Warren Murphy: King's Curse

He kept his smile, and it spread infectiously to the other three men. DeJuin looked out into the maze at the central court, where two dogs lay dead and the third Doberman lay whimpering with two dislocated front legs.

Behind him, he heard the men say in unison: "You are king. You are king."

He turned. "That is true." And to one of the feather-wearing men, he said: "Go out and kill that dog."

In the car leaving the Edgemont Estate, Remo asked Chiun: "What was that all about? Eagles and mice and eyeballs of glass?"

"I thought of what that long-ago Master wrote in the histories. He said it was a powerful curse among the people he had visited."

"You don't even know, though, if these are the same people," Remo said.

Chiun formed his fingers into a delicate steeple. "Ah," he said. "But if it is, they will have sleepless nights."

Remo shrugged. When he glanced in the rear-view mirror, Valerie was sitting sullenly against the door on the right side, but Bobbi Delpheen's face was white and drawn. She had really been frightened, Remo realized.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

The police found Joey 172 that night under a railroad bridge in the Bronx.

They did not find his heart.

There was almost a witness to the killing, who said that he was walking beneath the bridge when he heard a scuffle and a groan. He coughed and the sound stopped, and then he left. He came back fifteen minutes later and found Joey 172's body.

Alongside his body was a small note on the pavement, apparently written in his own blood by Joey 172. It said "Maine next." Police believed that in the brief reprieve Joey 172 got by the presence of the passerby, he had written this message on the ground.

This was all reported the next day by the Post, which Remo read.

That the Post took the message "Maine next" to "mean that the killing was the work of a right wing lunatic fringe whose next mission was to go to Maine and make sure that the fascists won the Presidential election there was immaterial.

That the Post first and alone promulgated this theory on page one, and by page twenty-four, the editorial page, had promoted it to the status of fact by referring to it in an editorial entitled "Heartless in America" did not impress Remo at all.

What impressed him was the contents of the message. "Maine next."

What else could it mean but Dr. Harold Smith?

Throughout the Actatl tribe, the word had flashed on the death of Joey 172: The despoiler of the great stone Uctut is no more.

Another message flashed through, too. Soon the Actatl would be hidden no more; their proud historical traditions would no longer be kept secret by fear of annihilation and reprisal.

Soon the Actatl and their god Uctut, of the secret name, would stand high among the peoples of the world, proud and noble, for even now the leaders of the family were planning to humble a secret organization of the United States.

DeJuin sat in his hotel suite and gathered to him the bravest of the Actatl. They planned their trip. And when Uncle Carl insisted upon going, deJuin made no argument. The old man, he felt, deserved to be in on the moment of glory.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Before Remo could pick up the telephone to call Dr. Harold Smith, the phone rang.

It was uncanny, Remo thought, how Smith sometimes seemed to be able, across many miles, to read Remo's mind and call just when Remo wanted to speak to him. But Smith had a far stronger track record of calling when Remo did not wish to speak to him, which was most of the time.

The phone rang again.

"Answer the instrument," Chiun said, "or else remove it from the wall. I cannot stand all this interruption when I am trying to write a history for the people of Sinanju."

Remo glanced at Chiun on the floor, surrounded by sheets of parchment, quill pens, and bottles of ink.

He answered the phone.

"Hello, Smitty." he said.

"Remo, this is Bobbi."

"What do you want? A fourth for doubles?"

"Remo, I'm frightened. I've seen men around the front of my home and they look like the men who were at Edgemont."

"Mmmmm," said Remo. He had sent Bobbi Delpheen home with orders to be careful, hoping he would never hear from her again. Happiness was never having to hear her Adidas tennis shoes scuffling along the rug in his room.

"Can I come and stay with you, Remo? Please. I'm frightened."

"All right," Remo said. "But be careful coming here. And wear something warm. We're going on a trip."

"I'll be right there."

Remo hung up with a grunt.

When he had sent Bobbi home, Remo had told her to be careful. When he had sent Valerie home, he had told her to be quiet. He wondered now if she were being followed also.

"Hey, Chiun, you writing anything good about me?"

Chiun looked up. "I am writing only the truth."

Remo was not going to stand there and be insulted, so he called Valerie. He found her at the desk in the museum.

"It's about time you called, freak," she said. "When are you going to get rid of all that… all those… you know, in the special exhibit room? How long do you think this can go on? What do you think I am anyway?"

"That's nice. Have you had any problems? People looking for Willingham?"

"No. I put out a directive that he was going on vacation. But he can't stay on vacation forever. You've got to do something about it," she said.

"And I will. You have my absolute guarantee that I will," Remo said sincerely. "Have you seen anybody? Has anybody been following you?"

"Not that I know of."

"Have people been coming to see the exhibit?"

"No. Not since I've been back. I've kept the sign on the door that it's closed, but no one comes."

"And no one's been following you?"

"Are you trying to make me nervous? That's it, isn't it? You're trying to make me nervous. Probably to get me up to your room so you can have your way with me. That's it, right?"

"No, dear," Remo said. "That most certainly is not it."

"Well, don't think that some shabby trick is going to frighten me into going there. No way. Your silly maneuvers are transparent, do you hear me, transparent, and you can forget it, if, for a moment, you think you can frighten me and get me to-"

Remo hung up.

Valerie arrived before Bobbi, even before Remo was hanging up the phone from his conversation with Smith.

No, Smith had not heard anything about Joey 172. With the closing down of Folcroft, the flow of information to him had stopped, except for what he was able to glean from the newspapers. When he wasn't snowed in at his cabin.

No, he had not seen anyone around his cabin, and yes, the skiing was fine, and if he stayed on vacation another month, his instructor told him, he would be ready to leave the children's slope, and he would be happy to see Chiun and Remo if they came to Maine, but they could not expect to stay in his cabin because a) it was small and b) Mrs. Smith after all these years still had no idea of what her husband did for a living, and it would be too complicated for her to meet Remo and Chiun. And there was no shortage of motel rooms nearby, and what was that awful yawking in the room?

"That's Valerie," Remo said. '"She calls that speech. You be very careful."

He hung up, just in time to wave down Chiun, who was turning threateningly on the rug toward Valerie, who had interrupted his concentration. Even now he was holding the writing quill poised on the tips of his fingers. In another split second, Remo knew, Valerie was going to have another appendage, a quill through her skull and into her brain.

"No, Chiun. I'll shut her up."

"It would be well if both of you were to shut up," Chiun said. "This is complicated work I do."

"Valerie," Remo said, "come over here and sit down."

"I'm going to the press," she said. "I'm tired of this. The New York Times would like to hear my story. Yes. The New York Times. Wait until Wicker and Lewis get through with you. You'll think you were in a meat grinder. That's it. The Times."