Warren Murphy: Next Of Kin

"Guess I owe you one."

The Dutchman stood glaring at him, his hand clutching the red-stained clothing over his shoulder.

"So I'll tell you something. Nuihc's spirit didn't blow up your castle. My housekeeper did. She practices on explosives between dusting and ironing."

The young man said nothing, but his eyes registered a disbelieving relief.

"It's true. Nobody's going to hurt you now. Except for me, that is. Or Chiun. Or the cops." He smiled, but the Dutchman only looked at him silently, his eyes shining and alert with fever.

"You helped me out. I wish you'd tell me why," Remo said.

The Dutchman spoke quietly. "That is not an honorable way for an assassin to die."

Remo grimaced. "You sure don't make it easy to kill you."

"Perhaps I'll kill you first." The blood from his shoulder was streaming through the Dutchman's fingers. His knuckles were pressed hard into the flesh, and his hand was trembling.

"You're hurt."

The Dutchman shrugged.

"Look, Chiun'll never let me hear the end of this, but if you let me take you in to the police station, well leave it at that. After you get that shoulder treated, you can break out of any jail they put you in. Just give me your word that you'll leave Chiun and me and the girl alone. And my housekeeper too. Deal?"

"I broke my word to you before."

"I never was a very good businessman, but I'd trust you."

The Dutchman's eyes glistened. "You are a fool. Like the old man."

"I guess there are worse things."

He breathed deeply. For a moment their eyes locked. Then the Dutchman straightened, his quiet arrogance reasserted.

"I have made my promise to Nuihc. You and Chiun must die by my hand." Slowly he moved toward Remo in the rocking boat.

"Sorry to hear it," Remo said.

The Dutchman lashed out an elbow and a knee. The elbow caught Remo in his broken ribs, the knee in his hurt leg. Remo tumbled backward, making the dinghy roll wildly and half fill with water. He kicked out with his legs, rolling off his back. He landed in a crouch, his arms free to launch two fists into the Dutchman's belly. The wind whooshed out of the man.

The Dutchman lunged for Remo, his eyes blinking away the river of blood that filled them. Remo twisted out of the way, dangerously unbalancing the boat. The Dutchman tottered on the edge for a second, his arms windmilling, then fell head first into the sea. He emerged a few feet away from the boat, blood spurting from the bridge of his nose. Nearby, a familiar gray fin hovered uncertainly.

"Quick, give me your hand," Remo shouted. The Dutchman made no move. "It's the shark. He's back. Hurry up."

The Dutchman smiled slowly. "No, thank you, my friend," he said.

"For Christ sake, I'll finish you in the boat if you want. Don't get torn up by a shark."

"It doesn't matter," the Dutchman said, his voice eerily calm. "Please give my regards to your esteemed father."

"Father? I'm an orphan. Get in here, Purcell."

"Your true father. The Master of Sinanju. He has trained you well, in your heart as well as your body. He is right to be proud of you."

He was swimming away awkwardly, a stream of blood behind him. The fin in the distance wavered as the shark smelled prey, then homed in quickly toward the blond head receding in the water.

"Purcell."

"Till we meet in a better life," the Dutchman said.

Then the water churned and bubbled as the fin dipped beneath the surface. Other gray forms slid past the small boat to the frenzied activity in the sea. A pool of red spread through the darkening water. The fins disappeared. The sea quieted. The last rays of sun sank away.

The Dutchman was gone.

?Nineteen

Remo stood alone in the small boat, ankle deep in water, enveloped by darkness. High on the cliff he could make out Chiun's outline, still and silent as the sea. He felt tired and pained and lonely.

Out of sight, the distant whirring of a helicopter grew louder. Then the machine appeared over the horizon, sending a searchlight out over the cliff. The light traveled the expanse of the castle, now a smoking wreckage licked occasionally by dying flames, then settled on Chiun. The old man shielded his eyes from the glare and pointed out to sea.

Remo waited unmoving in the boat as the helicopter's searchlight spanned the coral reefs and black night water of the ocean before it reached him. When the helicopter was overhead, a rope ladder dropped from its belly, and Remo climbed onto it. Halfway up, he spotted the sour lemon face of the pilot.

"Come here to see if I'm still alive?" Remo shouted above the noise of the propeller, and climbed up the rest of the way.

Smith turned the helicopter around without a word. The moon had risen, and in its light Smith's sallow face glowed a ghostly greenish white.

"Great tan you got there on Saba with your wife."

"It was a matter of national security," Smith said, as though that vindicated his order to have Remo annihilated.

"National security? What about my security?" Remo yelled. "You order my teacher to murder me because you found a couple of stray bodies, and all you have to say is 'national security'? Well, Chiun's not going to do it. If you want to have me offed, you're going to have to fight me yourself."

"For a time, all the evidence pointed to you."

"For your information, someone else killed those guys in the truck or whatever you found in the ocean."

"I know. Jeremiah Purcell," Smith said.

"His name's Jeremiah— what?"

"I know. It all came out in the wash. Glad the whole thing didn't go further than it did."

The helicopter hovered over the cliff for a moment, then drifted down.

"You've got some gall," Remo grumbled as Smith killed the engine. Chiun walked over and bowed politely. Remo and Smith stepped out.

"Where is he?" Smith asked.

"Who?"

"Purcell."

"You're a little late for him," Remo said. "A half-dozen sharks beat you to him."

"Oh."

"There's plenty of evidence against him. He had another truckload on ice at the shipyard, and a harem full of French hookers are on their way to the police to spill the whole story."

"It is so," Chiun agreed.

Smith grew even paler. "You mean the police are going to be notified about your part in all this?"

"Relax. Nobody even knows we're here."

"The housekeeper does," Smith said quietly.

No one spoke for a long moment. Finally it was Smith who broke the silence. "We can't have witnesses," he said.

"She's not going to talk, Smitty," Remo insisted.

"You can't be sure of that. Also, I've run a check on the Soubise girl."

"Oh, no you don't. Uh-uh. As far as she's concerned, Chiun and I are just a couple of happy sun bunnies. I'm not going to kill Fabienne now that things are finally looking up for her. No way."

"She was spotted leaving your place with the housekeeper. She knows your name."

"That's a lousy reason, Smitty."

"It's national security."

"That's a lousy reason, too."

"I'm afraid I have to order you to eliminate them."

"Yeah? Well, you can shove your orders—"

Chiun put a restraining hand on Remo's arm. "Silence," he said.

Smith was looking up at the smoldering castle. "I'll radio in a call to the fire department," he said. "Meanwhile, the two of you had better go back to the villa and collect your things. You're leaving in the morning. Pick up your tickets by eight at the American counter."

As he was walking back to the helicopter, he said over his shoulder, "Don't be surprised at the condition of your house. It's been ransacked. Some idiot even threw the television through the wall."

"Some idiot," Remo muttered. Chiun elbowed him in the ribs. "Hey," he called, "what about the rest of our vacation?"

"This vacation is over," Smith said flatly. "You'll have to wait until next year. Don't forget to take care of those two women before you leave."