Warren Murphy: Assassins Play Off

When Smith reentered the room, Remo was sitting up on the bed.

"Okay, Smitty, where is it?"

"Where is what?"

"My submarine."

"One thing at a time."

"Anybody who can get a doctor to make a house call won't have any trouble getting a submarine to sneak me into North Korea."

And with that, Remo closed his eyes and lay back to rest.

He would soon be on his way to Sinanju; he had done all he could; the next thing was to warn Chiun about the danger from Nuihc. It was only as he drifted into sleep that he allowed himself to remember that it was Remo himself who had drawn the first three blows from Nuihc's kamikazes, and the next blow, under the ages-old tradition of Sinanju, would mean Remo's death.

And after Remo, Chiun.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Captain Lee Enright Leahy of the U.S. Submarine Darter thought it was all very funny. Sneaking into enemy waters, putting ashore a man old enough to be Confucius, sneaking away, and what kind of a man was the old Oriental? A man who wanted to watch soap operas and was annoyed that Navy submarines did not have TV reception facilities for As the Planet Revolves.

Captain Leahy thought this all very funny, so funny in fact that he was in the process of telling it to his fellow drinkers at the officers' club bar at Mindanao, where the Navy maintained a small base to refuel submarines.

But he had not gotten quite to the good part, the part about the soap operas, when he was tapped on the shoulder by a chief petty officer,

"Cap'n, sir."

"What is it?" Leahy said, his voice surly at being interrupted.

"Phone call, sir."

"Tell them I'll be there in a minute."

"It's Washington, sir."

The CPO's voice was insistent.

The moment was gone; the officers who had been listening with rapt attention were now turning back toward each other, picking up the threads of their own conversations. Damn, thought Leahy. Aloud he said, "probably another ferry run for another old gook who likes soap operas," but the comment did not get the rise he had hoped for and Captain Leahy went to the phone.

There he was told by an official in the Navy Department that he would be presented with a passenger who would have sealed orders. Leahy would follow the orders. He would not mention this to anyone as the orders were top secret and so was the mission.

And he was directed to return to his ship immediately to await the arrival of the passenger.

Annoyed, without even time to finish his drink, Captain Leahy, jaw set, marched out of the officers' club and walked the hundred yards to the pier where the Darter had been refueled and made ready for another voyage. The long oil and supply hoses that were used to revitalize the sub's innards had been dropped from the feeder holes as the sub lay tied up at dock-side. Refueling, resupply was over.

Captain Leahy clambered up the gangway to the deck of the sub where he was met by his executive officer.

"We've taken aboard a passenger," the exec said.

Leahy shook his head. "Another Charley Chan?" he asked.

"No, sir, this one's an American. Young. Or I think he's young. He seems to be injured. He walks with a cane. I've put him in my quarters, sir."

"All right, Lieutenant. I'd better go see what nitty-witty the U.S. Government is up to tonight."

Captain Leahy went down the forward hatch and knocked on the door of the passenger's compartment.

"Yeah?"

"The captain."

"What do you want?"

"I'm coming in to talk to you."

"If you want to."

When Leahy opened the door, the new passenger was lying on the built-in bunk, wearing jockey shorts. Both shoulders were heavily bandaged, his right thigh was wrapped around with bandages. A cane leaned against the small built-in writing desk. The passenger's clothes were strewn on the floor.

"Don't tell me," Leahy said. "We're taking you to the Rusk Institute for Physical Rehabilitation." He smiled at his own joke. He was the only one who did.

"No, actually you're taking me to Sinanju." The passenger nodded his head toward the desk. "It's all in those orders over there."

Leahy opened the sealed envelope marked "top secret." The orders were identical to those he had received for the old Oriental.

"Is your luggage aboard?" asked Leahy.

"I don't travel with luggage."

"That's a novelty."

"And I don't like soap operas," said Remo.

"That's a novelty, too."

"And another novelty is that I don't like company, I don't feel like chit-chat, I won't complain about the food because all I want is rice unseasoned, and I won't complain about the air or the noise or the boredom as long as we get out of here and get to Sinanju as quickly as possible."

"My sentiments exactly."

"See you there," said Remo. "I'm going to sleep."

And that was the last Captain Leahy saw or heard of his passenger until they were in the West Korean Bay and he had to go to the passenger's cabin to tell him they were soon to surface.

"I'll need a raft and a man to row me ashore," said Remo. "My shoulders aren't up to rowing. Or swimming."

"Right. Will you need any help ashore?"

"I don't think so," said Remo. "I should be met."

"I rather doubt it," said Leahy. "We're way ahead of our estimated arrival time. You may have to wait ashore a long time for whoever it is is supposed to meet you."

"There'll be someone there," said Remo stubbornly, working one toe against the other heel, trying to get on his soft Italian leather slipons.

So Captain Lee Enright Leahy was not totally surprised when his submarine moved in close to the shore and he popped up the periscope and scanned the shoreline and saw, standing on the sand, looking out toward the USS Darter, the aged Oriental, wearing a bright red brocaded robe, pacing back and forth, obviously oblivious to the cold.

"Of course, he's here," Leahy mumbled to himself. "We left him here, he's been here ever since, and this other looneytoon is going to get off here and the two of them are going to wait and I'm going to come back twice more with two more people until they have a full table for bridge. The whole country's going nuts."

"Beg pardon, sir," said the executive officer.

"Surface and let's prepare to put our cargo ashore." said Leahy. "Before he decides to become a teapot."

"Aye, aye, sir," said the exec. Turning away, he mumbled "teapot, eh?" and decided that Captain Leahy would have to be watched.

CHAPTER TWELVE

"So this is it, huh?" said Remo as he limped through the shallow rock-bottomed water onto the shore. Behind him, the two sailors in the rubber raft used their oars to push the craft away from the shoreline and to hustle back to the waiting submarine.

Chiun stepped toward Remo, a smile lighting his face.

"Yes," he said. "This is it. The Pearl of the Orient." He waved his arms dramatically right and left. "The Sun Source of the World's Wisdom. Sinanju."

Remo's eyes followed Chiun's arms to the left and right. To the left was barren, rockstrewn desolation; to the right was more barren, rockstrewn desolation. The waves broke white, bubbling, and cold on the shore.

"What a dump," said Remo.

"Ah, but wait until you see the fishing building," said Chiun.

Using his cane for support, Remo hobbled forward again toward Chiun. Water squished from his soaked loafers but he did not feel the cold. Chiun's face squinted up as he seemed to see, for the first time, the cane in Remo's hand.

"Aiiieeee." His left hand flashed sideways, almost glinting in the brittle November sunlight of Sinanju. The broad leading edge of his hand hit the cane. The wood snapped and broke. Remo got his weight off it just quickly enough to avoid falling into the water. He stood there, holding the curved crook of the cane in his right hand, the rest of the cane bobbing in the water behind his back, before seeming to fight its way over the waves and back out toward the sea.