"I am afraid so. You must understand that we inventory so many parts with redundant backups and all, that missing components are often dismissed as bookkeeping errors. It's easier to call it that than to disrupt the status quo with a full-fledged investigation."
"Well, hip-hip-hooray for the U.S. serviceman, protector of his precious behind."
"But personal thefts are reported," Smith went on. "I have accumulated a list of missing blue jeans, personal computers, VCR's, and Walkmen."
"I think it's Walkmans," Remo said sourly.
"Whatever. These are exactly the kinds of items that are in demand on the Russian black market."
"Now, why would a Soviet agent risk his mission to lift stuff like that on the side?" Remo wondered. "When
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we caught up with him he was carrying steaks. That was all. Just steaks."
"Because he is stupid, like all Russians," Chiun interjected suddenly.
"It's because he's a kleptomaniac," Smith added.
"Kleptomaniac?" Remo asked. Chiun leaned closer, interest on his wise face.
"I presented my findings, disguised, of course, to Folcroft's head psychiatrist," Smith explained. "It's his reasoned belief that we are dealing with a classic compulsive kleptomaniac."
"I understand a maniac," Chiun said, glancing at Remo. "I live with one. But what is a klepto? Is it like a poltergeist?"
"A kleptomaniac is a person who has a compulsive mania to steal," Smith explained. "He cannot help himself. He will steal anything that catches his fancy, regardless of its value or the risk involved."
"You know, Chiun," Remo put in pointedly, "like certain persons who lift all the toothpicks and mints at restaurant cash registers."
"They are there for the benefit of customers," Chiun snapped back. "And I do not take them all. I leave some."
"Three or four out of fifty toothpicks is not some. It's a token gesture to your conscience. And you don't even eat candy."
"I give the mints to children," Chiun replied huffily. "Would you deny an old man the simple pleasure of sharing with children?"
"You charge them a nickel a pop."
"Only the ones who look as if they can afford to pay. The ragamuffins get them without cost."
"Could you two please stop this?" Smith said testily. "Time is of the essence."
"Yes, of course. The mission. Please forgive Remo's carping, Emperor. I do not know where he gets these ugly habits from."
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Remo rolled his eyes ceilingward. He drummed his fingers on the kitchen table impatiently.
"As I was saying," Smith continued, "the charge d'affaires is about to fly to Moscow. He's leaving from Dulles on an Aeroflot flight. And he will be carrying a case identical to this one."
"Really?" Chiun said, examining the case. "How do you know this?"
"This is a standard diplomatic case, nicknamed 'Jaws' because of its capaciousness."
"That means it is large," Chiun said for Remo's benefit.
"Thanks," Remo said dryly. "I caught the drift all by myself."
"Lucky you."
Smith cleared his throat. "Airport security people do not X-ray or inspect these cases when embassy officials carry them. I am certain that the charge d'affaires will be carrying sensitive military parts in his case."
"He will not live to enjoy his ill-gotten gains," Chiun promised vehemently.
"No, that's exactly what we do not want," Smith said hastily. "You must not harm him. The diplomatic repercussions could be grave."
"Then let me suggest a tiny blow," Chiun said in a conspiratorial tone. "Harmless as a fly's bite at first, but three weeks later the victim drops dead from kidney failure. This service was very much in demand during Roman times."
"Please," Smith pleaded. "This must not get back to us in any way."
"It will not," Chiun said firmly. "I assure you."
"No," Smith said just as firmly. "I want to switch cases. That's all. Do it so he doesn't suspect the exchange has taken place. Can you accomplish this?"
"We will be as the drifting smoke in our stealth," Chiun promised. "The drifting blue smoke."
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Remo opened the case. "It's empty," he said. "Won't he notice the switch?"
"Fill it with junk," Smith suggested.
Remo shut the case. "I don't do junk collecting," he said. "It's not in my job description."
"Do not fret, Emperor Smith," Chiun said. "I have just the thing."
"You do?" Smith said.
"He does," Remo said. "Fourteen steamer trunks full."
"I see," Smith said as he rose from his chair. "Here is a photograph of your target. His name is Yuli Batenin."
"Rice paper?" Remo asked, looking at the face.
"Don't be ridiculous."
"Who, me?"