"That's the bad news," Remo said sourly, dropping the trunk onto the bare floor. "No."
"What happened?" Smith asked anxiously.
"A minor setback," Chiun said, casting a sharp glance in Remo's direction.
"The guy in charge of Reuters' computers was skewered by his boss. Obviously a cover-up."
"My God. Then it is a plot. What happened to the murderer?"
"He committed suicide."
Smith's eyes went sick. "This is bigger than I thought. They have plants in Reuters."
"How do you know this isn't a Reuters plot?"
"Don't be ridiculous, Remo. Reuters is a renowned and respected international news service."
"And Wall Street is an American institution," Remo said acidly. "And it almost went belly-up because of a wild rumor. "
Chiun clapped his hands sharply. "Enough of this trivia. It is time to speak of important things."
"What could be more important than the threat to the world's economy?" Smith asked, blank-faced.
"Nostrum, Inc.," Chiun said loftily. "I wish to take possession of it." Chiun drifted up to Smith's desk, one hand held palm-up. "The keys, please."
"Keys?"
"You do have the keys?"
"You don't need keys to enter the building."
"What! You have left my precious corporation unguarded!" "No, of course not. Trusted employees take care of security matters."
"We will see how trustworthy they are after I have met them," Chiun said harshly.
"The door to Nostrum is open to you at any time," Smith assured the Master of Sinanju. "You have only to walk in the front door."
Chiun frowned.
"In fact, I would like you to take possession of Nostrum immediately."
"You would?" Chiun said suspiciously.
"Sounds too easy, Chiun," Remo called out mischievously. "I'd be careful if I were you. Could be a trap."
"Nonsense," Chiun said. "Do not listen to him, Emperor. He does not speak for me."
"And never has," Remo muttered, sitting on the trunk.
"While you were in Hong Kong," Smith said, " I have been monitoring the fallout from the meltdown. As you know, it began with rumors regarding Global Communications Conglomerate, the largest multimedia group in the world."
"Don't they own that cable network?" Remo asked. "The one that's all-news?"
Smith nodded. "The Global News Network, as well as a movie arm and several newsmagazines. They own some newspapers involved in an FCC effort to force divestiture."
"I do not understand any of this," Chiun sniffed.
"It does not matter," Smith told him. "What does matter is the redistribution of Global stock. It has been concentrated into the hands of a small group of corporations and investment houses, including our own company, Nostrum."
"My own company," Chiun corrected.
"Ahem. Yes," Smith went on. "Putting aside the small amounts of stock that appear to have been snapped up by bottom-fishers, five investors now own large blocks of Global. Aside from Nostrum, there are P. M. Looncraft's brokerage firm, his financial adviser, the Lippincott Mercantile Bank, DeGoone Slickens, the corporate raider, and an offshore company I have never before heard of, Crown Acquisitions, Limited. Each one of these investors has been heavily involved in the troubling hostile-takeover and junkbond mania of the last decade. It's probable that one of these people, at the very least, is after Global, and the others are simply grabbing up stock because they have inside information that Global is a takeover target. Clearly something is in the wind, because Looncraft and Slickens are bitter business enemies."
Chiun looked to Remo in perplexity. Remo just shrugged, as if to say: It's Greek to me too.
"It stands to reason that since Global was the primary target of this rumor, and of the market-meltdown accidental fallout from the maneuver, then one of these companies is responsible for the plot."
"Then Remo will descend upon them and shake the truth from these devious curs," Chiun shouted.
Remo jumped up. "Me?" he asked hotly.
"I would do it myself, but I will be overseeing my vast financial empire," Chiun said importantly.
"No way," Remo said.
"I would like to go along with your idea," Smith said sincerely, "but Remo's intransigence aside, we still have the problem of his face. CURE security demands that we keep him out of the public eye."
"Which brings me to the solution I spoke of earlier," Chiun said brightly. He turned to Remo, who was still seated on the lacquered trunk. "It lies in the trunk you see before you."
"Really?" Smith asked. His eyes went to Remo.
"Search me," Remo admitted. "I don't know what's in it either. But I wouldn't get your hopes up. It smells like a taxidermist's footlocker."
"Silence," Chiun said. "You will open the trunk, Remo."
Reluctantly Remo got up and undid the brass latches. He lifted the lid.
Smith leaned forward, then, remembering that he was in a wheelchair, sent it rolling out from behind his desk.
With a flourish, the Master of Sinanju dipped both hands into the trunk and raised a shaggy brown patch of hide.
"Behold," he cried, beaming.
"It looks like a bearskin," Smith said, puzzled.
"Smells like one too," Remo put in.