"Very well. You may take it from my ten percent of the gold before you." Smith addressed Remo. "What about you, Remo?"
"Like I said before, I'm along to tie up some loose ends. Like who I really am."
"And then?"
"Then I hit the road."
Smith nodded. "We will seal these vaults and make arrangements for the gold."
Chiun looked shocked. "We cannot leave it here."
"It will be safe. I promise."
"I will spend the night protecting my gold if need be."
"Better let him alone, Smitty," Remo said. "He's got that look in his eye."
"We will return with proper transportation," Smith told Chiun.
As they left the building, Smith paused to look up at the tower of greed that was no more. "I still cannot understand—where was Friend?"
"That's easy. In a mainframe we never would have found."
Smith looked puzzled.
"Don't you get it, Smith? The entire building is a gigantic mainframe. Friend was never in any of the ordinary ones."
Smith's jaw dropped. "You deduced this by yourself?"
"No, it came to me in a dream a long time ago."
Harold Smith just stared.
Chapter 34
The President of the United States was jogging along the circular track on the White House grounds he seldom used because of the flak he'd gotten from the press over its funding.
Tonight he didn't care. Tonight Americans were relaxing in the warm glow of the last barbecue of the summer, celebrating the return of forty-seven brave survivors of yet another North Korean outrage, looking forward to a workless Monday and trying not to think of Tuesday—completely oblivious to the disaster that awaited their return.
If something didn't break soon, America would go back to work to find their hard-earned savings gone, the banks paralyzed and the financial safety net in tatters. There wasn't enough FDIC money to cover every bank. The Federal Reserve was dead. Even the Treasury was unable to move funds except by armored car.
And so he jogged in the darkness, flanked by huffing Secret Service agents, thinking that tomorrow he would pay the damn ransom and pray that was the end of it and not the beginning of a new kind of hostage situation.
The chairman of the Fed pulled up in his limousine at exactly the same time the First Lady came scurrying out of the White House waving a computer printout.
They both tried to talk at once. They were very excited.
"Calm down. Just calm down," the President said, shushing them with his hands. "Now, one at a time."
The chairman of the Fed and the First Lady locked gazes over who went first. The First Lady won.
"Read this," she said, snapping the printout in the President's face.
The President took it. His eyes went to the E-mail message outlined in fluorescent yellow.
Fed crisis averted. Situation resolved. Pay no ransom.
"Mr. President," the fed chairman started to say. "I don't know how, but—"
"I know. I know. Everything's back to normal."
"It was as if there never was a problem in the first place," the chairman of the Fed said in a bewildered voice.
The President clapped the Fed chairman on the back and walked him back to his waiting limo. "You go home, get some sleep and let's keep this under our hat, okay?"
"But how-"
"I had people on it. Top people."
After the limo pulled away, the President noticed the First Lady glaring at him. "I have just one question," she said. The President swallowed hard. Here it comes, he thought. How do I get out of this? "This Smith. Who is she?" "'She?'"
"I tried contacting Smith on the net. There's no such electronic address as Smith at CURE. Is this something new—a computer romance? I've heard of cyber- sex, but I thought it was for twelve-year-olds! You should be ashamed of yourself, sneaking around on the net."
And after the strain of the past few days, the President could only laugh in his First Lady's reddening face.
On Tuesday morning, the world picked up where it left off. Vacationers returned from distant places, business geared up for the final quarter of the year, and banks opened everywhere without a penny out of balance.
Except for the CURE account in the Grand Cayman Trust, Harold Smith discovered from his familiar post at Folcroft Sanitarium.
"I knew I had forgotten something," he murmured to himself.
His secretary buzzed. "You have visitors, Dr. Smith." "Send them in."
Remo and Chiun walked in.
Chiun bowed. "The gold is safe in your basement, Emperor Smith, awaiting a submarine to transport it to my village."
"We will have to find a way to convert my portion to cash. It appears that Friend failed to restore the CURE fund. And I have to be doubly careful. I am being audited by the IRS."
Chiun made a face. "We have never worked for the Irish, and I recommend the same to you."
"He means the Internal Revenue Service is on his case," explained Remo.
Chiun's eyes went wide. "The confiscatory of wealth! What if they discover my gold?"