"With my mind I can conquer the world, just as I have conquered you," explained Tulip.
At the Parkside-Regent Hotel overlooking Central Park, the man called Tulip brought out stacks of weapons. Fine handguns, modern Uzis and Kalashnikov assault rifles, other close-in fighting weapons, and boxes of ammunition. Jalid and his men fell upon them eagerly. With weapons in their hands, they felt like men again.
"I am going to leave you after today," said Tulip, uncrating a case of hand grenades with one hand. "There is spending money in the ammunition boxes. The rental on this room is paid up for the next three months. From this moment on, there will be no communication between us until your mission is completed."
"What is our mission?" asked Jalid, spilling bullets and money onto the sofa.
"You are to assassinate the U.S. Vice-President and the Democratic nominee for the American presidency; whose name is Governor Michael Princippi."
Jalid's men exchanged wide-eyed glances. "The President too?" Jalid asked.
"I don't care. Kill whoever else you want-after you have carried out my orders. Here are photos and the current itinerary of the two targets. You can follow any schedule changes through newspapers and by watching television."
"What about our money?"
The man called Tulip set a leather briefcase on the coffee table and unlocked it for all to see. In neat packages were stacks of American money. Each stack had a thousand-dollar bill on the top. Jalid picked up a stack at random and riffled through it. It was a stack of thousand-dollar bills. So were the rest. Jalid checked every single one of them, showing the bills to each of his men as he did so.
"I will place this briefcase in the hotel safe," promised the man called Tulip. "When your mission is completed, I will return, give you the briefcase, and help you escape America for your homeland, such as it is."
"How do we know you will do this?"
"You may accompany me to the hotel's security safe. I will instruct the hotel manager not to release this briefcase to any of us unless at least two of us are present, myself and you-or one of your men if you do not survive."
"I will survive. I have spent my entire life surviving."
"I know how that is," said Tulip in a flat voice.
"But how do we know you will not abandon us, briefcase and everything?"
"You have met me. You know my face. You can describe it to the American authorities and with my description possibly plea-bargain your way out of any legal difficulty you encounter."
That made sense to Jalid and his comrades.
"Done," Jalid said, satisfied. He felt suddenly confident. How hard could it be to kill two political leaders in a soft country like America, where successful assassinations were often carried out by fools and idiots? He was a trained soldier. The money was as good as spent, Jalid thought as he followed the handsome man with the long blond hair down to see the hotel manager.
On the way, they passed a mother towing a little boy down the hallway. Jalid noticed the boy suddenly cower. He thought the boy was frightened by him, but the boy's wide eyes were fixed on Tulip's impassive face.
"Did you torment that boy with your mind?" he asked.
"No," said Tulip. "Children are sensitive. That boy simply recognized death when it walked by him."
Chapter 6
The Master of Sinanju paused at the door to Remo's room and listened intently. The sound of breathing came shallow and regular through the wood. Good, his pupil was asleep. It was the perfect opportunity to have that important talk Emperor Smith had been avoiding.
Dressed in his ceremonial robe, Chiun took the steps, because he did not like or trust elevators, and knocked sharply at Harold Smith's office door.
It was night, and Smith was still in his office. "Come in," he said hoarsely.
Stepping in, the Master of Sinanju saw a Harold Smith who was more haggard of face than he had been in a long time.
"Hail, Emperor Smith. It is fortunate that you are still holding forth at Fortress Folcroft, the true seat of your power, for the Master of Sinanju has an important matter to discuss with you."
Smith waved an irritable hand. "I'm sorry, Master Chiun, but I'm afraid it is beyond even my abilities to reinstate your American Express card."
"A mere trifle," said Chiun. "I have come to renegotiate the contract between your house and mine."
"I'm afraid that may be premature in this instance."
"Premature?" asked Chiun. "Our current contract has mere days left before it expires. Do you not wish a smooth transition from our current terms to the new ones?"
"Actually, I should have said moot, not premature."
"Excellent." Chiun beamed happily. "Let us make it a point that all our future negotiations are moot. They will be more fruitful that way."
"You don't understand," Smith said wearily. "By this time next month there may not be an operation. The American Vice-President has apparently discovered the truth about CURE and is hinting that he will close it down."
"Whisper the command and I will deal with him as the traitor he obviously is," Chiun said resolutely.
"No, no," said Smith hastily. "It is the President's option to terminate CURE when he assumes office. I go through this every time the administration changes. The President tells his successor about the operation and the new President makes the decision whether or not to retain our services."
"Ah, then I will fly to the President of Vice's quarters and assist him in his decision-making. I guarantee that he will make whatever decision you desire, O wise one." Chiun bowed.
Smith sank back into his chair. He had long ago given up trying to explain the democratic process to Chiun, who still harbored the secret desire that Smith would one day unleash him on the executive branch, the better to install Harold Smith the First, rightful Emperor of America, in the Oval Office.
"No," said Smith. "The decision is the Vice-President's. If he is elected."
"If?" Chiun stroked his wispy beard concernedly.
"There is a chance that he won't be. The Democratic nominee might be elected instead."
"And what does this other person think?" Chiun inquired.
"He does not know about CURE. We'll have to await the election results before we know anything."
"Then let us see that this possibly open-minded person achieves the eagle throne," Chiun said brightly.
Smith removed his glasses and rubbed bleary eyes. "That, too, is out of the question," he said.
"I could do it without your express command. I could take a vacation, and what I do on my own time is my own business. I have watched the hearings on television. I understand now how your government works. Let me be your Colonel South. You will have complete deniable plausibility. "
"Plausible deniability," Smith corrected. "And that is not the way the American government operates. We don't have palace coups or anything of that sort here. Why do you think America has lasted over two hundred years?"
Chiun shrugged politely. He did not say what he thought. That his ancestors had served Egypt and Rome and Persia for longer stretches of time than a mere two centuries. That two centuries was scarcely time enough in which to form a stable government. That obviously it would take much longer for America, where the rulers change every few years, preventing any one man from learning the job well enough to be good at it. To Chiun, America was an upstart nation. Politically it was a mess. Smith's own words proved that. He was saying that the Master of Sinanju might not be able to count on future employment from America simply because its ruler was about to change. Again.
The Master of Sinanju's hazel eyes narrowed in thought. More than anything, he wanted to prevent Remo's return to Sinanju. The last time, he had coerced Remo into staying for the duration of the current contract. The same trick might not work a second time, but Chiun felt he had nothing to lose. Returning to Sinanju and retirement was the same as submitting to an early death. Back in Sinanju, the villagers had shifted their allegiance from Chiun to Remo, ignoring the Master of Sinanju completely. Worse, Remo was poised to marry a woman he had known only days before he had decided to marry her. And although Mah-Li was a good woman, sweet and pure of heart, the marriage threatened Chiun's close relationship with Remo. And Chiun was not ready to accept a subordinate position in Remo's life.