Lost Yesterday

Chapter 16

The reason for surrender was as simple as it was horrifying. The Dolomos had made a demonstration of a small American city.

“Before you have your minions of evil finish us off, check Culsark, Nebraska,” Rubin had said.

“What's in Culsark?” asked the President.

And the President heard laughter.

“You check them now, because what happened to Culsark will happen to you. Will happen to Europe and Japan. We have devoted followers stationed at fourteen of the most vulnerable water supplies in the world. When you look at Culsark, look at the future of Paris, London, Tokyo, and Washington. Look at tomorrow, which doesn't remember yesterday.”

Smith, listening in, immediately ordered Remo to back down. It was just what he was afraid of.

“We can at least check on Culsark first,” suggested the President.

“No time. If my estimate of Rubin Dolomo is correct, he has his people set to go off without instruction. In other words, if they don't hear from him every so often, they unload the formula.”

“Then it will be done with.”

“Not if we don't know how long it lasts. Move it into a water supply and it might infect the world, for all we know. Imagine a world where no one knows how to read or can remember how to make bronze or steel. What we have here is something worse than nuclear weapons. We have the end of civilization.”

“We can't keep surrendering to them.”

“I'm sorry, sir,” said Smith. “We just have.”

The word from Culsark came quickly. State troopers found the population crying. They all were looking for someone else to bring them food and change their clothes.

Under orders to maintain secrecy so the entire country would not panic, state troopers wearing rubber suits moved the victims to a specially prepared hospital. The scientists Smith had recruited had found some success with flushing out the system immediately, although the long-term effects could not yet be determined.

He did not hear from Remo or Chiun for four hours. And when he did, the news was even more disastrous than he could imagine.

“Sorry, Smitty,” said Remo. “Chiun's gone over to the Dolomos.”

“But he can't leave without you. You're still working for us, aren't you?”

“I'm sorry. I just couldn't explain away your actions anymore to Chiun.”

“You never could.”

“I couldn't explain them to me is what I really mean, Smitty.”

“Remo, if this is a maneuver, I will understand.”

“Smitty, when you backed away from rescuing the hostages, you lost me.”

“We had strategic concerns you didn't know about.”

“I knew I was an American and I felt trashed by what was being done to the hostages. Besides, Smitty, I just threw a blow at Chiun that was so bad, he laughed at me. I can't live with that.”

“Remo, remember everything you believe. Don't leave your country now.”

“I'm sorry, Smitty. I learned something when I lost my memory. My country has left me. It isn't worth defending anymore. So long, sweetheart. It's been fun. But it's over.”

Smith heard the communicator disconnect itself. Apparently Remo had destroyed it.

In Harbor Island Remo threw the last of the communicator into the Atlantic as the patrol boats veered away toward the horizon and the last of the naval aircraft landed on the carrier's desk for departure.

“We've won,” said Beatrice. “We have won everything.”

“Are you really the force of negative universe response?” Rubin asked the dark-eyed man who had given him so much trouble.

“He is,” said Chiun. “I have labored against this negativity for years now, but only you have been able to spot it.”

“I knew it,” said Rubin. “The negative force coming after my positive force.”

“I want him after me now,” said Beatrice.

“Wait,” said Chiun. “If I am to serve you properly I must admit that your forces are not worthy of such a gracious queen.”

“That was Rubin's idea— calling me a queen. The press fell for it. But I rather liked it.”

“You are a queen,” said Chiun. “I have been working for these white lunatics lo these many years. You alone show the true nature of a queen. You appreciate revenge, I can see.”

“Not revenge, justice,” said Beatrice.

“The best kind,” said Chiun. “Let me know your enemies so that they may grovel at your feet, begging your mercy.”

“This man has a nice ring to him,” said Beatrice.

“I don't know,” said Rubin. “They've come a long way to surrender.”

“It is not surrender,” said Chiun, “when one leaves fools to join with those who understand the universe. We could kill, you know, but that would leave us without a monarch, and what is an assassin without his monarch?”

