Warren Murphy: Spoils Of War

"But, in believing that every man's heart was as small as his own, Sheik Vadass made a great error.

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For my daughter was still alive, and because of that, I counted myself a lucky man. And the boy became an even greater joy, because with him and his simple ways, I was needed. He will never grow and understand like other men, but he has my love." "Did Randy Nooner know any of this?" "No. They didn't care. When the Americans came—the woman and her father—I knew that the end was near. They took everything by force. They were even worse than Vadass. At least the sheik never used his poor brother, as the American

woman did."

He sighed deeply. "I knew that one day we would all die hi a bloody coup. That day is come. Jola is dead. But the sheik need not die. He has harmed no one, and never will. Please," he said. "My Ufe is no longer of use to me. I give it to you willingly. But I will remember you in all my prayers through all eternity if you will grant my charge his life."

Chiun unfolded his hands from within the sleeves of his kimono. "Show us the documents," he said.

Rajii nodded, defeated, and led them past the throne, where the sheik made happy gurgling sounds inside his curtained domain. Behind the wall draperies stood a large metal vault with a combination lock, next to a broadcasting hookup with a television monitor. It was from here that Randy had observed and tortured Remo with the deafening sound from the loudspeakers. Rajii opened the vault and pulled out several yellowed parchment documents sealed in wax and tied with red ribbons.

"Herein rests the official une of succession," Rajii said as he unraveled the scrolls on a low table beside the vault. "The American woman and her f a-

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ther never saw these. They could never have had a legal claim to the throne. I will amend these to make you the rulers of Quat." He* picked up a quill and dipped it in ink.

"Halt," Chiun said.

"But it will be official. I have the seals."

'1 trust that it will be official," Chiun said. "But we do not wish to be rulers. That is not our place in this life."

Rajii looked, bewildered, from Chiun to Remo. "I do not understand."

"Affix your own name to the documents, and we will witness. You will be regent. You will find a wife and marry and bear children who will become your heirs. And you will pass on to your children your wisdom and loyalty, so that the people of your land need never again starve or suffer for the whim of their sovereign."

"I . . ." Rajii said, astounded. "Surely, I cannot—"

"You will," Chiun commanded. "It is the only way. Quat has been a plaything for incompetents long enough. You can try. That is all we ask. If you fail . . ." He shrugged. "Quat has been failing for centuries."

"I don't think Rajii will fail, Little Fattier."

"Perhaps not," Chiun said. "He who possesses a heart will always find hope to fill it." He smiled kindly and bowed to Rajii.

Rajii returned the bow. "May I ask you a question, sire?"

"You may."

"It is the same one you asked of me. Who are

you?"

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"I am the Master of Sinanju, and this fellow is my ... as you say of your sheik, Remo is my charge."

The sheik belched in the background. "I really appreciate the comparison," Remo said.

"I have read of you in the legends of other lands," Rajii said respectfully.

*'Quat has never been worthy of the services of my ancestors before. But perhaps you will rule differently. If so, and you find your domain in need, you have my permission to call upon my services."

"Thank you," Rajii said. "I am deeply honored."

"For free," Remo added. "Oof." He caressed the spot on his ribs where Chum's elbow had attacked luce a viper in the night.

"For a reasonable fee," Chiun corrected.

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Fifteen

Senator Osgood Nooner was having a nightmare.

It had to be a nightmare, because sensations such as the pain he was feeling just didn't happen in real life.

There he was, the People's Senator, tucked away in the safety of his bed, feeling his skull being crushed to powder'by a thin young man with thick wrists who looked disturbingly familiar.

He knew it had to be a dream because when he opened his mouth to scream, no sound came out. It was a classic indication.

Then he realized that he wasn't screaming because the underwear he had tossed on the rug for the maid to pick up in the morning had been stuffed into his mouth.

"Hi," the stranger said.

Nooner tried to place the face, but couldn't

"The reporter at the Vadassar press conference," Remo reminded him.

The senator's rounded eyes glimmered with recognition.

"Well, I just wanted you to stop worrying about

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us nosy reporters. I'm not going to print a thing about you."

Nooner nodded, trying to seem appropriately grateful.

"See, Senator, I'm not really a reporter at all."

The-senator's eyebrows arched inquiringly.

"I'm an assassin."

Slowly Nooner's eyes closed, and he thought he was going to faint.

"Do you know why I'm here?"

The senator gulped, swallowing some cotton lint and a loose string.

"I want you to write a letter."

A whinny of relief sounded from Nooner's nose. He nodded enthusiastically, eager to demonstrate his willingness to write whatever craziness the stranger had in mind. One phone call to the president in the morning, and everything would be straightened out, possibly with this nut behind bars.

Remo held fast to the senator's head while he rummaged in the nightstand with the other. "Now, here's a paper and pen," he said patiently, as though he were talking to a small child. "You just write what I tell you, okay?"

Effusive nodding.

"Okay. Address this to the director of the CIA."

For a moment, the senator shot Remo a glance from the corner of his eye, but a new pain in his head brought his attention riveting back to the page. He wrote down the director's name and address.

"Very good," Remo said. "Now you write down that all the Pentagon files on Fort Vadassar are false, and that you were responsible for tampering with the records. That ought to be good for a couple of years in the pokey, don't you think?"

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The senator's pen hesitated in the air.

'That is, unless you'd rather be murdered right here and now by me. I think I've already told you that's my profession."

Nooner wrote vividly of the replaced files.

"Now put down that the property Fort Vadassar is on belongs to your daughter, who's been in on the whole scheme from the beginning."

With a shrug, the senator did as he was told.

"And that you hired Artemis Thwill to drug the troops at those army bases and have the chaplains killed."

Senator Nooner banged his fist on the nightstand and shook his head adamantly. Soon a sensation having the same effect as the sound made by a razorblade on a chalkboard streaked down the side of his face.

He wrote.

"Let's see," Remo said. 'What else?" He drummed his fingers on the top of Nooner's shining bald head.

Finally free of Remo's grip, the senator whirled around and yanked the stuffing out of his mouth. He opened it to call for help. Suddenly Remo's fingers grazed the senator's throat, and Nooner uttered a sound like the tail end of a scratchy record.

"Help," the senator wheezed.

"Whazzat?"

"What the hell do you want from me?" Nooner asked, his voice a passable impersonation of Marlon Brando playing the Godfather.

"I want a confession, Nooner, so that the blame for this fiasco falls where it belongs." Remo smiled, pleased with his eloquence. "Sit down," he ordered.

When Nooner sat, Remo pinched a cluster of

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nerves on his neck, which paralyzed every muscle in the senator's body except for those of his writing arm. "Okay," Remo said. "So far you've tallied up ninety-nine years or so. How about including the Quat story—how you had Vadass assassinated, how you planned to marry off your daughter to the retarded sheik, how you imported the commanding officers at Fort Vadassar from Quat. Hey, I'll bet they're illegal aliens, too. Senator, you're going up the river for a long time."