Indeed, he was right. The next batch cost three times the price of gold and was there in six months. And the next shipment, far larger still, cost twice as much and was ready in a month.
But what the king did not know was that only the first time, under the instruction of the foreign minister, did his alchemist make gold from lead.
The other times he only melted and recast part of the gold. Only the first time was he able to obtain the magic ingredient. Only the first time did the king watch the lead transform. His foreign minister had convinced him it would be unseemly to look so greedy, to actually stand over the alchemist like some merchant.
Ultimately, the king came to believe that if he made enough gold it would be cheaper to produce than the gold itself. For every coin paid, he would get three in return.
"We have turned the corner. We now can be the richest kingdom in all Europe. With all this gold we will rule the world, as we should," said the monarch, who promptly emptied almost the entire treasury to buy massive amounts of the rare ingredient that made gold. Harrison Caldwell remembered his father pointing out that this was where everything went wrong. Now the king, expecting to be the richest man in the world, hired a famous murderer to sit by his side, a man from a foreign land. The king feared that his great wealth would draw more enemies to him than ever before. He wanted to be ready for them. This murderer was especially sly and followed the alchemist by some magic which did not let the alchemist see him. And he observed that the alchemist did not make gold at all.
The minister got word of this and fled with his wife and son and as much gold as he could. The alchemist took the philosopher's stone. They sailed free of the Spanish coast, but almost as soon as they were out of sight of land, a storm struck the ship. The weight of the stone and the weight of the gold provided too much ballast, and the ship sank. The alchemist and his daughter were lost. But the minister and son escaped with a small chest of gold.
Eventually they made it to New Amsterdam, which later became New York City, and there, with the meager gold they had saved, they established their house. And they took the name Caldwell. And so Harrison Caldwell learned, on his thirteenth birthday, where the gold was, where the stone was, and to whom the gold and stone belonged. He learned, as had every male heir throughout the family's history, how the Caldwells had almost become kings, and what their bullionist's mark of the apothecary jar and the sword meant.
Perhaps it was because Harrison was a daydreamer, perhaps because he was sickly and did not get along well with other boys, but it was he who vowed to make the legend a reality. He would find the stone and make gold again.
"What makes you think you can succeed where the rest of us only hoped?"
"Because ninety percent of the scientists who ever lived are alive today. Today is different."
"The world doesn't change, Harrison."
"When it comes to people, I'm counting on that, Dad," said Harrison.
He was sure that with the advantage of modern equipment and access to so many great thinkers, the time had come to use the old family map and get the formula for the stone.
It was a godsend that the missing ingredient turned out to be uranium. The world was loaded with it now. And because people hadn't changed, Harrison Caldwell had found a way to make sure that he would never get caught while stealing it.
In his business suit with the photographs of the two men his sword had given him, Harrison Caldwell, who was more and more understanding his destiny, met in one of his business offices a gentleman from Washington.
The man thanked him for helping him buy his house. Caldwell said that was nothing. Anyone would help a friend.
The man thanked him for making sure his daughter got into an exclusive school even though her grades were not good enough.
A mere nothing, answered Harrison Caldwell.
The man said, however, he was not sure that it was totally ethical for Caldwell to open up an account for him at the gold exchange.
Nonsense, answered Harrison Caldwell.
"Do you really think it's all right?" asked the man.
"I most certainly do," said Harrison Caldwell to the director of the Nuclear Control Agency. "And by the way, were these two gentlemen the ones you warned me about, the ones who were getting in the way?"
He pushed the two photographs forward across the table.
"I think so. I think they are the ones at the McKeesport site right now. I think they are plants by some agency I have yet to discover."
"You don't worry about that. I am sure I can trace them," said Caldwell, his dark Spanish eyes flashing with the joy of battle. "I will get the best information money can buy."
Chapter 6
Consuelo Bonner saw the bodies outside her house. She saw the bullet hole in the window. She felt her head grow light while the skyline grew dark, like winter.
If she were not dreaming, she would swear Remo and Chiun were arguing over who should clean up the bodies, as though they were garbage to be taken out. If she were not dreaming, she would have thought the Oriental really had explained to her:
"I have done so much for him, and yet he still tries to make me a servant."
She would have also sworn Remo had answered: "He never does his bodies."
She asked them to please throw some very cold water on her.
"Why?" asked Remo.
"So I will wake up."
"You are awake," said Chiun. "But even I would not dream of such ingratitude."
"They were trying to kill you," said Remo.
Consuelo nodded. She went to the window where the bullet hole was, and rubbed a finger over it to feel the edges of the hard glass. Remo looked on. She glanced back to him.
"I know," she said. "We must be getting close to them in some way. They don't try to kill you unless you're a danger to them."
"Or unless they made a mistake," said Remo.
"Or something else," said Consuelo.
"What else?" said Remo.
"This is my nuclear plant. My responsibility."
"You mean you don't want to admit you need us this much."
