"I'm sorry, master Chiun. Relations with the Iranians are very sensitive at this moment. We can't be seen doing business with them and we don't dare stir them up any more than they have been. Do your best at this end. Good-bye."
The Master of Sinanju slammed down the receiver. Of course it cracked. Why did they insist upon making these aggravating instruments out of plastic and not iron? Iron did not shatter under normal use.
At his Folcroft office, Dr. Harold W. Smith frowned as he returned to his computer. He was worried about the situation. It was unusual for Chiun to contact him. No doubt his concern for Remo was well-intentioned, even well-placed, but time was of the essence.
Already Smith was reading the signs of a new wave of terrorist activities.
In Boston a private security agency whose uniformed employees were composed of Lebanese engineering students was showing a sudden surge of activity having nothing to do with its billabie clients. Smith alerted the Boston branch of the FBI.
In Beirut, members of the Iranian-backed Hezbollah militia were filtering out of the city to transit points, presumably bound for the West. Smith alerted U.S. immigration.
And in Iran, the Iranian Parliament was calling for severe punishment against U.S. aggressions. Iran was always calling for the U.S. to be punished for imagined aggressions. It was a day-to-day activity designed to keep their Revolution alive. Smith called up the details. It was usually the same. Imaginary nonsense promulgated for domestic consumption.
What Smith found was the usual hysteria and threats. Iran claimed a U.S. invasion force had attempted to enter the country. They claimed as proof a number of bodies of American mercenaries, and they had taken hostage a U.S. oil tanker, the Seawise Behemoth, which had been used to smuggle in the invading force. Smith's computers informed him that there were no traceable links between the oil company that owned the tanker and Sluggard's organization.
There were daily demonstrations in the streets of Tehran in which the alleged instigator of the attack, Reverend Eldon Sluggard, was burned in effigy on a wooden cross.
Smith almost laughed aloud. The idea of a television preacher launching a military strike into the Middle East in cooperation with an oil company was too bizarre even for Iranian propaganda.
One item showing up on his computer search did get Harold Smith's attention.
A Sapulpa, Oklahoma, couple, Don and Bessie Booe, was filing a suit against the Reverend Eldon Sluggard. They claimed that their son, Lamar, had gone on a retreat to Sluggard's Christian Campground and disappeared.
According to Sluggard's people, Lamar Booe had left the retreat after only a week, citing his lack of faith. The Booes countered that claim by producing letters from their son, purportedly written more than a month after Sluggard's people claimed he had left the Christian Campground, as proof of their story.
Although it seemed to be merely a case of a young man who perhaps couldn't face his parents after failing to live up to their expectations, Smith called up all available data from the news-media file. At this point, anything unusual pertaining to Reverend Eldon Sluggard and his ministry could not be overlooked, no matter how inconsequential.
Chapter 15
The red light winked out and Reverend Eldon Sluggard collapsed into a plush chair. The overhead spotlights were killing him. The cameramen began pulling their now-inactive equipment away from the set.
"El, I have to tell you," the director said effusively, "that was your best show ever. You were positively inspired."
"Thanks," said the Reverend Eldon Sluggard as he wiped the sheen of sweat from his brow. After changing handkerchiefs twice, he saw that the cloth was still coming away sopping. He was thinking that for once he wasn't positively inspired. He was negatively inspired. If he didn't pull in enough recruits to make a difference, his head was going to end up on a post in Persiaor whatever it was called now. "Now, do me a favor? Clear out all these technical people and get me Victoria Hoar."
"Check."
While Reverend Sluggard waited, someone came up behind him.
"I just wanted to tell you," a voice said while Reverend Sluggard jumped a foot into the air with fright, "what an inspiring sermon that was."
"Whoee! Don't you sneak up on me like that again!" said the Reverend Sluggard when he recognized his bodyguard.
"Sorry!" Remo said in a sheepish voice.
" 'S all right. Ah get really wound up after one of these things. "
"I was wondering if you could explain something to me."
