Warren Murphy - The Last Alchemist

"Stop that," screamed Chiun. "Smith will see your balance. You're not ready to fight. Your rhythms are wrong. Your breathing is wrong."

With a single blow into the chest, Remo dropped the man who had lost the arm, stopping his heart. Then he felled the other one by collapsing the spine with a blow through the belly. The man folded like a card table. A pistol dropped out of his shirt. The cabdriver suddenly decided he did not really need a tip, dived into his car, and had the accelerator to the floor before he got his hands fully on the steering wheel.

The trucks began emptying and the guns came out, some automatics, some rifles, some pistols.

"Quick. Hide," said Chiun.

"From what?"

"From showing how badly you work. You are disgracing the House of Sinanju."

"I'm good enough."

"Good enough is not Sinanju."

"You mean to tell me you think Smith can tell the difference between balanced breathing and internal rhythms? He doesn't even know one blow from another."

"You never know what an emperor knows."

"Since when is he an emperor again?" said Remo.

"Since he may be watching," said Chiun. "Sit, and watch perfection."

There wasn't that much to watch, since Chiun made short work of the attackers, but the Master did show off some variations for Remo. But each variation was more subtle than the one before, which meant each movement was less, so that by the time he had gotten through the two truckloads and the one boat that had come in for support, even Remo could hardly tell the movements.

Toward the end, the point was to make the bodies fall in a pattern. Remo did not notice the attackers seemed to be parts of units. He told Chiun to save a few for information.

"How many?"

"Three," said Remo.

"Why three, when one is enough?"

"If they're American, two of them won't know what they are doing here."

Chiun saved three stunned groggy men who could not believe such a frail wisp of a man had done such damage. One of them had a vicious scar across his cheek. They tried to focus on the one boat that remained on the river. But it was not easy for the three battered men to spot their potential rescuers. The boat had fled.

"Come with us. We'll talk to you later," said Remo.

"You are going to bring prisoners before an emperor?" said Chiun.

"I want to talk to them."

"One does not bring prisoners before an emperor unless the emperor requests it."

"Another damned king," said the man with the scar on his face.

Remo pushed them along through the gates of Folcroft. Apparently, since no shots were fired, no one inside knew of the mayhem outside. Nurses and patients went about their business in orderly routine, the perfect cover for a secret organization, a lunatic asylum.

They went through the main entrance and then up three flights of stairs. The prisoners looked around to see if they might escape, but Remo's reassuring smile changed their minds. The smile said that Remo would be pleased for them to try it. They didn't.

"What do you mean by another king?" asked Remo.

"Kings are lunatics. We know. We're working for one now. This guy has been holding tryouts all week. He says he is looking for his king's champion."

"Spanish," said Chiun. "They have champions to fight battles. They are not true assassins, but the best fighters."

"Yeah. Well, our team won. We wiped out a Burmese SWAT team, three Ninja groups, and a South American enforcer for drug smugglers. And now look at what we run into."

"The majors," said Remo, guiding them a bit faster. Smith's outer door was closed. The secretary who guarded that door typed efficiently while looking at a sheaf of papers. Like many secretaries she actually ran the entire organization. This left Smith to run CURE. She of course did not know about his other business. Dr. Smith to her was just another executive who dealt with higher matters.

Smith could be dead behind those doors, and she would not know it until they eventually broke through the doors. Then they would find the body. By then all the computer information about crime in America would have been dispersed to different enforcement agencies, and the organization would no longer exist. There would be no more files, no more access to them, no more service.

"I've come to see Dr. Smith," said Remo.

"Dr. Smith only sees people by appointment."

"I have one."

"That's impossible. He doesn't have an appointment this month."

"He forgot. Ask him. He does," said Remo.

The secretary looked at the three men, one nursing a broken arm. She looked at Chiun, imperiously satisfied with himself. She looked at Remo in a pair of slacks and a T-shirt.

"Well, all right," she said. She buzzed inside. Remo waited. There was no answer. She buzzed again. Remo would give it ten more minutes. If Smith did not answer by then, he would just leave, maybe finish out this last assignment, but just walk away and leave Smith to be found the way he had planned.

"I'm sorry, he's not answering," said the secretary.

"I guess not," said Remo, and silently said good-bye to a good commander and a patriot.

He nodded the three men back toward the hallway. Then the door to Smith's office opened. The lemony face peered out.

"Come on in. Why were you waiting?" said Smith.

"Your secretary buzzed you," said Remo. "You didn't answer."

"I wasn't buzzed," said Smith.

"I did, Dr. Smith. Three times. You know, I think it didn't work. I've never had to buzz you before."

"We'll have to get it fixed."

"The last time I used it was twelve years ago when your wife Maude was here."

"Come on in, Remo, Chiun," said Smith.

"I'll be with you in a minute. I want to talk to these people. Do you have any empty rooms?" asked Remo.

"We have padded rooms," said Smith. "Take the patients there. See what they want. Then I am sure we can transfer them elsewhere."

"Oh Emperor Smith, our hearts ring in gratitude that we have come in time to save your glory that it may go down in ages henceforth," said Chiun.

The secretary looked to Dr. Smith. "Outpatient," said Smith, and shut the door.

In the padded cell Remo found out more about the man who considered himself a king. His name was Harrison Caldwell. He had an estate in New Jersey. And he held shoot-outs, knife-outs, and combat drills in an effort to find the best man to be his "sword," his "champion."

"Whydya do it?" asked Remo.

"Why?" The man with the scar laughed. So did the others. "Do you know what he pays? He gives out gold bars like they're trinkets. The champion gets a chest of gold every month. He's the richest man in the world. Gold everywhere."

Chiun heard this and covered his breast with his frail parchmentlike hand.

"And pray tell, just where exactly does his Majesty live?" asked Chiun.

"We're not going, little father," said Remo.

"A king who pays in gold. An assassin waits for years to find the proper king and you just dismiss him. Talk to him. At least talk to him. Speak to the man. Do not be so rash."

"I've got work here."

"For the lunatic."

"Hey, what's going on?" asked the man with the scar. As Remo and Chiun left, Chiun was still pleading. Just speak once to the man. Just once. That was all Chiun asked. If, after talking to the king, Remo said no, then no it would be. After all, it was not like leaving America. New Jersey was part of America even if America wasn't all that happy about it.

Remo locked the door of the padded cell behind him. Several large orderlies appeared in the hallway. "Dr. Smith said there are three criminally insane here. That the room?"

Remo nodded.

"You're lucky you got out of there alive. Those guys are going to be separated from the world for life," said the orderly.

"I'm a doctor. I know how to handle these things."