“Maybe you're playing along so that I won't ruin Western civilization,” said Rubin.

“I never thought much of it anyhow,” said Chiun.

Rubin wheezed and popped another sedative. It had been a long day.

“How do you do that stuff that you do?” asked Rubin.

“How do you do everything?” asked Beatrice.

“Your Majesties,” said Chiun, “your way should not be burdened nor should your way be hard.”

“I'm going to puke,” said Remo in Korean.

“Shut up,” Chiun answered in kind.

“You're mine, young man,” said Beatrice, trying to put a hand on Remo's arm. The arm kept escaping her hand.

“Tell him to be still,” said Beatrice. “If I'm queen I can have everyone in my kingdom.”

“So much for your standards of being an assassin, Little Father. Do you know what they call this service?” asked Remo in Korean. He got a reply in the same tongue.

“She doesn't really care about your body. It's hers she is interested in. Satisfy her.”

“I don't even like touching her.”

“That's all you have to do, just touch.”

“Then you do it,” said Remo. “I'm your son. Is this what you would have your son do?”

“Oh viper, that you should use guilt on the aged, that you should turn morality against him who has given you everything you know and saved your life innumerable times,” said Chiun, and he refused to discuss anything else privately with Remo.

The boy had much to learn.

“Gracious Queen, allow me to awaken you to the wonders of your body,” said Chiun.

“Thanks,” said Rubin, who knew he was off the hook for this afternoon at least.

But he was surprised to see the old Oriental stay right where he was on the roof of their command post and merely rub Beatrice's inner wrists. Beatrice, Rubin could tell, was enjoying one of her major orgasms.

“Seven. Seven. Eight. Nine, Ten ten ten, oooh, ten,” shrieked Beatrice. “Ten, ten. Ten.”

“I'm going to puke,” said Remo.

“Was it good for you, you little sweetheart,” laughed Beatrice. She tried to tweak Chiun's cheek.

“And you, King, that you should suffer such breathing, it is not right,” said Chiun.

“That's okay. You just keep taking care of Beatrice, it'll be fine with me.”

“No,” said Chiun. “You are to receive Sinanju.”

And with that, he reached under the thin white blouse Rubin wore, the one with the extra pockets for the pills.

Rubin jerked up straight. His eyes widened.

“What's that in the air?”

“You're breathing,” said Chiun.

“That's right. A breath. A clean full breath. I had my last one of those the day I snuck behind the barn for my first cigarette,” said Rubin.

Chiun bowed deeply. Remo turned to look at the ocean. He wished the planes would turn, turn around and bomb everything. In the opening moves he had made earlier against Chiun, moves of course never designed to harm, he had agreed after he had obviously lost to go along with Chiun.

Chiun had promised that everything would be all right. Perhaps Remo should have known what “all right” meant. Remo had said there was a world to save. And Chiun had promised not to disgrace Remo. Now he was courting these make-believe kings and queens.

And Remo knew how truly American he was at this point. Because he suspected kings and queens were all frauds. That's why they needed assassins, to keep their relatives at bay and themselves in power. There had to be a better way to select a ruler than some accident of birth, or through fraud like the one Chiun was perpetrating now.

But Remo was not prepared for what he saw now. Rubin wanted to know how Chiun had done that. Chiun answered about forces of the body. Rubin said he knew a lot about those.

“Then you can learn Sinanju,” Chiun said. “You must know it. Your soldiers must know it. Otherwise you will be trapped here forever.”

“You can't teach Sinanju to a wreck,” Remo said in Korean.

“What is that language? What are you talking about?” asked Beatrice.

“He said you were most beautiful,” said Chiun.

“I didn't think he liked me. He was going to suffer for it, of course, but I didn't really think he liked me.”

“Who cannot love such graciousness?” said Chiun.

“Rubin, give this man whatever he wants. We have got to have more Sinanju, whatever that is. More and better. And in the morning, too.”

“You are trapped here,” said Chiun.

“No we're not. The world is trapped. Have you ever heard of Culsark, Nebraska?”

