"Got me. It's a hospital. The only thing out-of-bounds are the doctors' bills."
"You ever notice unusual activity here? Late-night deliveries? People coming and going after hours?"
"I'm the day-shift janitor."
"Ever been audited, Remo?"
"No."
"Keep acting stupid and we'll remedy that."
"Keep threating me and I might get mad."
"Don't mouth off. This is the IRS you're talking to."
"What about my constitutional rights?"
"IRS regulations supercede the Fourth Amendment protecting against search and seizure without due process."
"Since when?"
"Since the Civil War."
Just then the agent came back with a fistful of keys.
"This is everything I could find," he said.
Koldstad focused his too-small eyes on Remo. "Last chance to tell us what we need to know."
"I don't know what you want to know," Remo said.
"Okay, open that door."
They tried every key twice. None fit.
"Damn," Koldstad said. "Okay, get the ram. We're battering it down."
Remo tried to keep the worry off his face. The way they were going, it was just a matter of time. And Chiun might be back at any minute, or not for hours yet.
Mouth thinning, Remo decided to let things play out a little while longer. There were only eight of them. Not too many to handle if it came down to that.
The ram was a solid slug of steel weighing maybe fifty pounds with two handles welded to each side. The nose looked as if ball-peen hammers had gone at it.
"Okay, let her rip."
Two of the beefiest agents took up the ram and swung it back and forth until it built up momentum. They sent it crashing into the door on a dead run.
The door was chilled steel painted gray to blend in with the gray-painted concrete wall. The first hit didn't even mark the paint. The second cracked a paint chip loose. The third hit bounced off.
"What's wrong with you milk balls! Hit it harder!"
This time they backed up a dozen yards, got a clumsy running start and slammed the door dead center. The door shuddered on its heavy hinges. The ram bounced back, taking the agents with it. They ended up on their asses on the dusty concrete, the ram cracking the concrete floor with a loud bang.
"There's something behind that door," Koldstad said, pacing like a caged tiger. "I know there is."
"We could shoot the locks off," an agent suggested.
"They only do that in movies," Remo said quickly.
"It's worth a try," said Koldstad.
"If there is something, then you could wreck it with bullets," Remo pointed out.
Koldstad whirled. "Then you do know something!" he crowed.
"Not me," Remo said grudgingly.
"Blow it open," Koldstad said, one eye on Remo.
Remo stood there, rotating his thick wrists anxiously. He wasn't worried about Smith's computers. They were a lost cause. But Chiun's gold was not bulletproof.
A man brought a MAC-11 up to the padlock, testing the angle of fire a couple of times, and fired once. The padlock combination became a smear. The hasp held.
"I'll try again, sir."
This time he fired a short burst. The hasp broke clean, and the padlock fell to the floor with a dusty clank.
"Great. Now the other locks."
Another agent came up with a .357 Magnum and put five shots into the remaining key lock. Each shot made a bigger dent.
Then they brought up the ram and finished the job.
Remo held his breath.
Koldstad turned to Remo. "By the way," he said smugly, "you're fired."
"You can't fire me. I work for Dr. Smith."
"And the IRS owns Smith's illegal ass. Now clear yours out."
Without waiting for Remo's reply, Jack Koldstad strode up to the battered steel door and used both hands to pull it open.
And his jaw dropped at the sight of stacks and stacks of gleaming yellow ingots that reached to the ceiling. They were packed together so tightly there was only one narrow walkway between the ingots. Even under the weak overhead lights, they shed a warm golden radiance that picked out yellowish details on every face turned toward them.
There was a collective intake of breath. In that crucial moment no eyes were upon Remo Williams. Everyone was gaping at the tall stacks of gleaming yellow ingots, realizing what they had to be.