Chiun returned the phone to Remo with a glowing report.
“The emperor has come to his senses.”
And then Remo was sure. For some reason the President was going to die.
“Is it definite, what you're calling Chiun in for?”
“No. Not definite in the least. Not definite, Remo. We're facing something far more difficult to deal with than anything in the past. I believe the Dolomos are behind it. It's what is making those witnesses forget. They really did forget.”
“Then it wasn't that I had lost something.”
“No. There is a substance that creates forms of amnesia. It regresses people. I think it can be transferred through the skin. There are drugs that can do that. I want you to get it from the Dolomos. I am sure those petty little hucksters are behind it.”
“What should I do when I get it?”
“Be very careful with it. Make sure it doesn't touch you.”
“Not a problem with me or Chiun. Things can't touch us if we don't want,” said Remo.
“Good,” said Smith.
Remo hung up. Chiun was beaming.
“Well, I can't say I wish you luck, because I think I know what you are going to do.”
“At last Smith is going to make his move on the emperor. I must admit, Remo. I had misjudged him. I had thought he was insane.”
“You've got to enter quietly. With no fanfare, through a special route.”
“I will be the stealth of yesterday's midnight. Don't look so glum. Don't look so sad. We will help Smith reign in glory, or if he proves to be as truly insane as I have thought, we will help his successor reign in glory.”
“I thought Sinanju never betrayed an employer.”
“No one has ever complained about how we do business.”
“No one's been left, Little Father. The histories are lies.”
“A man without history is not a man. All histories do not have to be true, but they have to be histories. You will see. I am right here, as I have been right before.”
Remo did not tell Chiun that when he killed the President Smith would not take his job, but take his own life. And then they would both have to leave the country. Nor did Chiun bother to tell either Smith or Remo the one thing Remo had not regained in training: the ability to control the outer layers of his skin.
Chapter 10
Beatrice took charge of the packing. This meant she abused whoever was really doing the job. Rubin, despite the hectoring, got the two things they would need to continue their fight for freedom.
Three suitcases of cash, and the formula.
Then he called together his Warriors of Zor. They gathered in the basement of his estate. The basement was dark. They wouldn't see a wheezing pill-popper, only hear the powerful voice of their master.
“Warriors of Zor. Your leaders are making a strategic retreat. But know this. The forces of goodness can never be defeated. You can never be defeated. We shall conquer and give the world a new day, a new age, a new order. May the power of the universe be with you, and with your kin forever. Alarkin sings your praise.”
“Alarkin?” asked an insurance adjuster who had joined Poweressence to cure his headaches.
“Chapter seventeen in
“I don't read that crap.”
“It can inspire you,” said Rubin. “Prepare for my return. Prepare to receive word from our new home, a safe place, a more decent place where enlightenment is loved, not fought. Where honor is respected, and the good walk humbly with their gods forever in peace.”
“The planet Alarkin?” asked one woman.
“No. I think the Bahamas,” said Rubin. “Be gone, and bless the very essence of your spirit.”
That done, he rolled Beatrice's lingerie, folded her favorite blouses, wrapped her pumps, high heels, and slippers in several layers of tissue paper, and then called his press conference.
With Kathy Bowen not with them, only one reporter from a local weekly showed up. Rubin had built an auditorium for just such an occasion.
The reporter sat alone in the twentieth row.
“You can come up front,” said Rubin.
“I feel uncomfortable up front,” said the reporter.
“You're up front wherever you sit. You're alone.”
“I'll stay here,” she said. She was a mousy sort with very large eyeglasses. Rubin wondered if bad eyesight could be cured by projecting a nonmousy essence. He would have to add that to a Poweressence course. As you think, so you see, he thought. It would be a good course. They could sell it for the cost of a hundred pair of eyeglasses, saying that with the proper use of the course they would never need eyeglasses again. There were lots of things he could do with vision. But these things were not on his mind this day as he read his statement.
“This is a message to the world about religious freedom. Today we face the slings and arrows of an oppressive government. Little do you heed. Today Poweressence, which has brought so much love and freedom to the world, suffers persecution. And why, you may ask,” read Rubin.
“Because we can cure insomnia without making the drug companies rich. Because we can make people happier and more secure without making the officially approved psychiatrist richer. Because we can help people without the government demanding more money. Today your government attempts to suppress people reintegrating with their essence, claiming it is some sort of mail fraud. How will they treat the Mass tomorrow? Can the Catholics prove the Eucharist is the body and blood of their Lord? Can the Jews prove their Passover really commemorates the flight from Egypt? Can Protestants prove the laying-on of hands heals? Yes, we have been indicted for promising and giving cures for headaches, unhappiness, depression, a poor love life, and the ever- popular and soon-to-be released seeing through your eyes instead of eyeglasses.”
On the last one, Rubin lifted his gaze from the printed page. He had just made that one up.
“Do not ask for whom the bell tolls,” he rang out. “It tolls for me.”
He liked that even better. The lone reporter from the county weekly finally came up for a press release. She had a small question.
“We certainly want to run your story, but we have an advertising problem.”
“Not enough space in the paper.”
“Not enough advertising. I also sell advertising space. My boss said to tell you it would be a wonderful story if we could run your large advertisement right beside it.”
“How much?”
“A hundred dollars.”
“A free press is vital to a free nation,” said Rubin, stuffing a wad of bills into her hands. “Don't forget to mention seeing through your eyes, not your eyeglasses. It's a new program.”
“Really, you can help me to see without eyeglasses?”
“Only if you want to help yourself,” said Rubin.
“I do.”
“Fill out an application for Poweressence. You've got to start at the beginning. I'll take back the entrance fee,” he said. Fortunately it came just to the cost of the advertising. And thus the last testament of Poweressence in America was given to the
