"It'll be a hell of a lot safer once I pull his spine out through his mouth," Remo said. He spun on his heel.
Before Remo could storm from the room, the Master of Sinanju rose to his feet.
"Hold!" the old man commanded.
Remo stopped, spinning back around. "This is the right thing to do, Little Father," he snapped. "The kid did more than just screw us. He might have signed both our death warrants. Or did you forget Purcell's got an edge on us?"
"The Dutchman's ability to cast hallucinations is not the issue here," Chiun said. "Until we learn the truth of his involvement with Purcell, you will do nothing to harm the Prince Regent."
"Why?" Remo asked in Korean. "Because you think you can soak him for a few shekels once he takes over for Smith? Here's a news flash for you. Your vaunted little prince just stabbed us all in the back. I say we cut bait on him now."
"And I say we do not," Chiun retorted in the same language. "My time as Reigning Master may be growing short, but I am still head of our village and my decrees will be followed by my apprentice. What is more, your emperor has ordered that his lackey not be harmed."
At the door, Remo felt the fight drain out of him. He felt tired. Chiun's attitude lately had been draining enough. Now this. He exhaled angrily.
"I think it's a bad idea," Remo growled.
"Happily, Remo Williams, the rest of us are not as limited in our ideas as you," Chiun said. "I for one could not live in a space so confining. Now be a good boy for once in your disobedient life and do as you are told."
Shoulders slumping, Remo trudged back across the floor.
Behind his desk, Smith seemed relieved.
"For the time being, this is for the best," the CURE director assured Remo. After the past day he seemed pleased to finally change the subject. "Now, what happened with Alex Wycopf?"
"He's toast," Remo said. He thought of Wycopf's face. "Or scrambled eggs," he amended. "Either way he's history. And I sent General Seesaw back to China with a warning. They should pull back for a while. Assuming they believe him. 'Course, if they don't, knowing them he'll be executed, tried and arrested. In that order."
Smith seemed satisfied with Remo's results. Before he could ask another question, the CURE director was distracted by a beep from his computer. He turned his attention to his monitor as Remo and Chiun sat on the carpet.
"Did you tell the Chinaman my grandfather's words?" Chiun asked Remo as Smith began typing at his keyboard.
"Word for word," Remo replied. "I told him to lay off America or 'the Yangtze flows red with their blood.' It worked pretty good. But he really crapped his kimono when he found out I was a Master of Sinanju."
Chiun arched an eyebrow. "Don't you mean the Master of Sinanju?" he asked blandly.
"No," Remo insisted firmly. "Not this time. I promised myself this on my way back here. You're not sucking me into that again. You're the Master of Sinanju, okay? The one, the only. Accept no substitutes."
"I would like to believe that you still respect me, Remo," Chiun said. "But how can I when it is so plain to me that you are ashamed to be seen with me?"
"I'm not ashamed," Remo said. "It's all in your head."
"Ah, now I see. So I am a nuisance and I'm crazed. Clearly, I have become too great a burden to you. How unfortunate for you that Long Island Sound has no convenient ice floes on which to leave me. Perhaps in his infinite kindness Emperor Smith will give me permanent residence in one of the upper floors of Fortress Folcroft. Once you have assumed Reigning Masterhood, I can be hidden up there to sit and gather dust with the other elderly castaways."
"I've been meaning to talk to you both about that," Smith said. He continued to work, eyes trained on his computer screen. "It is too problematic for you to remain here any longer. Given current circumstances, it is time the two of you found alternative lodgings."
"Oh, great," grumbled Remo. "Perfect timing."
"Why would I expect anything more?" Chiun moaned. "Now you both wish to rid yourselves of the nuisance that is me. Why not smother me in my sleep? Or better yet, the two of you could take me into the depths of the forest and chain me to a tree like some unwanted dog. I will buy the chain."
"Thanks a bunch, Smitty," Remo groused. "Couldn't you pick a better time to toss us out on our ears?"
"Permanent residence for you here at Folcroft has never been an option," Smith insisted. "By allowing you to stay all these months, we have all been guilty of falling into a comfortable but dangerous habit. You knew you couldn't remain here forever." His eyes narrowed as he studied the data on his computer. "Oh, my," he said quietly.
"What's wrong now?"
"There is apparently some civil unrest in Harlem," the CURE director replied.
"No kidding?" Remo said blandly. "What's the matter, Cincinnati run out of windows to break?"
"This could be serious," Smith said gravely.
As he spoke, his computer beeped anew. Tired eyes scanned the new information culled by the CURE mainframes. By the time he'd finished reading, the last of the color had drained from his gray face.
"The president was visiting Harlem at the time. Initial reports are not clear, but he was apparently in the area when the mob action began. He may be in danger."
"What the hell is he doing in Harlem?" Remo asked. "I thought he only left Camp David to fly to Texas."
"It is a former president," Smith explained.
"Oh." Remo's face relaxed. He glanced around the gloomy office. "Anything good on TV?"
Chapter 7
A dour winter's dawn was beginning to streak the sky above Harlem as Cindee Maloo stomped her size-five Timberland all-terrain boot on the potholed street.
"Pooh," Cindee complained. "Pooh, pooh and more pooh."
She had just been given some very bad news about the former president of the United States.
"Are you sure he escaped in one piece?" Cindee demanded.
"I'm sorry, Cindee," replied her assistant. "I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but there weren't any dramatic rescues or blood on the sidewalk or anything. According to the news people, he managed to get into his office after the mob attacked his car. When they didn't storm the building, he holed up in there for a few hours. The mob surrounded the place and screamed and yelled for a while, but when the police showed up, everything just sort of stopped. Everyone surrendered peacefully and the president took off. He's probably halfway to Chappaqua by now."
Cindee stomped her little foot in its rugged outdoorsy boot again. "Pooh!" she repeated.
Her nasal accent made the word come out sounding like "poe." The accent was Australian, which was no surprise since Cindee Maloo herself was Australian. She was Australian from her nasal accent to the top of her naturally curly Australian blond hair and to the toe of her pretty little Australian foot, which she stomped angrily on the ugly American pavement one more time.
"Where's the drama in just having him escape like that?" Cindee complained. "Who's gonna stay tuned if they know he gets out of it alive?"
Cindee cast a furious eye up at the building in which the former president had spent a harrowing night.
Rocks had shattered most of the windows. The sidewalk was littered with glass.
The thinning crowd gathered outside the building was mostly news people along with a few neighborhood residents who had come out to gawk when the fireworks started.
Nearer, there were two men examining some of the debris that had been crushed by the mob's stomping feet.