"Perish the thought," said Remo, reaching up to tap the man on the exact center of his forehead, where his third eye was supposed to be. The man went out like a human light. Remo grabbed him by his tie and eased him to the floor.
Remo left him lying flat on his back, stiff as a board. But not before he stopped to peel back the agent's eyelids and remove the opaque glass dome from an overhead light so the harsh bulb glare struck him full in his unprotected eyes.
Maybe the guy wouldn't go blind when he came to again, but he'd be wearing sunglasses for the next year.
Remo went up the steps. He met Mrs. Mikulka, Smith's longtime private secretary, who was carrying down a cardboard box. She was fighting back tears.
"What's going on?" Remo asked.
She caught at her throat. "Oh, you startled me."
"Sorry."
"I've been fired."
"Smith fired you?"
"No. The IRS."
"How can they fire you?"
"They have taken over the hospital. I barely had time to get my things together." She showed him the cardboard box, whose top flaps hung open and forlorn.
Remo looked into the box. "It's empty," he said.
"They confiscated my personal effects."
"Why?"
"They called them assets. My poor son's graduation photo was all they let me keep. And only because I fought them for it."
"Look," Remo said sympathetically, "I'm sure we can get this straightened out. You go home and wait for the all-clear."
"Poor Dr. Smith is in intensive care. They burst in on him as if he were some sort of criminal. But he's not like that. Not at all. He's the dearest man. Why, when my son passed away-"
"Smith up on the third floor?"
"Yes."
"Go home. Someone will call you when everything gets straightened out."
On the third floor Remo eased the fire door open. The buzz of voices was a blur. He couldn't make out any one voice in particular. He was in the process of zeroing in on one voice when he became aware of a subtle warmth on the cool stairwell.
Remo whirled.
The Master of Sinanju stood regarding him with brittle eyes.
"What happened?" Remo asked.
"Idiots happened. Why are you not guarding the gold?"
"I could ask the same of you," Remo said pointedly.
"It was our agreement that I sleep with the gold and that you pass your idle waking hours guarding the gold. When I was awakened by rudeness and ignorance, you were not there."
"I was paying my respects."
Chiun made a disgusted face. "You have no respects. Not for yourself. Not for the one who exalted you above all others of your stumbling ilk." Chiun's hazel eyes narrowed suddenly. "Respects to whom?"
"To myself. I went to the grave last night."
"Only a white would mourn for himself."
"I looked into the mirror of memory."
Chiun cocked his birdlike head to one side. "And?"
"I saw a woman's face. She had Freya's eyes." Remo lowered his voice to a whisper. "Chiun, I think it was my mother."
"You did not see your father?"
"No."
"How could you summon up your mother and not your father?"
"Because my mother appeared to me."
"Like a spirit?"
"Exactly."
"What was this lying wench wearing?"
"That's no way to speak about my mother, dammit."
Chiun clapped long-nailed hands together. Dust filtered down from the ceiling in response. "Answer!"
"I don't remember," Remo admitted.
"You have the eyes of a hawk and you do not remember common clothes?"
Remo thought about that a moment. "I don't think she was wearing any."
"Your mother was naked?"
"No. I can't explain it. I don't remember her being naked, but I know she wasn't wearing clothes."