Chesterfield wasn't all that concerned. Left to his own devices, Roote would most likely self-destruct eventually. Psychos like him always did. In fact, Chesterfield wouldn't be a bit surprised if Roote was dead already.
He could picture the deranged, pathetic private lying facedown in the desert somewhere. Sun beating down. Buzzards picking at his crazed carcass. Chesterfield smiled at the image.
No, Elizu Roote wouldn't be a problem. Nothing would be a problem. By day's end General Delbert Xavier Chesterfield would have a few extra stars on his shoulders and a rosy red future with the United States Army's Advanced Applications and Development branch. He would ask for more funding for the research. Of course, this time it would be done under the more critical and safetyconscious auspices of the Army.
The Shock Troops data he had brought with him from Fort Joy would be used to create a whole army of Elizu Rootes. Except this time the subjects would be sane and-most importantly--this time Chesterfield would take all the credit.
There was no doubt about it. For this particular general, the world was a big, beautiful place. Chesterfield struggled to pull his girth from the sofa. The general stepped out of the study and over into the small kitchen. He rummaged around in a cupboard for a while, finally pulling out a bag of Oreos he'd had delivered.
When he returned to the study, Chesterfield was stunned to find someone sitting in his seat. He was even more shocked to see who it was.
"Interesting piece of fiction you've crafted here," Remo Williams commented.
With Chesterfield's notebook balanced on one knee, Remo passed a bored eye over the hand-written notes. He held the general's riding crop in his free hand and was tapping the leather end lazily against the arm of the sofa.
"How-?" the general began, black eyes astonished.
"The gravest insult is that he claims I am Chinese," a squeaky voice announced from the general's elbow.
Chesterfield nearly jumped out of his skin, so startled was he by the closeness of the voice. When he glanced to his right, he realized that the old one had been standing near his elbow the entire time. He had been so still, the wallpaper seemed to move more.
With the tip of his tongue, Chesterfield picked nervously at the chunks of chocolate between his teeth.
"You boys had best skedaddle," he said, trying to sound threatening. "Your cover's blown. Everyone at the Pentagon knows your boss Jones cooked up the whole Shock Troops thing. I was misled. Typical of you CIA types. I thought he had authorization."
"Smith," Remo corrected.
Chesterfield grew puzzled. "What's that, boy?"
"His name is Smith, not Jones. And he is definitely not CIA. Neither are we, for that matter."
"A fact for which my surviving brain cells are eternally grateful," said the Master of Sinanju. Chesterfield glanced at Chiun, then slowly back at Remo.
"An obvious falsehood," he said. "I've dished out a few of them in my day. Now toddle along, fellas. My people at the Pentagon-"
"Person," Remo interjected. "You had one contact at the Pentagon," Remo said. "One. An old college buddy." He stifled a yawn as he tossed the notebook onto an end table. "A guy just as anxious as you for advancement. He's the one who sent the extra dough to Fort Joy."
"How-?" Chesterfield began once more. He stopped himself abruptly, trying to gather his wits once more. "How could you know that?"
"Jones is a bright guy," Remo said, standing. "Now, aside from the notes and that stack of records there-" he indicated the printouts next to a computer in the corner of the room "-is there any other Roote-related junk here?"
Chesterfield was already doing rapid calculations.
"Okay," he said hopefully. "You've got me over a barrel here, boys. Tell you what. I cooperate, and you forget I was ever involved in this whole Shock Troops thing. It's all over anyway. What's the harm in lettin' a little two-star general off the hook?"
Remo considered the offer for a moment. Finally he nodded his agreement. "Okay, what the hell," he said. "I just want to get this all behind us. You've got a deal."
Chesterfield's chest puffed out in relief. "Great," he enthused. "Everything is in this room. The computer is from Joy. There's Shock Troops stuff on the hard drive, plus on any of the floppies around here. That's about it."
Remo glanced at the items as the general pointed them out. There didn't seem to be much. "Chiun?" Remo asked, turning back to the others.
"He is telling the truth," the Master of Sinanju said.
"What?" Chesterfield said. He sounded insulted. "Of course I am, boy."
Remo smiled. "That's too bad. Because I wasn't."
Still grinning, Remo nodded to the Master of Sinanju.
A familiar sensation abruptly took hold of General Chesterfield. It was the same weightless feeling he had gotten back at Fort Joy when the old Korean had thrown him through the wall of his own HQ.
But it was different this time. He knew it wasn't the same as the ceiling whipped around and his beefy body made a sudden, rapid beeline for the exterior wall.
This time the velocity was far greater. This time he felt the flat of his meaty back slam with boneshattering force against the solid interior wall.
The pain was horrific, excruciating. And as quickly as it had come, it was over. As was the general.
General Delbert Xavier Chesterfield's spinal column was crushed to jelly even before the carefully assembled brick wall of his expensive rented town house exploded out into the bright Virginia sunlight.
As the body settled like a rapidly flattening tire to the hard sidewalk, a hail of stone fragments and mortar dust settled gently on the two meager stars on his otherwise bare shoulder boards.
Chapter 30
Hours later Remo and Chiun stood before the desk of Harold W. Smith at Folcroft Sanitarium in Rye, New York.
"Are you certain this is everything?" Smith asked. He was examining the paperwork Remo had brought with them from Virginia. The general's computer sat atop Smith's desk.
"That's all Chesterfield had," Remo said. "As long as you took care of everything at Fort Joy, we should be all set."
"There is no data left on the base," Smith assured him.
"Great," Remo said. "Then it's over."
"What about the general?"
"Your deceitful centurion will plague you no more, Emperor," the Master of Sinanju announced.
Remo smiled. "My only regret is that he had but one life to give to his country," he added.
Smith nodded his approval. "His Pentagon connection was weak, at best. There should not be much interest among his superiors concerning his death. Chesterfield was not very well liked in military circles."
"I don't see why," Remo commented dryly. "You'd think they'd love having a walking megaphone like that around just in case the sound system goes down during the Army-Navy game."
"Then that is that," Smith said, satisfied. He pushed the papers to one side for later disposal in the Folcroft furnace. "With Roote and Chesterfield both gone, we can put this episode behind us."
"Um, Smitty..." Remo interjected.
The Master of Sinanju tugged angrily at the back of Remo's T-shirt. He knew what his pupil was going to say. Remo had already mentioned it in the car on their way up from Virginia.
"The Emperor has important business to conduct," Chiun hissed. "We should leave."
"What is it, Remo?" Smith asked, curious. Exasperated, the Master of Sinanju rolled his eyes ceilingward.
"About Roote," Remo hesitated, glancing at Chiun. "You know how I told you I crushed his chest. It's a pretty standard Sinanju move."
"Yes." Smith's voice had taken on a concerned edge.
"It's nothing to worry about. Honest. It's just that there was a strange tingling in my arm when I took him out. It wasn't a shock or anything. It just felt weird."
Smith nodded. "Superconductivity," he explained. "In reading the schematics of the system incorporated into him, I saw that solenoids were used for his relays. These are electromechanical devices that produce mechanical motions when energized by an electric current."