"What Is it?" he said to Uncle Carl.
"It is an ancient curse, from the people of the plumed serpent in our land. It is very strong magic."
"Nonsense," said deJuin, who did not really feel such confidence. He had begun to speak again when the phone tingled softly at his feet.
He picked up the instrument and listened. Slowly his features relaxed and he smiled. "Merci," he finally said and hung up.
"You have learned something?" asked Uncle Carl.
"Yes," said deJuin. "We will leave these two alone. We no longer need them to bring us to their leader. The computers never fail."
"The computers?" asked Carl.
"Yes. The name our kinsmen learned in the hotel room. Harold Smith. Well, Dr. Harold Smith is head of a sanitarium near here called Folcroft. And it has a computer system with access to most of the major computers in this country."
"And that means?" asked Uncle Carl.
"That means that this Dr. Smith is the head of the organization which employs these two assassins. And now that we know that, we will leave these two alone. We do not need them to attain our goals of power for the Actatl."
"But that leaves us always vulnerable," Carl protested.
DeJuin shook his head and let a slow smile take over his face.
"No. These two men are the arms. Strong and mighty arms, but only arms nevertheless. We will cut off the head of this secret organization. And without the head, the arms are useless. So our trap did not work, but we have won anyway."
He kept his smile, and it spread infectiously to the other three men. DeJuin looked out into the maze at the central court, where two dogs lay dead and the third Doberman lay whimpering with two dislocated front legs.
Behind him, he heard the men say in unison: "You are king. You are king."
He turned. "That is true." And to one of the feather-wearing men, he said: "Go out and kill that dog."
In the car leaving the Edgemont Estate, Remo asked Chiun: "What was that all about? Eagles and mice and eyeballs of glass?"
"I thought of what that long-ago Master wrote in the histories. He said it was a powerful curse among the people he had visited."
"You don't even know, though, if these are the same people," Remo said.
Chiun formed his fingers into a delicate steeple. "Ah," he said. "But if it is, they will have sleepless nights."
Remo shrugged. When he glanced in the rear-view mirror, Valerie was sitting sullenly against the door on the right side, but Bobbi Delpheen's face was white and drawn. She had really been frightened, Remo realized.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
The police found Joey 172 that night under a railroad bridge in the Bronx.
They did not find his heart.
There was almost a witness to the killing, who said that he was walking beneath the bridge when he heard a scuffle and a groan. He coughed and the sound stopped, and then he left. He came back fifteen minutes later and found Joey 172's body.
Alongside his body was a small note on the pavement, apparently written in his own blood by Joey 172. It said "Maine next." Police believed that in the brief reprieve Joey 172 got by the presence of the passerby, he had written this message on the ground.
This was all reported the next day by the Post, which Remo read.
That the Post took the message "Maine next" to "mean that the killing was the work of a right wing lunatic fringe whose next mission was to go to Maine and make sure that the fascists won the Presidential election there was immaterial.
That the Post first and alone promulgated this theory on page one, and by page twenty-four, the editorial page, had promoted it to the status of fact by referring to it in an editorial entitled "Heartless in America" did not impress Remo at all.
What impressed him was the contents of the message. "Maine next."
What else could it mean but Dr. Harold Smith?
Throughout the Actatl tribe, the word had flashed on the death of Joey 172: The despoiler of the great stone Uctut is no more.
Another message flashed through, too. Soon the Actatl would be hidden no more; their proud historical traditions would no longer be kept secret by fear of annihilation and reprisal.
Soon the Actatl and their god Uctut, of the secret name, would stand high among the peoples of the world, proud and noble, for even now the leaders of the family were planning to humble a secret organization of the United States.
DeJuin sat in his hotel suite and gathered to him the bravest of the Actatl. They planned their trip. And when Uncle Carl insisted upon going, deJuin made no argument. The old man, he felt, deserved to be in on the moment of glory.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Before Remo could pick up the telephone to call Dr. Harold Smith, the phone rang.
It was uncanny, Remo thought, how Smith sometimes seemed to be able, across many miles, to read Remo's mind and call just when Remo wanted to speak to him. But Smith had a far stronger track record of calling when Remo did not wish to speak to him, which was most of the time.
The phone rang again.
"Answer the instrument," Chiun said, "or else remove it from the wall. I cannot stand all this interruption when I am trying to write a history for the people of Sinanju."
Remo glanced at Chiun on the floor, surrounded by sheets of parchment, quill pens, and bottles of ink.
He answered the phone.
"Hello, Smitty." he said.
"Remo, this is Bobbi."
"What do you want? A fourth for doubles?"
"Remo, I'm frightened. I've seen men around the front of my home and they look like the men who were at Edgemont."
"Mmmmm," said Remo. He had sent Bobbi Delpheen home with orders to be careful, hoping he would never hear from her again. Happiness was never having to hear her Adidas tennis shoes scuffling along the rug in his room.
"Can I come and stay with you, Remo? Please. I'm frightened."
"All right," Remo said. "But be careful coming here. And wear something warm. We're going on a trip."