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Warren Murphy: Deadly Seeds

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James Orayo Fielding is a multimillionaire. He hates people. Considers them little more than bugs . . . to be controlled or eradicated. Fielding also has a new way to solve the famine that is escalating in many overpopulated countries. It is a secret grain treatment that matures seeds in just one month. News of this spectacular process sweeps across the world. Starving nations of India, Asia, Africa, and South America literally ransom their treasures to be given the formula for this key to survival. Ecologists and world leaders are proclaiming Fielding as a hero to mankind. All this adulation merely bugs the wily old man. He'll do as he pleases, when he damn well chooses to do so, and harvest all the profits himself. Foreign agents attempt to steal the formula. Even the Mafia attempts to get into the picture. Naturally, CURE is also involved. Is it really possible to feed the world at discount prices? Why would a millionaire delay the chance to make billions of dollars? Remo and Chiun discover a triple-cross so sinister that even they are impressed, and decide that the world is worth saving after all. For a bowl of rice with a side order of raw bean sprouts to go.

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"The fingerprints of dead people go into a special file."

"Why then did they not just put the records in the other file instead of bringing you close to death, by pretending to electrocute you?"

"Because people knew me. And they had to create a man who didn't exist for an organization that didn't exist."

"Ah," said Chiun and his long-nailed fingers formed the roofing of a Western chapel. "I see now. Of course. It is all so clear. Let us have sweet sauce for our rice. Would you like that?"

"I don't think you understand, Little Father."

"You are most clear, my son. They killed you to make you not exist so that you could work for the organization that did not exist to protect the document that does not work. All hail the wisdom of the West."

"Well, things aren't working and that's what I wanted to tell you. I've been wrong. Let us go work for the Shah of Iran or the Russians or anyone else you wish to sell our services to. I'm through with Smitty and this whole stupid thing."

"Now you confuse me," said Chiun and his voice rose to the higher pitches of joy. "You have just made a wise decision after ten years of wrong decisions and you are unhappy."

"Sure. I wasted ten years."

"Well, you have stopped wasting your life and you will never regret it. In the East, they appreciate assassins. Ah, what joyous news."

And Chiun told Remo he must allow the Master of Sinanju himself to inform Emperor Smith of the termination, because it was just as important to end services well as to begin them well, and Remo should watch closely in order that he should know the proper way to bid farewell to an emperor. For emperors did not lightly yield the cutting edge of their empires which, since history first began, had been their assassins.

When Smith knocked approximately five minutes later, the parsimonious face was in a state of frothy hysteria. The thin lips hung open like pink windsocks in a gale. The blue eyes blinked wide. He dropped his briefcase on the sleeping mat.

"Hail, Emperor Smith," said Chiun, bowing courteously.

"My god," said Smith. "My god, Remo, there's a woman outside. Our cover. It's been blown by a magazine. The whole thing's come apart. The whole thing. She read about me in a magazine. A brunette. In her twenties. Recognized me. A magazine. Our cover."

"Guess we have to close shop then, Smitty," said Remo, pulling a chair off the pile of furniture at the edge of the room and slumping down into it. His joy unplugged Smith's excitement. Smith's eyes narrowed suspiciously. He picked up his briefcase. He regained his composure.

"Did you see the young woman in the hallway?"

"As a matter of fact, Smitty, I did," said Remo.

"I see," said Smith. His voice was flat. "And after so many years and so much effort. After so many years of precise covers and broken links just to protect our security, you, for a practical joke and I assume it's that, just blabbed the whole thing to some strange biddy out in the hallway. I assume it had some deep motivation such as her breasts."

"Nope," said Remo.

"You misunderstand your loyal servant," said Chiun. "He was espousing your glory to the populace, oh wondrous emperor of CURE."

"And you explained us to Chiun also?" said Smith. "He knows what we're about."

"He extolled the glory of your Constitution. The heads of its enemies shall lie in the street. All proclaim the way of CURE," said Chiun.

"All right," said Smith. "Chiun doesn't know. What happened in the hallway? Did you go insane?"

"No. She doesn't understand any more than Chiun. She heard a name. So what? Really. Look at it. She heard a name and saw a man. Who is she? No one. And if she could make heads or tails of the whole thing, so what? So what?"

"I beg your pardon," said Smith and he looked for a place to sit.

In one slow movement, Remo was off the chair and it was sliding across the floor where it stopped just behind Smith's legs.

"I see we have tricksters. Our investment is in a juggler," said Smith. "Would you mind telling me what's happening?"

"I went home last night. Not that I have a home. I went back to that orphanage."

"You were supposed to avoid that area under any circumstances."

"The orphanage was abandoned. The whole area was abandoned. It was the center of a city and it looked like it had been bombed. And I wondered what I had been doing for the last ten years. And I wonder what you've been doing for the last ten years. The whole organization."

"I don't follow."

"We're failures. We're a waste of time. We were supposed to be this super setup to make the Constitution work. Everyone would have their freedoms while the destructive elements were put in their place. America was going through a trying time, we were supposed to help it out and then disappear with no one the wiser. We'd be here and gone. One country, one democracy saved."

"Yes?"

"What do you mean 'yes'?" said Remo. "We were a fucking waste of time. We had a president who would have been convicted of breaking and entering if he didn't get a pardon. Half the top government is in jail, the other half ought to be. You can't walk in the city streets unless you know how to kill. You read every day where this cop and that is on the take. Care for the aged has turned into a gigantic ripoff? And all this while I'm up to my armpits in bodies, supposedly ending this sort of crap."

"That's just what we're doing," said Smith.

"Hey, I'm no congressman and you're no head of a legitimate government agency. I can read newspapers, you know."

"And what you're reading, Remo, is the organization finally working. This is the pus coming out of the lanced boil. Nixon wasn't the first president to do such things, he was just the first not to get away with it. His successors won't try it again. Didn't it strike you as strange that half a dozen CIA men should bungle a simple burglary? Didn't it strike you as strange that suddenly tape recordings that the former president didn't know about suddenly appear? And he can't destroy them? Remo, just how do you think we work? What you're seeing is the organization working."

Remo cocked a quizzical eyebrow. Smith continued.

"You're not seeing new crimes, Remo. You're seeing people not get away with the old ones. That nursing home scandal goes back more than ten years. Cops on the take go back to the Revolutionary War. Cops getting sent to jail for it is new. You're seeing this country do what no other democracy has been able to do. We're cleaning house."

"Then how about the streets?"

"A little adjustment. Give us five years. Five years and the doomsayers will crawl back under their rocks. This country is coming out stronger and better."

"Why didn't I know about this?"

"Because we only use you for emergencies. You're what I use when things go wrong or can't go right any other way."

Now the Master of Sinanju had listened to this and had been quiet, for when Westerners talked silliness, no light could penetrate their shroud of ignorance. And seeing that they were now satisfied with themselves, he spoke.

"Oh, gracious Smith, how wondrous has been your success, how firm your guiding hand. Your kingdom is in order and gratefully, the House of Sinanju must take its leave, singing always the praises of Emperor Smith."

"If you wish, Chiun," said Smith. "You have trained Remo well and we are grateful, but he knows enough now to operate without you."

"There's a little problem here, Smitty," said Remo and Chiun raised his long delicate fingers, silencing Remo.

"Gracious emperor," said Chiun. "The Remo who once belonged to you now belongs to Sinanju." And seeing confusion on Smith's face, he explained that when he began training Remo, Remo had just been another American, but there was so much Sinanju training in him now that he was Sinanju, and therefore no longer Smith's but Sinanju's.

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