"Because you failed, Williams. Your assignment, according to your employment profile, was, if Smith showed mental aberrations, to kill him. Now did you or did you not observe that he was deteriorating?"
"I saw some unusual things but he's often ordered unusual things."
"Like terminating an employee strata of a major American corporation? Didn't you question his actions?"
"I was too busy."
"You were too busy following his demented instructions, Williams. What you have literally done is fail your country. This organization was set up with enough checks and balances so that if any move were made to endanger this country through this organization, it would begin to disband. You know that. Your job was to kill Smith. I believe when he was sane he personally gave you those instructions. Am I correct?"
"Yes."
"Why didn't you?" asked Corbish.
"I wasn't sure he'd lost his marbles," said Remo.
"That's not so, is it?"
"Well, I knew he was under a lot of pressure."
"You knew you didn't want to kill him, isn't that so?" Corbish said.
"Yeah, I guess it is," said Remo.
"That makes you unreliable, doesn't it?"
"I guess so," said Remo.
"What do you think I ought to do about it?"
"Try pissing up a rope," said Remo.
Chiun emitted a cackle. Corbish nodded solemnly. He talked about a nation struggling for its survival. He talked about each man doing his duty. He talked about Remo's life and he talked about many lives. He said he could not force Remo to help undo the damage of Smith's last months. But he said he was going to go ahead by himself and try to return the organization back to its original objectives. That was how Smith, in his saner moments, would have wanted it.
Remo felt old stirrings of allegiance that he thought were long since gone. He glanced at Chiun. In Korean, the Master of Sinanju had one word: "bird droppings."
"Who appointed you?" Remo asked Corbish.
"The same person who appointed Smith. Frankly, I didn't want this job. I saw what it did to Smith. I think it might do that to me. If you should decide to continue to work for us, I would hope that before I deteriorated like Dr. Smith has, you would do your duty properly and prevent me from causing the severe sort of damage Smith did in his last days."
"Bird droppings," said Chiun again in Korean but Remo ignored him. Chiun had never understood the love of country or loyalty to a cause, considering them a waste of talent. Well, so be it. That was the Master of Sinanju. He had been trained since childhood to think that way. But Remo was an American and there still lingered in him an ember of childhood patriotism that would not die no matter how he changed. Looking at this man who had replaced Smith, Remo thought that he just might give this man and his country another chance.
Corbish apparently was not as rigid as Smith. Remo realized that he had come to think of the organization as Smith's, that he had incorrectly believed it could not exist without the parsimonious old wet blanket. Maybe it would even be better with this man who seemed to be more reasonable than Smith, and definitely less fidgety.
"I'd like to think a few moments," said Remo.
"Yes," said Chiun in English. "He wants to exercise muscles never used before."
"I think you're the kind of man we need on the team," said Corbish.
"I think I'm going to be unable to eat for a month," said Chiun.
Corbish left his office to Remo and went outside.
"Little Father," said Remo, "I must at least try."
"Of course," said Chiun. "You have nothing invested in you. Minimal talent and less energy. I have created you. I have a great investment."
"I appreciate what you have done for me, but I also have other loyalties. I think I can trust this man. He may even be an improvement over Smith."
"The second emperor buries the sword of the first," said Chiun.
"If that's so, why does Corbish want me to continue?"
"What makes you think he does?"
"He just asked me. Didn't you hear?"
"I heard," said Chiun.
"I'm going to give it a shot," said Remo. "I'm going to see what happens."
"With my gift of wisdom," said Chiun disdainfully.
"Your village will be supported. The gold will get there to care for the elderly and the orphans. You have no worries, no worries at all," said Remo.
"Bird droppings," said the Master of Sinanju.
CHAPTER EIGHT
In previous corporate battles, there had been memoranda, positions to be taken, charts to show one's corporate posture to be superior to another's, sales progress, corporate responsibility well accepted.
Blake Corbish looked around his home den, examined his own corporate resources, and said:
"Bullshit. I don't have to wait for anyone anymore."
"What did you say?" asked Teri Corbish, a sandy-haired young woman in high turtleneck sweater and full, cleanly-styled bell bottoms. Her face was beautiful but beaten. Her beauty was only befitting the wife of the youngest senior vice president for policy planning in IDC history, but her tired appearance betrayed the fact that she was an alcoholic. She was washing down a librium with a martini, a little concoction she said helped her sleep better now that Blake was so busy with his recent success that he didn't have the energy for other things. But then, of course, he hadn't had the energy for other things for a long time, as she often reminded him,
"I said bullshit. How would you like to be married to the president of IDC?"
"You're kidding," said Teri Corbish.
"Nope," said Blake.
She put an arm on his shoulder and kissed him on the chin, spilling some of her martini on the floor.
"When will this happen?"
"When would you like it to happen?"
"Yesterday," she said, putting her martini on her husband's desk and using the free hand to tickle the buckle on Blake's belt.
"Try within a month."
"Is Broon retiring?"
"In a way."
"You'll be the youngest most powerful executive in America. In the world."
"Yes. It's what I've wanted."
"Then will we be happy?"
Corbish ignored the question. He felt his wife's hand work at his pants zipper.
"Later, Teri. I've work to do. Have another martini."
It took Remo three minutes to realize he had been ordered to eliminate someone. Corbish gave the order personally in his Scarsdale home, apologizing to Remo because he had not introduced his wife, who was upstairs asleep.
"At eight o'clock at night?" asked Remo.
"She's an early sleeper and lately a late riser."
"Oh," said Remo. In all his years in the organization, he had never met Dr. Smith's wife, Maude. He had only once seen that picture of her on Smith's desk. She had the face of frozen biscuit dough. Remo did not see any pictures of Mrs. Corbish in the office or in Corbish's home.
"Our problem," said Corbish, "is that our organization's initial miscalculated thrusts have called for a redeeming support action along similar lines."
"What?"
"As you know, the termination to the extreme of certain IDC employees was wrong."
Remo understood that.
"But now we have the problem of IDC as a corporate counterforce, so to speak."
Remo did not understand that
"We've created an enemy."
"I got you. Get to the point."
"We're got to eliminate T. L. Broon, president and chairman of the board."
"Sure," said Remo. "Why all the nonsense?"
"I thought you'd like to know."
"I couldn't care less," said Remo. "Are you sure I should be staying at Folcroft? You know Smith was pretty good about this secrecy thing."
"When you reorganize you always centralize."
"Why?"
"Because it gives you great coordinated concentration."