"Maybe it's me, little father," said Remo. "Am I getting crazy?"
"No crazier than I," said Chiun.
"That's what I thought. 'Almost killed.' They're crazy."
James Brewster saw the bolts on the door snap off. He watched the bar of the police lock wedged into the floor, the solid steel bar, bend backward like a safety pin as the door opened.
"Hi," said Remo. "I am being very friendly. I want to be your friend."
James Brewster wanted to be friends also. Chiun stayed in the doorway.
"Careful," said Chiun.
"Of what?" asked Remo.
"That gold is cursed," said Chiun, nodding to the pendant around Brewster's neck.
Remo looked again. The pendant seemed sort of ordinary, one of those rectangles of gold with a bullionist's mark, this one with an apothecary jar and a sword imprinted on it.
"It's just a pendant," said Remo.
"It's cursed gold. Don't touch it. If you remember the tale of Master Go . . ."
"What? C'mon. I thought you really saw something," said Remo. He walked over to James Brewster, who sat with a table between him and Remo. Brewster tried to keep that table between them, but was too slow. Remo caught up with him on his first lunge and shook hands to show friendship. Then he walked Brewster out onto the balcony and expressed his admiration of the view.
He pointed to the lovely beach fifty stories below them. He pointed with the hand that still held James Brewster. He pointed it over the balcony.
Then he explained his problem to the dangling man. James Brewster had shipped a deadly substance around America illegally. That substance could be used to make bombs, bombs that could kill millions of people. Why would James Brewster do such an antisocial thing as that?
"I needed the money."
"Who paid you?" asked Remo.
"I don't know. The money was just deposited into my account."
"Someone must have contacted you."
"I thought it was legal."
"With nameless people depositing large sums in your account?"
"I thought I had finally struck it rich. I needed the money. Please don't drop me."
"Who ordered you to ship the uranium over strange routes?"
"It was just a voice. From the nuclear agency."
"And you didn't ask who it was?"
"He said the money took care of who he was. I needed the money."
"What for?"
"I was driving last year's car."
"Do you know how many millions of people you endangered? Do you know what one atomic bomb can do?"
"I didn't know that they were going to use the uranium for bombs."
"What else would they use stolen uranium for?"
"Maybe they wanted to start their own electrical company," said Brewster. At that moment Remo no longer wanted to be his friend and stopped shaking hands. As James Brewster left the balcony's airspace, Remo snatched the funny pendant from his neck. Consuelo saw the body hit the place in front of the building. It landed like a water bag, with a single loud splat. Remo and Chiun arrived on the scene moments later. Remo was whistling.
"You said you were going to be friendly. You killed him for information. You killed him."
"I didn't kill him."
"What did you do, then?"
"I stopped being his friend," said Remo.
Chiun was walking several paces away from Remo. He now refused to walk near him.
"The gold is cursed," said Chiun.
Remo showed Consuelo the pendant. "Here. See this."
"It's gold. A gold pendant," she said.
"Right," said Remo. "A silly little trinket."
"It's cursed," said Chiun.
"You will now get your first lesson in the wonderful histories of Sinanju. See for yourself how accurate they are. The Master here says this little piece of gold is cursed. Because some Master a thousand years ago said some kind of gold was cursed, the decision is written in stone. Excuse me, nice paper. No discussion. No reason. It's cursed. Period. He won't even walk near me."
Chiun refused to even look upon such disobedience. He turned away from Remo. Defiantly, Remo hung the pendant around his neck.
At the airport, Francisco Braun saw his last plan evaporate as the pair entered. If they saw him, he would never be able to place the satchel of explosives on their plane. With anyone else, hiding behind the ticket counter was good enough concealment. With these two, he doubted they would miss him. Possibly they would kill him this time. There was a limit to how many times he could miss.
They had arrived earlier than he thought, and now a mere fifty yards away the white man was walking with Consuelo Bonner. The white man couldn't miss seeing him at this distance. Braun pushed back into the corner behind the counter, waiting for the last move. Maybe he would just throw the satchel and run. Maybe he would throw the satchel at the girl, and maybe they would try to save her. Maybe he would get in a shot. All the maybes he had tried to avoid all his professional life came to him as the white and the girl came closer. And miraculously the man did not see him. No recognition. No deadly smile. Nothing.
The man went up to the ticket counter, bought three tickets for Washington, D.C., and then went to the boarding gate. He was followed at a great distance by the Oriental, who most certainly did see Francisco Braun.
The Oriental smiled slightly and waved a single finger, indicating Francisco should remove his presence. Hurriedly, Francisco left the airport, but not for good. For something seemed different to Francisco Braun. Something had changed in the white man that stirred his killer instinct. There might be a good chance now to finish at least one of them, he sensed. And if he could get one, why not two?
They had done for him what he could never have done for himself. They had split up so he could attack them one by one. And something had changed in one of them. For the first time since he had become Harrison Caldwell's sword, Francisco Braun was the one doing the smiling.