“It's not hopeless, just colossally difficult,” said Smith. “We know there are fourteen bags of the solution outside Harbor Island. We know there is one inside. There are therefore fourteen bags around the world we have to find.”
“But if we burst one, the others will release their solutions into their respective cities. Civilization will still be gone.”
“Of course,” said Smith. “So what we do is back off, and we have already done that. We have the world on our side. We have every police force and intelligence agency on our side. It will not take long to locate all fourteen of those rubber bags and then strike simultaneously.”
“Can we do it legally?”
“He's declared war on the world. He is a national power in that hocus-pocus country of Alarkin.”
“It might work. It's got to work,” said the President. He had forgotten where he had put his pen, but he didn't want to let Smith know that. He often forgot little things but now he was aware of them, acutely aware.
Within two days the worst possible news came from around the world. Indeed, the locations of the fourteen bags had been discovered. But they were all gone, hidden somewhere else by two men fitting the descriptions of Rubin Dolomo and Chiun.
In fact, one police force did catch up with the pair and arrested them with a special squad of combat-ready police. That squad was now recovering in a Brussels hospital. Most of them would, sometime in the future, be able to walk.
But the fourteen bags were gone without a trace. Dolomo and his friend had positioned them so brilliantly that no neighborhood, no local precinct nor intelligence agency, no matter how ruthless and extensive, was able to find them. Because of Chiun, the world was more vulnerable than ever before.
* * *
Chiun returned with Rubin in triumph. Remo, who had spent that time on Pink Beach watching sunrises and sunsets, came back to see what Chiun had done.
Beatrice was delighted to see Remo again and asked where he had been hiding. She was even more delighted to see Chiun. Several of the Powies had succumbed to heat exhaustion because someone had told them to do push-ups and nothing else.
“We've got to restore order to the island,” said Beatrice.
“Most certainly, your Majesty,” said Chiun. “For I must keep a promise.”
“He's brilliant. As brilliant as I am,” said Rubin. “Do you know why we will never be exposed now?”
Beatrice shook her head.
“Because everyone is looking for something that doesn't exist. We brought the bags back here. It's all here.”
“But what if they attack here? That was the point of putting them all in different places around the world.”
“But they're not going to. Chiun understands the human mind even better than I do. What we had was not fourteen bags of solution ready to contaminate key water supplies of the world. What made us powerful was that the American government feared we did. They still do. And now they will never be able to find them.”
“Going to hide them under Pink Beach in that room?” asked Remo.
“Of course,” said Rubin. “You there, boy, carry the bags.”
“Do as he says,” said Chiun.
“I will not,” said Remo.
“You would make me, your aged teacher, do the labors of servants?”
“You could carry the boat with them in it. Who are you kidding?” said Remo, glancing down into the boat and counting the fourteen black rubber bags.
“Are you sure we aren't trusting Chiun too much?” asked Beatrice.
“I'm sure. Do you know what he told me? He said I should be the only one with the formula, otherwise someone else would have my power.”
And then with deep emotion Rubin Dolomo told Chiun:
“I have learned to appreciate hiring only the professional assassin. I realize now that I have made mistakes with amateurs. I will use only you, Master of Sinanju.”
“See, Remo. Everything has ended happily.”
Chiun, of course, did not carry the bags. Instead, several Powies managed to lug the rubber bags to the north end of the island, where they placed them neatly on their racks in the rubber-lined concrete bunker.
“Your Majesties should inspect your major weapon to see that it is perfectly placed,” said Chiun, leading the Dolomos into the bunker.
“Enough,” said Remo. “I'm leaving.”
“Not yet.”
“Good-bye, Little Father. I can't stomach this,” said Remo.
“Would you wait one minute and let me walk you to the beach? Or is this how we say good-bye after these many years?” Chiun followed Remo.
From inside the rubber-lined concrete bunker came Rubin's voice:
“All here, Chiun. Now help us out.”
Chiun looked at Remo and smiled.
“I say, Chiun,” called out Beatrice. “We're down here and we need help to get out.”
“We have a choice now, son who has little faith in his teacher-father. We can leave them there forever, as mindless babies without memories, or...”
“We can make them live with each other in a Bahamian jail,” said Remo.
“Of course, let him live without his pills and her without her continuous boyfriends, only him.”
“It's truly a just end,” said Remo.
“Yes, but we would have to walk them across the island and then boat them to Eleuthera and then to Nassau,” said Chiun.
“To hell with just ends,” said Remo, who hopped down into the bunker, told the Dolomos what their fate was going to be so they could enjoy the horror of it for a moment, and then carefully emptied a bag of their own solution over them. He shut the door, covered the bunker with sand, and collected the Powies to help clean up the mess they had made on Harbor Island. The Bahamian police arrived to supervise arrests of the troublemakers, as the Powies were now called.
But in Washington, Harold W. Smith did not know things had gone quite this well.
When he entered the President's office for his half-hour check to see if any of the Dolomo's followers had somehow gotten through the defenses, the President asked him what he was doing there.
The President apparently was deep in discussion of a problem of nuclear disposal with his advisers.
“I'm here to give you your pill, sir, as you have requested by letter. You know how forgetful you are, sir,” said Smith.
“What?” said the President, somewhat annoyed that he had been interrupted.
“Your pill. You wrote me a note. Here it is,” said Smith, taking the small case from his pocket and removing the white pill from it. He placed it on the President's desk and divided it with a pocketknife.
“What are you doing with that?”
“Preparing it for you, sir. As you asked. Here's the note,” said Smith. And he placed the note in the President's hand.
“That's for if I'm stricken. I was just overloaded now. I get like that sometimes.”
“Often?”
“Sure. I have so much on my mind I forget some things. Every leader has that problem.”
“I think we have just avoided a terrible mistake. I don't think the Powies ever got to you. I think we were so distraught over how they could do so much damage that we thought they had gotten through to you at the first lapse of memory.”
“I think you're right,” said the President.
“It explains why we found no traces of it in the Oval Office or anywhere else around you. I'd better get out of here. I don't belong here, sir,” said Smith.
By the time he returned to headquarters at Folcroft Sanitarium in Rye, New York, Smith had a call waiting from Remo. They had taken care of the remaining formula. It was sealed forever with the Dolomos. And there was an even better report from Agriculture Department scientists, one that relieved Smith more than anything he had heard that day. While the formula did not break down easily in the bloodstream, which was unfortunate for those stricken, it did most certainly break down when left alone in the open air. It was so volatile that when it combined with the trace elements in the air over a long period, it became as harmless as salad dressing.