Profit Motive td-48

by Warren Murphy

  "Shit," said Reva Bleem. "What's going on here."

  "First of all, why does that car run?"

  "It doesn't use gas.There are other fuels besides petroleum-based fuels. There's Bleem International's new synthetic. We call it Polypussides. It's got a few kinks, but it'll run a car."

  "What are the kinks?"

  "It costs fifteen dollars a gallon, and the exhaust stunts human growth when it gets into the atmosphere. Right now, if everybody used it, our scientists estimate that probably mankind would be reduced to an average height of four feet, one and a half inches."

  "That'll be good for dwarfs," Remo said.

  "No, it won't. Dwarfs will be even smaller. You'd be able to fit one in your glove compartment. But we'll work these problems out. Frankly, I don't see four-one-and-a-half as a problem anyhow. Less food consumption, smaller houses, less drain on the world's resources. What do you think of that?"

  "I don't think four feet is a height people will want," Remo said.

  "Then advertising will have to come up with something else besides world good," she said. "What about 'Sex is better at four feet?' Maybe with a jingle? Would you like that?"

  "I don't think so," said Remo. And he turned to ask Chiun what he would think of that, but already Chiun was walking back into the factory.

  "If I can't do it with advertising, we're going to have to make difficult decisions," she said. "We just might have to change the Polypussides basic molecules to something that won't stunt growth. But dammit, that could cost millions. Tens of millions."

  Reva Bleem's voice quavered. Tears rimmed the beautiful blue eyes.

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  "You've never lost a million dollars, have you?" she asked Remo.

  "No."

  "You have to take these things as they come. But you never get used to it"

  "Money only means something if you don't have it," Remo said.

  "What do you have?"

  "You wouldn't understand," Remo said.

  "Maybe I would."

  "I have what I am supposed to be. I am more complete than you."

  "That's another word for nothing," she said.

  "I told you you wouldn't understand," Remo said.

  "Have you tried money?"

  "You should talk to my partner," Remo said. "He's into money." And then they both entered the factory. The driver remained behind in the car.

  With disgust in her eyes, Reva looked around at the bodies. "Sure. Sure. Exactly," she said. "There. That's Wardley. Wardley has been turning all these people on. Wardley got them hooked. Then Wardley went through defensive drills. Then Wardley probably forgot he put bullets in their guns. Then Wardley forgot he poisoned himself."

  "What are you, crazy?" said Remo. "Someone forgets he poisoned himself? Someone convinces top scientists to kill themselves?"

  "How did you figure out they were scientists?" she asked.

  "This place. First, all those scientists vanished from the U.S. Then you hear something about rapid-breeder bacteria. Then all the gas on this island turns to wax. I figured that this had to be the place where they're making the rapid breeder."

  "Rieht," she said. "It's a tax loss that went crazy. We needed a tax loss. That, lying there with the silly grin on his face, is my brother Wardley. Wardley could turn anything into a tax loss. Wardley could lose money finding gold; he's an absolute genius at losing money. I

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  guess whatever I got, he was deficient in. Wardley took over this company to give Bleem International the tax loss we needed in America." "I follow that," said Remo.

  "So Wardley decided to hire all the scientists in this field and create a monopoly. Somehow he got it in his acid-soaked head to prove me wrong about this being a loss operation. And he did."

  "What about the scientists he killed?" asked Remo. She looked shocked. "Was he killing people?" "Someone was."

  "The idiot. I guess he figured he needed all of them if he was going to form a monopoly. Anyway, he got all these down here at fantastic salaries, creating our tax loss, which was all right with me. Then he got them hooked on this drug he invented, and he got them involved in playing his games of never letting anyone get at you. Wardley played that when he was a kid. If everyone takes drugs, Wardley makes sense. But I thought he was harmless, and he was giving me my tax loss. Now look at this. This is awful. And those goddamned bacteria must be all over the place." "One problem with your story," Remo said. "What's that?" asked Reva.

