Remo looked back. "What's that?"
"They never did let me play a damn redskin. Said I didn't look the type."
A smile cracked Remo's stiff face. Sunny Joe clapped him on the back as his booming laughter filled the still air.
"Walk confidently upon your trail, son."
"I will."
They shook hands, their alike eyes read one another and that was that. Remo climbed into the Jeep and headed across the Sonoran Desert for Yuma.
He didn't look back. Not once.
And so missed the wind-eroded face of Sunny Joe Roam crumple into commingled lines of pain and pride.
Chapter Twelve
At the Yuma International Airport, the police tried to arrest Remo when he turned in his rental Jeep.
"This is a stolen vehicle," a deputy sheriff said in a voice abraded by the sand-bearing winds.
"No, it's not," Remo told him. "I rented it back in July. Now I'm returning it."
"We have an APB from the highest levels to apprehend and hold for questioning the driver of that Mazda Navajo, sir."
"That's gotta be my boss. Look, this is just a misunderstanding."
"Which we can straighten out down at the sheriff's office better than here."
"Can't it wait? I'm in a rush. Let me make a phone call," Remo pleaded.
"You're allowed one call. At the sheriff's office."
"If I make it here, we'll both save a wasted trip and I can still catch my flight."
The deputy laid one hand on the butt of his holstered side arm. "At the sheriff's office."
"You're arresting me?"
"That's a fact."
Sighing, Remo extended his thick wrists. With a jingling the deputy sheriff's handcuffs came out and snapped shut. Over his own stunned wrists.
"What the hell?" he yelped.
Remo held his Remo Durock, FBI, card in front of the deputy sheriff's hot eyes and said, "You're under arrest."
"You can't arrest me."
"Just did. I'm an FBI agent and you're only local law. I outrank you."
"On what charge?" the deputy asked, incredulous.
"Obstructing justice."
"Prove it."
"Tell it to a federal magistrate," Remo said soberly. "Now, come on. We're going to do this my way."
At a pay phone Remo leaned his thumb on the 1 button until the lemony voice of Harold W. Smith came on the line.
"Remo?"
"You put out an all-points on me?" Remo asked.
"I did. Where are you?"
"That's classified until that APB is rescinded."
"My computers indicate you are in Yuma, Arizona, Remo."
"You want me here or there?"
"I will rescind the APB. Return to Folcroft. We have a problem."
"What do you mean 'we,' paleface?"
Smith cleared his throat. "Master Chiun has informed me of his intention to seek a new client."
"I think I can change his mind."
"You will have to hurry if we are to maintain global stability."
"What are you talking about?"
"Yesterday Chiun stood before the United Nations General Assembly and offered his services to the highest bidder."
"Uh-oh," said Remo.
"By implication he has revealed that the United States no longer employs the House of Sinanju."
"I can see what's coming___"
"Already the Mexican government has moved troops to our southern border," Smith explained.
"Tell me about it."