Misfortune Teller

The premier scampered back to his limousine. Throwing his driver out onto the ground, he climbed behind the wheel. Almost as soon as the engine started, the car began making a huge circle through the field next to the road. Straightening out, it zoomed back in the direction of Pyongyang.

"That is that," Chiun said, satisfied. "Now, where were we?" He turned back to Remo.

Remo wasn't paying attention to the old Korean. He was glancing along the line of cars. "Where's Sun?" he asked.

With the excitement over, people had emerged from between the vehicles. Man Hyung Sun was nowhere to be seen.

"He is here," Chiun said. "Perhaps I will not have to throttle you if you agree to beg his forgiveness."

"No, Chiun, really," Remo insisted. "He's not here."

A quick search of the crowd and cars failed to turn up the Reverend Sun.

"That is odd," Chiun said, baffled. "Why would the seer desert us on the eve of pyon hada."

The answer to his question came from a point far above all their heads.

A great whistling sound filled the sky. As the faces of the Korean delegation looked up to the noise, they were horrified to see a flaming object hurtling toward them through the gathering twilight.

The FROG missile tore through the sky at a speed far greater than even a Master of Sinanju could outrun.

As they looked up at the incoming missile, Remo and Chiun both knew with cold certainty that they were standing at ground zero. With nowhere to hide.

Chapter 30

As they watched the missile streaking in from the north, another bright object snaked up over their heads from the south. It came from somewhere in the direction of the DMZ.

The latest alien celestial object flew in a direct line for the first. Their flight paths intersected high above the line of cars.

The explosion was brilliant. Flaming debris rained down, trailing smoking bright trains in their wake.

Soldiers and government officials ducked for cover inside cars and under trucks as tiny shards of shattered metal dropped all around them.

Remo and Chiun had dived into the safety of the remaining bulletproof limousine. After the explosion, they emerged to survey the wreckage.

"What the heck just happened?" Remo asked.

"The boom device boomed," Chiun said dully.

"No, there was another one," Remo insisted.

"Two booms, one boom-who cares?" Chiun said. He stamped out a small fire at his foot.

"Patriot missiles!" Remo said all at once. "They were deployed along the DMZ a couple of years ago. They must have tracked the incoming missile and shot it down."

The Korean soldiers were beginning to mutter among themselves. As they spoke, they looked in the direction of the South Korean president. None of them seemed pleased.

The president did not appear very comfortable with the attention he was receiving. He ducked behind Remo.

"I guess we know what happened with Sun," Remo announced as he looked at the suspicious soldiers.

"We do?" Chiun asked.

"C'mon, Chiun," Remo said, annoyed. "It's pretty obvious he bagged out on us."

"Perhaps your heresy chased him away."

"Bull," Remo said. "If he knows everything like you say, then he knew the missile was coming. I think he knew 'cause he arranged for it to happen. Either way, he left you here to die, Little Father."

He could see his argument was having an effect. The seeds of doubt had been sown in the old Korean.

Around them, the crowd of North Korean soldiers and government officials was beginning to grow more hostile. In the absence of either their premier or the seer of pyon ha-da, they were turning their hostility concerning the missile attack against the closest representative from the South-Kim Dae Jung. None of them seemed to much care that the missile had come from the north.

"Perhaps you are right," Chiun grudgingly conceded, as he eyed the angry crowd. "I am not saying that you are, but if you were, what would you do now?"

Remo was looking at the crowd, as well. Nodding, he raised his eyebrows. "Run like hell?" he suggested happily.

"A wise choice," the Master of Sinanju replied.

Bundling up the South Korean president, the two of them jumped into the nearest jeep. Leaving the angry crowd in a cloud of dust, they tore off down the road toward the DMZ.

COLONEL DESOUZA HADN'T been in the Gulf War, so he had never had the privilege of seeing the Patriots in action. Until today.

As he scanned the field of smoking debris along the old iron bridge, he had to admit it. He was impressed.

