Bidding War td-101

by Warren Murphy

  A squeakily thin voice said, "If you have come for your things, they are where you left them."

  Remo froze in place. "Where's the dog, Chiun?"

  "I threw nothing out."

  "The dog?"

  "What dog?"

  "The sign on the door said Beware Of Dog."

  "Did the sign say beware of a particular dog?"

  "No. But they never do. Is it okay to come in?"

  "I will not object to you surveying what has been your home before it is taken apart and transported brick by brick to its place of honor in the Pearl of the Orient."

  Remo entered. He saw no dog. Just Chiun seated on a tatami mat in the center of the heated stone floor.

  "You're moving this rockpile to Sinanju?" he blurted.

  Chiun was folding a teal kimono. He didn't look up. "That is no concern of yours. It belongs to the House. And the House has decreed that it be moved to a happier land."

  Remo saw the fourteen lacquered steamer trunks into which the Master of Sinanju was packing his spare kimonos.

  "Why is there a Beware Of Dog sign if you don't have a dog?" Remo asked.

  "It is a warning to all."

  "It is?"

  "If you pet the head of a friendly dog, the dog will wag its tail, will it not?"

  Remo stepped closer. "Usually."

  "If you pet the head of a second friendly dog, will that dog also not wag its tail?"

  "As a rule, yeah," Remo answered.

  "And if you repeat this action with a third friendly dog, what result can you expect?"

  "A wagging tail, of course. Maybe a licked hand."

  "How many friendly dog heads is it safe to pet before one turns and bites you?"

  Remo frowned. "Search me."

  Chiun lifted the neatly folded kimono, setting it in the trunk with the green-gold dragons.

  "Sometimes it is the fourth dog," he said. "Other times the sixty-fourth dog. However, it has happened that the first dog you pet will bite your hand. That is what is meant by Beware Of Dog. You cannot trust dogs, no matter how friendly. This is true also for some persons." His voice became pointed. "Especially mutts of uncertain parentage."

  "Look, I didn't come back for my things."

  "You must take them anyway, or they will be set on the sidewalk by those who are soon to dismantle my castle."

  "I came back because I missed you."

  Chiun started in on another kimono. "Did Smith instruct you to say this to me?"

  "No."

  "But you admit to speaking to Smith?"

  "I was already on my way home when I got tangled up with the police and had to call Smith."

  The Master of Sinanju looked thoughtful in a stern way. He didn't glance in Remo's direction. "Did I ever tell you of the time I first ventured beyond the sublime sphere of my poor village, Remo?"

  "No," said Remo, toeing his personal tatami mat in front of Chiun. He crossed his ankles preparatory to scissoring down into a comfortable lotus position.

  "It is too bad. It was a good story."

  "I want to hear it, Little Father."

  "Two days ago you did not care to hear the tale of the stonecutter."

  "I want to hear that one, too."

  "So you say this minute. How do I know if I begin my story your unpredictable personality will not change willy-nilly and you will cruelly cut me off in the middle of my tale?"

  Remo raised his right hand and made a solemn sign. "I won't. Scout's honor. I promise."

  "You have had an argument with your father in blood?"

  "No."

  Chiun's hazel eyes flared. "You lie."

  "A little argument. We settled it. But I decided to come back here. I don't fit in among the Sun On Jos."

  "You have been orphaned and abandoned once more and now you expect me to take you back simply by groveling at my perfect feet."

  Remo's face went stiff. "I am not groveling."

  Chiun made fluttering motions with his spidery, long-nailed fingers. "Groveling is allowed. You may grovel—not that it will do you any good."

  "I am not groveling."

  "Groveling will cause me to consider your plight, O abandoned one."

  "I won't grovel," Remo said tensely.

  Chiun cocked his head to one side."This is your last chance to grovel."

  "Not a chance."

  "I will settle for a beg."

  Remo lifted his sinking shoulders. "Masters of Sinanju do not grovel or beg."

