Warren Murphy: Chained Reaction

This caused increased irritation and conflict between the races.

But now, the advertisement said, there was an answer.

Blacks wanted primarily economic and cultural security. Guaranteed jobs, shelter, food, and the opportunity to learn of their rich background, while being with people who shared that background.

Whites wanted to know that their streets were again safe and that the government's hand was not always in their wallet, taking their tax money and using it to support the same people who made the streets unsafe.

"That's right," Remo said. "We pay too much taxes."

"You haven't paid any tax in ten years," Smith said. "Except sales tax on all the junk you buy and charge to me."

"Don't knock it," said Remo. "That should be enough to run the northeast for six months."

"Read," said Smith.

A new association had been formed, the advertisement said. It was going to bring to the American public new and specific proposals to end the racial tensions and the economic problems that had racked America for the last generation.

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"But to get it done, you have to stand up for us. A nationwide movement is now being formed, headquartered in the historic town of Gettysburg, Pennsylvania, and we will soon be marching on Washington.

"We hope that fifty million of you Americans will make that march with us so the government will know we mean business. This is a caravan for a new America."

It went on like that, a political call to arms.

The right-hand page was filled with signatures of people endorsing the ad.

Remo finished reading it and looked at Smith.

"So? What's it all about?"

Smith pointed at the slogan across the bottom of the page:

SAVE LIVES. AVERT VIOLENCE. ENERGIZE.

"Look at that," Smith said. "S-L-A-V-E. These people want to bring back slavery."

"And that's what's behind Bleech and his army," Remo said.

Smith was thumping a fist into a palm. As ever, his face showed no emotion, but he knew that Smith felt the emotion, the revulsion against what was planned. The notion of slavery hit at the heart of his rock-ribbed New England traditions and ancestry and background.

The right-hand page of the advertisement was small type. It included column after column of people who endorsed the ad. There were forty-seven congressmen and senators, twelve governors, and hundreds of mayors. A former Republican candidate for President. Ministers, lecturers, and writ-

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ers. Three quarters of the staffs of the Village Voice, Ring Magazine, and Better Homes and Gardens.

"If this thing is so bad," Remo asked, "why the hell are all these names on it ?"

"What do they know?" Smith said. "Most people sign these advertisements without even knowing what they say. Because someone asked them to. By the time they find out it's a call to re-institute slavery, their names will have done their work. Maybe fifty million people will march on Washington."

"It's your problem," Remo said. "I'm not in this kind of work anymore."

Ruby and Chiun came in from outside where they had been in deep conversation.

Ruby pointed a finger at Remo. "It's your problem, too. You promised you help me find Lucius? Did you help me find Lucius? No, you ain't helped me find Lucius. Now, you ain't done until you do. You hear?" Her voice had steadily risen in pitch, and, because it cut through Remo like a knife, he raised his hands in surrender.

"Okay, okay, okay," he said. "I'll do it. I'll do anything. Just stop yelling at me."

"Anything?" asked Chiun.

"Not that anything," said Remo. "Do you really think I could take that screeching for the rest of my life?"

"Not for the rest of your life. Just a minute or two," Chiun said. "Then it will be over and I will manage the results of it."

"What are you talking about now?" Ruby asked.

"He's talking about breeding you and me so he can have a kid to teach."

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"Not on your life," said Ruby.

"But think," said Chiun. "Remo is white and you are brown, so a child would be tan. Now tan is not yellow, but it is closer than white or brown. That would be a start."

"You want yellow, hire yourself a Chinaman," Ruby said.

Chiun spat. "I want yellow, but not at the price of sloth or disease or treachery. I would rather have a Russian than a Chinaman."

"Then get yourself a Russian," said Ruby. "I ain't gonna do the do with him, just to make you happy."

Smith shushed them. He was on the telephone, talking slowly and smoothly into the mouthpiece.

"That's right, Chiun," said Remo. "That's the way I feel, too."

"The two of you are hopeless," said Chiun. "Anyone with half a brain could see the merits of my suggestion."

Remo fell onto the bed. "No, thank you," he said with disgust.

Ruby looked at him with curiosity.

"What you mean, talking like that?" she said.

"I'm rejecting you," Remo said.

"You not rejecting me. I rejecting you."

"We're rejecting each other," said Remo.

"No, we're not. You got nothing to say about it," Ruby said. "If I wanted you, I'd get you."

"Never."

Chiun was nodding at Ruby, patting her on the shoulder in encouragement.

"You think you're special?" she asked Remo. "I get turkeys like you any time I want."

"Not this turkey," Remo said.

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"We'll see about that," Ruby said. "You willing to pay for this? You was talking about thousands of gold pieces."

"The wealth of ages," Chiun said.

"That means two bags of sea shells and fourteen dollars worth of junk jewelry," Remo said. "And twenty-two Cinzano ashtrays that he's stolen from different hotels."

"Silence," said Chiun. "This does not concern you."

"That's right, dodo. It doesn't concern you," Ruby said.

"Funny," said Remo, putting his hands behind his head. "I would've sworn it concerned me most of all."

"Ignore him, child," Chiun said.

"We'll talk about this later when he's not around," Ruby said.

Smith hung up the telephone.

"Despite all your attempts to make it impossible," he said, "I've checked it all out."

Remo looked at the ceiling tiles and began to count them.

"I was just talking to the computers at . . ." Smith paused and glanced at Ruby. "My offices," he said.

"And are they having a nice day?" Remo asked. "How's the weather up there? I hope it's not chilling their little solenoids."

Smith ignored him. He raised his left hand to rub his right shoulder where the gun butt had smashed.

"The land in the piney woods is owned by a corporation controlled by Baisley DePauw."

Remo sat up in the bed. "That's what that

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make-believe colonel said, too, and I still don't believe it. Baisley DePauw is the left wing ding-dong liberal hoople of all time. Your computers are all wet."

"And this advertising," Smith said, "appeared in most of the daily newspapers today. It was placed by an organization funded by a foundation. The foundation is controlled by Baisley DePauw."

Remo lay back on the bed. "I don't believe it," he said.

"And Baisley DePauw has bought up three hours of television time on all the networks seven days from today."

"Not him," Remo said. "I don't believe it."

"The buses we saw today are owned by one of the DePauw companies," Smith said.

"I don't believe it."

"And last week, the day after the raid on Norfolk, two buses like that were seen driving into DePauw's West Palm Beach mansion," Smith said.

"I don't believe it," Remo said. "Not Baisley DePauw."

"The combined payroll costs of DePauw's companies is close to one billion dollars," Smith said. "Annually. Slavery will save him at least five-hundred million dollars a year."

"I believe it," Remo said. "A buck's a buck. Speaking of which, where is Lucius?"

"He be at the West Palm Beach house," said Ruby.