And if he succeeded, if he should be reunited with the man from whose loins he originally sprang, would there be any room in his new life for the old man whom he called Little Father?
The Master of Sinanju hung his aged head and prayed to his ancestors that Remo's father be struck down before that would happen.
Then, his heart hardening, he turned silently on his heel and went in search of his emperor.
BIG DICK BRULL sat at the black glass-topped desk making telephone calls.
"His name is Harold W Smith. Taxpayer ID number 008-16-9314. I want everything the master file has on him and I want it tonight."
"Fax number?"
Brull looked around the office. There were two phones, a multiline ROLM office phone and a blue AT el, but no faxphone. Brull blinked. Why would the director of a hospital need two telephones?
"Get back to me personally with the raw data. I don't see a faxphone anywhere."
"Yes, Mr. Brull."
Brull hit the intercom. Agent Phelps poked his head in.
"Sir?"
"Find out where these phone lines go."
"Yes, sir."
Twenty minutes later Phelps returned and said, "The ROLM phone line goes out on poles. We don't find any trace of a terminal for the blue instrument."
Brull picked up the blue receiver. The dial tone came loud and steady. "It works. It must go somewhere. Find it."
"Yes, sir."
Brull got up and started going through file cabinets. There were two kinds, green metal ones that looked old and oak ones that seemed ancient. Except for the futuristic desk, every stick of office furniture looked like a Salvation Army castoff.
The files contained administration and purchasing records. Nothing out of the ordinary.
"You'd think the noncompliant asshole would have computerized his own office," Brull muttered.
He found the worn briefcase tucked between two of the filing cabinets. It was locked. It looked so worn and frayed at the edges that at first Brull thought it was simply being stored there. But when he picked it up, he found it quite heavy.
Bringing it over to the desk, Brull set it down. The catches were shut. There was a combination lock. Idly Big Dick Brull played with the numbers, but the briefcase refused to surrender to him. He set the thing aside.
It was growing cool, and an offshore breeze was coming through the break in the big picture window.
Brull tried to ignore it, but it grew stronger.
Getting out of the chair, he tried to move it so he was out of the way of the cold. But no matter where he placed the chair, the back of his head was in the draft.
Dick Brull next tried to move the desk. It was too heavy. Three or four men would be needed to relocate it.
It was while testing the desk's weight that he found the button under the edge of the desktop.
"What have we here?" he muttered, peering under the desk and pressing the button.
Nothing happened. No secret drawer rolled open, and no hidden panel popped.
Pressing it several times brought no response.
Grumbling, Dick Brull sat down just as the telephone rang.
"Brull."
"This is Schwoegler from Martinsburg."
"Go."
"We pulled the tape record, Mr. Brull."
"What have you got for me?"
"Nothing. The space where the Harold W Smith record should have been stored magnetically was blank."
"Blank?"
"It seemed to have been accidentally erased."
"Get off it. Nobody erases master-file taxpayer records, accidentally or otherwise."
"We have no record of Harold W Smith with that Social Security number."
"Then go find the original paper returns. Get me every damn one."
"Mr. Brull, that could take weeks-months."
"Damn. Then get me his most recent returns."
"We don't have those in the master file."
"Then call the people who do and have them call me. I have no time for this horseshit!" And Brull slammed down the phone.
He began going through drawers. In the bottom drawer he came upon another telephone. It was as red as a fire engine. He grabbed it by receiver and cradle and set it on the desktop.
"I'll be damned."
The phone had no dial, no buttons, no nothing. Just a flat red shelf where the dial should be.
"What the hell kind of telephone is this?" he muttered. The phone was disconnected. The plastic cord with its modular jack was held in loops by a knotted string.