"Yes," said Remo. He understood. There had never been a wall that was successful over a long period of time. Even the brilliantly designed tombs of the Egyptian pharaohs had, over the centuries, given up their treasures to robbers. The world always changed and he who sought to survive had to change also, before it was too late. It was why Chiun had tried to buy a computer.
"It's a good idea, Smitty," Remo told Smith. "You relax now and leave it to us." He tried to smile. "It's taken too long for me to break you in. I don't want to work with anyone else."
"I'm afraid someday you will have to. I'm getting too old and you don't seem to be," Smith said.
"Oh no, gracious emperor," Chiun said. "You are like the flower that blooms more beautifully as the days go on."
"You are most kind, Master of Sinanju," said Smith.
And in Korean, Chiun muttered when Smith left: "See, Remo, what happens when you eat the wrong meat. See? Leaving now on those shuffling feet is a hamburger eater."
"I guess so," said Remo unenthusiastically. But he felt for Smith; he felt for someone who cared about the things Remo still cared about. The world was worth saving, especially the part of it Remo loved: the United States.
"I guess," Remo repeated sadly. He was going to do this assignment for Smith because it might just be the old man's last, and so he and Chiun went on ahead to the IHAEO labs and met Dara Worthington.
Now they followed her into Dr. Ravits' laboratory. Ravits was looking at a computer printout as he chewed great mouthfuls of chocolate cake and drank a glass of sugared soda with caffeine additives. His face looked like a World War I battlefield with craters left by triumphant acne.
His hands shook and his white lab coat was dirty. Dr. Ravits apparently did not believe strongly in changing clothes or bathing.
In the hallway, Dara Worthington had warned Remo and Chiun that Ravits simply lost contact with anything that wasn't connected with his work. He was not basically a slob, just a person engaged in work so consuming that he didn't have time for the rest of the world. He tended to eat cake and soda because he never quite remembered to eat a meal. Once, when they had been in Russia, Dara had brought him a warm meal on a platter and forced him to eat.
"Have some salad," she had said.
"Will you marry me?" Ravits had said.
"I only said have some salad."
"You are the most meaningful relationship I've had in my life."
"I'm the only one and all I did was tell you to eat."
"Then you won't marry me?" he said.
"No," said Dara.
"Then would you empty the wastebaskets, please," Dr. Ravits had said. "They're getting full."
Ravits looked up from the printout as she brought Remo and Chiun into the lab.
"These two entomologists are here to assist you, Dr. Ravits," she said. She seemed to thrust forward, stretching her bosom against her prim white blouse. The laboratory smelled as though it had housed an electrical fire for the last month. Remo realized it was Ravits.
"Good," said Ravits. He nodded at Remo and Chiun. "I think you two ought to know we have lost several people from this lab to terrorists, yes?"
"We know," said Remo.
"I'll leave you three together," said Dara, bowing out. "Dr. Ravits, you ought to get along very well with Dr. Chiun. I found him most pleasant."
Remo ignored the insult. He glanced at the windows and noticed the very small sensing devices that would set off alarms. The glass was thick enough to bounce back a howitzer shell. The air conditioning did not bring in outside air, which might be poisoned, but recirculated the old air with infusions of oxygen, and other elements removed.
It looked safe enough. A black cat with white paws purred contentedly next to a small heater in the corner.
"That's my best friend," Ravits said. "Cats are wonderful pets. They leave you alone." Ravits smiled once as if imitating an expression he once saw in a photograph and went back to his computer readout.
"Is there a phone in here?" Remo asked.
"There should be. I guess so. I don't use it. Nobody I want to call. Do you always talk so much?"
"We're etymologists," said Chiun, folding his long fingernails into his kimono. He pronounced the syllables of the word very slowly.'
"Then what are you doing here?" said Ravits. "Etymology is the study of words."
"The other one," Remo said. "Entomologists?" Ravits asked. "Right," said Remo. "That."
"Makes sense. That's why you're with me," Ravits said and put his soul back into the reproductive habits of the Ung beetle.
Remo found the telephone in the corner. He dialed the number Smith had given him. It didn't work. He often got the code numbers wrong, but this one Smith had written down.
He dialed again but it still didn't answer. He would have to go outside to telephone. Ravits did not know where the nearest outside phone was. The smell from his body reeked through the small lab.
"You stay here and I'll check in with Smitty," Remo told Chiun.
"I will stand on the outside of the door where the air is better," Chiun said.
"Remo found a working phone in the lab office next to Ravits'. Chiun waited outside by the only entrance and everything else was sealed. Ravits was safe. This telephone worked.
"Yes?" Smith's voice clicked.
"Just wanted to let you know that everything is fine." Remo said.
"Good."
"He's in a room with only one entrance and Chiun is standing there."
"Good," said Smith.
"We'll just wait for them to attack."
"Good," said Smith.
"How does Long Island Sound look?" Remo asked.
"I'm not at Folcroft," Smith said.
"In the Islands?" Remo asked.
"St. Martin. The computer backup area," Smith said.