For the third time that day as he was looking out across the bridge, a jeep drove into view on the other side.

It was the CIA guy. He had returned with the president of South Korea, as well as another man who appeared to be almost as old as the rock-faced mountains above them. Maybe older.

The trio hurried across the bridge.

"Sorry," the young Caucasian announced as the trio ran past DeSouza. "No time for chitchat. You boys keep up the good work."

The colonel said nothing as they climbed into an Army jeep and drove off. They headed down through the field where the protestors had been camping out the past few days. In the wake of the missile attack, the university students were already hightailing it back for Seoul.

When the jeep was long gone, Colonel DeSouza turned back to his men.

"Requisition me a damned tollbooth," he said. "I'll be a millionaire in a week."

Shaking his head, he wandered back through the debris field to his command center.

Chapter 31

"Where the devil have you been?" Smith demanded over the international line.

"Relax, Smitty," Remo said. He was standing in the main terminal of the airport in Seoul. "You're going to pop your cerebellum again. You've got to get me out of here."

Smith's response was firm. "Out of the question. There is a crisis situation in both Koreas. I need you there."

"Crisis averted," Remo insisted. "I'll tell you all about it if you tell me where Man Hyung Sun is right now."

Smith paused. Remo could hear the CURE director's angry breathing on the other end of the line. Finally, without Smith saying a word, the sound of rapid typing filtered through the receiver.

"Sun's jet landed and took off from the airport in Seoul an hour ago," Smith said momentarily.

"Kim Jong Il must have given permission for it to leave before all this nonsense started," Remo mused.

"About him," Smith pressed. "What is the situation in the North?"

"It's fine. Everything's fine. Kim is pissing his pants over Chiun's gold. He doesn't have time for anything else. Where's Sun's plane heading?"

"This is all irrelevant," Smith complained.

"Where?"

Smith sighed. "Of course he may have logged a false flight plan, but New York seems to be his ultimate destination."

"Great. Get me on a plane to New York."

"Not now," Smith said. "There are still matters to be resolved in the Koreas."

"There aren't any matters left. They're all resolved."

Smith did not sound convinced. "Are you certain?"

"What, are you kidding me?" Remo scoffed, as if insulted. "Didn't you know I can see the future?"

Chapter 32

Sun arrived back at his East Hampton estate, jetlagged yet triumphant.

The great force of the Pythia had remained quiescent since he had left North Korea. The spirit had been greatly weakened from its mighty battle a year before. The action of the past few days had not helped. Sun needed exposure to the urn in order to recharge the batteries of the possessing force within him.

His limo driver dropped him at the end of the main driveway near the front door. Roseflower greeted him as he stepped inside the large foyer.

"I heard the bad news, Reverend," his Sunnie assistant said somberly.

"Bad? Are you crazed?" Sun asked, grinning. "Things could not have gone better. Both Kim Jong Il and Kim Dae Jung are dead. My country cries out for a ruler. Pack my belongings. We shall all return to a united Korea this day where I will be crowned king."

"But..." Roseflower seemed perplexed. He held in his hand the latest edition of Sun's own newspaper. The Sunnie glanced from the headline to his leader, obviously uncertain as to whether or not he should continue.

Sun snatched the paper from his hand.

U.S./South Korea To North: "Bombs. Away!"

The Sunnie leader was instantly confused. He perused the text quickly, his face growing more ashen with each line he read. He had gotten no more than a few paragraphs into the story before flinging the paper at his subordinate. As the different sections tumbled in huge sheets to the floor, Man Hyung Sun was already running up the stairs to his bedroom.

THE AIRPORT TAXI DROPPED Remo and Chiun off outside the high walls of Sun's East Hampton, Long Island, estate.

"Are you all right with this?" Remo asked once the cab had disappeared down the street.

"There is nothing with which to be all right," Chiun sniffed. "You have posed an interesting theory. However, I reserve judgment until we speak with Sun."