  "That is an excellent answer. Now you may sit at my feet, supplicant one."

  Remo dropped into place. His eyes sought Chiun's hazel orbs but they avoided his gaze artfully.

  "I was eleven years old when my father, Chiun the Elder, took me by the hand and said, 'We are going for a walk.'

  "I said, 'Where to, Father?'

  "We have business in a minor khanate, and since you are to be Master after me, I will allow you to accompany me on this trifling errand,' said Chiun the Elder. And so we set out on foot along the Silk Road, by which our ancestors for many generations left the Pearl of the Orient to serve emperors and caliphs and kings."

  "You went for a stroll on the Silk Road?"

  Chiun shrugged carelessly. "It was nothing. A mere seven, perhaps eight hundred of your English miles," he said dismissively.

  Remo tried to control his skeptical expression.

  Chiun resumed his tale. "Now these were the earliest days of the twentieth century. So early, in fact, that they might have passed for the fading days of the century before. I do not know, since Koreans do not reckon the years as does the West. Many were the wonders I saw on the Silk Road, for the caravans still plied the deserts in those days. I saw dromedaries and Arabian steeds. Mongols, Turks, Chinese and many others wended their way along the Silk Road.

  "As we walked, my father explained how his grandfather had taken him out on the Silk Road when young, as did his father before him, because in those days the surest and safest route to the thrones that coveted Sinanju lay along the road of silk merchants. It was important that I learn every town, every bazaar upon this road, for the way was long and the village would soon come to depend not only upon my skills but my ability to traverse great distances without falling prey to bandits and brigands and wild animals.

  "One night we stopped at a caravansary near Bukhara, which is in the heart of Asia. This caravansary was run by a crafty Uzbek named Khoja Khan, whose wine it was said he concocted himself.

  "At this place I ate well, as did my father. I met many travelers there. All was new and wondrous. It was here I met the first Mongol horseman I had ever beheld. And it was here I saw my first round-eyed, ghost-faced, club-footed, big-nosed white. The very sight of this travesty of humanity struck me dumb with horror, and I flew to my father's side, who assured me this was but a barbarian from the unimportant Western lands beyond Gaul, where the civilized virtues of rice, kimchi and ancestor worship were unknown.

  Where men behaved like dogs and curs and bit even the hands that fed them—"

  "Okay, okay, I get the point," Remo growled.

  Chiun sniffed doubtfully and resumed his tale. "Now, this Khoja Khan had trained a brown bear and he showed it to me in his pride. But the bear also struck terror into my young heart because I had never before beheld a bear and I could see from the bear's red eyes that his heart coveted my flesh. I told this to my father, who laughed and accused me of eating too many pomegranate seeds.

  "That night my father slept but I could not. Crawling from the tent that had been provided us, I found Khoja Khan, who was making wine from sorghum and dried apples and apricots in his cellar.

  "I had never before seen wine prepared and was curious, for I had seen the effect of sorghum wine upon those who imbibed too much. As I watched, Khoja Khan took down from a shelf a cage containing creatures new to me. They were as big as a Mongol's hand, possessing eight legs of great dexterity and hairiness. Eight were the beady orbs of these beasts. And terrible was their gaze, which sa
w me now."

  "Sounds like tarantulas to me."

  Chiun quieted Remo with an upraised hand. "As I watched, this Khoja Khan placed his apricots and dried apples into the cage in which his creatures dwelt. Instantly they pounced upon these fruits, sinking their plump fangs into their flesh, and began sucking moisture from it."

  "Uh-oh. I see what's coming."

  "In the morning, after I had returned to my father's tent and being unable to sleep, my father brought me to the table where travelers broke their fast. There on the table sat bowls of red sorghum wine, which Khoja Khan pushed at my father, saying they were flavored with sweet apricots and apples.

  "Whereupon, I stood up and warned my father that creatures of fierce appetites had sunk their poisoned fangs into the very fruit that night before.