“Of course not,” said Chiun.

“I chose it because it had an open reservoir. Hit the whole town two days ago as a demonstration, but no one noticed because no one else bothers with Culsark, Nebraska. Worked beautifully. Better than the invasion of the Dromoids. Because when I told the President to check, they were already hit by the solution. Have I told you about the solution?”

“No,” said Chiun.

Beatrice, realizing Rubin was going to enjoy himself recounting his victories, went downstairs out of the sun after telling the young white that he would be next.

Remo didn't know which was worse, being downstairs with Beatrice in her boudoir or up on the roof of the command post with Chiun telling Rubin how brilliant he was. The problem was that Rubin did have a good deal of cunning. The whole civilized world was vulnerable to him.

It was then that Chiun told him he didn't need the hostages. Rubin agreed. The hostages were a weak step. One must never use weaker when one had stronger.

Chiun told him he already knew elements of Sinanju. But when Chiun himself began teaching the first steps of breathing to Rubin, and then by some communication network to some nuts called the Warriors of Zor, Remo left the roof of the command post. He wandered over to the hostages, who were holding their final press conference.

“We have learned the other side at last,” said the pilot.

“A deep spiritual communion with our fellowman,” said the spokesman for the hostages.

Remo, now acknowledged as working for the Dolomos, was able to order Powies around. He told them to collect all the newsmen in one corral, print, television, and radio. Then he had all the film removed and destroyed. That took care of anyone recognizing him.

He put the hostages on boats back to Eleuthera and told the Powies to gather at the north corner of the island.

“I don't want anyone going into the homes of the island. Stay here.”

“Is this part of Sinanju? Mr. Dolomo has been combining Sinanju with Poweressence. He has a new Warrior of Zor. His name is Chiun. We heard his voice on our radios. Are you Sinanju?”

This from a young girl who was indeed using the beginner's breathing technique.

“Yeah. I'm Sinanju.”

“This breathing is wonderful. It's so powerful,” said the young woman. “We want to know more. What shall we do?”

“Do push-ups,” said Remo.

“Is that Sinanju?”

“Sure.”

“After the push-ups what should we do?”

“Do more push-ups,” said Remo. “But don't leave this spot.”

“Because the breathing force will be lost?” asked the young woman.

“No, because I'll kill you all if you do,” said Remo. He walked back through the harbor, past the pleasant pastel houses which were now opening their doors. Children played in the streets and old women set out their market baskets under the large trees where they had sold their goods for years. Fishermen, too, were taking off for the reefs to catch the spiny lobster and grouper.

The Bahamian air was pleasant on this island and Remo loathed every breath he took of it.

He caught Chiun and Rubin Dolomo at dockside. Rubin was beaming with new energy. He threw his pills into the harbor.

“I have Sinanju,” he said. “I never need anything else again.”

“Sure,” said Remo. He saw that Chiun's hand was almost always on Rubin's spinal cord. It wasn't Rubin who was creating the energy within him but Chiun, manipulating the nervous system to send false signals of well-being to the brain. It was a form of drug. Rubin was not cured of anything.

“We are off, Remo,” said Chiun. “We will be back shortly with His Majesty's defenses strengthened.”

“He's a genius, your father. Did you know that?” said Rubin.

“Yeah, he's wonderful,” said Remo.

“You know we could have all been wiped out if it weren't for him.”

“Wouldn't want that to happen,” said Remo.

“Do you know what would happen if the solution were released by accident? We could have America believing the war was on and they would hit us with everything they had.”

“Awful,” said Remo. He couldn't look at Chiun.

“Or what would happen if all the governments of the world started looking quietly for our people and were to strike only when they knew where all of them were? We would be defenseless. You see, they can't be allowed to find them. Your father is a genius, boy.”

“Certainly does have smarts,” said Remo. He looked down at the coral rocks of the harbor. The sea was the same. Maybe all this would pass someday, he thought. But he realized it would never pass from his mind.