"What's that?"
"You were talking about repentance earlier. When I was a kid, we'd go to confession, the priest blessed us, and we had to say a few 'Hail Marys,' a couple of 'Our Fathers,' and an 'Act of Contrition.' But how does it work here?"
"Got sins hanging heavy on your soul?"
"Well," Remo admitted, "it's been a while."
"Do you feel sorry for them, son?" asked Reverend Sluggard, his voice sinking into an oily unctuousness.
"Yeah. "
"And you want the good Lord to forgive you?"
"Do you think he would?"
"How much money you got on you?"
"Money?" Remo said vaguely. He dug into his wallet. "I don't know," he said as he started to count out the contents. "Maybe-"
"That's enough," said Eldon Sluggard, snatching the money away. "You're forgiven."
"I am?" Remo asked blankly.
"Ah said so, didn't Ah?"
"But it doesn't seem ... I mean it. . ."
"Son, when you used to tell the priest about how sinful you were, how long did it take you to go right on doing what you were ashamed to tell the priest you were doing in the first place?"
"Oh, a couple of days. A week at most."
"And you know why?"
"No."
"Because all the priest asked of you was to say a few prayers. Prayers are easy, son. Prayers are cheap. Any sinner can pray. But money, that's different. Do you for one godly minute think that if every sinner had to fork over his grocery money when he confessed to sin, he'd be so quick to keep right on sinnin'?"
"No..." Remo said slowly.
"No! That's right! No, he would not. He'd waver. He'd think twice, and then thrice. Because money is substantial. Money is important. Everyone knows it. Don't you think God knows it too? That's why he sent you here."
"Actually, it was someone else's idea," Remo put in.
"Someone who was inspired by the Holy Spirit!" Remo's brow gathered in thought. He tried to imagine Dr. Harold W. Smith motivated by the Holy Spirit. The image wouldn't come. Maybe he wasn't imagining hard enough.
"The Holy Spirit brought you here. And you know why?" Before Remo could open his mouth, Reverend Eldon Sluggard answered his own question. "Because he knew you needed saving and that the starving people of Ethiopia needed this money. This is God's money now. It's gonna be put to good use. And so are you. Tell you what. Ah'm gonna confer with one of mah advisers about how best to get this money to Ethiopia. Why don't you check on security?"
"I had another question," Remo started to say.
"Time enough for that later. Now, off with you. We gotta keep this house of the Lord inviolate from the heathen. "
Reluctantly Remo left the studio. Reverend Eldon Sluggard watched him go.
"That boy may be fast with his hands," Reverend Eldon Sluggard muttered, "but he won't win no contests for mental brilliance."
When Victoria Hoar found Reverend Sluggard, he was counting Remo's money.
"How are the new security people working out?" she asked.
"Ah may not have to pay the tall one. He fell for the old cash-for-forgiveness hustle. But that ain't why Ah called you. We got another problem."
"What's that?"
"My legal staff says we're being sued. Over one of those recruits. His parents say they ain't heard from him."
"I thought you had your staff writing letters home for all of them to cover their disappearance."
"Ah did. This is the one
what went pacifist on me during the last phase of training. He had seen too much, so we convinced him that if he carried the banner of the Crusade, he wouldn't have to carry a weapon. but Ah guess he wrote home that he was quittin' before we got his mind turned around. Now his folks are yellin' and carryin' on that their son has been kidnapped or some fool thing."
"This could get serious when the relatives of the other recruits hear of this."
"Ah hadn't counted on them all dyin'," Reverend Eldon Sluggard complained. "What was wrong with them? They had the best weapons money could buy. The best trainin'. And most of all, they had motivation. They should have torn through them ragheads like a pack of buzz saws."
"The next Crusade will have to be better-trained and better-equipped. "
"And better-motivated," added Reverend Sluggard. "It's mah sacred ass."
"I have an idea how to do that."
"Yeah? Lemme hear."
