A few yards away from Smith, MacCleary waited at the faded foul line of the basketball court.

When Chiun was in position across the hall, MacCleary reached under his rumpled jacket.

Smith was looking from one man to the next, confused at what sort of demonstration this might be. Only when he glanced back at MacCleary did he see the gun.

MacCleary had pulled out a .38 Police Special. Smith felt his stomach freeze. He was running at a full sprint over to MacCleary even as the big man was taking a careful bead on the wizened Korean who stood, calmly awaiting doom, on the other side of the gym.

Even before he reached MacCleary, Smith knew he'd be too late. When it came, the single shot was like thunder in the gymnasium. The fat slug screamed across the gym.

Smith saw Chiun. The tiny man seemed to crumple and fly from view, flung back by the force of the gunshot.

"Have you gone mad?" the CURE director snarled, coming up beside MacCleary.

Conn's face was blandly amused. He held the gun beyond reach of Smith's grabbing hands. His hook was resting casually in his jacket pocket.

"Relax, Smitty," MacCleary said. "Take another look." He aimed his chin across the room.

Smith glanced over to where the ancient Korean lay. His mind was already reeling as he tried to think of how they would be able to dispose of the body. But there was no body.

The tiny Korean was standing where Smith had last seen him, a placid expression on his wrinkled face. "Thank God," Smith sighed, relieved. "You missed."

MacCleary shook his head. He seemed insulted at the mere suggestion. "Like hell. You ever know me to miss?"

Smith hesitated to answer.

"That's 'cause I don't miss," MacCleary concluded. And to punctuate the point, he raised his gun and fired again.

This time Smith kept his full attention on Chiun. He thought he saw something. The same flash of movement he had caught from the corner of his eye the first time. But it moved faster than his brain and eyes could reconcile. And faster, it would seem, than a bullet in flight.