"Who owns the patent?" asked O'Connor.

"It is not patented. It is a secret process I intend to give to all mankind," said Fielding.

"But for your protection, don't you think it would be wise to have some sort of patent? We could arrange it."

Fielding shook his head. "No. But what I will do for your services is give your firm 20 percent of the profit on every soybean, every grain of rice, grain of wheat, or barley grown in the world."

O'Connor's tie knot bobbed, Feldman salivated, and Jordan, his eyes glowing, breathed heavily.

"The entire world is going to use what I call the Oliver method, in tribute to my n.o.ble servant."

The three men bowed their heads and Fielding pa.s.sed out pictures of Oliver, taken by a sheriff's office after the air accident. He said he would appreciate it if they would keep those pictures in their offices. They agreed. But it was when they saw the demonstration that they vowed ultimate fidelity to the memory of Oliver.

In Rocky Mountain winter, they saw a twenty-yard patch of snowy mountainside planted with wheat treated by the Oliver method, as Fielding had called it. Saw workmen pickax into the soil and cover the seed with rock-hard pieces of ground and returned thirty days later to see stalks of wheat growing in the sub-zero wind.

"The weather is only a slight hindrance to the Oliver method," Fielding yelled above the wind. O'Connor 59.pocketed a stalk with his gloved hand. Back in Los Angeles, they got the verdict from a biologist.

"Yep. This is wheat all right."

Could it have been grown on a mountainside in winter?"

"No way."

If it could be, grown full in just one month, what would you say?

"Whoever knew how to do it would be the richest man in the world."

That report from the biologist had come seven months before. Fielding had waited two days for them to get the biologist's report, as he knew they would, and then he had brought his little problem to Jordan. In an effort to make the market more receptive to fast-grown grains, Fielding had sold winter wheat futures ma.s.sively with funds from the Oliver Foundation. He was troubled by this. A couple of commodities brokers suspected something. Some were trying to blackmail him. A third might be considering telling the government. There was nothing else to do but confess all and give the formula for Wondergrains-Feldman, O'Connor and Jordan had changed what they called the packaging concept from the Oliver method to Wondergrains-to the public. Just announce it and give it away. Free.

"Don't worry. I'll take care of everything, Mr. Fielding. Just you protect our little project, eh?" said Jordan, which was what Fielding knew he would say, which was why he had selected Feldman, O'Connor and Jordan, whom he knew to be Giordano with many cousins who could make people disappear.

And there were a few more people who had threatened to get in the way, people who had intruded upon the orderly plan to bring Wondergrains to the world.

60.And Fielding had presented their names to Jordan in a kind of laundry list for ma.s.s murder, and Jordan had said he would take care of everything.

It had worked so well, thought Fielding. He had combined his public relations element with his killerarm element and with luck, he would live to see the fruits of his project-the vast and utter destruction of entire civilizations. Without luck, it would happen anyway. It was too late to stop it.

His digital desk calendar predicted he had three months, eighteen days to live. The project itself should be finalized in a little more than a month.

The intercom intruded upon his reverie. It was his new secretary. He always had new secretaries. They didn't stay more than a week.

"I have the list for tomorrow's demonstration," came her wriggly voice.

''Bring it in."

"Could I slip it under the door?"

"Of course not."

"Those pictures in your office. They're sort of... sort of stomach-turning."

"Those pictures," said Fielding looking at the sheriff's impact shots of Oliver, "are what this whole foundation is about. When I hired you, I asked if you were committed to decency and you said yes. Well, I'm not going to put up lying pictures around the office. He died horribly and I want the world to know that. I want them to know the truth about Oliver. The truth will set you free."

She brought in the lists with her eyes fixed on the mauve carpeting. She did not even look up when she handed Fielding the lists. Pakistan had officials at the Sierra and Mojave for the first planting. Chad, Senegal, 61.and Mali were listed for the Mojave as those countries afflicted by drought opted mainly for the desert demonstrations. Russia and China were scheduled for desert, mountain, midwest, and north. England was scheduled for Bangor, Maine, and France for Ohio.

But nowhere on the lists was India.

"Did you phone the Indian Emba.s.sy?" asked Fielding.

"Yes sir."

