"No not-bees, either."
"What the hell is a not-bee?"
"That I do not know. But I possess the wing of a not-bee. Perhaps Emperor Smith can enlighten us."
There was a Federal Express collection box in the terminal. It gave Remo an idea.
"Let's FedEx it to him."
"Good idea," said Chiun, surrendering the bee's wing to his pupil.
Remo dumped it into a FedEx mailer and addressed it to Harold Smith at Folcroft Sanitarium, Rye, New York.
When he turned, he saw a bumblebee hover outside, on the other side of a plate-glass window. It hovered low enough that the fuzzy death's-head marking on its back was discernible.
"That can't be the same bee," Remo said.
"It is a not-bee," Chiun declared.
"Whatever it is or isn't, it can't be the one we lost back in the city."
Chiun's hazel eyes grew sharp. "Remo, he was watching you all along," he hissed.
"So what?"
"He saw you inscribe that package to Emperor Smith. The address of Fortress Folcroft is now known to outsiders."
"Oh, come off it. A bee that can read! What's he going to do? Hop a flight to New York State and sting Smith?"
"It is not impossible ...." Chiun breathed.
"It is ridiculous," said Remo. "Let's find our gate."
The bee followed them as far into the terminal as there were outside glass windows.
At their gate, they stood watching the planes take off and land. Their jet was at the gate, being serviced. A foodservice truck moved into place on the opposite side of the 727 where the jetway ramp hugged the open passenger door.
As they watched, the driver opened the top forward part of the truck body over the cab and manipulated a fold-down ramp. The food-service trolleys rolled across this ramp into the food-service door of the aircraft.
It was not particularly interesting, but it was something to look at.
During this procedure, Remo and Chiun spotted the fat bumblebee.
At first, the bee appeared to flit about aimlessly like any other bee. Then it came to their window, hovered there with tiny black eyes that seemed vaguely malevolent. Abruptly, it dived away and swooped toward the open access door, showing the unmistakable skull on its fuzzy thorax.
"Uh-oh," Remo muttered.
"It has boarded our sky conveyance," said Chiun, stroking his wispy little chin.
"Maybe it's just lost."
"It is a spy. It saw that we awaited that aircraft. It seeks to accompany us."
"Wait a minute. Now I sound like you. That's just a stupid bumblebee. It's not even the same bee from the morgue."
Chiun looked at Remo with thin, narrowing eyes.
"Can you be certain of this, Remo?"
"No," Remo admitted. "But bees are just bees."
"But not-bees are dangerous."
They boarded their flight with wary eyes.
They saw no sign of the skull-marked bee as the 727 rolled out onto the runway. As it idled, awaiting clearance for takeoff, Remo said, "I'm going to reconnoiter."
He went to the forward part of the plane, looking for a pillow. He came back with a nice fluffy one and checked the men's room. No bees lurking there.
"You should be in your seat, sir," a flight attendant warned.
"I think there's a bee on board," Remo told her.
"This happens from time to time. They wander aboard. Are you allergic to bee stings?"
"No."
"Then don't worry. Please take your assigned seat."
Over the intercom, the pilot announced, "Final cross-check. Flight crew prepare for takeoff."
"Now, sir," the flight attendant said edgily.
Reluctantly, Remo took his assigned seat.
The takeoff was smooth. The gleaming aluminum wings took to the air, and the rumble of the wheels whining into their wells told them that they had committed to flight.
That was when the death's-head bee popped out of the galley. It flew back into the cabin, hovered in midaisle and seemed to hesitate at the sight of Remo and Chiun eyeing it back.
Then, as if having second thoughts, it retreated into the first-class section.
"I don't like the looks of that," said Remo.
Chiun made a satisfied mouth. "It fears us. Good."
Remo shrugged. "It's just a freaking bumblebee."