"At a more opportune time. We have better things to do. "
"Amen. While we're alone," Reverend Sluggard suggested, breaking out into a Cheshire grin, "how about a little unholy communion?"
"Not now. I want to check on the new security people. They could be a problem."
"Ah noticed you been eyeing the tall one."
"Of course. If he's drooling over me, he won't see the obvious. "
"Good point. But one thing Ah still ain't figured out: who are they? How can they do all that weird stuff they do?"
"I don't know. But I think the technique they used on the old security chief was created by the ninjas."
"Which sect are they? Ah don't pay too much attention to cults."
"The ninjas were Japanese espionage agents. They possessed remarkable stealth and killing tactics."
"That would make the old man a Japanese. But not the white one. He ain't no more Japanese than my daddy. "
"Who knows? But I'll find out. As long as Remo believes in your ministry, and my smile, we can control him. "
"Amen, sister."
Chapter 16
Rashid Shiraz had no problem with Customs at Montreal International Airport. His passport was in order. It identified him as Barsoom Basti, a Turk. No one from Lebanon to Ankara would mistake Rashid for a Turk, but in the West they clumped all dusky-skinned people into one racial lump they called Arabs. The guard stamped his passport automatically.
This was the crucial moment. He had gone first, in case the American made a mess of it. He could still run. And in Montreal, which was fast becoming the Vienna of the modern espionage world, there were many people and many places that would provide Rashid Shiraz with safe haven.
Lamar Booe offered his passport. It too was false. It identified him as an Englishman. If Lamar spoke softly, his twangy American accent would not betray him.
Lamar answered the questions in a dull monosyllabic tone and Rashid nodded. It was working. The man was so broken that he would do whatever Rashid asked-even without prompting.
The passport was stamped with a bang and Lamar joined Rashid. They walked from the airport and took a cab to a certain hotel. Within an hour, two Iranians were knocking at the door.
"Is this the dog?" asked one in a hard voice.
"Yes. Pitiful, is he not?"
"Yes," said the Iranian. He turned his attention back to Rashid. "We have a car waiting for you. Driving across the border will be easy. The guards look for drugs and contraband. Be certain you have no weapons with you. You will pass easily. The others are grouping at the rendezvous point."
"You have a map to the place of this false kafif Sluggard?"
"Ari. Here. And American money. More than you will need. Also there is a picture. You will need it if you are to locate him personally. He often moves with an entourage."
"I may not need it," said Rashid Shiraz.
"Your task is to abduct him and bring him to us. If this is impossible, you may kill him so long as you do it painfully."
"I know this. But this one will see that I am brought before Sluggard."
"How do you know he will not betray you?"
"Because he hates Sluggard more than we do," said Rashid Shiraz. And to prove his point, he extracted the photograph of the Reverend Eldon Sluggard from the folder and, after glancing at it briefly, placed it in Lamar Booe's empty, trembling hands.
"Is this the devil who betrayed you?" Rashid demanded.
"Aaahh!" said Lamar Booe, squeezing the photograph into a crumpled shape. Then, making little mewling sounds of pain, he tore the photograph first into big pieces, then into small pieces. He stopped only when the remaining pieces were so small his fingers could not grip them for further destruction.
His lips moved. The words were barely audible. Lamar Booe was whispering "Marg bar Sluggard" over and over in poor Farsi.
Chapter 17
Remo put his head in through the half-open door. "Have you seen Victoria?" he asked.
"Too often," Chiun replied sourly.
"The same to you. If you do see her, tell her I'm looking for her."
"Why?" asked Chiun. He was seated on a tatami mat in his stateroom aboard the Reverend Eldon Sluggard's yacht, the Mary Magdalene. He was boiling water in a brass bowl suspended over a tiny wood stove. It was his personal rice-making set, used when the Master was not in civilization. It had arrived within the green-gold lacquered trunk only a few hours ago, shipped by Harold Smith from Folcroft Sanitarium to a series of relay points and finally to the Eldon Sluggard World Ministries.