"Why aren't they coming? We've spent close to $700,000 on pamphlets, brochures, charts, photos. Feldman, O'Connor and Jordan had a postage bill of over $20,000.I know India was informed."

"Well, they said they didn't have anyone available."

"They have four agricultural experts in the United States. I know that for a fact. I know their names. India is the most important country on that list."

"Yes sir, I know that. Please don't yell. I have it written down outside."

Fielding watched her scurry from the office. The intercom buzzed on.

"Sir, the four agricultural experts a.s.signed to the Indian emba.s.sy are occupied tomorrow as follows: one is lecturing at Yale on America's responsibility to share its food; another is a panel member on ... I have the t.i.tle right here . . . 'America the Monster' ... he said he would have liked to come to the demonstration but the amba.s.sador made him go to the panel discussion on the threat of being sent back to India if he didn't. The third is speaking on American hypocrisy at Berkeley ... he never goes to any agricultural exhibits anyhow . . . and the fourth is sick with stomach cramps. Too much rich American food or something."

"But they must know this is the miracle grain."

62."Their only answer, sir, was that they're too busy fighting hypocrisy. Perhaps if we told them the process was part of a nuclear weapon. When I mentioned nuclear, they were very interested until they found out it only had to do with the seeds."

"No," said Fielding.

When Jordan arrived that afternoon to discuss his little problem, Fielding demanded that an Indian representative be at one demonstration at least.

"It's critical. India is the most important market of all," said Fielding.

"India doesn't buy foodstuffs. I've checked this out thoroughly," said Jordan. "If you give them grains on credit, they take them, because if they wait long enough the credit will be forgotten. But their policy, and it has generally worked, Mr. Fielding, is that if there's a surplus of grain anywhere, they're going to get it free anyhow. They'd rather put their money in nuclear devices."

"But they have an incredible famine problem. I've seen it myself."

"Mr. Fielding, do you remember what India did last year? First they announced that they were not going to accept any more grain from the United States which had given them something like $16 billionthat's billion-in free food. Then, to punish the imperialist American monsters, they supported the Arab oil squeeze. When oil prices went up, so did the price of fertilizer. It tripled. India couldn't buy any, because all their money was going into nuclear bombs. So they asked America for more free food. And we gave it to them."

"That's insane."

"So's India," said Jordan. "If we paid them to take 63.the Wondergrain, they'd take it. But they're not going to buy it."

"Then we'll have to arrange some kind of credit for them," said Fielding, "or else India will become . . . ." And he did not finish his sentence for it would have disclosed that if India did not buy the Wondergrain, it would become the food-richest nation on earth. What was left of earth.

"All right. What's the problem you mentioned?" said Fielding.

Fortunately, it turned out to be minor. It had taken months for Jordan's people to locate that talky commodities man, that Willoughby. One of the men who had arranged Willoughby's "accident" had had his house invaded. Mr. Fielding should be careful for the next few weeks. Check his door locks and things like that.

"This was the only slipup," Jordan said. "The other commodities people, those other names you gave me, all of them were handled. Just this little problem and I think you should be careful."

"I've been careful all my life. It's too late to be careful now," said Fielding. And he warned Jordan that if India were not part of the Wondergrain plan, Feldman, O'Connor and Jordan might find itself without its percentage.

Of course, thought Fielding without mentioning it, if India became the most workable nation on earth, that would be almost as good as eliminating all the bugs all together.

CHAPTER FIVE.

Remo and Chiun saw the demonstration site down the flat highway. A herd of limousines, television trucks, and police vehicles surrounded a high fence on a rise three miles off, baking in the summer desert.

"I do not believe food could grow here," said Chiun and once again told the story of how poor soil had forced Sinanju to send its best sons to foreign lands to earn food for the village. The way Chiun told it, a callow youth had ventured forth into a hostile world with nothing but his hands, his mind, and his character.

"You were forty when you became Master of Sinanju," said Remo.

"Fifty or a hundred, a new experience makes children of us all," said Chiun.

In his search for Jordan who had paid Johnny Deussio who had paid Pete who paid the two who died in Harborcreek after killing Willoughby, Remo had been told by an all-too-bubbly secretary that Mr. Jordan 65."will be at the most major agricultural advancement since the plow."

