First his computers had failed him. And then the submarine had been lost. Now this.
In the past, when the Master of Sinanju had been recalcitrant, Harold Smith could count on Remo's stubborn sense of duty to his country. Not after the Roger Sherman Coe incident. When Remo, as he sometimes had, refused missions, Chiun was always there to take up the slack.
Sitting in the chair he had occupied for thirty of the most difficult years of his life, Harold W Smith understood with a sinking coldness in the pit of his stomach that he commanded virtually no resources.
Except, he realized suddenly, the instrument in his tremulous hand.
Smith brought the receiver to his ear and punched out an international number with quick stabs of his forefinger.
A crisp, vaguely British voice replied, "Grand Cayman Trust."
"This is account number 334-55-1953," Smith said.
The plasticky clicking of a keyboard came over the line, signifying the account number was being inputted into a workstation computer.
"Password, please."
"Remedy," said Smith.
The clicking came again. Then the voice asked, "How may we help you?"
"I would like a cashier's check in the amount of five million dollars drawn against my account and couriered to Boston's Logan International Airport," said Smith, figuring he could be in Boston within three hours and present the check to Chiun in person by late afternoon.
"I'm sorry. The account shows insufficient funds for us to issue that check."
"Insuff-"
"Our records indicate that all but the minimum deposit, twenty-five dollars, was wired to Chemical Percolators Hoboken Bank in New York City overnight."
"Impossible. Only I know the password and account number."
"Our records are quite clear on this."
"To whose account was my money transferred?"
"I am sorry, but since you claim to be the owner of the account and you do not yourself know. I cannot tell you."
"But I am the owner of the account!" Smith said in a heated voice.
"Yet you seem unaware that you wired the bulk of the account to New York."
"Chemical Percolators Hoboken, you say?"
"Yes."
"I will get back to you," said Smith, and hung up. Reflexively he reached for his computer stud to look up the bank phone number. He caught himself and instead dialed the operator.
"AT&T."
"I would like to place a long-distance call to Chemical Percolators Hoboken Bank in New York City," Smith said tightly, thinking, Was the entire world going mad?
The line began ringing, and the operator asked, "What party?"
"Station to station," said Smith, who knew it would save him money.
"Thank you," said the operator, who went away once a female voice said, "Chemical Percolators Hoboken. How may we help you?"
"I would like to speak with the manager," said Smith.
The bank manager possessed a lockjaw WASP voice that reassured Harold Smith with his first clipped vowel. "Yes?"
"I am calling about a wire transfer your bank received from my account."
"Of course, sir. If I could have your account number?"
"I do not have an account with your bank," Smith said crisply. "I am calling to inquire about a wire transfer of some twelve million dollars you people received from the Grand Cayman Trust yesterday."
"Grand Cayman Trust. Where exactly is that?"
"In the Cayman Islands," said Smith. "Obviously."
"Of course," said the manager. There was a pause. "Would you mind identifying yourself?"
"My name is Smith."
"First name?"
"I would prefer to leave it at Smith."
"I see," said the bank manager, his voice cooling. "Well, Mr. Smith, I can assure you that you've been misinformed. We have received no wire transfers in that amount in several weeks and certainly not from an institution of the Grand Cayman Trust, uh, sort."
"They assured me down there that the transaction took place late yesterday."
"And I am assuring you that it was not received at this branch," the bank manager said pointedly. "Have you any other branch in New York City?" Smith asked.
"No, we do not."
"Someone is not telling the truth here," Smith said through tight teeth.
"That may be, but if you have a problem with your account at the Grand Cayman Trust, then I suggest you take it up with them."
"I will," said Smith, ringing off. He called the Grand Cayman Trust and, reaching the manager, quickly summarized his problem.
The manager brought up Smith's account on his own desk terminal and said, "All but twenty-five dollars was wired to Chemical Percolators Hoboken yesterday."
"Do you have a written record or authorization?"