“Aren't you going to wish him good luck?”

Remo turned from Chiun and walked up the hump of the island, and then down through a path to Pink Beach, where he dug his feet into the sand and very quietly said, “Shit.”

* * *

In the White House Smith did not know that Chiun was already one step ahead of him.

“It's not hopeless, just colossally difficult,” said Smith. “We know there are fourteen bags of the solution outside Harbor Island. We know there is one inside. There are therefore fourteen bags around the world we have to find.”

“But if we burst one, the others will release their solutions into their respective cities. Civilization will still be gone.”

“Of course,” said Smith. “So what we do is back off, and we have already done that. We have the world on our side. We have every police force and intelligence agency on our side. It will not take long to locate all fourteen of those rubber bags and then strike simultaneously.”

“Can we do it legally?”

“He's declared war on the world. He is a national power in that hocus-pocus country of Alarkin.”

“It might work. It's got to work,” said the President. He had forgotten where he had put his pen, but he didn't want to let Smith know that. He often forgot little things but now he was aware of them, acutely aware.

Within two days the worst possible news came from around the world. Indeed, the locations of the fourteen bags had been discovered. But they were all gone, hidden somewhere else by two men fitting the descriptions of Rubin Dolomo and Chiun.

In fact, one police force did catch up with the pair and arrested them with a special squad of combat-ready police. That squad was now recovering in a Brussels hospital. Most of them would, sometime in the future, be able to walk.

But the fourteen bags were gone without a trace. Dolomo and his friend had positioned them so brilliantly that no neighborhood, no local precinct nor intelligence agency, no matter how ruthless and extensive, was able to find them. Because of Chiun, the world was more vulnerable than ever before.

* * *

Chiun returned with Rubin in triumph. Remo, who had spent that time on Pink Beach watching sunrises and sunsets, came back to see what Chiun had done.

Beatrice was delighted to see Remo again and asked where he had been hiding. She was even more delighted to see Chiun. Several of the Powies had succumbed to heat exhaustion because someone had told them to do push-ups and nothing else.

“We've got to restore order to the island,” said Beatrice.

“Most certainly, your Majesty,” said Chiun. “For I must keep a promise.”

“He's brilliant. As brilliant as I am,” said Rubin. “Do you know why we will never be exposed now?”

Beatrice shook her head.

“Because everyone is looking for something that doesn't exist. We brought the bags back here. It's all here.”

“But what if they attack here? That was the point of putting them all in different places around the world.”

“But they're not going to. Chiun understands the human mind even better than I do. What we had was not fourteen bags of solution ready to contaminate key water supplies of the world. What made us powerful was that the American government feared we did. They still do. And now they will never be able to find them.”

“Going to hide them under Pink Beach in that room?” asked Remo.

“Of course,” said Rubin. “You there, boy, carry the bags.”

“Do as he says,” said Chiun.

“I will not,” said Remo.

“You would make me, your aged teacher, do the labors of servants?”

“You could carry the boat with them in it. Who are you kidding?” said Remo, glancing down into the boat and counting the fourteen black rubber bags.

“Are you sure we aren't trusting Chiun too much?” asked Beatrice.

“I'm sure. Do you know what he told me? He said I should be the only one with the formula, otherwise someone else would have my power.”

And then with deep emotion Rubin Dolomo told Chiun:

“I have learned to appreciate hiring only the professional assassin. I realize now that I have made mistakes with amateurs. I will use only you, Master of Sinanju.”

“See, Remo. Everything has ended happily.”

Chiun, of course, did not carry the bags. Instead, several Powies managed to lug the rubber bags to the north end of the island, where they placed them neatly on their racks in the rubber-lined concrete bunker.

“Your Majesties should inspect your major weapon to see that it is perfectly placed,” said Chiun, leading the Dolomos into the bunker.

“Enough,” said Remo. “I'm leaving.”

“Not yet.”

“Good-bye, Little Father. I can't stomach this,” said Remo.

“Would you wait one minute and let me walk you to the beach? Or is this how we say good-bye after these many years?” Chiun followed Remo.

