Warren Murphy: The Last Alchemist

Salvation, thought Consuelo. Barely able to control her excitement, she hastily scribbled the notes on Brewster and Wilson. This was what she had hoped would always happen to the NCA. It had seemed as though there was so much protection for the comfortable jobs of employees, none was left over for the uranium.

This man was going to change it. This man would listen to her. This man would make sure they would track down whoever was working with the director. She was sure there were other Brewsters in the system. They would account for the massive amounts of missing fissionable material.

She had broken the case and the new chairman would do the mopping-up. The guard cut into his lunch hour to tell her that the new chairman never came to the building itself, but worked from his home in a nearby state. Since it was only two hours' drive from Washington, Consuelo Bonner rented a car. She just knew that this sort of person would drop everything to hear her information. She headed north into New Jersey.

He lived on an estate that appeared well-guarded. No little phony badge would get her through these people, she knew. She explained who she was and why she was there. She guaranteed to the guard that if they got her message through, he would see her. The guard wasn't sure.

"I know that when he finds out what I have, he will be grateful to you. Tell him that I am a security officer from one of the nuclear facilities in America and I have evidence with me now that Bennett Wilson, the late director, was involved in a scheme to steal uranium. I know because one of my dispatchers was helping him do it."

The guard hesitated.

"Look, my name is Consuelo Bonner and the police are looking for me and I wouldn't be here risking myself if I didn't have the goods."

"Well . . ." said the guard. He wasn't sure. Finally he shrugged and phoned the main house. He went through four people, each more important than the last. Consuelo knew this because the guard's body became more rigid with each person he spoke to. When he hung up the phone he was shaking his head.

"You're right. I never thought he would see you. But he'll see you right now. Just drive right in, and go to the biggest house you'll see and ask. Someone will take you to him immediately. Mr. Harrison Caldwell wants to see you right away."

Mr. Caldwell seemed like an odd choice for the chairman of such an agency. Recently very wealthy, he had donated grand sums to all political parties, and could have had the best ambassadorship at the disposal of any president. But as he explained it to Consuelo, he wanted to help America. Give something back for what he'd taken.

He had grand haughty features, dark eyes peering over a proud nose. He sat erect in a high-backed chair, in a velvet robe bordered thickly with gold lace.

He drank a dark liquid from a goblet and did not seem to feel obliged to offer Consuelo anything, although she mentioned she was very thirsty. Caldwell said that would be taken care of later.

"That's all I know now," said Consuelo. "But I am sure if we pursue this, we will find others. Lots of uranium has been stolen. And this explains why this man who tried to kill my friends got clearance so easily. The man was obviously a killer, and yet he had a security clearance from NCA. His name was Francisco Braun."

"And what happened to him?"

"Well, I guess it has to come out sooner or later, and we were defending ourselves. We did him in."

"We? Then you worked with another ally of good government. Good," said Caldwell. "We should help him. We should thank him. That's the sort of man we need. Where can we reach him?"

"Well, it is a him," said Consuelo. "But there were two. Both men."

"You are insulted that I assume they were men."

"Well ... yes. I was. They could have been women. Although I've never seen men like them."

"Yes, well, we have to get them on our side, don't we?" said Caldwell. "We'll take them away from whoever they're working for."

"I don't know who they're working for. The white guy, Remo, just calls himself one of the good guys. He's getting better now, I hope."

"From his fight with this man Braun?"

"No. Some form of old curse."

"You have done well for us, Ms. Bonner. We are pleased. 'Consuelo' is Spanish. Do you have any Spanish ancestry?"

"My mother's side. Castilian."

"Any noble blood?"

"Only if someone got out on the wrong side of the mattress. Illegitimate noble blood possibly."

"We can tell, you know," said Caldwell.

"The Nuclear Control Agency?"

"No," said Caldwell, pointing to himself. "Well, thank you very much for your time. Now you may leave."

"You are going to do something about this?" asked Consuelo.

"You can be sure of it," said Harrison Caldwell. Consuelo was taken from the immense gilded room, through an exquisite hallway bordered by massive paintings and statues. Gilt seemed to be everywhere. She saw one banner thirty feet high embroidered with what seemed to be a gold coat of arms against a purple velvet background.

She had seen that coat of arms before but couldn't place it. Only when they locked the iron bars behind her did she remember it. It was the apothecary jar on Remo's pendant.

The bars did not open. The room was dark and had a single cot. The walls were stone. There were other small rooms with bars. It wasn't exactly a jail. It was too dank for that. She was in a dungeon. And then the bodies started being brought down. All she could make out was that there was some kind of contest upstairs somewhere where people were killing themselves to see who was the toughest.

Out on Long Island Sound a boat stopped, and several men with binoculars pointed to a large brick-enclosed institution. It was Folcroft Sanitarium.

"Is that it?" asked one. He was loading a clip in a small submachine gun.

"That has to be it. No confluence of electronic signals could come from anywhere else," said the engineer. "All right," said the man with the submachine gun. "Tell Mr. Caldwell we found his target."

On one high corner of the building was a room with mirrors reflecting outside. Inside was Harold W. Smith, and he did not know whether he was lucky or unlucky.

Folcroft's defense systems could read anything sending and receiving signals within a radius of twenty miles. And when he had focused it on that suspicious boat out in the sound, he read that someone had found him and was told to wait until reinforcements arrived so they could surround the sanitarium and make sure no one got away.

Chapter 12

Remo could see the room, feel the bed, feel his arms, and most important, breathe properly, breathe to get his balance, his center, and himself. But his head was still ringing when Chiun told him for the seventeenth time, he was not going to say he told him so.

"Say it. Say it and get it over with. My head feels like it was sandpapered from the inside."

"No," said Chiun. "The wise teacher knows when the pupil understands."

"Tell me it was the curse of the gold that did it to me, and then leave me alone," said Remo.

"Never," said Chiun.

"Okay, then don't tell me you're not going to tell me again. I don't want to hear it."

"All right, I'll tell you. I told you so," said Chiun. "But would you listen? No. You never listen. I told you the gold was cursed. But no, you don't believe in curses even when their secrets are chronicled in the glorious past of Sinanju."

"You mean Master Go and the Spanish gold?"

"No. Master Go and the cursed gold."

"I remember it. Master Go. Somebody paid with the bad check for the day-rotten gold-and he refused to take it. That was around six hundred years ago. Maybe three hundred. Somewhere in there. Can I get a glass of water?"

"I will get it for you. If you had listened to me about the cursed gold at the beginning, then you would be able to get it yourself."