"Where?" Remo had asked.

"The stunning great step of mankind by the one small agricultural step of one man, James Orayo Fielding."

"Where?"

"The salvation of the world which is what you might call this Wondergrain. For...."

"Just tell me where it's happening," and hearing "the Mojave Desert," Remo asked where in the Mojave and endured another three minutes of windy wonder until he got the exact location. That was yesterday. They rented a car and drove and there were Chiun's trunks right in the back seat and in the car trunk.

"I feel like a porter," Remo had said, loading the large colorful trunks into the car. "Could you make it on one less trunk, maybe?"

To this question, Chiun had had a sudden attack of only being able to speak Korean, and since Remo had picked up some Korean over the years, Chiun could speak only a Pyongyang dialect which Remo did not know.

As they neared the demonstration site, Chiun's English naturally unproved, especially when he found an excuse to repeat the legend of Sinanju. He also had a question. Where could he change paper money for real money, gold?

"Where'd you get paper money?" asked Remo.

"It's mine," said Chiun.

"Where? You picked it up in that poolroom in East St. Louis, didn't you?"

"It belongs to me," said Chiun.

66."You played pool for it, didn't you? Didn't you? You gambled."

"I did not gamble. I educated."

"I remember this big harangue you gave me once. The wasting of my talents on games. How when you put your skills to something frivolous, you lose your skills. I mean, you made it sound like I was betraying Sinanju itself. You even told me about your teacher and the b.a.l.l.s that could go in all directions. I remember that. I was never to use my skills in gambling."

"There is nothing worse," said Chiun solemnly, "than a talky white man." And he would say no more on the subject.

It was not hard to find Jordan. Remo told one of the girls handing out Wondergrain brochures that he was a magazine writer and he wanted to see Jordan.

Jordan came trotting, fuschia Palm Beach suit, a tie of woven mud and silver, capped teeth, and plastic black hair, wondering in ba.s.so profundo how best he could be of service. Remo wanted an interview.

"Mr. Fielding, the great agricultural genius of our times, is busy now but you can see him after NBC News tonight. As of today, you will be speaking to a world figure. That's the whole world."

"The round one?" said Chiun, folding his long hands before himself.

"I want to talk to you, not Mr. Fielding," said Remo.

"Anything to be of help. Mr. Fielding will be ready at 8:30 tonight after his worldwide exposure on NBC. I must run now."

But Jordan did not run far. In fact, he did not run at all. Something was holding the padded shoulder of his fuschia jacket.

67."Oh, me. You want to interview me. Fine," said Jordan.

A loudspeaker crackled with a Western voice explaining the limitations of available land as Remo went with Jordan into the smaller of two tents, used as a press shed. Chiun stayed to hear the lecture because, as he explained, he was an expert on starving peoples. Just fifteen hundred years ago ....

Two reporters hung, pa.s.sed out drunk, over a small couch near the press bar. The bartender washed gla.s.ses. Remo refused an offered drink and sat down with Jordan across from a typewriter.

"Ask away. I'm at your disposal," said Jordan.

"You most certainly are, Giordano," said Remo. "Why did you have those commodities men killed?"

"I beg your pardon," said Jordan, his black eyes blinking under indoor fluorescent.

"Why did you have Willoughby killed?"

"Willoughby who?" said Jordan evenly.

Remo pressured a knee cap.

"Eeeeow," Jordan wheezed.

The reporters woke up and seeing it was just a simple a.s.sault went back to sleep. The bartender, a giant of a man with shoulders like doorways, leaped over the bar with a thick three-foot wooden stick. With a ma.s.sive swing from his heels he brought the club down on Mr. Jordan's a.s.sailant. There was a resounding crack. The crack was the stick; the head was still untouched. The bartender brought a fist smashing toward the a.s.sailant's face. The fist felt like it was deflected by a small gust of air and then there was a very funny sting under the bartender's nose and he felt very much like going to sleep. He did, underneath a desk.

"You didn't answer me," said Remo.

68."Right," said Jordan. "Answer you. Answer you. Willoughby. I seem to remember the man. Commodities man. Willoughby."

"Why did you have him killed?"

"Is he dead?" said Jordan, ma.s.saging his knee.