Warren Murphy - The Last Alchemist

"Let me explain," said Chiun. "We are all part of a being. We only think we are disconnected because our feet are not rooted in the earth. But we are all connected. Some people have obliterated the sense of that connection but Remo and the room from which the man has left are joined in being."

"I prefer 'I dunno,' " said Consuelo.

"You people part of some cult?" asked the policeman.

"Who are these lunatics?" asked Chiun.

"Normal Americans," said Remo.

"That explains it," said Chiun.

James Brewster, of course, was not in the room.

He was at the airport with a sudden good friend. A man who looked Swedish and spoke as though he were Spanish. James Brewster never trusted good luck. But this good luck came when he couldn't afford not to trust.

He had sat trembling on a couch, his expensive lawyer having abandoned him, facing jail, disgrace, humiliation, cursing himself for ever thinking he could have gotten away with it.

When the phone began to ring he did not answer it.

"It's here. It's come apart. I'm done for. It. That's it. It." He poured himself a tumbler of Scotch.

"I took a chance. I lost. Done for."

There was a knock on the door. He didn't answer it. Let the police get him. He didn't care. A man's voice with a Spanish accent came through the door. It begged to be let in. It begged to save him.

"It's no use," sobbed James Brewster. Done. It was all over.

"You're a fool. You could be rich and live with servants beyond your wildest dreams."

"That's how I got into this pickle," said Brewster. He looked at the wall. Better get used to looking at a wall for the rest of your life, he told himself.

"You took a chance. You won. You will win even more."

"I want to go home."

"To McKeesport, Pennsylvania?"

James Brewster thought about that a moment. Then he opened the door.

He expected a Spaniard. But an incredibly beautiful blond man in a white suit stood in the doorway. He wore a dark blue shirt and a single gold chain under it, hiding a medallion of sorts.

"My name is Francisco. I have come to keep you out of jail. To give you an even richer, more splendid life than you have ever known before."

James Brewster stood in the doorway waiting. He tapped his foot, waiting.

"What are you waiting for?" asked Braun.

"To wake up," said Brewster. "This is a bad dream."

Francisco Braun slapped him across the face.

"Okay," said Brewster, his left cheek stinging like a swarm of bees had just struck him. "Awake. I'm awake."

"You are going to go to jail if you don't listen to me," said Braun.

"Very awake," said Brewster. "Really awake."

"But I can give you wealth and luxury beyond your wildest dreams."

"Asleep again. Dreaming," said Brewster. "All done. Life is over."

"I will help you get away. You can live in hiding for the rest of your life," said Braun.

"Waking up."

"Fly to Brazil. No one can arrest you in Brazil. They do not have an extradition treaty with anyone. Many criminals live a high wonderful life in Rio. You have no doubt, senor, heard of wonderful Rio."

"Almost everything I have is in this condominium."

"I will buy it."

"Well, considering land values, I think I really want to hold on to it a little longer. This isn't the right time to sell."

"Are you joking, senor? You must sell. Or go to jail."

"I didn't want you to think you could get this for a bargain price. No one should ever sell real estate in desperation."

"I will give you in gold whatever you think it is worth."

James Brewster named a price that would have purchased half the town. Considering the town was La Jolla, it was higher than the net worth of two-thirds of the members of the United Nations.

They settled on a minuscule fraction. A million dollars in gold. It came to slightly over two hundred pounds. In two valises. For which he paid extra in baggage charges at the airport.

"I know Brazil. It is a beautiful country," said Braun.

"But you must know how to handle people." Braun rubbed his fingers together. Bribes were his kind of psychology.

Brewster understood bribes. That was how he got here.

"You must know how to protect yourself," said Braun. "What if they follow your trail?"

"But you said they couldn't extradite me."

"Ah, that is the problem with your situation. You see, you helped steal uranium."

"Shhhh," said Brewster. He looked around the airport.

"No one cares. This is a busy airport. Listen. You must know how to lose a tail, even if it comes from a government seeking revenge for your helping to steal atomic materials."

"Yes. Yes. Lose a tail. Lose a tail," said Brewster.

"When you get to Rio, you hire a boat to go up the Amazon. And use your correct name."

"I hate jungles."

"I don't blame you. That is why James Brewster will go up the Amazon but Arnold Diaz will live in luxury in another condominium. And for a mere quarter of a million dollars you will have space. All the space you want."

"Only a quarter of a million?"

"And you can hire servants for three dollars a week. Beautiful women will fall at your feet for ten dollars American."

"How much for making love? I'm not into feet," said Brewster.

"Whatever you want for ten dollars, all right? But don't forget to register for the trip up the Amazon. I have written down this name of a tour guide. Use him."

"Why him?"

"Because I tell you to. He can be trusted to take your money and take you nowhere."

"I don't have to leave America for that," said Brewster.

"It is important that he take you nowhere. These things are not for you to understand. And wear this," said Francisco Braun, giving Brewster a small oblong gold bar with a bullion stamp impressed into it. "It will show your gratitude. It is a symbol I have come to love and serve. You too may be asked to serve one day for all that we have done for you."

"For what you have just done, I would wear it on my you-know-what," said Brewster.

"The chain around your neck will do," said Braun. On the plane, comfortably seated in first class all the way to Rio, James Brewster looked at the little gold bar. It had an apothecary jar inscribed on it. With his first rum punch, he snapped the bar onto his gold chain, and rode the rest of the way to safety in absolute comfort dreaming of luxury for the rest of his life.

Consuelo Bonner did not tell Remo and Chiun how she knew James Brewster had fled to Rio. She knew and that was it.

"Policework. Straight-cut detection. You don't tell me how you know people aren't in rooms behind locked doors, and I don't tell you how I track down people."

"It would help if we knew," said Remo. "Maybe we could help you do things faster."

"Just keep me alive. That's all I want from you," said Consuelo. "If you do that, we can find out who is bribing James Brewster, and stop this uranium problem."

She noticed neither Chiun nor Remo ate on the many-hour flight to Rio. She also noticed neither of them seemed to be bothered by the oppressively hot Brazilian weather. When they were briefly out of sight, she peeked at the note she had written down back in the States when she had spoken to Braun. It had the address in Rio of a tour guide.

When they returned, Consuelo said:

"Given that a fleeing man chose a country without an extradition treaty with the United States, where would he go once he was in Brazil? Either of you two men figure that out?"

"Probably to the same sort of luxury condo he enjoyed back in the States," said Remo.

"No," said Consuelo. "The amateur mind might think that. I think he was panicked. I think I saw a frightened, terrified man back in La Jolla. I think our dispatcher who ships uranium to an accomplice and flees to Brazil keeps on fleeing. I would bet he has run up the Amazon."