Remo noted that the Master of Sinanju no longer referred to the cult leader as Great Seer or by any other title. He didn't mention the lack of honorifics.

They took to the wall, scampering quickly up and over like a pair of spider monkeys. They were greeted on the other side by an eruption of gunfire.

"Doesn't look like they're too happy to see us, Little Father," Remo said as he danced around a hail of bullets. Sudden pockmarks spit powder from the wall behind him.

Armed Sunnies were fanned out across the lawn. They were lying in their pink robes on a thin coat of freshly fallen snow. The only thing that might have made them more obvious would have been if their bald heads lit up in neon.

Chiun did not respond to Remo's comment. No sooner had the gunfire begun than the Master of Sinanju was off. He swirled into the midst of their attackers, his toes seeking out bald domes. Wherever they landed, there was a hollow thwak as of somebody puncturing a soccer ball. After each thwak, another gun would fall silent.

"Aiiee!" screamed the Master of Sinanju as he tore through the Sunnie army.

"If they didn't know we were coming, they do now," Remo commented to the holes in the wall.

He ran after Chiun.

THE SCREAM FROM OUTSIDE chilled Man Hyung Sun to his very marrow. It was the Master of Sinanju. He lived. And he was coming for Sun.

The cult leader was in his bedroom closet. The humidifiers were on, and he had a blanket thrown over both his head and the ancient Greek urn. But although he pulled deeply at the thin yellow smoke that rose line mist from the damp powder, no visions came.

The Pythia was weaker than ever. The fractured essence of Apollo was all but gone. It had not been merely dormant on the flight back to America. It was almost dead.

The gunfire stopped abruptly.

Sun gulped at the yellow smoke. fear gripping his chest.

The Pythia was almost dead. As was he.

PINK-SWATHED BODIES lay strewed across the lawn. Some of the Sunnies fled when they realized the pointlessness of their efforts. Remo and Chiun let them go. Their prize was in the main house.

They crossed a snow-covered terrace and kicked in a set of French door-, that opened into the grand ballroom. The psychic-hotline switchboards that had been there two days before were gone. Remo didn't know if they had shut down the tele-scam operation or simply moved to another location. Nor did he care.

The two Masters of Sinanju breezed into the ballroom, crossing the highly polished floor to the large curtained doorway that led into the main foyer. They were nearly at the door when Roseflower jumped out before them, brandishing a submachine gun.

"You'll get to Reverend Sun over my dead body!" the beefy Loonie announced boldly.

"I'll take that as an invitation," Remo said.

Leaping forward, he grabbed Roseflower by the throat, squeezing so tightly that neck and spine were crushed like an aluminum beer can. Both gun and Sunnie fell in a heap to the floor.

Remo and Chiun continued on to the staircase.

THE PLAIN WAS FADING at its most distant points. It was as if the area where the Pythia sat were an island surrounded by a sea of nothingness. Even the sky was gone. There was a great looming emptiness hovering just above his head.

The Pythia was still there. Weak. Racked with pain. It looked up at Sun with what had been its piercing yellow eyes. They were now dull, fading even as Sun watched.

"You failed," the Pythia said.

"The missiles were intercepted," Sun replied. He panted in this otherworldly place, just as his physical self was panting in the corporeal world.

"I did not foresee that," the Pythia admitted ruefully.

Sun was aghast. "You're a clairvoyant! The Oracle of Delphi! The most famous fortune-teller in the history of mankind! What do you mean you did not foresee that?"

The Pythia looked up. "I see much. Not all. What I gave you was a future. Not the future. I do much better with more immediate events. Like now." The floating smile above the cloud of yellow mist was deeply unsettling. "I see your future."

Eyes grew wide. "Yes?" Sun hissed. "What is it?"

The lopsided smile seemed indecisive. As if the Pythia was not sure whether to laugh or cry.

"Short," the spirit said.

There was an explosion of sound like snapping kindling from somewhere close by.