  "My father stood up and, seizing Khoja Khan by the scruff of his neck, brought a bowl of his own wine to the wretch's lips. The wretch refused his red wine, and so my father pushed his protesting face into the vile brew.

  "When Khoja Khan was given air to breathe, he spit and hacked the bitter wine from his mouth and sought water, which he took into his mouth in prodigious quantities, expectorating violently."

  Remo said, "You don't have to tell me. Your father slew Khoja Khan right on the spot."

  "No."

  "No?"

  "No. For while the Khan had sought the life of my father, his base treachery had taught the son of Chiun a valuable lesson. And so he was allowed to live, although his limbs suffered ague as a result of tasting his own poison. And that is the end of my story."

  "So what happened to Khan?"

  Chiun waved the question away. "It does not matter."

  "It does to me. He was obviously killing travelers and feeding them to his trained bear."

  "Your desire for a happy ending in which truth, justice and the American way prevail is pathetic. I have imparted to you a wonderfully rare lesson."

  "I already know the lesson—know your food."

  "That is a good lesson, yes. But not why I have told you this story."

  "Am I supposed to guess?"

  "No. I was coming to it when I was rudely interrupted."

  Remo fell silent.

  Chiun closed his eyes, and deep wrinkles webbed out from the corners. "I have not walked the Silk Road in many years. I yearn to walk it again. I yearn to dwell in the village of my ancestors and walk the dusty caravan road to the bedizened thrones of Asia, who have sustained my House and my family since the beginning."

  "So you're moving back to Korea?"

  "Those were the good days. I need to taste cool Korean air and water. To see the plum trees flower, and the heron swoop."

  Remo swallowed hard. "I'd like you to stay in America."

  Chiun lowered his shiny old head. "Alas, I cannot."

  "Why not?"

  "This land is full of bitter memories I cannot abide. And though my days are dwindling, I cannot embrace the ease I have earned, for I am the last Reigning Master of Sinanju, with none to take up my kimono and sandals after me."

  "I've been giving this serious thought," said Remo. "I'm willing to assume the responsibility of Reigning Master. You're always talking about retiring. Now you can."

  Chiun said nothing. His head remained bowed, his eyes squeezed shut as if in pain.

  Finally he spoke. "These tidings you bring would have gladdened my heart had you only rendered them to me before. But you have dumped me like an old granny. And now you come to me seeking forgiveness, groveling and begging."

  "I am not groveling."

  " Pleading with me to take you back. But how can I trust one such as you, since I am the only true father you have ever known?"

  "Name your price."

  "Sinanju is not to be bought. It may be rented or hired. I will not trade the sanctity of Reigning Masterhood for mere favors."

  "I belong here. With you."

  "Two days ago you swore to me the way of the assassin was not your way."

  "Something happened that taught me different. I am what I am."

  For the first time Chiun's hazel eyes locked with Remo's. "Will you sacrifice for this boon?"

  "Anything," Remo answered.

  "Give up maize in all its lurid allure. Swear to me that your pale lips will never again touch yellow grain or drink it."

  Remo swallowed hard. "I promise."

  Chiun's voice softened. "I might consider a grace period in which you might possibly prove your worthiness to succeed me—against all evidence to the contrary, of course."

  "You won't be sorry, Little Father."

  "That remains to be seen. I have sent word on the wings of swallows that the House is open to other offers."

  "I know."

  "And I have told Smith that I will not consider his offer," Chiun added.

  "So that's that."

  "No. That is not that. It is only that if I say it is that. And it is not that. I cannot treat with Smith without going against my solemn word. But the apprentice Reigning Master may."

  "Apprentice Reigning Master? I don't remember ever hearing of an apprentice Reigning Master."

  "You will be the first in the history of the House. Because you are white and a corn addict, you naturally cannot be trusted with assuming the exalted office without a suitable period."

  "How long?"

  "Ten, perhaps only fifteen years."

  "I thought you wanted me to take over."

