Airplane traffic had to be rerouted because no airplane could overfly the presidential caravan. And then, as though he was going out for a pleasant ride to meet the people of Wisconsin, the President rode through the suburbs of Racine, waving to everyone as though he didn't have a care in the world. And he didn't: The Secret Service did.
It was the usual crowd at the fairground. Ninety-nine percent of the people were there to cheer their President this sunny autumn day. Then there were the hostile sign holders, those who lived for the opportunity to tell the Commander-in-Chief to get out of South America, the Middle East, the Far East, Africa, Europe, and Racine. The television cameras zoomed in on the one percent as the President began to speak.
What looked, to the untrained eye, like randomly placed Secret Service men was in actuality three zones of protection strategically placed in the crowd. The second formed a barrier between the crowd and the President. The third zone was what was called the "body" grid. This group was never more than an arm's length from their charge. These were the men who would crowd around the President at any sign of trouble.
On this day in Racine, a very sweet-looking housewife who was extremely polite got through the second grid. She simply excused herself and squeezed past the agents; and because the metal detectors at the perimeter of the second grid picked up nothing on her body, no one would suspect that the demure lady wanted anything more than a better view. Until she actually reached the podium.
"You cannot shut out the light of the universe. Your negativity will fail," she shrieked. The cameras moved from the President, who was explaining how the nation was going to feed itself with an alteration in farm policy, to the woman's flailing arms. The body grid pulled closer to the podium. Within seconds the Secret Service wrestled her into an empty room for questioning.
"You can never harm me," she said, relaxed and smiling sweetly at everyone. But when she began urinating a doctor was called to put her into an ambulance. The woman's identification said she was a housewife, but she could not remember her married name. Nor could she recall where she lived, or how she had gotten to Racine. She didn't care about religious freedom; she only cared about one issue: When was she going to get ice cream?
Even stranger, the agent who stopped her was found later that night wandering around Racine, thrilled that he had fifty dollars in his pocket. With that money, he was telling everyone, he could see twenty-five movies in a row if he didn't buy candy.
At every stop in the Midwest that week, similar incidents occurred. Once, one of the loonies almost reached the President.
Finally the Secret Service had to tell him, quite sadly, that they could not protect him anymore if he left the White House. Something was coming at him, and they had no idea yet what it was.
The President listened stoically, and then, when they were gone, went himself to his bedroom, where the previous President had pointed out the red phone, the special phone to reach the special people. He had used it often in his presidency and now he would use it again. All he had to do was pick up the receiver and two of the most powerful bodyguards in the world would be put at his disposal.
"Smith here, sir," came the voice.
"Smith, I have a problem that I am not sure would come under your jurisdiction. Somebody, or something, is attacking me. And my Secret Service says sooner or later they're going to succeed."
Chapter 7
The Poweressence temple in Miami Beach was an elegant Spanish villa with spacious verandas. But Remo and Chiun met their first Powies several blocks away. They were trying to encourage them to take a character test. Much to Chiun's disgust, Remo accepted for both of them.
Outside the villa on its magnificent black metal gates a crude sign was posted:
"Free Character Test."
"This I cannot even imagine why you are doing," said Chiun.
"Some people are attacking the President. They are doing it with a strange phenomenon. And somehow the attackers forget what they've done, how they've done it, and even who they are. But there are too many Poweressence people involved not to investigate them."
"I'm sorry I asked," said Chiun. He wore a plain gray traveling kimono because he had been thinking about moving from Miami Beach. He was considering finding a more permanent home in America, which saddened him. If they bought a more permanent home here, that meant they would live here longer, and the longer they worked for Smith, the less chance of ever adding to the glory of Sinanju. Mad Emperor Smith not only insisted that everything be secret but also apparently was never going to seize this country's throne. The horror of it was that these whites were actually telling the truth when they talked about the people selecting a leader, instead of inheriting a traditional and more stable monarch by birth or even the more reasonable hand of the professional assassin, the traditional assassin, the house of assassins that had given the world more leaders than any royal line. This house of assassins that Remo refused to honor by doing something that would enhance its histories. Instead, he continued to serve a country which never taught him anything and an emperor so mad he openly admitted now he did not believe in vengeance.
"I guess this is it," said Remo.
"What is it? We are going to be priests now? What are we doing here?"
"I just explained to you," said Remo. "If you don't like it, go back to the condo. I don't need you. You know I don't need you."
"You do need me. But not for these silly things Emperor Smith sends you to do. Will you do his shopping next?"
"We may be saving the life of the President of the United States," said Remo.
"Why? We don't work for him. We work for Smith. We should be removing the President of the United States. We should be making Smith president."
"He wouldn't be president if we killed the President. The Vice-President would become president."
"Then him too. I remember the histories of the Lesser Wang. A shaman, a priest and distant relative to the king, called upon Sinanju with a great problem. Between him and the throne were fourteen heirs, from princes to princesses to royal lords. The Lesser Wang promised that within one year the shaman would be king. And he was. A vice-president has no more eternal life than a president."
"But after that comes the Secretary of State, I believe."
"When does Smith become emperor?"
"He never becomes emperor. Don't you understand?" "If he never becomes emperor, what is he doing with the finest assassins in the history of the world? Why is he wasting Sinanju?"
"We're not wasting Sinanju. We're helping to save a country I love. Don't you understand? You don't want to understand."
"No. I do not wish to understand that you love thousands of square miles of waste and pollution and two hundred and twenty million people you have never met. Not when you give nothing to the one who gives you your powers. That's all right. I am used to this, Remo. I am used to your ingratitude. At least I should be by this time." "It doesn't mean I don't love you."
"If you loved me, really loved me, we would be working for an emperor. You would not waste your talents and skills on this . . . this whatever-we're-doing."
"We're doing it," said Remo, and they were at the gate, where a young man in glasses and a white shirt handed them a piece of paper offering a free character test.
"That's what we're here for. We want to join."
"You're supposed to get the free character test and then you join."
"We want to join," said Remo.
"Could you take the test first?"
"We have characters. Why do we need character tests?" asked Chiun.
"I don't know," said Remo. "He wants us to take a test. We'll take a test."
"I don't want to take a test," said Chiun.
"Then don't."
"Are you going to take the test?"
"Yes."
"Then I'll take the test," said Chiun. "We will see whose character is superior or . . ."
"Or what?" said Remo.
"We will see if it is a bad test."
"You can't stand to lose, little father," said Remo.
"When I can lose, we're dead."