"You're the big thing that they've been talking about, aren't you?" said Remo.
Larribee, too terrified to speak, could only nod.
"But you're not going to say anything tonight, are you?" said Remo.
Larribee shook his head rapidly from side to side. His voice came back. "Don't worry, pal. I'm not going to say anything."
"Look around you," said Remo, gesturing toward the two bodies. "And don't forget. I'll be watching you."
Larribee nodded. "I won't forget. I won't forget."
"And I'll take the briefcase," said Remo.
"Those are state secrets in there," said Larribee.
"You can have them back as soon as you're done."
On the bandstand before national television, Maharaji Dor was finished detailing the support for his simple message of bliss and happiness that he had gained all over the world, and even from one of America's heartland religions, the Baptists.
"But even more encouraging, even more proof that mine is the way, even a greater display of the power of the truth, is the next man I will introduce to you. A man who knows the secrets of government will tell you about that. Will tell you the truth about your government, and then he will speak about divine truth."
He turned and saw Larribee coming up the steps of the bandstand.
"Ladies and gentlemen, listen now to this message from the deputy director of your country's Central Intelligence Agency. My friend and follower, Cletis… uh… Cletis is how I know him."
He waved his arm toward Larribee in a gesture of greeting. There were a few boos, a few small smatterings of applause. Mostly the audience sat stunned.
Larribee, looking neither left nor right, brushed by Maharaji Dor and took the microphone. He gazed out over the crowd. He saw the thousands of faces. He realized millions more were watching on coast-to-coast live television.
He put down the microphone, then remembered Remo's hard eyes, and raised it to his face again. He opened his mouth and, softly, began to croak:
"What a friend we have in Jesus.
"All our sins and grief to bear."
As he moved along the old gospel song, his voice grew stronger. He closed his eyes to imagine himself back in the choir loft of the Monumental Baptist Church at Willows Landing.
"What a privilege to carry,
"Everything to God in prayer."
Maharaji Dor jumped forward and ripped the microphone from Larribee's hand.
"And now you know," he screamed into it. "You can't trust the CIA." He threw the microphone to the wooden floor of the bandstand. The loud crack resounded through the stadium.
"I'm going home," Dor shouted. "I'm going back to Patna." He stamped his foot like an angry child. "You hear me? I'm going back."
"Go back, you bum," came a shout from the audience.
"Yeah, go back, you bum. Who needs you?"
The stadium became a crescendo of booing, as Remo moved up to where Chiun and Joleen stood.
At the same moment, Elton Snowy, who had carefully worked his way through the infield carrying his bogus bag of chicken, came around the platform. He saw his daughter.
"Joleen," he shouted.
She looked up. "Daddy," she yelled with happiness.
Snowy came running toward her, and she threw her arms around him. He tried to hug her back, but the bag of bombed chicken was in the way.
"Here, pal, take this," he said to Remo, thrusting the bag to him.
Remo shrugged, took the bag, then opened Larribee's briefcase and stuck the bag inside. He snapped the briefcase shut again.
"I missed you so much," Snowy said.
"Me, too, Daddy." She stepped back. "Daddy, I want you to meet the man I love."
Snowy looked over her shoulder at Remo. Remo shrugged, a who-me shrug. Joleen turned around and waved her hand toward Chiun. "He is my real master," she said, "And I love him."
"Joleen, honey," said her father. "I love you. You know that."
She nodded.
He brought a right hand up and punched her crisp on the chin. The girl collapsed in his arms. "But you ain't marrying no dink." He lifted the girl in his arms and began to walk toward one of the stadium exits.
"What did that mean?" Chiun asked Remo.
"That's racism, Chiun," Remo answered.
"Racism? I thought racism was something to do with baseball."
"No. He just doesn't want his daughter to marry a Korean."
"But how will you white people ever improve yourselves if you don't marry up to yellow?" asked Chiun.
"Damned if I know," said Remo. He and Chiun turned, walking in the direction that Maharaji Dor had stomped out in. But when they reached the ramp, Remo saw Larribee still standing behind the bandstand, looking lost and frightened.
"I'll catch up to you," said Remo, and he went back to Larribee.
"Good show," said Remo.
Frightened, Larribee could only nod.
"Here's your briefcase. I think you ought to go home," said Remo.