"The tower kinda helped out," Remo admitted.
"The plane crashed," Smith said.
"Crash-landed," said Remo. "It was a crash landing, not a crash. Nobody died."
"Except the pilots," Smith corrected.
"Yeah."
"And, of course, the man who murdered the pilots."
"Yeah. Chiun got him."
"I assume you interrogated this person?" Smith said.
"You assume wrong."
"How is that?"
"Because you're assuming a person, and not what tried to kill us," Remo said.
"What tried to kill you?" Smith parried.
Remo handed the receiver to Chiun, who was hovering nearby.
"It was a not-bee," Chiun explained.
"A bee brought down the plane!" Smith said, his lemony voice skittering high into the stratosphere of the musical register.
"No, a not-bee."
"Talk sense," snapped Smith.
"I am," said the Master of Sinanju in an injured voice. "It had the form of a bee, but it was not a bee.
"Put Remo back on," Smith directed.
"Why?"
"Because I need to speak with him," explained Smith tightly.
Face quirking up, Chiun surrendered the receiver to his pupil, sniffing, "The conversation has taken an unimportant turn, Remo. Emperor Smith wishes to speak with you."
"Not-bee theory didn't exactly go over well?"
"That man is old. No doubt his faculties are failing. It is the burden of the kingly. Nero was much like this in his snowy years."
Remo took the phone and said, "I can't tell what he's talking about, either."
"Remo, start at the beginning."
"Which beginning?"
"From the time you left the morgue."
Remo did. He told about the bumblebee that had followed him from the parking lot and all that had transpired at the airport.
"And he had the same death's-head markings as the morgue bee," Remo finished. "The outside morgue bee. Not the inside one."
"It could not be the same bee," Smith stated flatly.
"Why not?"
"Bees do not fly that fast."
"This one was pretty light on his wings. Speaking of which, we mailed you a wing from the first bee."
"I will be very interested to see that."
"That was the good news. The bad is that the second bee looked like it read your address when we mailed the package."
"Preposterous!"
"This bee was out to get us," Remo said heatedly. "I'm just letting you know what it knows."
"It knows nothing. It is dead. And I want the body."
"Well, that's going to be kinda hard," said Remo, looking out through a plate-glass window to where the 727 was awash in fire-retardant foam. "Chiun mashed it flat as a wafer, and the plane is crawling with airport personnel. The NTSB should be along at any moment."
"Then I will have the bee's remains requisitioned on my end," said Smith.
"Good luck," said Remo. "So what do we do now? Risk flying again or what?"
Smith was silent for a long space. "I want that bee's wing."
"It's on the way via Federal Express."
"Not soon enough. I want it today. Recover the package and bring it here. Wurmlinger can wait."
"If you say so."
"I say so," said Smith, terminating the connection.
Hanging up himself, Remo addressed the Master of Sinanju. "He sounds pretty P.O.'ed."
"I heard. We will bring him the wing of the not-bee."