"And I see it as a bat within a golden circle," said Chiun.
"I see a black blob in a yellow disk," Smith said, lemon voiced. "Now, may I have my water? I assume it is for me."
"You know, Smith," Remo remarked, handing over the cup at last, "you have the imagination of a snail."
"Thank you," said Harold W. Smith, who had been picked to head CURE for precisely that reason-among others. He drained the cup and lifted bleary gray eyes. His face was pale, with an undertinge of grayishness. He looked as healthy as a beached flounder.
"Are you certain you intend to leave?" Smith asked gravely.
"My mind is made up. Chiun's too."
"Remo speaks for both of us," Chiun said firmly.
"I cannot stop you. Especially in my present state. But perhaps I can stop these people from ruining our economy without you."
Remo frowned skeptically. "You? How?"
"When you were interrupting me, I was running a CURE offshoot, a shell corporation called Nostrum, Incorporated. It was something I created after the so-called Wall Street meltdown of 1987. You see, I suspected that that crash was engineered, but I could not prove it. So I created Nostrum. It was designed to shore up the market by buying key bluechip stocks during a future panic-such as today's. I am pleased to say that it worked. Nostrum employees, of course, have no idea they work for CURE."
"I know exactly how they feel," Remo snapped.
Smith cleared his throat. "Today's panic seems to have some of the same earmarks of having been engineered," he went on. "I mention the confusion over who started the initial sell-off-Tokyo or Hong Kong. They happened almost simultaneously, but my analysis is that Hong Kong started it, and Tokyo followed the trend. The difference is less than fifteen minutes, but is there. Hong Kong claims that they received a Reuters report of the Tokyo sell-off fifteen minutes before it actually began."
"I don't follow," Remo said vaguely. "High finance isn't my strong suit."
"The Reuters report was false," Smith said firmly. "Possibly even fabricated. My task-the task I was about to give you-is to follow up on that. Find out how Reuters could have reported an event that did not begin until fifteen minutes after it transpired."
"I get it now," Remo said suddenly.
"You do?" Smith asked in surprise.
"Sure. It's from that dippy movie. Batman."
"What is?"
"The cup. The aspirin. They're Batman merchandise. Like the T-shirts and caps I see everyone wearing these days. I hear they've made a couple of billion in merchandising bucks on this little design alone."
"They did?" Chiun asked, suddenly interested.
"Sure. They slap this thing on everything from baseball caps to soft-drink cups and they get a royalty each time. A nickel here, a dime there, but it adds up."
"Billions?" Chiun's voice was awestruck.
"Yeah. Now that we're unemployed, maybe you can figure out a way to merchandise Sinanju the same way. We'll never have to work again."
"Billions!" Chiun said feverishly. "Think of it, Remo. The symbol of the House of Sinanju on every coin in the world. We will be billionaires."
"Forget it, Little Father. The sign of Sinanju is a trapezoid bisected by a slash. It just doesn't cut it."
"And this does!" Chiun shrilled. "A mere bat, which, if you look at it wrong, looks like a broken-toothed mouth?"
"It's not the bat that people are buying, it is what it symbolizes. Batman. He's a guy who goes around-"
"Yes, yes. I have seen that insipid TV show."
"The TV show is history. This is the new Batman. He kicks ass. Kids love him."
"How anyone could love a man who dresses like a winged rodent is beyond me," Chiun said dismissively.
"Trust me. Or better yet, rent the video. But enough of all this. Smitty, this is it. I'd say it's been fun, but that was before you booby-trapped my house."
"I do not share Remo's bitterness," Chiun said loftily. "I forgive you for such minor transgressions. It is your failure to bequeath me Cheeta Ching that I find unconscionable. But this sad ending to our association lies on your head. Had you fulfilled the terms of our last contract, I would be bound to service."
"I understand," Smith said, spinning his wheelchair toward a green file cabinet. He pulled a folder from a lower drawer. "Before you go," he added, pulling a sheaf of stapled papers from the file, "there is one last bit of unfinished business to transact."
"Yeah?" Remo said sourly.
"I must have the Master of Sinanju sign a document. It is a mere formality."
"What is this document?" Chiun asked, approaching Smith.
"The firm I mentioned earlier," Smith said. "Nostrum, Inc. For security reasons, neither I nor any Folcroft employee could be listed in its papers of incorporation. I took the liberty of using your name, Chiun."
"My name?" Chiun asked, accepting the papers.
"Yes. Simply sign this release, signing over control of Nostrum to me, and you are free to leave. I will attend to all the legal details."
"One moment. I wish to read this document," Chiun said.
"Come on, Chiun," Remo said impatiently. "We've wasted enough time here."
"Speak for yourself, Remo," Chiun snapped.
"I thought I spoke for both of us," Remo retorted.
"That was before I discovered I was the president of an important corporation."
"It's a shell corporation," Smith explained. "Of course, it does own an office building and has assets of over seven million dollars."
"Seven million?" Chiun gasped. His wispy beard trembled. "Mine?"
"Technically, yes," Smith admitted.
"Oh, no, you don't!" Remo said, snatching the documents from Chiun's clawlike hands. "I can see where this is going. You're going to dangle this under Chiun's greedy nose, and he's going to take the bait. Nice try, Smitty, but we quit."
"You have quit, Remo," Chiun said, snatching the document back. "I have not."