Warren Murphy: Brain Drain

"Hey, you, stop. Whatcha doing?" yelled Gallagher.

"You see my ball?" Remo called. "I'm playing a Titleist Four." And he was past Gallagher and onto the lot. But where was Chiun?

Up ahead Remo saw a familiar face and drove up to the man who was walking along, slowly shaking his head.

Remo pulled up in front of him and said, "Where's Chiun? The old Oriental?"

"Who wants to know?" said Rad Rex.

"Mister, you've got one more chance. Where's Chiun?"

Rad Rex rocked back on his heels and raised his hands in front of his chest. "Better not fool with me, buddy. I know Sinanju."

Remo took the front of the golf cart in both hands, twisted and ripped out a piece of the fiberglass the size of a dinner plate and tossed it to Rex.

"Is it anything like this?" he said.

Rex looked at the heavy slab of fiberglass, then pointed over his shoulder to the closed door of the sound set. "He's in there."

Remo drove off. Behind him Rad Rex followed him with his eyes. It looked like everybody knew Sinanju except Rad Rex. He did not think he liked being in a town of martial arts freaks. He was going back to New York, and if Wanda didn't like it, screw her. Hire somebody to screw her.

Inside the building, Remo heard shots. He jumped off the still-moving golf cart, opened the door and raced inside.

As he moved through the door, Mr. Gordons wheeled and fired at the movement.

"Duck, Remo," called Chiun, and Remo hit the floor, rolling, spinning toward a large crate on the floor. Two bullets hit the door behind him.

Remo heard Gordons' voice. "You will be next, Remo. After I have disposed of the old man."

"He's still kind of talky, isn't he, Chiun?" Remo called.

"Talky and inept," said Chiun.

Remo peered over the top of the wooden crate, just in time to see Gordons fire two more shots at Chiun. The old man seemed to stand still, and Remo wanted to shout to Chiun to move, to duck, to dodge.

But the old man seemed only to twist his body slightly and Remo could see the sudden thuds of the fabric of his robe as the bullets hit it, and Chiun called: "How many bullets, Remo, have those guns?"

"Six each," Remo yelled back.

"Let's see," said Chiun. "He has fired nine shots at me and two at you. That is eleven and leaves him one more."

"He fired three at me," Remo said. "He's out of ammunition."

"Eleven," Chiun called.

"Twelve," yelled Remo. He stood up and again, Gordons wheeled and squeezed the trigger at Remo.

Bang! The gun fired but Remo moved on the flash of light, before the sound, and the bullet hit the wooden box, gouging out a large slash from it.

"That's twelve now," said Remo.

"Then I will destroy you with my hands," Gordon said. He dropped both guns on the floor and advanced slowly toward Chiun, who backed off and began circling, away from Gordons and away from Remo, opening Gordons' back for Remo.

Remo moved forward, between the box and the wall, toward the old Western saloon set.

His hand brushed something as he moved, and he looked down and saw a fire extinguisher on the floor. He grabbed it up in his right hand, and came forward.

Chiun had continued circling and now was almost over Gordons' guns. In one smooth movement, he scooped up both revolvers.

"They are expended, gook," Gordons said. He circled, keeping his eyes on Chiun, and Remo moved up behind him until he was only five feet away.

"No weapon is useless to the master of Sinanju," said Chiun. He twirled both guns in the air above his hand, seemed ready to unloose the gun from his left hand, then let fly the gun from his right hand.

It buried itself deep in Gordon's stomach, but there was no sparking, even though the force of the projectile had penetrated the hard wall of the abdominal cavity.

"His circuit controls are somewhere else, Chiun," said Remo.

"Thank you for telling me what I have just learned," said Chiun.

"It will do you no good," said Gordons. He moved a step closer to Chiun. "This is your end, old man. You will not evade me as you evade my bullets."

"And you can't evade me," said Remo. He turned the fire extinguisher upside down. There was a faint chemical hiss. Gordons spun toward Remo, just as Remo squeezed the handle and a heavy white foam spritzed out of the extinguisher and swallowed up Gordon's face. As he turned, Chiun unleashed the second gun, firing it, like a deadly frisbee, end-over-end into the heel of Gordons' right foot.

There was an immediate sparking. Gordons' hands reached up to claw the foam from his eyes, even as Remo fired more at him.

And as he watched, Gordons' hand movements grew slower and slower and his heel continued to spark against the revolver imbedded deep in it and then Gordons said:

"You can not escape me," but each word came out slower than the word before it until "me" sounded like "mmmeeeeeeeee," and the android dropped onto the floor at Remo's feet.

"Bingo," said Remo. He continued spraying Gordons until the whole body was covered in a mound of thick white chemical foam, then he tossed the empty fire extinguisher into the corner behind him.

Chiun stepped forward and touched Gordons' prone body with a toe. There was no reflex movement.

"How'd you know the circuits were in his heel?" asked Remo.

Chiun shrugged. "The head was too obvious. Last time it was the stomach. This time, I decided, the foot. Particularly since I had seen him limp at the hospital."

"This time, we get rid of him," said Remo who looked around until he found a fire axe on the wall and began chopping into the mound of foam, sending splatters ceilingward, feeling like an axe murderer and he dissected Mr. Gordons into a dozen pieces.

"Hold," said Chiun. "It is enough."

"I want to make sure it's dead," said Remo.

"It is dead," said Chiun. "Even machines die."

"Speaking of machines," said Remo. "We've got to get Smith loose."

"It will be nothing," said Chiun.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Chiun freed Smith by long-distance telephone from the Sportsmen's Lodge.

On the way back to the lodge, he had Remo stop in a drugstore and buy a simple bathroom scale.

In their room, he directed Remo to call Smith.

"Tell the emperor to have a scale brought into his room," Chiun directed. He waited while Remo transmitted the message and then waited some more while Smith got on a scale.

"Now tell him to find his weight," said Chiun.

"One hundred forty-seven pounds," Remo said to Chiun.

"Now tell him to put ten pounds of weight into each pocket of his kimono and to walk from the room," said Chiun.

Remo passed along the message.

"Are you sure this will work?" asked Smith.

"Of course it will work," said Remo. "Chiun hasn't lost an emperor yet."

"I'll call you back if it works," said Smith and hung up.

Remo waited by the phone as seconds turned to minutes.

"Why doesn't he call?" he asked.

"Do something productive," said Chiun. "Weigh yourself."

"Why? Is this room mined too?"

"Put your feet upon the scale," ordered Chiun. Remo weighed one hundred fifty-five.

The needle had barely stopped jiggling when the telephone rang.

"Yeah," said Remo.

"It worked," said Smith. "I'm out. But now what? We can't leave the room mined."

"Chiun, he wants to know now what," said Remo.

Chiun looked out the window at the small trout stream.

"Have him prepare weights of one hundred forty-seven pounds for him, one hundred fifty-five pounds for you, and ninety-nine pounds for me," said Chiun. "He should put these weights on rollers, roll them all into the room, and stand back from the force of the boom boom."

"He'll do it after he gets bomb experts there," Remo told Chiun after passing along the message.

"How he does it is of no concern to me," said Chiun. "I do not bother myself with details."