"No," said Chiun. "I have seen no Oriental and you have seen no white man."
"Let's go, Fred. We better call the captain."
"Yeah."
The two detectives ran back toward the elevator, while Remo and Chiun went to the exit door leading to the stairwell.
As he went into the doorway, Remo leaned back into the hall. "A white man and an Oriental, you say?"
"Yeah," said the one called Fred, impatiently jabbing the elevator button again.
"You heard about them on the news?" said Remo.
"Right, right."
"If we see them, we'll be sure to call you."
"Thanks."
Remo and Chiun went up to the roof, then to an adjoining building and down the stairs.
They met a second pair from the world of officialdom outside that building.
"Watch this, Chiun," said Remo with a smile.
Remo approached the two men, who wore trenchcoats and snap-brim hats.
"If you're looking for Sashur Kaufperson, she's gone to Spokane, Washington," Remo said.
The older of the two men turned toward Remo. "Strange you should ask, mister," he said. His partner backed away from him, moving off to Remo's right side.
"Why strange?" said Remo, looking over his shoulder and winking at Chiun, who shook his head sadly.
"Because we're not looking for her. We're looking for you."
The agent pulled his hand from his trenchcoat pocket. In it was an automatic pistol. He pointed it at Remo at exactly the same instant that his partner's gun was pointed at Chiun,
"What happened, Remo?" asked Chiun.
"I don't know. I thought I was going good."
"That'll be enough talk," said the agent covering Remo. "You two are under arrest. You're coming with us."
"A little problem there," Remo said.
"Yes. What's that?"
"I don't want to."
"You don't have much choice," the agent said. He nodded toward his gun.
"True," said Remo. "Have I ever shown you the golden triangle?"
"Don't try bribing us."
His partner added angrily, "Don't you know that in fifty years no FBI man has ever been bribed?"
"I didn't know that. Fifty years?"
"Yes. Fifty years."
"Well, I wouldn't try to bribe you. I just want you to watch. You see, it's all in the feet."
Remo looked down at his feet and crossed his right foot over his left foot at the ankles. "That's the starting position," he said.
"Come on, pal. You're going with us."
"Wait. I'm not done. How am I doing, Little Father?"
"For a fool playing foolish games, you are doing very well."
"Now from this point of the crossed feet, the spin is next," Remo said.
He spun on his feet, turning his body in a wide semi-circle. The agent with his gun on Remo followed the lower half of Remo's body, gun aimed at Remo's midsection. Then Remo moved at the waist. As the lower half of his body finished the semi-circular movement, the top half of his body kept twisting around, then moved forward toward the agent.
One moment, the agent had the gun; the next he had an empty hand, and Remo had recrossed his feet, spun again and was gone.
"Where…?"
"Behind you, Harry," called his partner.
"It's a mistake," said Remo, "to do it fast. Slow is the key. Slow, sure, precision." As Harry turned toward Remo behind him, Remo went a third time into the spin. The legs rotated, the upper body moved even farther through the turn, dipped low, moved forward and Harry's partner felt, rather than saw, the pistol disappear from his hand, and then Remo was walking off toward Chiun, both guns in his hands.
"Ridiculous," said Chiun. "You take a great secret from the ages of Sinanju and play with it on a street corner like a toy."
"Yeah, but it was good practice," said Remo. "In case I ever come up against anybody good."
"Hey you two," the two FBI agents called. "Come back here and give us our guns."
"Give them back their guns, Remo. They probably have to pay for them themselves."
"Good thinking, Chiun. Here." Remo pulled the clips from the automatics and dropped the weapons into a waist-high litter basket on a utility pole and the clips through a sewer grating.
Behind them, they heard the agents running. But by the time the FBI men had retrieved their weapons, Remo and Chiun were gone, down into a subway entrance, where Remo stopped to buy the bulldog edition of a morning paper at the newsstand.
He opened it to page three and was confronted with pen and ink sketches of "Two Secret Agents Hunted as Assassins?"