Chiun's eyes narrowed to dark gleams of concern. "We are never safe from Shiva. But it did not harm the physician until he dared to threaten Remo. It should be left alone."
"We cannot just leave it there. It is too dangerous."
"I will not touch it. Nor will I allow you to do so," Chiun said firmly.
Smith pursed his lips silently. His haggard face was very pale now. His eyes had a haunted, sunken look about them.
Then, as they watched, the orb of Shiva began to collapse like a melting ice cube. It lost shape, fell in on itself, and was soon a moist black puddle resembling hot tar.
Then it just evaporated in place, becoming nothing, leaving no trace, and offering no explanation for its actions.
Harold Smith cleared his throat noisily.
" I cannot account for what I have just witnessed," he said softly.
"There is no need to," said Chiun, going to his pupil's side and examining his facial bandages for spots of blood or loose windings. "But in having Remo liberated from Shiva's third eye, we may have saved him from a premature incarnation."
Smith tore his stricken eyes from the spot on the floor where the orb of Shiva had vanished.
"Remo will be out of commission for some time," he said, forcing his voice to remain steady. " I must count on you to accomplish his mission."
Chiun bowed formally. "If it can be accomplished by Sinanju, O Emperor, I will accomplish it for you."
"Do I have your word on this?" Smith asked.
"No sacrifice is too great to fulfill your wishes."
"Then here is what you must do . . . ."
It was fortunate that Folcroft Sanitarium housed among its patients several insane persons, because the scream of pure anguish the Master of Sinanju emitted was passed off as an inmate awakening from a particularly horrific nightmare.
Chapter 13
Antony Tollini could not avoid it any longer.
All morning long, the phone messages had been piling up.
"Mr. Tollini, the Boston client said the last customer-service person had been unable to fix the problem."
"Call him back. Tell him we're sending another."
"Mr. Tollini, the Boston client says that the last person you sent not only refused to fix their system but also threw it into the trash."
"My God. Tell them I sincerely, sincerely apologize. He's a new employee. They sometimes make mistakes."
"Mr. Tollini, the Boston client says they want a Jap."
"A what?"
"A Jap. He actually said 'a fuggin' Jap,' but I think he means a Japanese technician."
"Are you sure?" Tony Tollini demanded. "Are you positive?"
"The client said something about their being good in what he called computertry."
"Do we have any Japanese applicants on file?"
"Applications are not filed by race or ethnicity. But the Boston client insists that he have a new customer service engineer today. He's very insistent."
"What were his exact words?" asked Tony Tollini from the safety of his office. He was communicating by intercom.
The secretary could be heard swallowing.
"He said, 'Don't make me look like a jerk or I'll have your fuggin' nuts.' Unquote."
"My God," moaned Tony Tollini, clutching his head. "Listen, you go through those resumes. Pull out any Japanese, Chinese, Vietnamese names you can find. Have them all on my desk within the hour."
"Yes, Mr. Tollini."
"And send in Miss Wilkerson."
"Yes, sir."
Tony Tollini sank behind his desk in his office at the very end of the corridor of the southern wing of IDC world headquarters burying his face in his upraised hands.
"I'm having a migraine," he moaned. "As if my life wasn't already falling apart. I'm having a colossal migraine."
There was a knock on the door. Tony jerked his head up, drawn face whitening.
"Who?"
"It's Wendy."
"Are you alone?"
"Yes."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes!"
"No one has a gun to your head, do they?"
"Stop it! Don't talk like that. You're scaring me half to death."
"Come in, then," Tony Tollini said resignedly. "I'm already dead."