"I pity us if that butterfly comes searching the building for more government agents to maim."
"Someone should look out the window to see where it is."
No one cared for that particular duty, it turned out. So they drew straws.
The agent who pulled the short straw made the sign of the cross and crawled to the nearest window. They had all laid themselves flat on the office floor because who knew but the butterfly might flap by on a search of more victims. He poked his head up to the sill like a frightened periscope.
"See it?"
"No."
"See anything?"
"I see the DEA out on the water."
"What are they doing?"
"I think they're trying to rescue some guys from a sinking boat."
"Did the butterfly sink a boat?"
"Can't tell."
"See anything else?"
"Yeah," the agent said in a suddenly disheartened voice. "I think I see Big Dick coming through the gate, hell-bent for audit."
From the open door, a lemony voice demanded, "Who is Big Dick?"
REMO WILLIAMS MET the Master of Sinanju at the loading dock to the basement of Folcroft Sanitarium.
"Did you have to do it that way?" Remo demanded.
Chiun's wise face gathered its wrinkles like a fist clenching. "The gold is inviolate. They must not find it. And why are you not with the gold?"
"I moved it."
"Impossible! There was no time."
"See for yourself."
The Master of Sinanju flew past his pupil and into the dank basement, his feet whisked along the concrete flooring until he came to the vault door. It lay open to any white eye that happened along.
The mute and inert computers of Emperor Smith stood at the rear of the space. Of the gold of Sinanju, there was no sign. Not even a grain of gold lay on the floor, knocked off by careless movers.
Chiun whirled on his pupil. "Where is the gold?"
"I told you, I moved it."
"Then why are you not with the moved gold, guarding it with your life?"
"Because it's safe."
"Safe! Where safe? Where is safe in this land of madness and lunatics with boom sticks and loud voices and taxidermists! There is no safe except in the House of the Masters in the village of my ancestors-who are now calling down curses on my aged head because I entrusted the future to a dull round-eyed white!"
"Trust me," said Remo.
"Trust! You have lost the gold. My gold."
"Not true. Some of it was mine. Some Smith's."
"Most of it belonged to Sinanju. I demanded to know where it is."
"On one condition."
"Blackmailer!"
"The pot is calling the kettle black, seems to me."
Chiun stamped a sandaled foot. A portion of concrete floor cracked under his tiny toes. "Speak!"
"Promise?"
"Never!"
"Okay, you're just going to have to trust me."
"Where gold is concerned, trust is impossible."
"It's gone, it's safe, and we can get it back at any time," Remo was saying as the Master of Sinanju fluttered about the basement, looking for nooks or crannies that might conceal single ingots.
"It is in the walls!" he shouted triumphantly.
Remo folded his lean arms. "Nope. Not in the walls."
"It is buried under this floor."
"Not even warm," said Remo.
"It is on the roof, then."
"There was no time to carry it all to the elevator. Even if there was, the cable would have snapped under all that weight."
"Then it has vanished."
Remo shook his head. "Safe as soap," he said.