The vision receded in a flash of yellow. Sun was on his stool in his bedroom closet. He pulled the towel from his head, spying the remnants of his locked door lying in shards all around the floor. With horror, he saw Remo and Chiun standing in the open doorway.

"There's a familiar stink," Remo commented as he sniffed the fetid closet air. He nodded to the urn at Sun's feet from which the sickly sulfur smell was emanating.

Chiun's eyes condensed into slivers of pure rage. Hands clenched in thorns of vicious ivory at his sides, he began walking deliberately toward the seated cult leader.

As he looked at the two men who would deal him death, the yellow fire danced in the eyes of Man Hyung Sun.

"It was not me," Sun begged. "It was the minion of Apollo. He drove me to do these things."

Remo leaned against the door frame. "Possession is nine-tenths of the law," he said with a shrug.

Sun fell over backward off his stool. He struggled to his feet, falling against the far wall of the big closet. Hangers rattled against one another as he flattened his arms against the walls in terror.

"You deceived me," the Master of Sinanju said menacingly.

Grasping at mental straws, Sun suddenly struck on something that might save him. "Wealth!" he cried, his yellow eyes glowing brighter. "I can divine the future with the Pythia's aid. Together we can make you wealthier than you could ever imagine."

Chiun glanced over his shoulder at Remo. Remo pushed away from the door frame, standing upright, confused at the sudden attention. The Master of Sinanju looked back to Sun.

"I am already far wealthier than you can possibly imagine, dissembler."

Without warning, both of Chiun's hands slashed at angles before him, first the left, then the right. He looked like a demented orchestra conductor.

The raking paths left by his ten curved talons shredded the chest and abdomen of Man Hyung Sun. Blood and viscera poured out onto the floor as the cult leader collapsed.

Even as the body fell, a thick yellow mist began to pour from Sun's mouth and nose.

Remo knew from experience that the smoke signified possession. He and Chiun watched as the thick mist congealed into a tight, swirling ball. It rose dramatically to the ceiling, pausing for a moment.

All at once, the ball of smoke rocketed down toward Remo. He steeled himself against the attack.

As it brushed his skin, Remo felt the faintly familiar presence of the Pythia's consciousness. It was far weaker than he remembered it. Too weak for its purpose.

The spirit in the smoke was unable to take hold. It passed through Remo and back out into the room.

Still swirling-more slowly now-the smoke flew at Chiun. The Master of Sinanju rebuffed it easily.

Afterward, it rolled between the two of them for a long moment. Seemingly uncertain as to what to do. At long last, a decision appeared to be made.

With a final burst of energy, the smoke raced upward. It popped through the ceiling in a puff of yellow, disappearing from sight. A moment later, a terrible faraway cry rattled across the frozen lawns of the estate-as of one whose time had long since past finally expiring.

After glancing at one another, the two Masters of Sinanju crossed to the center of the room.

The smoke and smell were clearing. The strongest stink left in the room was the powerful odor of the noxious after-shave lotion Sun had used to block the stench of the yellow sulfur dust.

Wordlessly, Remo and Chiun looked down at the urn of the Pythia of Delphi. The dust no longer glowed.

Chapter 33

"You were correct," Smith enthused. "The situation in the Koreas adjusted itself back to normal after you left."

"I think I might have had something to do with that, Smitty," Remo said, slightly annoyed.

He was on an outdoor pay phone on Cape Cod. Remo shifted the phone from one ear to another, searching for the Master of Sinanju on the nearby dock. He spotted the wizened Korean in heated conversation with a man in a thick Irish sweater.

"Kim Jong Il has virtually gone into hiding after the Chosun bombing incident," Smith persisted. "If the situation with Chiun was as you say, it is possible we will not hear much from the North for some time."

"What about the South?"

