Chiun waited while Remo paid his countryman. Inside the building, a uniformed guard sat at a desk.
Chiun approached him. "We look for Mr. Forsythe."
"This is ridiculous," Remo said.
The guard said, "Do you have an appointment? Is he expecting you?"
Chiun said, "The Master of Sinanju needs no appointment."
"The what?"
"Tell him that the Master of Sinanju and his servant are here," Chiun said.
"I'm the servant," said Remo.
"I am the Master of Sinanju," said Chiun.
"And I'm the white queen. Go away."
Chiun reasoned with the guard with a thumb in his clavicle and the guard realized it made great good sense to call Mr. Forsythe's office.
"Yes," he said into the phone with pain, "There's a man… a person here called the Master of Sinanju to see Mr. Forsythe. Ew-scray all-bay. Yes, I'll wait."
"What did that mean?" Chiun asked Remo.
"What?"
"What was that he said?"
"He said you were a screwball."
Chiun glared down at the guard who said into the phone, "Mr. Forsythe doesn't know any Master of Sinanju?" He looked up in helplessness. "Tell him Remo's here, too," suggested Remo.
"Someone named Remo's here, too," said the guard. "Please check." He waited a moment, then a smile relaxed his features. "Okay," he said and hung up the phone, gently because any quick movements hurt not just his shoulder but every muscle down to his waist. "He'll see you."
"Let go of him, Chiun," said Remo.
Chiun squeezed once hard, then released the guard who clapped his left hand to his right shoulder to try to massage away the pain.
"There is no hope for a country in which the name of Remo is a passport while the name of the Master goes unknown," Chiun said.
"You know how us whites are," said Remo. "Thick as thieves."
"Hear, hear," said Chiun with an evil cackle. "Hear, hear."
Forsythe awaited them in his office on the fifth floor of the building. He remained seated behind his desk in a large infield-sized room as Chiun and Remo entered and Remo forgave the lack of manners as a sacrifice made to good taste because while seated, only Forsythe's shirt could be seen and it was pink with purple flowers, but later when he stood, Remo saw he was wearing matching pants which made him look like a Bahamian shell peddler. He needed a straw hat to complete the getup, decided Remo, who later saw a straw hat on a table in the corner.
"Good to see you again, Mister Master," Forsythe said to Chiun. "And you too, what is it, Remo?"
And Remo knew that Forsythe knew very well what it was and that it was Remo and that it was Remo's head that Mr. Gordons wanted or else he would paper an entire city with bogus money.
Chiun nodded. Remo did nothing.
"What can I do for you?" asked Forsythe. Remo looked at Chiun, who stood motionless in front of Forsythe's desk, saying nothing.
To fill the vacuum of silence, Remo said, "We wondered how you were doing with Mr. Gordons."
Forsythe lied. "Oh, we're still trying to track him down. After you got those plates from him at the airport, we haven't heard anything from him. Nothing at all. Have you had any luck?"
One good lie deserved another. "We did a little research into his background," Remo said. Chiun shot him a warning glance. Remo blithely went on. "He's from a small town in Missouri. His father, now dead, was a printer. His mother took in washing. He went to local schools, somehow avoided service in Korea, and was a schoolteacher. His hobbies are making models, watching baseball games on television, and needlepoint. He does not drink or smoke but is a member of no organized church."
"That's very good," Forsythe said with enthusiasm. "It's really fine how you two have found out so much in such a short period of time. Impressed, fella. Really impressed I am."
Remo smiled foolishly in response to Forsythe's foolish smile. Chiun continued staring at the man behind the desk.
"Maybe if we work together, fellas, we can get this Mr. Gordons," Forsythe said hopefully.
"Maybe, fella," Remo said. "Full speed ahead. We could really do it. Working together, both pulling one oar and all."
"Absotively," said Forsythe. "Precisely my exact sentiments. You have a place to stay in town?"
Remo shook his head.
Forsythe said, "Just a minute," and picked up the phone. He dialed a number and asked for the manager. "Hello, Frederick. Forsythe here. Some very important people…" he winked at Remo "… have just come to town and I want you to put them up tonight. Some kind of a special room. Second floor. Near the center elevators. That sounds fine. Make the reservation in the name of Mister Master of… never mind, make it for Mr. Remo. See you, Frederick."
He hung up with a satisfied smile on his face. "That's the Carol Arms. He's saving room 226 for you. Nice digs, fellas. Why don't you get some sleep there and we'll talk tonight after you rest. I'll call you. Maybe we'll hear something from Mr. Gordons." He smiled hopefully at Remo. Chiun still stared at Forsythe.
Remo nodded.
Forsythe stood and Remo saw his flowered trousers. Forsythe reached forward a hand to Remo who shook it. He extended his hand toward Chiun but Chiun pretended not to see it, still staring into Forsythe's eyes. The proffered hand hung momentarily in the air, like a yo-yo at the top of its climb, before it dropped quickly to his side.
"Well, we'll talk tonight, fellas," said Forsythe. "It's really been good to see you. I'd been wondering if we would meet again. Kind of hoping we would. After our first meeting."
He sat down again, indicating the audience was over. Remo turned to the door. Chiun took a last look at Forsythe, then followed behind Remo. At the doorway, Remo glanced into a mirror on the wall. Forsythe's hand was already snaking out toward the telephone and he was drumming his fingers impatiently, waiting for them to leave before he picked up the instrument.
In front of the building, Remo said, "Quite the conversationalist, aren't you?"
"I have nothing to say to that man. He dresses funny."
"Didn't anybody every tell you it's not polite to stare? What were you looking at anyway?"
"I was looking at his head."
CHAPTER NINE
The room was a perfect setup. It was in the back of the hotel, near the elevator. The fire escape ran down alongside it to the alley, and the pull-down ladder could be grabbed from the ground by a jumping man. A squad of men could file up it to the platform outside room 226. With the door and the window covered, occupants would have no way to escape.