"Maybe I can talk him down."
"If you can, you're better than the FBI Violent Postal Worker Task Force."
"See you in ten," said Tamayo, clicking off.
"Violent Postal Worker Task Force?" said Remo as Tamayo shoved her cell phone into her purse.
"It's new."
"It's an idea whose time has come, I guess," said Remo.
"Are you two going to tell me who you're with?"
"Fraudulent Japanese Squad," sniffed Chiun. "We are new, too."
"There's no law against coaxing a person's recessive genes to the surface."
"There should be," said Chiun. "Christmas cake."
"Christmas cake?" Remo said.
"It is what one calls a Japanese woman who is not married by a certain age, Remo. A very deep insult, which is lost upon this imposter."
"I don't know why you're being so peppery," Ta- mayo said. "You and my maternal grandmother could be related."
Chiun made a shocked O with his papyrus lips. "Remo, I have been insulted."
"Inadvertently," said Remo.
"Stop this vehicle and deposit this tart-tongued witch."
"No time."
"Then I am getting out," Chiun snapped, grasping the door handle and opening the door a crack.
Reaching over, Remo pulled it shut again. "For Christ's sake, we're almost there."
And then they were there. Because of the crowds, the cab had to drop them off at Atlantic Avenue near the tall aluminum washboard that was the Federal Reserve Building.
It was dusk now. State-police helicopters crisscrossed the sky. Searchlights made hot circles in the ornate sandstone facade of Boston's South Station at the intersection of Atlantic and Summer Street. As they got out, one light fell upon the big green copper- faced clock, which showed exactly 8:22, and then moved up to the resting stone eagle at the roof comb.
A huddled figure in blue and gray withdrew from the light, slipping behind one outstretched stone wing.
"Looks like our man," said Remo.
Chiun nodded. "It will not be a simple thing to capture him living."
"Not with all these witnesses. Let's check in with Smith."
Remo was about to start off when the cabbie demanded his fare.
"Here's our share," said Remo, handing over a twenty.
"I'll need the other one's share, too."
Remo looked around. "Where'd she go?"
"Took off."
"How about that, Chiun? Tammy stiffed us for cab fare."
"We will have our revenge on her and all of her blood," Chiun vowed.
"Not over a twenty," said Remo, handing over another bill.
At a pay phone, Remo checked in with Harold Smith. "Smitty, he's still up on the train-station roof."
"I know. I am monitoring the situation."
"It looks like a parade route here. And that's not counting the FBI, police and media. Any suggestions?"
"According to early reports, the terrorist escaped through the rear exit of the South Postal Annex to the train terminal. From there, he was pursued to the roof."
"Ever hear of the FBI Violent Postal Worker Task Force?"
"Are you making this up?"
"I hear they're trying to talk him down." "They will fail. They are dealing with a hardened terrorist, not a disgruntled postal worker."
"We go in with all these TV cameras, and we'll be all over the evening news."
"Try the rear route."
"Why not?" said Remo, hanging up.
Skirting Summer Street, they slipped to the South Postal Annex, which was still open but deserted except for a solitary mail clerk. Bypassing the lobby, they walked to the rear of the building. A short path took them to the Amtrak platforms at the rear of South Station.
They scrutinized the blank back end of South Station. Except for a few police officers preoccupied with listening to their shoulder radios, the field was clear.
"Looks like we're in luck," Remo said. "I see a couple of blind spots we can climb."
Chiun looked at his jade nail protector and made a face.
"Can you climb with that thing on?" asked Remo.
"Of course," Chiun said, his voice unconvincing.