  "I know now why someone wants to remove all the oil from the world. It's you, Reva. Then you can sell

  your Pussyjuice___"

  "Polypussides," she corrected. "Polypussides at fifteen dollars a gallon." "Except for one thing, whoever-you-are," she said. "The Polypussides won't be ready for mass distribution for another ten years. Working full speed right now, I can make a thousand gallons a day. What the hell does that mean? I spend that much money on hotel rooms. And in ten years, when I'm ready, they're going to have other synthetic fuels. So where does that leave me? With a lot of four-foot people. The idiot. The idiot."

  Reva Bleem was screaming. She ran over to Wardley's dead body and began kicking the face.

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  "I can't kick that grin off. I can't get it to stop grinning at me," screamed Reva.

  "Hold on," Remo said. "Hold on." He grasped her shoulders and massaged up to her neck until she was calm. The blue eyes still burned with fire, though. There was a beauty to her anger, Remo thought. And that beauty was strength.

  And, yes, Remo admitted, it was unsettling to see a grin on a corpse. He wanted to remove the grin also.

  "Wardley has ruined everything I've ever had. Everything. And now he's killed these men. He's killed others, you tell me. And all I wanted was a tax loss."

  Reva Bleem's shoulders slumped; her face fell, revealing great, great sadness; and she sobbed. Remo felt her move into his arms.

  "We were a poor family. I had to work since I was nine years old. And I thought finally I had enough money for all of us. And now, this. This. And he's killed people too. What am I going to do?"

  "I'm not a businessman," said Remo. "But I would say these bodies have to be buried. The families have to be notified. The police have to be notified."

  "Is that what you would do?"

  "No," said Remo. "I'd just leave."

  "Can I do that?"

  "Sure," said Remo. "If you show me where all the fast-breeding bacteria are."

  "They've got to be here. Everything is in this one factory. He wasn't supposed to get this stuff done for ten years. It's the first thing Wardley ever did ahead of schedule. He usually can't mail a letter."

  "Are you sure all of it is here?" Remo asked.

  "Oh," said Reva. "Oh, no. Don't tell me."

  Pulling Remo behind her, she ran into the office section of the complex and looked around for a computer terminal.

  Chiun had followed them. One of the telephones was ringing and Reva answered it.

  "For you," she said, handing the phone to Chiun. 119

  Chiun took the telephone and Remo said, "Who would know you're here?"

  "Possibly someone with taste," Chiun said.

  Reva went to the terminal and began operating the computer. She typed in questions, and the computer answered them. Remo tried to follow the terminal action and Chiun's conversation at the same time. Reva's head kept shaking, leaving the beautiful black hair with tremors at the ends, as her lips pursed and she kept mumbling, "The idiot."

  Chiun kept saying, "Yes. Quite so. Quite so. You seem to understand, Your Highness. You seem to understand. Quite so. Quite so."

  And then after almost two minutes of "Quite so," Chiun said, "Can you phone back again? In a few minutes. Yes, gracious one."

  "Is that Smitty?" Remo asked, whispering low enough so Reva's ears could not pick up the question.

  "No," said Chiun.

  "I was wondering how he would have found out we were here."

  "He
didn't and we were fortunate," Chiun said.

  Remo glanced back at Reva. Her head was still shaking, and she kept muttering, "The idiot."

  "Remo," whispered Chiun, "we have just received an offer from one who must be royalty, for he made us an offer we cannot refuse. Now I must insist we stop squandering the talent of Sinanju on a man who refuses to become emperor of your backward country. I must insist we leave that lunatic Smith to his insanity and take the one offer that understands the basic needs of an assassin."

  "I've got to finish this job," Remo said.

  "Do you know what he has offered us?"

  "No," Remo said. "You talked to him, not me."

  "What do you want?" asked Chiun.

  "Come on, what's the offer?"

  "That is the offer. Whatever we want. Gold, oil, companies, gems, horses, land. An offer from a king. A true king making an offer to a true assassin."

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  "I want to finish what we're in."

  "But what do you want, Remo?"

  "I don't know," said Remo honestly. "I don't know, and I haven't known for years, and I don't think I'm going to know. I used to think I wanted Sinanju. And then when I had it, when I really had it and grew in it, it was just there. I used to think I wanted to help my country, and I guess I still do. But I don't know."

