Warren Murphy: Midnight Man

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Remo reached out to touch the body and realized that the suit Wimpler was wearing had swollen like a balloon. His arms and legs looked as if they were welded together. The clothing was covered with great bubbles and even as Remo watched they broke open and disintegrated and slipped away into the water, tiny black slicks of paint breaking down.

He grabbed Wimpler by the neck and swam to the surface with Wimpler's body in tow. When he got to the boat he pushed the body up and over, onto the deck.

He followed.

"I can see him," Chiun complained.

"Not much of a looker, was he?" Remo said.

"The water has destroyed his secret," Chiun said. "Or the salt."

"Yeah," said Remo. "Something's ruining his cover."

"Throw him back," Chiun said.

"I beg your pardon," Remo said.

"I said throw him back. The suit is useless and he is dead so he is useless."

"Throw him back, like a fish?" Remo said.

"Just throw him back, like anything you want to throw him back as," Chiun said. "A fish, a stone, a pound of marbles. Throw him back and let us return to the island."

"Sheesh," Remo said. He hefted the body up, over the rail and dropped it.

It made a bigger splash striking the water than any too-small fish that had ever been thrown back.

The big boat lurched. Then Remo could feel it drop a few inches. He went to the other side and looked down. There was a gash in the wooden side.

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The invisible paint had been ripped off and beneath it, Remo could see the torn wood, caused when Wimpler's small boat had slammed the side. The big boat was sinking. Let it, Remo thought.

grotesque parody of death. But this was no parody because there was no life left in the monarch's body. There was a smile on his face.

Princess Sarra was seated by the bed, her head in her arms. She was crying. Next to her on the mat-

"Let's go," he called. "Time to go home." Chiun j tress was the revolver with which she was to protect

followed him into their small boat. They cut loose ¡ her brother. The candles still burned in the room,

and turned back to shore, back to New Jersey, back ! She looked up as Remo and Chiun entered,

to the Emir and Princess Sarra. | "Remo . . ."

When they returned to the mansion, Remo called Smith from the first floor hall telephone.

"It's over," he said.

"Wimpler?"

"Dead. Bottom of the ocean."

"His invisible outfit?" Smith asked.

"You're getting just like Chiun," Remo said. "The salt water destroyed it."

"And the Emir?"

"Okay, the last time we looked," Remo said. "I

guess they can relax for a while." , ,u. . , , , a, .„. .

6Jrulers of his country who had offered millions to

"Probably not," Smith said. "There will always be someone who wants him dead, Remo; someone else who will hire a hit man or a mercenary or a whole

army. I'm going to send in new security forces to- tlve

night to guard him. You make sure that you don't leave there until everyone is in place."

"Okay, Smitty."

Remo hung up and looked over at Chiun who still seemed disconsolate.

"C'mon, Chiun. Cheer up. Let's go upstairs."

There was no answer to their knock on the Emir's door. They walked in to find the Emir lying on his back on bed, his arms flung out to his sides in a

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"I know."

"He died only moments ago. He was sleeping and then he just stopped breathing." She said it with a tone of desperation as if she expected Remo to be able to do something to repeal the Emir's action.

"His troubles are over," Remo said.

Chiun stood at the foot of the bed and bowed his head. "I salute you as a great ruler, a true son of a true throne."

The Emir was buried in the United States. The

have him back alive, so they could kill him, refused his body in death, and denied him burial in his na-

Sitting at an outdoor cafe on University Place in New York, Smith asked Remo: "The Princess?"

"I put her on a plane."

"To where?"

"I didn't ask."

Chiun sat glumly at the little table, twisting a paper napkin into thread-thin strips.

Smith nodded toward him, his eyes asking Remo a question.

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"He's been upset since we lost Wimpler's invisible paint," Remo said.

"Well, those samples you saved us and his car in the garage should give us enough to duplicate the formula," Smith said.

Chiun looked up sharply.

"And then what will you do with it?" he said.

Smith shrugged. "Turn it over to the defense department. Some kind of military application, I guess,"

Chiun went back to tearing his napkin, unhappy as he watched all possibility of commercial enterprise being drained from the invisible, black paint.

"Don't feel bad," Remo said. "In the wrong hands, that paint could have been used for a lot of bad things, Chiun."

"Name one."

"Well," said Remo. "It could have been used to paint Sinanju. Then Smitty's submarine, filled with gold, would never be able to find it."

Chiun said something sharply in Korean.

"What did he say?" Smith asked Remo.

"Trust me. You don't want to know."

"Try me."

"He said that when he's a world-famous writer, people won't treat him this way."

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