"There is a welcome calm after days of unrest," Smith said. "The student protestors and their proreunification sympathizers in the government were willing to argue their case as long as their fellow countrymen seemed to be sympathetic to their cause. Their outcry worked when it was the United States who had accidentally bombed Seoul National University. But with a bombing raid from the North stopped by the U.S., there are very few people willing to listen to them today."

"So we're right back to square one."

"I am content with the situation as resolved," Smith said. There was something almost bordering on chipper in his lemony tone. It was irritating in the extreme.

"By the way, I mailed you all the floppy disks I found at Sun's mansion," Remo said. "My guess is that the sailors on the U.S. and North Korean boats were Loonies. Probably the guys posing as New York cops at the rally, too."

"I look forward to receiving them."

Remo's face puckered. "Please, Smitty, do you have to be so damned happy? It's unnerving."

"I believe I have a right to be happy. We have come out of a very dark cycle for CURE. I would think that you above all would appreciate a return to normalcy."

Across the windswept wharf, Chiun had just finished berating the man in the sweater. The ruddyfaced man turned away in a huff, pulling a blue knit cap over his shock of white hair as he stepped onto a boat that was tethered to the dock. A nearby sign advertised M. Vineyard Whalewatch Charters, Inc.

"Normal is a relative term, Smitty," Remo said blandly as he hung up the phone.

Remo gathered up the heavy Delphic urn that had been resting at his feet near the pay phone. He hurried over to the Master of Sinanju.

"He demands we pay full price," Chiun complained, waving an angry hand to the boat. "I told him that if we were interested only in seeing whales we could sit on the dock and watch his lard-bellied passengers as they waddled on and off his garbage scow."

"I'm sure that was well received," Remo commented dryly. "Don't worry, I've got the money."

Remo paid the fee, and the two men climbed aboard the boat amid the throng of freezing passengers.

FORTY-FIVE MINUTES later, they were out in the churning black waters of the Atlantic Ocean.

Remo fended off the curious questions of people who had paid seventy-five dollars for the ride and had yet to see a single guppy by telling everyone who asked that the magnificent antique urn he was carrying contained the ashes of his dear departed Aunt Mildred. The people on board quietly thought that Aunt Mildred must have been as big as a house to warrant an urn that size.

When they were far enough from land, Remo began to ladle out heaping portions of yellow dust into the ocean. He used a spoon he had lifted from a restaurant the previous night, allowing each spoonful to dissolve fully in the frigid water before throwing in the next. It took more than half an hour for the big urn to nearly empty.

"Did you mean what you said to Sun yesterday?" Remo asked suddenly. The two of them had remained silent during the entire procedure.

"What did I say?" Chiun asked blandly.

"When he told you he could make you richer. You said you were already wealthier than he could possibly imagine. When you said it, I kind of thought you meant me."

Chiun pulled deeply at the cold salt air. The bleak horizon stretched out to an impossible distance before them.

"You are very important to me, Remo Williams," Chiun said eventually. His jaw was firmly set as he stared at the endless black sea.

"More important even than gold?"

Chiun tipped his head, considering deeply. Finally, he looked at Remo, a glimmer of warm mirth in his hazel eyes.

"You are in the running," he admitted. Repressing a smile, he looked back at the ocean.

Remo grinned, as well. In spite of the bitter cold, he felt a great swelling warmth within his chest. He turned his attention back to the urn.

There was only a small portion of yellow dust left.

"I hope we don't see the Pythia again," Remo said as he scooped out the last few portions.

Chiun shook his head. The tiny puffs of delicate white hair above his ears blew away from his parchment face in the stiff ocean wind.

"Did you not feel it, my son? His consciousness was all but lost." Chiun looked at the clumps of yellow powder as they dissolved and sank in sparkling crystalline patterns beneath the rolling dark waters of the Atlantic. "Even gods die," he said softly.

Remo did not respond. He waited until the last of the yellow dust was out of the stone container. Once it was empty, he brought the urn up to the railing of the boat and heaved it over.

It made hardly a splash as it disappeared below the waves. Forever.