Warren Murphy: Ship Of Death

"I agree," said Chiun. "That which we have not seen does not exist. You have merely seen people who are not us and, therefore, since we are so different, you cannot believe in us. It is a most wise conclusion."

"We can settle this impasse, Ancient One, if you could give us a small demonstration that you are who you say you are. Are you not a bit old?"

"Yes," said Chiun. "For teething." And Remo laughed hard to show his contempt. One of the bodyguards pressed his hands together to show that he could crush Remo's head like a grape.

Remo smiled.

"I wish no trouble from you two," said the ambassador. "And I wish to warn you that these two men are from the Shah's private guard and are the most feared men in the Middle East."

"Next to your hairdresser," said Remo.

"You must show who you are," said Zarudi. "You must show it against these men. I am sorry but this is so and a requirement."

"How do we know you do not just wish us to assassinate these two men for nothing?" said Chiun. "We do not work for nothing. That would be unprofessional."

"Then I will pay you to assassinate my two bodyguards," said Zarudi. "A thousand dollars each. We will sail out past the three-mile limit into international waters and then you can collect your money or your doom. I do not wish this thing, old man, but I must protect the treasure of my people."

Zarudi felt one of his bodyguards rest his chin on the ambassador's left shoulder from behind. It was a breach of etiquette and yet the bodyguard was smiling. Zarudi stared angrily into the man's black eyes, his countenance demanding an apology. But the man did not stare back. He just smiled. And then Zarudi saw that the thin American's right arm was stretched out to the back of the man's neck. He was holding the bodyguard's head against Zarudi's shoulder. The bodyguard should never have let him do so such a thing.

"Kill him," ordered Zarudi. But the bodyguard only smiled dully at the ambassador's shoulder, the chin touching his cheek. "Kill him," said Zarudi, turning to the right behind him. But the other guard looked back at the ambassador with a sickly grin and tears in his eyes. He held his hands in front of his dark pants, even darker at the crotch where he had wet them.

"Kill him," ordered Zarudi again.

"My lord, look," said the guard, pointing to his partner.

The ambassador, already annoyed at the man's insolence in resting his chin on an ambassadorial shoulder, heard sticky liquid at his left shoe as he shifted his weight. He looked down. The guard's arm was bleeding at Zarudi's shoe. How could his arm be down there and his chin resting on Zaradi's shoulder?

Zarudi stutter-stepped backward and when he saw the guard's head held aloft in the air, and the headless body on the floor, bleeding like a red sewer from the neck, he screamed. The American had decapitated the guard with his hands and had done so silently. Zarudi remembered the guards' thick neck muscles and the comment from the military that in hand-to-hand combat, the Shah's personal guards liked to hare added layers of neck muscles because that was where hand fighters liked to hit.

"That's the biz, sweetheart," said Remo. He dropped the head onto the floor with a clunk and wiped an imaginary stain from his hands. "One must believe what one must, mustn't one?"

And thus it was that the Peacock throne in the last quarter of the twentieth century again welcomed the services of the House of Sinanju with most felicitous heart and optimistic feelings about the co-joining of Throne and loyal House.

"Loyal to the end of the stars. Long life to the Shah. Long life to the Empress. Long life to the Prince, who in many many years shall assume his rightful throne in true glory of his true royalty, the House of Sinanju by his right hand, his sword, his shield and his assurance of ultimate victory in every encounter." So said Chiun.

"This garbage on the floor yours? Clean it up." So said Remo.

The ambassador, in terrified delight, wanted to assure the Master of Sinanju how grateful he was to be able to report to his Shah that the throne and House were now co-joined, but asked if the American had to come along and, if he did, could he at least be a bit more formal in his treatment of the ambassador?

"Hey," said Remo, grabbing $150 worth of ambassadorial tie and using it as a pedestal for the man's chin. "I am very polite. Very."

Zarudi wondered if Remo might express it a little less vigorously.

And Chiun spoke.

"When there is a flower of great beauty and great value, sometimes there are thorns. The greater the beauty, the sharper the thorns. We are sure His Majesty will be most appreciative of what you endure in his name."

Thus it was agreed that the House of Sinanju would begin work immediately, but not in the capital, Teheran, but as special guards on the great ship Ship of States where there were troubles and where the Iranian delegation might itself be in danger.

The small power craft was taken beyond the three-mile limit, the body and head weighted and dumped with a prayer from Chiun about there being no greater way to lose one's life than in the service of one's emperor. This brought up the subject of the thousand-dollar bonus, not to be taken in paper currency but in gold and jewels, the large emerald ring of the ambassador's right hand being worth approximately a thousand dollars.

Ambassador Zarudi said the ring was worth eighteen thousand dollars.

Chiun explained that that was a retail price, not wholesale, and he did not see why the House of Sinanju should be responsible for the inflated charges of overpaid middlemen.

Ambassador Zarudi said he gave up the ring with a light heart.

"Or a missing finger," said Remo.

On their flight to New York City, Remo told Chiun he had seen pictures of the Ship of States. Smith had wanted him to learn something about it for CURE. He said he did not know how he would feel if he had to kill Americans in the line of Persian duty. He didn't know if he could do it.

"Do not worry," said Chiun. "We are working for fools."

"But you said there was nothing better than working for Persian royalty."

Chiun had a sudden lapse of memory. But he pointed out that when they reached the Emperor, Remo must show more formality.

"You think I'm maybe not polite?" asked Remo.

"No," said Chiun. "You are most polite. I ask that you be a bit more traditional."

"No. I think you're right. I'm not polite."

"You can learn to be polite. You can learn the ultimate in gracious manners by merely following me."

"I'd rather be me."

"A noble goal and a worthwhile one," said Chiun.

"You're only saying that because I'm down. I think I liked it better before when you were abusive."

"So did I," said Chiun. "But I was not abusive. The toad always thinks the flower offends his ugly body. As for your goal to just be yourself, the rocks that line the road have achieved that. Your contentment with yourself is an overwhelming triumph of bad taste over perception. And as for going to the Shah's court in Teheran, I must now haul mud to the Peacock throne and attempt to disguise it as jewels. It has been very wearing on me, trying to lift your spirits. I am tired of being nice."

A stewardess returned from the front of the plane with two messages. One, the ambassador wished to see Remo and Chiun up front immediately. Two, the stewardess would settle for Remo later. She gave a wet-lipped smile.

"Tell him if he wants us, he can come back here," Remo said.

"Tell him," said Chiun, "we work industriously in his behalf."

"Well, which is it?"'asked the stewardess.

"They are both the same," said Chiun.

Soon, the second and still-living bodyguard came respectfully from the front of the plane with two large envelopes. He said Ambassador Zarudi wanted his assassins to read the newspaper articles, so they would know the dangers of the United Nations ship.