"I was thinking that about you," she said.

"I will do nothing you do not tell me to do."

"Then you will not harm them?"

"I will not seek to have them arrested in any way. All I want is to know where they are. They are with you, aren't they?"

"Yes. I am using them to protect me."

"Fine. Where are they now?"

"Nearby."

Consuelo felt the smooth cheek leave her, the beautiful hands leave the folds of her suit. Francisco Braun straightened up.

"Where?" he asked sharply.

"Nearby. We're all going to La Jolla, California."

"Why there? You must protect your plant here in Pennsylvania."

Shaken from her trance by Francisco's sudden withdrawal, Consuelo refused to divulge what she had found out.

"You only asked to be informed where they were."

"There is no law against you telling me more," said Francisco. He glanced behind him. He had to make sure they were not in the room. "Remember-I can guarantee you your promotion if you cooperate. Ask your superior. Ask the head of the agency."

She did. She waited until he had shut the door behind him and then recovered her senses. Immediately she ran a check on him and was glad she did. The head of the NCA not only verified what Francisco had told her but also ordered her to render him any assistance he asked for. He also told her he was happy with her work.

"I'm glad, because when you lose as much uranium as this plant has, sometimes people tend to blame the security officer."

"We know how good you are, Ms. Bonner. We are not an agency that throws blame around."

"I hope you do throw credit, because I think I am onto something very hot. I think I am going to break this case."

"How?"

"You'll see when I do it."

Consuelo, Remo, and Chiun arrived in La Jolla the next morning. Consuelo thought she had never seen such beautiful houses so tastefully set against such perfect scenery. Remo said La Jolla had the best weather in America. It was always spring in this beautiful little city by the Pacific. Chiun noted that there were too many whites.

"It would be nicer if there were more Koreans," said Chiun.

"If there were more Koreans it would look like a fishing village," said Remo.

"What is wrong with fishing villages?" said Chiun.

"I've seen Sinanju. Though it is by the water, it is definitely not as nice as La Jolla."

"I'll do the questioning," said Consuelo. "This is the first break in the case."

"It's all yours," Remo said. He wondered what it would be like to live around here. He wondered what it would be like to own a home and live in one place with a family he belonged to. He wondered what it would be like to have his own car, to park in his own garage, and go to sleep in the same bed every night.

One person who did not have to worry about living in La Jolla was James Brewster, recently retired from the McKeesport nuclear facility.

He had worked all his life as a dispatcher for one power facility or another, retiring early from McKeesport with a pension of twelve thousand dollars a year.

With that pension he had just purchased a $750,000 condominium in La Jolla, California, a retirement home. The mortgage company had contacted the McKeesport facility to get a reference for a rather large mortgage. They were willing to give it to someone who had only twelve thousand dollars provable income, because he was putting down a half million dollars.

James Brewster was the dispatcher who ordered the last missing uranium shipment down Kennedy Boulevard in Bayonne. James Brewster was also Consuelo Bonner's lead to breaking the case. Obviously the thieves had reached this man. And she was going to reach him too.

"He's mine," said Consuelo as they entered what appeared to be the back of an exquisite town house. They could hear the Pacific on the other side. "I want this to be legal and official. No rough stuff. Do you hear me?"

"What does she mean by rough stuff?" said Chiun, who was never rough.

"She means that we can't help with the questioning. We have laws in this country about how you question people. She wants to get admissible evidence," said Remo.

There were three apartments in the town house condominium. Brewster's name appeared above one button on the brass entrance plaque. Chiun looked around. It was a modest dwelling which of course lacked the true Korean warmth.

Chiun considered Remo's incomprehensible explanation. "What is admissible evidence?" he asked, afraid he was getting into that strange unfathomable tangle of doctrine that made Americans act crazy.

"Well, you can't get evidence by violating the law. The judge won't allow it."

"Even if what you're trying to prove is true?" asked Chiun.

"It doesn't matter if the evidence is true or not or whether the person is guilty or not. If you don't follow the rules, the judge won't allow the evidence to decide the case."

"Truth does not matter, then?" asked Chiun.

"Well, yeah, it does. It does. But the people have to be protected from the police too. Otherwise you have a police state, a dictatorship, a tyranny," said Remo, who could have told Chiun this twisted justice was the whole reason for the organization's being, but Chiun would never have understood that one. He simply refused to.

"There have been some wonderful tyrants, Remo. Never speak against tyrants. Tyrants pay well. In the history of Sinanju, we have been honored by many tyrants."

"Tyrants have a bad name in this civilization," said Remo.

"Which is why we do not belong here. What are you doing running after this metal that has been stolen, like some slave guarding a storehouse? In a tyranny an assassin is respected."

"Shhh," said Consuelo. She rang the buzzer.

"No rough stuff," said Chiun, looking around for a sane person to share this absurdity with. Of course, there was none. Just Remo and Consuelo. Chiun was, as ever, alone in his sanity.

"Who is it?" came the voice.

"Hello," said Consuelo. "My name is Consuelo Bonner, and we are from the McKeesport facility."

"Who is the funny-looking guy?"

"His name is Remo," said Chiun.

"I mean the other," said Brewster. Chiun looked around. There was no one else in the lobby. But he knew that before he looked. Chiun examined the perfect fingernails that reflected his inner grace, reexamined his perfect presence, and knew without looking that his face was the true reflection of joy and health and nobility. They were dealing with a person suffering either sight or judgment problems. Possibly both.