  "So after this assignment, we can say yes?" asked Chiun.

  "I don't know," Remo said.

  "I am saying yes."

  The phone rang, and Remo heard Chiun giving the shopping list of Sinanju demands, all to be delivered to the little North Korean village on the West Korea bay. It was where Smith delivered Chiun's shipment of gold every year.

  Chiun had always said the gold was "enough, but not a joy."

  Now Remo could see joy on the face of the Master of Sinanju. Chiun lapsed into Korean. Obviously the other person knew Korean. Then there was medieval French. Chiun knew that from the tales of the Masters of Sinanju who had served Frankish kings. And then a singular look of worry came over the parched, frail face of Chiun.

  "Just a moment," he said and turned to Remo.

  "Remo," he whispered. "This noble, benign regent has offered to double our tribute if we agree to serve him now."

  "No," said Remo, watching Reva punch something into the computer.

  "You can't say no. It is double everything we want."

  "You can't double everything," Remo said. "If you have everything you want, doubling it won't improve it."

  "Teach philosophy to a white and this is what you get," said Chiun, his voice cracking in a squeak. He went back to the phone, and in a few moments he returned with an ultimatum.

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  "If you do not accept this now with me, we are through. This divine perfection of an emperor has just offered triple what I demanded. It will be the largest payment ever brought in triumph to Sinanju since the Great Wang was Master."

  "I've seen Sinanju," Remo said. "You just store most of that junk, or the villagers steal it when you're not there. And no one goes hungry lüce in the old days if you don't bring back tribute. So what triple are we talking about?"

  "My feelings are what we are talking about. My pride is what we are talking about. Your pride. Our Sinanju," hissed Chiun.

  "This is the first time you ever said it was our Sinanju. I mean, I was always this white foundling that you so graciously poured all this wisdom into, this pale piece of pig's ear from which you could never get respect and gratitude."

  "Now you can do it," Chiun said.

  "After," said Remo. "Maybe," he added.

  "I cannot tell this emperor no. Not after what he has offered," Chiun said.

  "Then don't tell him no."

  Remo saw Chiun straighten himself in dignity and give a little polite bow to the phone.

  "Your most gracious Majesty," said Chiun, "I cannot accept your offer at the moment. I will do that. I will ask him. Whatever he wanted you will provide. I heard that, Your Majesty. What then do you wish to be called if not 'Your Majesty?' Yes. I will do that, although I will always consider you royal. Yes. Goodbye, Friend."

  "Was that Friend?" Remo asked.

  "Yes," Chiun said. "You know him?"

  "He was that English twerp's boss. He's the guy we were looking for. He's the one behind all this."

  "Rumors," Chiun said. "Just rumors. He is the most treasured of rulers."

  Reva jumped from the computer terminal. "Damn. 122

  Do you know what he's done? Do you know what Wardley has done?"

  "I don't know him. I just got here for his death," Remo said.

  "He's already shipped a consignment of the rapid-breeder bacteria. If it gets loose, it can wipe out the world's oil reserves."

  "We've got to stop it."

  "Of course we do," Reva said. "I can't produce Poly-pussides for less than a pump price of fifteen dollars a gallon. I'm just not ready."

  "And it will create a world of midgets too," Remo said.

  Reva waved a hand, dismissing that as a consideration.

  "That doesn't matter," she said. "What's worse is that my fuel win kill half the world's population until the survivors get used to breathing differently. Marketing says human survival has never hurt any product, but I just can't get it over with a fifteen-dollar pump price. We've got to stop that shipment."

  "Is that the only one?" Remo asked.

  "The computer says it is."

  "Let's go," Remo said.

  "You go yourself," said Chiun. "You have let me down as never before. I don't know where I have gone wrong. I don't know why I deserve this, but deserve it I must. Leave me and my poor possessions to die on this island far away from my home, knowing how close I came to the glory tribute of Sinanju. Go. Don't mind me."

  "I'll get you back through Smitty," Remo said.

  "He seems upset," Reva told Remo.

  "He is." .

  "Are you just going to leave him?"