From inside the rubber-lined concrete bunker came Rubin's voice:

“All here, Chiun. Now help us out.”

Chiun looked at Remo and smiled.

“I say, Chiun,” called out Beatrice. “We're down here and we need help to get out.”

“We have a choice now, son who has little faith in his teacher-father. We can leave them there forever, as mindless babies without memories, or...”

“We can make them live with each other in a Bahamian jail,” said Remo.

“Of course, let him live without his pills and her without her continuous boyfriends, only him.”

“It's truly a just end,” said Remo.

“Yes, but we would have to walk them across the island and then boat them to Eleuthera and then to Nassau,” said Chiun.

“To hell with just ends,” said Remo, who hopped down into the bunker, told the Dolomos what their fate was going to be so they could enjoy the horror of it for a moment, and then carefully emptied a bag of their own solution over them. He shut the door, covered the bunker with sand, and collected the Powies to help clean up the mess they had made on Harbor Island. The Bahamian police arrived to supervise arrests of the troublemakers, as the Powies were now called.

But in Washington, Harold W. Smith did not know things had gone quite this well.

When he entered the President's office for his half-hour check to see if any of the Dolomo's followers had somehow gotten through the defenses, the President asked him what he was doing there.

The President apparently was deep in discussion of a problem of nuclear disposal with his advisers.

“I'm here to give you your pill, sir, as you have requested by letter. You know how forgetful you are, sir,” said Smith.

“What?” said the President, somewhat annoyed that he had been interrupted.

“Your pill. You wrote me a note. Here it is,” said Smith, taking the small case from his pocket and removing the white pill from it. He placed it on the President's desk and divided it with a pocketknife.

“What are you doing with that?”

“Preparing it for you, sir. As you asked. Here's the note,” said Smith. And he placed the note in the President's hand.

“That's for if I'm stricken. I was just overloaded now. I get like that sometimes.”

“Often?”

“Sure. I have so much on my mind I forget some things. Every leader has that problem.”

“I think we have just avoided a terrible mistake. I don't think the Powies ever got to you. I think we were so distraught over how they could do so much damage that we thought they had gotten through to you at the first lapse of memory.”

“I think you're right,” said the President.

“It explains why we found no traces of it in the Oval Office or anywhere else around you. I'd better get out of here. I don't belong here, sir,” said Smith.

By the time he returned to headquarters at Folcroft Sanitarium in Rye, New York, Smith had a call waiting from Remo. They had taken care of the remaining formula. It was sealed forever with the Dolomos. And there was an even better report from Agriculture Department scientists, one that relieved Smith more than anything he had heard that day. While the formula did not break down easily in the bloodstream, which was unfortunate for those stricken, it did most certainly break down when left alone in the open air. It was so volatile that when it combined with the trace elements in the air over a long period, it became as harmless as salad dressing.

But when Smith tried to reach out to thank Chiun, Chiun was not available. He had taken with him from Harbor Island the most valuable item of any fraud cult: its mailing list.

And to those devotees who had been informed in one of the regular messages from the leader that they would now also learn Sinanju, there was a message from the Master of Sinanju.

It read:

“Dear followers: There are reasons you seek happiness, and intellectual power, and good feelings about yourself. This is not unnatural for you. There are very good reasons why you feel inadequate. You are. Do not pursue Sinanju, because you are definitely not good enough. And as a helpful hint, may I suggest you save your money on improvement programs. The world is made of many kinds of people. Some good. Some bad. Some adequate. And some like yourself, who will never be good enough for anything.”

Chiun liked the letter. He thought it had a ring to it.

“It will never raise any money,” said Remo.

“And I won't have to associate with these inferiors either,” said Chiun. “Of course, they did show me more trust than you, who I have treated like a son lo these many years.”

And Chiun said that all could be forgiven if Remo would sign the history scroll stating he had Korean ancestry.

It was the least Remo could do for Chiun, who had saved Western civilization. Remo said he would think about it.