Warren Murphy - The Last Alchemist

The man went up to the ticket counter, bought three tickets for Washington, D.C., and then went to the boarding gate. He was followed at a great distance by the Oriental, who most certainly did see Francisco Braun.

The Oriental smiled slightly and waved a single finger, indicating Francisco should remove his presence. Hurriedly, Francisco left the airport, but not for good. For something seemed different to Francisco Braun. Something had changed in the white man that stirred his killer instinct. There might be a good chance now to finish at least one of them, he sensed. And if he could get one, why not two?

They had done for him what he could never have done for himself. They had split up so he could attack them one by one. And something had changed in one of them. For the first time since he had become Harrison Caldwell's sword, Francisco Braun was the one doing the smiling.

Chapter 9

Chiun would not ride near Remo. He sat in the back of the plane. Remo dangled the pendant in front of Consuelo.

"Now how do you feel about the histories of the Masters of Sinanju?"

"I guess there is some nonsense associated with them. I didn't know."

"Do you think symbols can curse?" He rubbed his thumb across the apothecary jar and sword stamped into the gold.

Consuelo shook her head.

"Neither do I," said Remo. He felt the aircraft rise with too much compression for comfort. He looked back to Chiun. Chiun seemed unbothered, and simply turned his head away.

"You didn't have to pop your ears in the elevator back in Rio," said Consuelo.

"Didn't I?" asked Remo. "I don't remember." He felt tired, though it wasn't time yet for him to need sleep. Perhaps it was the steamy jungles, or the excitement at the high-rise. Perhaps it was the airplane. Perhaps it was one of those phases he had felt so often while becoming Sinanju, one of those momentary physical relapses that came upon him like bad dreams before he took another giant step forward in achieving the sun source of all man's powers.

Then again, maybe it was the airplane food. He had eaten something he ordinarily wouldn't touch, a sort of sandwich with oils in it.

Consuelo napped as the lights dimmed. So did Remo. When they were over the Panama Canal Zone, Remo said, "Leave it alone, little father."

And the long fingernails perched over the pendant slowly withdrew.

Francisco Braun had seen it. It was not much. But then, he did not have much. Something was different with the white and that difference might be just enough to kill him. With the team separated as they appeared to be in the airport, it could be his chance. He didn't have any others. He thought briefly about backing away from the whole thing, abandoning Harrison Caldwell.

But what were his real options? Doing hits for a few thousand dollars here and there, until one day he met with an accident? How many killers had been done in by people who gave out contracts and then didn't want to pay? How many paid as magnificently as Harrison Caldwell?

If he had only a fraction of a chance, Francisco Braun would not give up his service to Harrison Caldwell. And now he seemed not only to have that fraction but a great advantage. The advantage was that he knew where they would all have to go. The chance was what he had seen at the airport. He had seen a moment of distraction. He had glimpsed that moment when he knew he could kill a man. And, for the first time, he had seen it in the face of the white.

The Oriental, of course, had foiled the bomb attempt by noticing him. But that was all right. Alone, the old man might be easier.

And so Francisco flew back up to America with a plan, a last desperate plan that ironically might now have the best chance to work.

Knowing where they would have to go eventually, in Washington he presented himself to the director of the Nuclear Control Agency.

The first thing the man said was:

"Not here. What are you doing here? Mr. Caldwell said you would never be seen around here. Get out of here."

The portly man ran to his office door to shut it. He didn't want his secretary looking in. His name was Bennett Wilson. His flesh quivered as he spoke. His eyes were dark and pleading.

"Caldwell said you would never come here. You aren't supposed to come here. Whatever you did was supposed to be done outside the agency, so we wouldn't have to know you."

"But I am here," said Braun. "And I have bad news. A security official from the McKeesport plant is on her way to see you. Give her a day or two. She'll be here."

"Why here? Her job is in McKeesport," said Bennett Wilson.

"She seems to think someone has gotten to one of her dispatchers. She seems to think he has been taking bribes to ship uranium to strange destinations. She thinks that when she finds that person who convinced the dispatcher to send uranium to strange places, she will have solved her problem."

"That's a fraudulent lie."

"James Brewster confessed to her."

"What can he confess? He doesn't know anything. He's just a little dispatcher who was greedy. He doesn't know who is behind it."

"He didn't have to tell them who is behind it. The people who are after you just kill their way right up the pipe until they get the man they're looking for."

"Does Caldwell know you're here?"

"I am here to take care of his enemies. Right now, his enemies are your enemies. Your enemies are his enemies." Braun's voice was smooth.

"Right. We're together. We're together in this. And we will bluff our way out. They can't do anything to us. We'll surround ourselves with memos. We'll hold meetings. We'll meet them to death. I have been working for the United States government for thirty years. I know how to stop forward progress on anything for no reason at all."

"They will kill you, I said. They are not going to try to fire you."

"That's right-they couldn't fire me. They don't have the authority."

"But they have the authority to break your bones. Or to suck the brain out of your skull. They will destroy you," said Braun. What was it, he wondered, about government officials that made them exceptionally opaque, as though the only real problem in their lives was a misplaced memo?

Bennett Wilson thought a minute. Braun had a point. Death was worse than reassignment or a departmental hearing. In those matters there was always a chance of appeal. Lately, he hadn't heard of anyone appealing a death, although there was a reference to it in the Bible. But certainly no government rule covered anything like that.

"Dead, such as the body becoming cold and buried?" asked Bennett.

"That kind of dead," said Braun.

"What are we going to do?"

"We're going to kill them first."

"I've never killed anyone," said the director of the Nuclear Control Agency. He looked back at the pictures of the electrical plans and atomic waste that decorated his office and added, "On purpose."

"You're not going to kill anyone. All I want you to do is be ready when they come here."

"After me? Are they coming after me?"

"Just lead them around in circles for a while so I can do what I have to do," said Braun.

"You mean give them partial and misleading information? Send them up, down, and around, keeping them confused with meaningless bureaucratic jargon?"

"Something like that," said Braun.

"Oh," said Wilson. "I thought you had wanted something special. If usual public policy will do, why did you come here and risk compromising me?"

"So you will have your people let me know when they arrive."

"You're not going to kill them here, are you?" Wilson held his heart. Bodies were the most difficult things to explain away in government service. They almost always required an investigation.

"No," said Braun, trying to steady the man. "I just want to watch them through monitors. I just want you to keep track of them. Nothing will happen here. And nothing will come back to you unless, of course, you create problems." And Braun explained problems would be anything that would impede his mission.