  "I don't need guilt from you, Ms. Bleem. Where are we going, anyway?"

  "To Hamidi Arabia. That's where Wardley sent the shipment."

  Chiun stepped closer and touched her arm.

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  "Where in Hamidi Arabia?" he asked. "Sheik Abdul Hamid Fareem," she said.

  Chiun turned to Remo. "I will go with you, Remo."

  "Why the change of heart?" Remo asked.

  "Because I have business in Hamidi Arabia," Chiun said.

  "Since when?"

  "Since the time the land was green with rivers before it surrendered to the sand. It is an obligation. And we, those of us who are truly Sinanju and not just impos-ters with no sense of tradition or honor or..."

  "Skip it, Chiun," said Remo.

  "We honor our obligations."

  "We have to stop in Marigot first," Reva said. "I'm not going to Hamidi Arabia without it."

  "How do we get there? You can't get off this island."

  "No problem," Reva said.

  Her bullet-necked chauffeur drove them into Marigot, where Reva picked up four large gray metal boxes, each about one foot high. With great care, she had them packed in styrofoam. Remo heard liquid gurgle inside.

  "What is in there?"

  "Booze," she said. "The only thing you can't buy in Hamidi Arabia."

  "Come on, with their money, they must smuggle some in."

  "Yes. Ordinary booze. But not Lazzaroni Amaretto. That's the authentic Amaretto. Made from the old 1851 recipe."

  "So what?" said Remo.

  "So I buy my cars through Special Interest Autos and I drink Lazzaroni Amaretto. I want the best. What's money for?"

  "I don't know," said Remo.

  "Glory," said Chiun.

  A U.S. Navy patrol boat pulled up to a pier in Marigot, looking for one Ms. Reva Bleem.

  "You're under arrest," said the commander. 124

  "Thank you," said Reva. "I have three friends here with me who are also under arrest." She pointed toward her chauffeur and Remo and Chiun.

  "Certainly," said t
he commander.

  And the patrol boat moved the four of them and Chiun's trunks through the Une of quarantine ships out across the Caribbean to a large pleasure yacht.

  "I want you to look after my car," said Reva to the commander of the patrol boat.

  On her yacht, Reva explained that the Navy commander would retire soon and that his pension was not as good as the one Reva had offered him to get off the island.

  "Money buys everyone," she said.

  "That's what people think of tribute," Remo said to Chiun.

  "That's not what I think of tribute," Chiun said.

  The yacht sped them to Anguilla, where there was a Bleem jet ready for takeoff. The jet ran on Polypus-sides, Reva explained, but already a few mechanics had passed out, and doctors said they might never walk again because their nervous systems had been ruined by some form of deadly gas.

  "See," Reva said. "It's the exhaust emissions from burning Polypussides. It's not ready for sale yet. Now you know why we have to stop that bacterium."

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  r

  Chapter Eight

  Remo walked up the steps of the private twenty-seater jet, with Chiun and Reva Bleem following him. Oscar, the chauffeur, was supervising the loading of Chiun's trunks and Reva's packaged liquors into the hold of the plane.

  As Remo stopped just inside the doorway at the head of the ramp, he felt Chiun suddenly brush by him, the breeze of his robe wafting past Remo's face. He knew where Chiun was going—to the seat he always took on planes, on the left-hand side, directly over the wing.

  He saw Chiun walk down the aisle between the empty seats and could almost feel him chuckling at getting his favorite seat. And just because it annoyed him, Remo dove across the rows of seats on the left-hand side of the plane, like a swimmer making a racing start into an Olympic pool. Down three rows he skidded, then dug in with the toe of his foot against the back of one of the seats and pushed forward again. He turned his body in the air and wound up sitting in the seat over the wing.

  He looked up the aisle at Chiun, who was walking toward him, but without a hint of expression, the Oriental sat in a seat on the right side of the plane. Reva Bleem still stood in the doorway, looking at both of them. Remo heard Chiun chortle, "Heh, heh."

  "Something funny, Chiun?" Remo asked smugly. He 126

  knew how annoyed Chiun must be that Remo had his seat.