"I do," Chiun insisted.
"Then what's he holding on with-his teeth?"
"I will look."
Chiun leaned his head out to see Plum's face.
He came back solemn-faced.
"You may let go."
"Why?"
"Because this man is dead," Chiun explained quietly. "He has impaled his throat on a glass tooth."
"Damn," Remo said, letting go. He put his head out the window.
Clive Plum was staring out at the Hong Kong skyline. He had the same glassy-eyed stare that Ian had had on his face. The main difference was that Ian was tight-upped in death. Plum's mouth was open. That was because the glass shard that had punctured his throat had also impaled his tongue and forced itself all the way to the roof of his mouth.
Blood was filling his mouth, reddening his teeth-a thick blood-and-saliva river that started to overflow at the corners of Plum's mouth.
Remo came back into the room.
"Great. Now they're both dead."
"You are not doing well today."
"Me? You're not exactly Johnny-on-the-spot with help." "I am only the interpreter," Chiun sniffed.
"Let's see what we can salvage out of this debacle," Remo said. Off in one corner, two computer technicians cowered. Remo crooked a finger in their direction. They looked at one another.
"Both of you," Remo called.
Obediently they approached, trembling like beaten dogs. "I take it all the Reuters bulletins go through this room," Remo said.
"That is correct, sir."
"Who was in charge of it?"
"Ian."
"Is he the dead guy?"
"That is correct."
"Know anything about the rumor that rocked the market earlier today?"
"Yesterday. It was yesterday, our time."
"Just answer the question."
"No. Neither of us does. That was Ian's province."
"Who does he take his orders from?"
"Mr. Plum, sir.
"Who's Plum's boss?
"The home office."
"Where's that?"
"London, sir. "
"The London stock market took a big beating too, didn't it?"
"The entire global market is in a sorry condition. As you know. "
Remo turned to Chiun. "What do you think?"
"I think we have accomplished little enough here," Chiun said. "We must go elsewhere for our answers."
"Sure, but where?"
"Smith will tell us."
"Just as long as you handle Smith," Remo said in disgust. "I'm sick of him, invalid or not."
Chapter 7
Dr. Harold W. Smith didn't consciously hear his intercom buzz. His face frowned when the buzz came again, but it still didn't intrude upon his concentration as he watched the lines of green data scroll up on his computer terminal.
The third time did.
"What is it?" Smith snapped into the intercom.
"They're here to see you, Dr. Smith," Mrs. Mikulka said imperturbably.
"Who is?" Smith asked, not taking his eyes from the screen.
His secretary's voice dropped to a near-whisper. "You know. Those two."
"Show them in," Smith said curtly. He knew exactly whom his secretary meant, and so he was not surprised when the Master of Sinanju breezed into the room. Remo followed him, lugging a red-and-gold-lacquered trunk. Smith recognized it as one of Chiun's traveling trunks and for a moment feared that he was about to lose the Master of Sinanju.
"Greetings, Emperor Smith!" Chiun proclaimed. "I come bearing the solution to all your worries."