CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Harold Smith was eating lunch in his office when the direct scrambler line rang. It had little to distinguish it from the other two phones on the large mahogany desk, but a small white dot in the middle of the receiver handle.
Smith returned a spoonful of prune whip yogurt to the white porcelain dish on the silver tray. He wiped his mouth with a linen handkerchief as though expecting an important visitor, and picked up the receiver.
«Smith, 7-4-4,» he said.
«Well,» came the all-too-familiar voice.
«Well what, sir?»
«What about the canvass in New York?»
«Very little progress, I'm afraid, sir. We can't get past Maxwell.»
Smith dropped the handkerchief to the tray and absently began to build prune whip yogurt drifts with the spoon. In the valley of tears that was his life, upstairs never failed to add a few thundershowers, then wonder why he got wet.
«What about the new-type personnel?»
«We're preparing a man now, sir.»
«Now?» the voice came louder. «Preparing him? The Senate is coming to New York very soon, and it can't come with that Maxwell still operating. Too many witnesses disappear. We need a canvass, and if Maxwell's stopping it, then stop Maxwell.»
Smith said «We only have an instructor-recruiter that's capable in this field…»
«Now, damn it. What the hell are you doing up there?»
«If we send our instructor, we'll only have the trainee.»
«Send the trainee then.»
«He wouldn't stand a chance.»
«Then send your recruiter. I don't care how you do it.»
«We need three more months. Our trainee will be ready then.»
«You will eliminate Maxwell within one month. That is an order.»
«Yes, sir,» Smith said and hung up the receiver. He demolished the yogurt drifts and let the spoon sink into the grayish mixture.
MacCleary or Williams. One untrained, the other the only link to new material. Maybe Williams could pull it off. But if he failed, then no one. Smith stared at the white-dotted phone and then at the inter-Folcroft lines.
He picked up a local phone. «Special unit,» he said into the receiver and waited. The noon sun sparkled on the waters of Long Island Sound.
«Special unit,» a voice answered.
«Let me speak to…» Smith's voice tailed off. «Never mind,» he said. Then he hung up and stared at the waters while he made his decision.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Remo had found Chiun's quarters much larger than his own, but stuffed with so much colored bric-a-brac that it looked like an over-crowded gift shop.
The elderly Oriental forced Remo to sit on a thin mat. There were no chairs and the table they ate from was ankle high. Chiun had said folded legs developed more tone than legs dangling from a chair.
For a week, Chiun only talked. There were no direct instructions on his trade. Chiun probed and Remo evaded. Chiun asked questions and Remo answered them with other questions.
Maybe the plastic surgery had slowed the pace of training. Surgeons straightened a break in Remo's nose and removed flesh from beneath the cheekbones to make them look higher. Electrolysis pushed back his hairline.
His face was still in bandages when, at one meal, he asked Chiun: «Ever eat a kosher hot dog?»
«Never,» Chiun said. «And that is why I live so long.» He went on: «And I hope you will never again eat kosher hot dogs or any of the filth you Westerners drop into your stomachs.»
Remo shrugged and pushed away the lacquered black bowl that held the white, semi-transparent fish flesh. He knew that at night he could order real food.
«I see you will never give up your bad habits as far as your mouth goes.»
«MacCleary drinks.»
Chiun's face brightened as he lifted a sliver of the whitish fish. «Ah, MacCleary. There is a very special man. A very special man.»
«You train him?»
«No, I did not. But a worthy acquaintance did. And he did an excellent job considering he was working with a person of Mr. MacCleary's idealism. Very difficult. Fortunately, you will have no such problems.»
Remo chewed on a few grains of rice that hadn't been tainted by touching the fish. A strange light filtered through the orange screens.
«I suppose I should not ask, but how did you escape the burden of this idealism?»
«You should not ask,» Remo said. Maybe he'd get the prime ribs tonight.
Chiun nodded. «So. Excuse the prying but I must know my pupil.»
Suddenly Remo realized the last nibble of rice had touched the fish. He would have spit it out, but he had done that the day before and Chiun had launched into a lecture on the preciousness of food. It had lasted half an hour, thirty minutes of tedium. Remo swallowed.
«I must know my pupil,» Chiun repeated.
«Look, I've been here six days and all we do is talk. Can we get on with what we have to do? I know about Oriental patience. But I don't have it.»
«In due time, in due time. How did you escape it?» Chiun began to chew the fish and Remo knew there would be at least three minutes of mastication.
«You assume I once had this idealism.»
Chiun nodded, still chewing.
«Okay,» Remo said softly. «I was a team man all my life and the only thing it ever got me was the electric chair. They were going to burn me. I went for a deal and when I woke up, it felt like Hell. I'm here and so's this fish and it is Hell. That's it Okay?»
When Chiun had finished chewing, he said: «I see, I see. But one experience does not kill a thought. The thought remains. It is only hidden. It is a good time for you to learn. But when the feelings of your childhood return, beware.»
«I'll remember that,» Remo said. Maybe a steak would be better than prime ribs.
Chiun bowed slightly and said, «Remove the food. We begin.»
As Remo brought the bowls to the sink painted with purple and green flowers around the basin, Chiun murmured. He closed his eyes and lifted his head as though staring at a dark heaven.
«I am supposed to teach you how to kill. This would be very simple if killing were simply walking up to your victim and striking him. But it is not always that way in your trade. You will find it more difficult and complex and so your training will be more difficult and complex».
«Unfortunately, it takes many years to build an expert. And I do not have many years in which to train you. Once I was given a man from your Central Intelligence Agency and told to train him in two weeks for a European assignment. I pleaded that this was not enough time; that he was not ready. They would not listen. And he lived but two weeks. It is pitiful that there is not more central intelligence in your Central Intelligence Agency».
«They have, however, promised me more time with you. How much more, neither of us know. We will try to learn as much as we can in these first few weeks, and then we can return, if time remains, to the beginning and specialize».
«Before you can learn anything, you must know what you are studying. All the defense arts are an application of Zen beliefs.» Remo smiled.
«You know Zen?» Chiun asked.
«Sure. Beards and bums and black coffee.»
Chiun frowned. «Theirs is not Zen; theirs is nonsense.»
«You will see,» he continued. «All the defense arts… judo, karate, king fu, aiki… are based upon the philosophy of instant action when action is required. But that action must be instinctive, not learned. It must proceed naturally from the person, from his being. It is not your coat, which you can remove, but your skin, which you cannot. It may sound very complex, Mr. Remo, but it will become more clear».
«Most important to all your training will be your breathing.»
«Of course,» Remo said dryly.
Chiun ignored the joke.