"Don't patronize me," said Consuelo. "I will do what any man does."
"Then why aren't you running for your life?"
"Because if I ran they would say I ran because I am a woman. I do not run." She steadied herself against the window. "I do not run. I do not run. I do not run." Chiun noticed this courage in the woman. She was not Korean, and who knew who her family was, but she did have courage. She also had the failing of so many women in this country. In trying to show they were as good as men, they tried to be what most men never were. They tried to be what men thought they were.
Then again, all whites were crazy. What were they doing in this country to begin with? Working for mad Emperor Harold W. Smith who never attempted anything honorable like seizing the throne, never asked for services that would accrue to the honor of Sinanju, never provided Chiun with anything he could inscribe in the histories.
How did one pass on to future Masters of Sinanju that one acted like a storeroom guard for an emperor one did not understand?
And who would there be to pass on to if Remo did not have a child?
Chiun watched the white woman closely. He would, of course, prefer a Korean for Remo, one from Sinanju. But Remo had not been able to see the true beauty in the fairest maidens of Sinanju, seeing only their physical properties instead of how good they would be to the child and of course to Chiun.
"What do you think?" asked the white woman. "Do you think we are getting closer?" She was looking at Chiun. She had black hair, that was good. But the eyes were blue. And the skin was so pale, like clouds in the sky.
"I think I would like to meet your parents," said Chiun.
"They're dead," said Consuelo, puzzled.
"Then never mind," said Chiun. He was no longer interested in Consuelo for Remo. There was no longevity in the family. Her parents might have died in accidents, of course. But then that would only mean the
y were accident-prone.
"What did he mean by that?" said Consuelo.
"Never mind," said Remo. "You don't want to know."
"You don't treat him kindly," she said.
"You don't know him. I know him and I love him. So don't get involved. Besides, your life is on the line."
"You want me not to report this to the police, don't you?"
"It would help."
"Help what?"
"Keeping you alive. Someone tried to kill you. We can keep you alive. Don't bet on the police doing that."
"What policeman is going to believe that bunch out there killed themselves in a gang fight and then stacked themselves up neatly for the garbage removal?"
"Tell them we stacked them for you."
"But weren't all those young men out there killed by hand? Won't they be suspicious? I know that if I were a policeman I would be reporting something like this as unusual."
"Don't worry," said Remo. "It'll work."
As Consuelo predicted, the homicide detectives of McKeesport were suspicious. Under normal circumstances this might have caused the investigators some confusion. But since their department had recently received instructions to report any deaths like this one-deaths caused by "no apparent weapon"-to a central bureau, the detectives' next move was clear. They would pass the buck.
What none of the police knew was that their report did not end up at the FBI but at Folcroft Sanitarium, where Harold W. Smith saw the computer flag the whereabouts of Remo and Chiun. He was the one who had the request issued to every police department in the country, not so much to keep track of Remo and Chiun as to make the local police believe someone was tracking the strange deaths nationwide. Smith didn't want local cops getting together and comparing notes; that might cause an outcry. There had been so many bodies, so many criminal bodies, that the liberal press could have had a lifetime supply of martyrs.
And it would be just as dangerous if there was an outcry in favor of such killings as there would be if it were against. It would attract attention. And that was the last thing the organization could afford.
But Smith paid little attention this morning to the McKeesport report. Something was happening in America, and he was getting only inklings of it. He could not prove it yet, but someone was building another country somewhere in America. Appearing on the computer screen was a network of people who were stockpiling the one resource that could build an empire-gold. Breaking down all the statistics, one could see they were already powerful enough to form an independent nation. Smith focused on that this morning. Remo and Chiun would be all right. They were always all right. The problem was never their survival. It was the country's.
Two days later, Consuelo Bonner began recognizing things. She recognized the subjects of the photographs that were spread across her desk. She recognized the badge of the man who handed her the pictures. He was from the Nuclear Control Agency. Last but not least, she recognized beauty. The man was beautiful. He had hair so blond it was almost white. His eyes were the lightest blue and his skin was as fair as snow. She would have called him handsome, but "handsome" was not nearly fine enough a description. His name was Francisco. He asked if she had Spanish ancestry too, because her name was Consuelo.
"You have the regal bearing of Spanish nobility," he said.
"You can put away your badge," she said. She had never wondered before what a man looked like nude, but she did now. And she wondered what his child would look like if she bore it.
But most of all she wondered what he was doing with pictures of Remo and Chiun. They obviously were taken at a great distance because of the plane compression of a telephoto lens. They were obviously taken with highspeed film. The images were so grainy they were barely discernible. Remo was smiling as though posing for a family snapshot.
"Have you seen these men?"
"Why do you ask?"
"We suspect they are dangerous."
"Why?"
"They kill people."
"That can be very safe if they kill the right people," said Consuelo.
"Spoken with wisdom, senorita," said Braun. "You should know that the Nuclear Control Agency has been watching your efforts. We don't blame you for the missing materials."
