Warren Murphy: Last War Dance

"Pfffffui," said Chiun. "Death is too good for him. There is no man lower than a man who lies to an assassin about his wages."

Together, the three men walked back to the motel, where Van Riker immediately got busy. He called Washington, and ordered nuclear crews in to dismantle Cassandra 2. He did it on an open line and talked to every clerk who answered the telephone, just to make sure his orders were not only intercepted but given the widest possible public distribution.

Van Riker smiled. He could talk about Cassandra 2 all he wanted now. He had the perfect weapon—Cassandra 1.

Remo sat in the next room with Chiun. It was still too early for the day's soap operas, so they watched the news. It was filled with shots of Valashnikov and Cassandra 2 and the Apowa attack on the church and the RIP members being routed.

Jonathan Bouchek shoved a camera and a microphone in the face of Lynn Cosgrove. "Burning Star…" he began.

"My name is Cosgrove," she said, "Lynn Cosgrove."

"But I thought your Indian name was…"

"That was a past chapter in my history. The Indian struggles have come and gone. Today there is a new and greater struggle confronting all Americans. The struggle for sexual liberation. I have here the outline of my new book." She waved a notebook at him. "It will point the way to honest healthy sexual relationships among all people. Prudery must die." She reached her free hand up to the neck of her buckskin dress and ripped it open, baring her breasts for cameras. "What's wrong with screwing?" she yelled. "Sex, now and forever."

Behind her, a voice yelled, "Sakajawea. Sakajawea."

It was Dennis Petty.

Lynn Cosgrove wheeled and yelled back, "Fraud bastard. Fake, phoney, chicken shit fraud bastard."

As Bouchek's crew kept filming, Petty grabbed his crotch with his right hand and thrust it forward toward Cosgrove. "That for you."

Watching his live air presentation degenerate into an X-rated display of obscene gestures, Bouchek sank slowly to the ground. Before cutting away, the last shot the camera got was of Bouchek crying, his makeup washing down his cheeks.

The program switched back to the studio for an announcement by the minority-party senator that he would introduce a bill in the Senate to pay twenty-five thousand dollars to each of the surviving members of what he called "the new Wounded Elk massacre."

Remo slapped off the television set "Well, Little Father, the nation lives."

"I can tell," said Chiun. "Insanity still runs amuck."

"Speaking of insanity, I'd better call Smith."

Smith listened quietly to Remo's explanation of the day's events, and since he did not criticize Remo's actions, Remo took that to mean everything had worked out well.

"You have one more thing to do, you remember," said Smith.

"I know," said Remo.

He hung up and walked through the connecting doors into Van Riker's room.

Van Riker was just hanging up his phone. He turned, and when he saw Remo, he smiled, rubbing his hands together.

"Well, everything's in good order," he said. "The Pentagon's going to leak a story about a string of Cassandras hidden around the world. Crews will be here to dismantle this one. All in all, I'd say a pretty good day." He looked at Remo and smiled. "So what do you say we get on with it?"

"On with what?" asked Remo.

"You've come to kill me. I know too much… about you, the Oriental, Smith, and CURE."

"Why didn't you run?" asked Remo.

"Remember those two bodies in the monuments? I had to do that to keep Cassandra a secret. You have to do the same thing. Why run? You'd get me."

"That's right. I would," said Remo.

"Give Smith my best wishes. He's a brilliant man," said Van Riker.

"I will," said Remo and quickly killed the tanned general. He arranged the body on the bed so it would look like Van Riker had died from a heart attack caused by excitement, then went back into his own room.

"Well, Little Father, we should be leaving."

Chiun was at the dresser, writing with a straight pen on a long piece of parchment.

"As soon as I am done with this."

"What is it you're doing?"

"It is a letter to the Mad Emperor Smith. I think I should be paid for the creation of Cassandras 1 and 2. Creating weapons is outside the contract and should be paid for." He turned to Remo. "Especially since I turned down a very attractive offer from Mother Russia."