  "In time, in time. First you must prove your worthiness, and the best way is to enter into your first negotiation with an emperor. Go to Smith. Suggest that the House might be persuaded to reconsider its current negotiating position. Do not overemphasize this point. Show no eagerness. Promise nothing. Let veilings adhere to your every word, and remember no word is more powerful than silence or the narrowing of the eyes in the heat of negotiation. Show me how you narrow your eyes, Remo."

  Remo frowned. His eyes bunched up like concord grapes.

  "Your eyes seem incapable of correct narrowing. But I will give you a mirror. Spend the next hours practicing, then hie yourself to Emperor Smith's fortress, there to lure him and lull him into loosing his purse strings more widely than ever before."

  "Got it," said Remo, jumping to his feet. He took a deep breath. "Thanks for giving me another chance."

  "A chance is only a chance. The proof is in the pudding."

  As Remo started to go, Chiun called out,"You have forgotten something."

  Remo thought. Turning, he bowed deeply. A forty-five-degree bow.

  "How's that?" he asked, straightening.

  "Very good. Proper and direct. But it was not what I meant."

  Remo looked blank.

  "Did you not ask me to hear the story of the stonecutter?"

  "Oh, right." Remo started to sink down on the floor when Chiun motioned him to remain standing.

  "It is too late. Obviously you were not sincere in your desire, or it never would have slipped your frail mind."

  "No, I really want to."

  "Enough. Later. If you implore me enough."

  "Got it, Little Father."

  At the door Remo paused and said, "Thanks again. You won't regret it."

  And under his breath the Master of Sinanju intoned, "Let us hope neither of us does."

  Chapter Thirteen

  The President of the United States couldn't believe it when his chief of staff came with the news.

  "He's what?"

  "Refusing to accept your call."

  "Since when does the president of the United Mexican States refuse to take the U.S. President's call?"

  The chief of staff wanted to say, "Since you became President," but swallowed his tongue and said nothing.

  The President of the United States looked ill. It was bad enough that the Republican Speaker of the House had refused to take his calls in the aftermath of the November revolution of a year ago, but that was politics. This was a threat situation on the nation's vulnerable southern border.

/>   "What's the disposition of our troops?"

  "The Eighty-sixth Airborne is en route to Brownsville. If Mexico City makes a move, they make it against Texas. They once owned it, you know."

  "If they think they're taking back Texas, it'll be over my dead body."

  The chief of staff, eyeing a recent bullet hole in the Oval Office window, rapped the President's desk three times sharply.

  "What's that?"

  "Knocking on wood."

  "Oh," said the President, who also rapped on the ornate desk.

  The chief of staff went on."Additionally, elements of the Twenty-fourth Infantry Division, the Tenth Mountain and other battle forces are being positioned at likely choke points along the common border."

  "That doesn't sound very formidable," the President said worriedly.

  "With all the troops we have bogged down in UN peacekeeping details around the world, we're stretched pretty thin in California and Arizona, true. But let me add that the aircraft carrier Ronald Reagan and its battle group are even now steaming toward the Gulf of Mexico. If they attack, our retaliatory response will be swift and decisive."

  "They won't attack. They don't dare. What reason do they have?"

  "Internal problems can be solved by external thrusts. You know that it's the second rule of statecraft. Or maybe the third."

  "What's the first?"

  "Don't get yourself invaded," said the chief of staff.

  The door burst open and the First Lady stormed in, looking agitated.

  The President frowned at her. "I'm in conference."

  "We can't afford all these troop deployments. Are you insane? It'll bust the budget. What will that do to our reelection?"

  "My reelection."

  "You get reelected, I'm reelected. If the voters toss you out on your fat can, I'm back to doing pro bono work. I'm too important to go back to the working world."

  A sheet of paper fell on the Presidential desk. He looked at it. "What's this?"

  "A list of emergency budget-cutting options that will balance out what we're squandering on this non-crisis."