Warren Murphy: Oil Slick

Then Chiun drew back his right hand and smashed it against the complex of valves, pipes, and gears at the base of the derrick.

Nuihc heard before he saw. A hiss and then a deep throated rumble. And then far below him, he saw the first bubble of slick black oil slip from the piping Chiun had ruptured, and then it turned into a frothy plume and it was growing stronger and louder, and it surged suddenly into the air, and then it was on him, and the oil choked him and coated him, and its pressure grew greater and greater as the gusher buffeted him, and then his oil-coated hands could hold no longer and he felt them slip, and then he was being carried away from the derrick, high into the sky atop the black chimney of oil.

Chiun looked up from below and saw Nuihc's body carried high into the sky by the eruption of oil. It seemed to bounce atop the black stream for a few moments, before it was flung out into the air, far off into the sand, and the tons of oil arched softly and began to pour down on Nuihc's body.

Chiun watched a moment, then folded his arms again and walked away from the derrick, across the now oil-filled sand arena toward the thin black road that led back to Dapoli.

Remo saw the frail black-clad figure walking slowly along the road, and ordered the cab driver to stop. The cabdriver recognized his fare from before and groaned, but he quickly braked the aged car.

Remo pushed open the back door.

"Chiun," he called anxiously. "Are you all right?"

Chiun looked up at him blandly. "I sleep well. I am well fed. I exercise daily. Why would I not be all right?" He slid past Remo into the backseat and Remo got in behind him, slamming the door.

"Back to town," he told the driver, then turned to look at Chiun. The old man's eyes were closed and a look of peace was on his face.

"Did you have any trouble?" asked Remo.

"Why should I have had any trouble?" asked Chiun, his eyes still closed.

By the time they reached Dapoli he was snoring.