"I didn't know that," said Consuelo.
"They are looking to recommend you for a much higher position, one never before held by a woman."
"It's their loss if no woman ever held that position before."
Braun raised his hands in hurried agreement. "Absolutely. Absolutely. Of course women should hold these posts. And you will show the world just what women can do."
Gonsuelo looked at the pictures again.
"If I told you I knew these men, what would you do?"
"Ah, a good question. They are very dangerous, after all."
"What would you do?"
"What would you wish us to do? You are in charge of your security. We are only here to warn you about things, dangerous things like these two killers."
"I would want you to do nothing," said Consuelo.
"May I ask why?"
"If I told you, that would be telling you definitely I have seen them."
"You have already told me that," said Braun. He sat with relaxed grace in a chair before her desk. Consuelo had furnished her office without any frilly decorations. All the chairs and desks were cold and drab. The beautiful Francisco looked out of place.
Consuelo in her dark power suit, as she liked to call it, had dressed herself as she had furnished the office: starkly.
"I haven't told you anything," she said.
Braun noticed that she smiled too much. Buttoned a button that was already buttoned several times. Crossed her legs too much. Moistened her lips and then forced herself to be professional by drying them. He saw her struggling with herself.
He rose from his chair and walked to her. He put a hand on her shoulder.
"Don't do that," she said. She did not remove his hand.
He lowered his cheek to hers. She could feel the smoothness of his flesh next to hers. She could sense his body, smell the fragrance of his breath.
His whisper tickled her ear.
"I am only here to help you," he said. She swallowed.
"I am a security officer. I will not be treated any differently from a man." She said this with firmness in her voice, but she did not move away from his hands. One of them played with the top button of her suit.
"I make love to men also," said Francisco.
"Oh," she said.
"And women," he said.
"Oh," she said.
"You are very beautiful," he said.
"I was thinking that about you," she said.
"I will do nothing you do not tell me to do."
"Then you will not harm them?"
"I will not seek to have them arrested in any way. All I want is to know where they are. They are with you, aren't they?"
"Yes. I am using them to protect me."
"Fine. Where are they now?"
"Nearby."
Consuelo felt the smooth cheek leave her, the beautiful hands leave the folds of her suit. Francisco Braun straightened up.
"Where?" he asked sharply.
"Nearby. We're all going to La Jolla, California."
"Why there? You must protect your plant here in Pennsylvania."
Shaken from her trance by Francisco's sudden withdrawal, Consuelo refused to divulge what she had found out.
"You only asked to be informed where they were."
"There is no law against you telling me more," said Francisco. He glanced behind him. He had to make sure they were not in the room. "Remember-I can guarantee you your promotion if you cooperate. Ask your superior. Ask the head of the agency."
She did. She waited until he had shut the door behind him and then recovered her senses. Immediately she ran a check on him and was glad she did. The head of the NCA not only verified what Francisco had told her but also ordered her to render him any assistance he asked for
. He also told her he was happy with her work.
"I'm glad, because when you lose as much uranium as this plant has, sometimes people tend to blame the security officer."
"We know how good you are, Ms. Bonner. We are not an agency that throws blame around."
"I hope you do throw credit, because I think I am onto something very hot. I think I am going to break this case."
"How?"
"You'll see when I do it."
Consuelo, Remo, and Chiun arrived in La Jolla the next morning. Consuelo thought she had never seen such beautiful houses so tastefully set against such perfect scenery. Remo said La Jolla had the best weather in America. It was always spring in this beautiful little city by the Pacific. Chiun noted that there were too many whites.
"It would be nicer if there were more Koreans," said Chiun.
"If there were more Koreans it would look like a fishing village," said Remo.
"What is wrong with fishing villages?" said Chiun.
"I've seen Sinanju. Though it is by the water, it is definitely not as nice as La Jolla."
"I'll do the questioning," said Consuelo. "This is the first break in the case."
"It's all yours," Remo said. He wondered what it would be like to live around here. He wondered what it would be like to own a home and live in one place with a family he belonged to. He wondered what it would be like to have his own car, to park in his own garage, and go to sleep in the same bed every night.
One person who did not have to worry about living in La Jolla was James Brewster, recently retired from the McKeesport nuclear facility.
He had worked all his life as a dispatcher for one power facility or another, retiring early from McKeesport with a pension of twelve thousand dollars a year.
With that pension he had just purchased a $750,000 condominium in La Jolla, California, a retirement home. The mortgage company had contacted the McKeesport facility to get a reference for a rather large mortgage. They were willing to give it to someone who had only twelve thousand dollars provable income, because he was putting down a half million dollars.
James Brewster was the dispatcher who ordered the last missing uranium shipment down Kennedy Boulevard in Bayonne. James Brewster was also Consuelo Bonner's lead to breaking the case. Obviously the thieves had reached this man. And she was going to reach him too.
The Last Alchemist td-64 Page 8
