When the message ended, Remo asked, "What was that?"
"Nothing."
"It didn't sound like nothing to me. Nothing is silence."
"It was less than nothing. A mere sultan. We are above sultans. Nothing less than an emperor will do."
"Isn't that your 800-number line?"
"Of course. I have given it out for the entire world to cherish."
"Oh, great," groaned Remo.
Remo sat down and faced Chiun, his face and voice earnest. "I said I'd do anything you say and I will."
"You should," Chiun sniffed. "For you have much to atone for."
"But I think we should do everything we can to continue working for America."
"If their gold flows anew, I will consider it, but my feet yearn to feel the sweet dust of the Silk Road, where wonders upon wonders may be found. Not to mention treachery and sudden death."
Remo stared.
"Yes, those were the good days. Not like now. When was the last time we awoke in our beds to fight for our lives?"
"Here, never. No one knows we live here."
"This has changed. I have provided our address, as well."
"Oh, man," groaned Remo, taking his head in his hands. "I should have never left the reservation."
Chapter Seventeen
When the first intelligence reports crossed the desk of the duty officer of the Central Intelligence Agency, Ray Foxworthy's first impulse was to burn them.
If he didn't burn them, he would have to get on the NOIWON line and do confidence polling of the other U.S. intelligence agencies. NOIWON stood for National Operations and Intelligence Watch Officer Network. The duty officers of the main U.S. Intelligence agencies were obliged to place a conference call to exchange views whenever overnight developments warranted it.
But if Foxworthy did trigger a NOIWON and one of the other Intelligence agencies had developed superior intelligence, they would be the ones to take it to the Pentagon. And get the credit.
In these days of shrinking budgets, everyone wanted credit, but no one wanted to take unsubstantiated intelligence to the Pentagon. Not the NSA, which a year ago had reported a coup in North Korea only to have it evaporate into a false alarm. Not CIA, which was on notice to get its act together. Not the Defense Intelligence Agency or the National Reconnaisance Office. Not anyone.
The stakes were huge. To be Johnny-come-lately made your agency look bad. To promulgate bad intelligence, however, was worse.
There was no winning in the post-Cold War intelligence game.
CIA duty officer Ray Foxworthy picked up the phone and dialed an in-house extension. "Roger, this Intel report that just crossed my desk. Uh, how solid is it?"
"It wouldn't have crossed your desk if it's not confirmed," a laconic voice replied.
"That's not what I asked. Are you willing to back it up?"
"I'll get back to you on that." And the other party promptly hung up.
So did CIA duty officer Foxworthy, muttering, "Damn, damn, damn. Why do the hot potatoes always fall on my watch?"
He read the report again. It was short, concise and very, very clear.
CIA ground assets in Kuwait were reporting troop movement on the Iraq-Kuwait border.
"That damn Hussein. Why doesn't he rent a clue?"
Chewing his lower lip, Foxworthy glanced at the text as if trying to intimidate it by mental telepathy.
Then he noticed something odd. He picked up the phone again. "Roger, sorry to bother you."
"I'm still in the process of getting back to you, Ray."
"I know. Just clarify—"
"A clarification will be included in the return call, I promise you."
"Just listen a goddamn minute. This report. It says our assets in Kuwait report movement."
"If that's what it says, that's what it says."
"Our Kuwaiti assets are under strict orders to stay clear of the DMZ, aren't they?"
"Yeah."
"So if Iraqi troops were on the border, they couldn't see them."
"That's right," Roger said guardedly.
"How could these be Iraqi troop movements if that was the case?"
"I'll get back to you on that," said Roger, then hung up.
Ray Foxworthy was still purpling the air with a colorful string of curses when the NOIWON line rang. He grabbed it, heart pounding.
"CIA. Foxworthy."
"NSA. Woolhandler."
"What've you got, Woolhandler?"
The NSA man dropped his voice. "Tell me what CIA's got, and I'll tell you what NSA has."