Warren Murphy - The Final Death

Finally, she had gotten a rise out of the old man.

"No, uh, my machine performs calculations."

"It does as you ask it?"

"Well, not everything."

"Is it infallible?"

"In a limited sense."

"Does it think?"

"Well, no, it doesn't think, really."

"No wonder Remo was on it," Chiun said. And then the Master was silent.

Viki jumped to her feet and angrily pointed down at the Korean.

"I was trying to be nice about this, but you leave me no choice. Remo made love to me. What do you think of that?"

Chiun looked up. "Did he do well?"

Viki hugged herself hysterically and flung her head up to the ceiling.

"It was the most magnificent experience of our entire lives!"

Chiun nodded. "Good, he has improved. Tell me, near the finish, did he breathe through his mouth or through his nose? I have always thought nasal control the far superior."

Viki backed toward the suite's door.

"You little Jap. Remo and I are running away. He's leaving you and your Emperor or Smith or whatever. And there's nothing you can do to stop us."

Chiun remained seated. "Just because you are trying to destroy us is no reason to become insulting. Calling me Japanese is demeaning."

But Viki had screamed after the word "insulting" and stormed out. She slammed the door so hard that Chiun felt the vibration of the sound waves even minutes afterwards.

He considered Viki's actions and came to a decision.

"Cute girl," said Chiun aloud, going back to his parchment. "Cute girl."

CHAPTER TEN

"Remo, what is a computer?"

Chiun had asked that on the fifth digit of a seven-digit number with the area code of nine one four that changed every two weeks.

That was this year. Last year, during all the trouble, what with the military learning about CURE and the House of Sinanju freelancing a Greek assignment, the number had been changed every day.

Sometimes it connected to an inner sanctum in a sanitarium, sometimes it connected to a desk outside, sometimes the connection was never completed or the line screeched in his ear, but, today, Remo got hold of Dr. Harold Smith very easily. He completed the seven-digit number, the line rang eight times and then the citric acid New England voice filled his ear.

"Hello?"

"Smitty, what is a computer?"

"Remo, what is this? Do you have anything to report?"

"Smitty, why do you always answer a question with a question?"

"I don't always."

"You're no fun. What's a computer?"

A lemony sigh floated halfway across the country.

"If I must, I suppose I must. A computer is an electronic automatic machine for performing calculations. Or one who computes."

"Chiun, it's a machine that computes."

"What is to compute?" asked Chiun.

"What is to compute?" asked Remo.

"To determine or calculate by mathematical means," said Smith.

"To calculate by mathematical means," said Remo.

"What is calculate?" asked Chiun.

"What is calculate?" asked Remo.

"To reckon by exercise of practical judgment. Is this important?"

"Not at all," said Remo to Smith. "To reckon by exercise of practical… what was that last word again, Smitty?"

"Judgment," said Smith.

"Judgment," said Remo.

"What does that mean?" asked Chiun.

"Yeah, what does all that mean?" asked Remo.

"Remo, tell Chiun that it is a machine that artificially thinks and if he wants one, I will try to arrange it and report, please."

"Chiun," said Remo. "It is a machine that plugs in and then thinks."

"Aha," said Chiun. "I thought so. Very wise. You build machines to think for you since you cannot. Who builds these thinking machines? Koreans?"

"Excuse me for a second, Smitty," said Remo into the phone. "No, we do," he told Chiun.

"You who cannot think build machines that can? How do you do this?"

"Pardon me again, Smitty," said Remo into the phone.

"Do you want to call back?" said Smith's tired voice.

"No, it's all right," said Remo. "I called collect."

A screech like teeth biting a blackboard sounded as Remo dropped the phone on the bed.

"The machines are programmed for logic," Remo said to Chiun, then tried to explain the nebulous meaning of programming. "It's built into them."

"A child can learn what he is not taught," said Chiun. "He can learn from the skies, the earth, the sea. A piece of metal cannot."

"They do all right," said Remo, conscious of the phone on the bed and drawing the conversation on. "Already they do most of the menial," he stressed menial, "petty," he stressed petty, "jobs in this country."

"A child can unlearn lies," Chiun pressed. "He can grow within himself to discover truth. A piece of metal cannot."

"Well, you better get used to the thought of computers. We work for one giant one."

"I am glad we work for this country now," said Chiun. "For in a few years this nation will be unable to move."

The Oriental turned to find his parchment and incorporate the line about what a child can learn.

Remo went back to the phone.

"Hello, Smitty?"

The answer was a dial tone.

Remo called again and this time the line rang 16 times.

"Are you finished?" asked Smith when he lifted the receiver.

"Sure," said Remo.

"Report," said Smith.

"Friendly little devil, aren't you?" said Remo.

"Haven't you had enough fun with me today?" asked Smith.

"I can never have enough fun with you," said Remo.

Smith sighed again. "I suppose if you were ever nice to me, I'd worry. Report."

"You should have let me lean on the Government swine flu program. I've hit a dead end here."

"Why?"

"Well, Angus led to Peter Matthew O'Donnell. That's two lls on O'Donnell. He wound up in the same place as Mr. and Mrs. Angus. That's one s on Angus."

"So I heard. Go on."

"O'Donnell led to Texas Solly Weinstein. And that's where the trail ends."

"Is he dead, too?"

"No."

"Has he disappeared?"

"No."

"You couldn't make him talk?" Smith's voice took on an edge of incredulity.

"No. I mean yes. I made him talk."

"Then what's the trouble?"

"The trouble is that he didn't know anything. Lots of times and places but no names or faces."

"Go on."

"Texas Solly is up to his neck in hundreds of deals. He's informing the Mafia on the CIA. He's informing the CIA on the Mafia. He's informing the police on the FBI and vice-versa. He's reporting on and to the Board of Health, the Department of Integration, the Bureau of Immigration, and the PTA. The guy's got so much action that somebody in Texas burps and half the free world knows about it. The guys doing the poison and people-peeling are just another phone number and $5,000 to him."

"Are you sure?"

"What do mean, 'Are you sure?' Sure I'm sure. Ask him yourself. Call up Houston information and ask for the General Hospital. He might not be able to speak so well now, but a nurse can get him a pencil, then translate."

"I've never doubted your methods, Remo. And I understand. He was reporting to us as well."

"To CURE? You must be the one he called the cheapskate."

"We paid him $200 a report," Smith said.

"Yeah, you're the cheapskate all right."

"You're entitled to your opinions. Anyway, I have some news."

"Which is?" said Remo.

"The scientists we've had working on this poison. They report that even without the swine-flu shots, the poison becomes inactive after awhile."

"What does that mean?"

"As best we can determine, that means the poison is harmless. Whoever put the poison into the meat system has waited too long. It's too late."

"You mean it's over? That's it?" asked Remo.

"No. There are still some crazy people sticking skeletons in trees and some people who wanted to poison the whole country. I'd still like us to do something about them."