"Because I asked you," Remo said quietly. His tone was not peevish, nor was it demanding. It was, if anything, troubled.
"That is not the why," said Chiun, spooning brown rice grains out of a glazed celadon container in the shape of a bear. "The why is why do you want to see her? Not the other why."
"Because I do."
"I see. And has it anything to do with the troubled tone I detect in your voice?"
"How do you know I'm troubled?"
"Because you are. It is self-evident."
"Yeah?" Remo shifted on his feet. "Well, I thought she could explain something to me."
Chiun turned suddenly, a wooden ladle of rice poised over the happily bubbling water.
"Oh? Do you think that woman can explain what troubles you better than I?"
Remo hesitated. "Yeah, I guess. Probably. It's about Reverend Sluggard. And she's his personal adviser, after all."
"I can tell you all you need to know about this priest. "
Remo was half in and half out of the door. He thought a moment and entered the stateroom, closing the door behind him. Chiun pretended to examine the boiling rice closely so that Remo did not behold the slight tug of satisfaction pulling at his lips. He let the final grains of rice mix with the others.
"I am having rice. Will you have some?"
"I'm not hungry," Remo said, joining him on the floor.
Listening to Remo's voice, Chiun added two more ladles full. Enough for Remo.
"So," Chiun said, lifting his face. "What is it that troubles you now?"
"I just had a talk with Reverend Sluggard. I asked him about receiving forgiveness for my sins."
"Ah. That."
"And you know what he did? He took all my money and said I was forgiven."
"Why does that surprise you, Remo? Reverend Sluggard takes everyone's money. For a holy man, he acts like the hated tax collectors the Romans once set upon the Jews and the Christians."
"He puts it to good use. You saw all the people he healed."
"Pah! An old game. A conjurer shouts loudly, causing the heart to beat faster, the pulse to quicken, the mind to concentrate. Or he speaks soothing words that inspire belief in the self. Or he does both. I have seen it many times in many lands. Sluggard does both. And fools believe that they are healed."
"I saw lame people walk. Others get up from wheelchairs. "
"I saw the same. The truth is, those people healed themselves."
"What's the difference? They're healed, aren't they?"
"The difference is that their healing will last only as long as their hearts beat fast and their minds are filled with that belief. I saw some of them falter as they returned to their seats. No one else was watching because their minds were on the healer, not the healed."
"If you say you saw it, you saw it," Remo muttered defensively.
"So speaks Remo Williams, the stubborn."
"When Reverend Sluggard told me that God forgave my sins because I gave him all my money, it made sense. It even reminded me of some of your lessons."
"Mine? How so?"
"I don't know. It was the way he explained it, I guess. It started off as one thing and ended up as another. The point he made was that if I was simply forgiven, I wouldn't learn. But if I paid a price, I would learn not to commit the same sins again."
"That is sound reasoning. So why are you troubled? You have paid your tax to this man and he has promised you a blessing in return. What could be more equitable?"
"Well, I don't feel the same way as when I was a kid leaving confession. You know, cleansed."
"Ah, then you question this man?"
"Not exactly. This isn't the Catholic way. It's different. Maybe I'm not supposed to feel the same way as I did then."
"I think there may be enough rice for you," said Chiun, tending to the boiling pot. "If I take less, that is."
"No, thanks," said Remo, shaking his head.
"Do you remember the first time I taught you to overcome heights?"
Remo considered. "I remember the first time you tried. "
"That is it."
Remo's face clouded over. "You took me out into these woods where you had miles of logs laid end to end. You made me put on a blindfold and pretend the logs were over a ravine. I climbed on and started walking. "
"It was not hard."
"No, not until you told me to take off the blindfold and I found myself standing on a log that was suspended between two ciiffs. "
"You did not fall."
"I could have!"
"You did not fall when you walked along the first twenty logs. Why would you fall from the twenty-first, just because it was not as close to the ground as you imagined it to be?"
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