Warren Murphy - Encounter Group

"That's the worrisome part. They appear to be ordinary citizens with no criminal records or obvious motives for wanting to disable an American nuclear missile. Only two of them survived. They claim to have been acting upon orders of an individual whose name they don't know, who has some plan to bring peace to the world through forced disarmament. They call him the World Master. By Master, they seem to mean teacher."

"World Master?"

"Our computers have nothing on any person using that name," Smith said, and Remo thought he heard a trace of bitterness. Smith's computers were CURE's first line of offense, defense, and intelligence gathering. It upset him when they failed.

"I don't get it," Remo said. "Some kind of nuclear disarmament group gone bonkers?"

"No, these people have no such affiliations in their backgrounds. In fact, their only link is a strange one. They belong to an organization known as FOES."

"Terrorist?"

"No. It stands for Flying Object Evaluation Center... hmmm, that can't be right," Smith murmured, looking at the file again. "At any rate, their only known purpose is to gather and record sightings of Unidentified Flying Objects."

"Are we talking about flying saucers?" Remo asked.

"Precisely. A group of UFO buffs have taken it upon themselves to disarm America, missile by missile."

"You caught them all. So what's the problem?"

"As far as we know, we caught them all. But we found no trace of the van they used to reach the missile site. And there are other chapters of FOES in other states. If this is a national movement within that organization, we want to know about it. Your job will be to infiltrate the Oklahoma City chapter and discover if they are planning to attack SAC installations in that state."

"What's SAC?" Remo asked.

"Strategic Air Command," Smith said.

"Oh. Why Oklahoma City?" Remo wanted to know.

"Our computers worked out a high probability that if there is an unaccounted member of that group, and that person took off with the FOES van, he would probably have taken Route 40 out of the state and into Oklahoma, probably going to the nearest large city, which is Oklahoma City, where there is another chapter of FOES. The nearest one to Little Rock, incidentally."

"And suppose these loonies want to go eat our missiles or something?" Remo asked.

"You will disband that chapter permanently," Smith said coldly.

"Why don't you just come out and say, 'You will kill them to the last man'?"

"Because you said it for me. I'll leave an information package on UFOs so you can pass yourself off as an interested believer. And I'll speak to Chiun if I see him. About those fingernails."

"And suppose this group comes up clean?" Remo asked.

"Go on to the next one. They have chapters throughout the country, but most of them are in the Midwest— which is where our largest concentrations of defensive missiles are. "

"Great," said Remo. "Just what I've always wanted. To go on a nationwide nut chase. Sure I shouldn't grow my fingernails first?"

"Good day, Remo."

"Yeah, yeah. Well, at least I'll be able to leave this stupid city. Maryland is the only place in the country where they laid down the Mason-Dixon Line when they were drunk. The west half thinks it belongs to the north and the east is still waiting for the south to rise again."

But Smith wasn't listening. He had already gone.

* * *

When Chiun returned, he was no longer not speaking to Remo.

"Emperor Smith has gone mad again," he declared loudly.

"He explained how the fingernails would endanger the operation?"

"He said something of the sort. But I ignored him because he was obviously raving. He is sending us on some personal vendetta against throwers of whizzbees."

"Against what?"

"Whizzbee throwers. You know, Remo. You have seen them. In parks, on streets. There must be thousands of them, hundreds in this dirty city alone. They work in twos, throwing ugly plastic whizzbees back and forth. As a game."

"Oh, you mean Frisbees," Remo said.

"Yes, whizzbees. We are to exterminate all throwers of whizzbees in your country. Because they missed, Emperor Smith said. It makes no sense to me. The man is mad," finished Chiun, who always called Smith "Emperor" because the House of Sinanju had worked for emperors since the Pharaohs. Even though times had changed and Smith chose to call himself a director, because Sinanju worked for him, Smith was thereby exalted by the association with Sinanju and would forevermore be known as Emperor. At least in the annals of Sinanju.

"No, you've got it wrong, Chiun," Remo corrected. "Smith doesn't want us to hit Frisbee players. He wants us to go after some flying saucer people."

"Flying saucers? Whizzbees? Are they not the same thing? They are flat and they fly when thrown."

"No, flying saucers are different. They don't exist— I don't think..."

Chiun stopped gesticulating and regarded Remo steadily with narrowed hazel eyes. "Aah. Now it is clear. Now you are the mad one, Remo. You accepted a contract to go after people who don't exist."

"No, Chiun. It's— look, never mind. I'll explain it another time. It's too complicated. We've got to pack."

"You pack. I am busy."

"Doing what?" Remo asked.

"I am busy," Chiun repeated and turned his back toward Remo. Remo could see he was fiddling with his kimono.

A minute later, Chiun turned around and with a broad smile said, "Here, Remo. I have brought something for you."

"Yeah? What?" Remo asked suspiciously.

"It is a toy. A very simple toy. Many American children play with them, and I have one for you to try."

Remo looked at the multicolored block in Chiun's delicate hands and said, "That's no toy. That's a Rubik's Cube. You've got to be a mathematical genius to line those little squares up right."

"Nonsense," said Chiun. "It is a simple toy. The child who gave me this was himself proficient in its use."

"What child?"

"The one who gave this to me. The one I just spoke about," Chiun said logically.

"Why would a child give you his Rubik's Cube?" demanded Remo.

"Because he dared me to solve it, and I said I would only solve this toy if the toy were the reward for my effort. Masters of Sinanju do not put forth effort without compensation."

"You took that thing away from a kid? I'm ashamed of you, Chiun."

"I did not take it. I earned it," Chiun sniffed.

"Wait a minute. You solved that thing? All by yourself?"

"Of course," Chiun said blandly. "I am the Master of Sinanju."

"I don't believe it. Prove it."

Chiun, taken aback, hesitated and then said stiffly, "Very well, Remo. I will show you." He gathered the cube close to him, holding it with both hands and bent his ancient head. As Remo bent forward for a closer look, Chiun's frail-seeming hands became a blur.

"See, Remo," crowed Chiun, holding the cube up. Each side was a solid color.

"I didn't see your hands," Remo said.

"You saw the cube. You saw me hold the cube. Then you saw me raise the cube and the cube was correctly done. What more is there to see?"

"You might have had another cube stashed in your clothes and switched them."

"Really, Remo. I would not stoop to such subterfuge."

"But you would stoop to conning a little kid."

"I have taught the child a valuable lesson. Not to speak with strangers." Chiun suddenly perked up. "Here, now you try."

Remo took the cube. Chiun had twisted it again, so the little colored squares were in a haphazard pattern. Remo knew, because he had read it somewhere, that there were a quintillion or more possible hand-moves and combinations of arrangements of the mobile squares, and only someone who knew the exact moves necessary to align the squares properly could solve the puzzle. Most people gave up, not understanding that it couldn't be accomplished by trial and error, like a jigsaw puzzle. On the other hand, proficient people could solve the cube in under a minute.