Warren Murphy Destroyer 101 B

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before floating down to his own mat to face him.
"My time is short," he intoned. "You have interrupted my packing."
"You are leaving America?"
"Regrettably."
"May I ask why?"
"This land is full of painful memories I can no longer abide."
Smith frowned. "Where is Remo?"
"I am forbidden to say."
"Forbidden by whom?"
"Remo has gone his own way. Now I must go mine."
"Is this why you are breaking the contract between America and Sinanju?" Smith
asked.
"I break nothing. The contract expires on the eve of the eleventh month, where
it has always ended. I chose not to renew."
"I would like to convince you otherwise."
"I cannot."
"Why not?"
"I am an old man now. The strenuous work of America is too much for my frail
shoulders."
Harold Smith opened his briefcase, removed his automatic and leveled it at the
Master of Sinanju's thin breast.
"I do not believe you."
Chiun regarded him without a flicker of concern. "I speak the truth."
"Then I apologize if I have erred, but I am giving you fair warning of my
intent to pull the trigger."
Chiun stuck out his chest like a pouter pigeon. "Pull. The wound you inflict
will be far less than that inflicted by the ingrate you charged me with
training."
The Master of Sinanju closed his hazel eyes.
And Harold Smith squeezed the trigger.
The weapon roared in the close room. The sound made Smith blink once. Gun
smoke made his eyes smart.
When they cleared, the Master of Sinanju was sitting serenely just as before,
only there was a chill light now in his eyes.
Smith gasped. "What happened?"
"You missed."
"I did not see you move."
"I did not."
"Then where did the bullet go?"
And taking one gnarled hand from his sleeve, the Master of Sinanju uncurved an
index finger to indicate Smith's briefcase, which had sat between them.
Smith looked. The briefcase hadn't appeared to move, but on the side facing
the ceiling smoked a bullet hole. The lead slug had mashed itself against the
leather, stopped only because the lining was plated with bulletproof Kevlar.
"Amazing," he breathed, understanding that Chiun had lifted the bulletproof
case to intercept the bullet, letting it fall back too fast for any other
human eye to read.
"A trifle," said Chiun dismissively.
Smith composed himself. "I would like to know the truth."
"Which truth?"
"Master Chiun, America has paid you well."
"I do not dispute this."
"If it is a question of money, I will see what I can do. But I cannot promise
anything," Smith said.
"It is not money. The work of America requires two Masters to perform. This
has never been the case in the past. Unless one counts the days of the night
tigers. In the days before Wang, a Master did not work alone. He was
accompanied by his night tigers. It has been my lot to work for a client state
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that required me to train its own assassin. Not a Sinanju heir. But an
assassin who belonged to a foreign emperor. In this I had no choice, for my
first pupil had gone bad. There was no one to take his place. No one worthy."
"Remo is free-lancing?"
"Remo is vegetating. He will perform no service. Not that I could stop him if
he so chose."
"Where is Remo?" Smith asked.
"I cannot tell you."
"You fear the competition?"
"I am beyond fear. My feelings are like the pit of a peach hard and bitter.
Sorrow sits like a wingless and wet bustard in my belly, for I have trained a
pupil who will do no work."
"Remo has retired, then?"
"Pah! It is I who should retire. I forswore retirement and the comforts of my
village to guide him through his assignments. Assignments he should have
fulfilled on his own. And what did this wastrel give me in return for my
sacrifice? Abandonment."
"Again?"
Chiun dropped his frail shoulders. "I have been dumped."
"Dumped?"
"It is a despicable custom of this ingrate land, I am told. Granny dumping."
"That does not sound like Remo," Smith said slowly.
"I have been betrayed by my American pupil. This land holds no more joy for
me. Therefore, I must depart these bitter shores."
"What will you do?"
"I am too old to train another. Even if I found a worthy pupil, I do not have
forty years to work another miracle. I have trained two Masters, and both have
turned on me like vipers."
"I am prepared to offer you the same contract as before."
"And I have told you the work of America is too strenuous for my aging bones.
I must seek less demanding an emperor."
"I am prepared to offer you the same contract as before to take your services
off the open market," Smith countered.
"Who has said that the services of Sinanju are on the open market?"
"There was an incident at the United Nations yesterday. I believe you know
what I refer to."
"Perhaps," Chiun said thinly.
"The same contract as before to do nothing."
"Alas, I cannot."
"Why not?"
"I cannot, O Smith, because it would dishonor my ancestors to accept gold for
no work. This is not done. First it will be no work, then as you see your
treasure deplete without return service, you will ask me to perform light
errands, possibly janitorial in nature. It is a slow slide into servitude, and
I will not countenance this."
"I am prepared to pay partial gold if you will refuse all offers from a list
of nations I will draw up."
Chiun's back stiffened. "You seek to bribe me?"
"I am concerned about the security of the United States, as always."
"It is my duty to my House to weigh all offers and accept the most rewarding,
for I am the last Master of Sinanju and there is none to take my place. The
money I will earn before my days dwindle to nothingness will have to sustain
the village for untold centuries to come. I cannot go into the Void knowing
that my inattention to duty may lead to suffering in times to come."
"Without you the organization will have to be shut down."
"That is not my concern."
"And I must go with it."
Chiun's eyes narrowed to crafty slits. "If you can locate Remo, perhaps you
can strike a deal with him."
"Tell me where he is."
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"Consult your oracles. They may tell you. I cannot."
Harold Smith frowned. He stood up, his legs stiff. "This is your final word?"
"I am sorry."
"I must go now."
"If the the House survives my reign," said the Master of Sinanju, "know, O
Smith, that the scrolls of Sinanju will record that this Master looked with
favor upon his service to America and will record no objection to your lawful
sons treating with my descendants."
"I have no sons," said Harold Smith coldly, turning and leaving the room
without another word.
The Master of Sinanju sat quietly, his ears tracking the footfalls on the
steps, the opening and closing of the door and the empty silence that
followed.
It was done. One door was closed. But others would open.
Tomorrow the bidding would begin.
Chapter Nine
Remo woke refreshed and went in search of Sunny Joe. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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