For a tense instant, Remo thought his teacher would launch into another attack. But the old man became a frozen statue of cold fury. Hands clenched to knots of bone at his sides as he glared up at his pupil.
"Is this what I've become to you?" Chiun demanded, his singsong voice ringing high with rage. "I am now some thing to be carted around and disposed of at inconvenient moments? Can my worst fears possibly be true? Do you crave the title of Reigning Master so much that you would take me and dump me off in some dank basement in the hope that I will die from the humiliation?"
"Take it easy, Little Father," Remo said. "Don't you remember MacGulry's office? You were hypnotized."
"Codswallop," Chiun sniffed. "A Master of Sinanju cannot be hypnotized."
"Vassily Rabinowitz," Remo said, reminding his teacher of a time years ago when he had, in fact, been hypnotized.
Chiun's slivered eyes sprang wide with rage. "Is this your plan?" he demanded in Korean, stamping his sandaled feet. "To shame me into an early grave? Are you now the town crier of my worst humiliations? Is my every disgrace to be shouted from the rooftops?"
Smith didn't understand the language, but the old Korean's tone was clear.
"It's true, Master Chiun," Smith insisted. "Look at the air before you. Do you see something?"
The Master of Sinanju scowled. "I see nothing but an ungrateful pupil," he snapped in English. "If there was any air there, his big white nose breathed it all up on me."
"Look carefully. Stare at the wall," Smith pressed. "Do you see any words?"
"What is this idiot babbling about?" Chiun asked Remo in Korean.
"Those subliminal commands MacGulry tried to use on you," Remo said in English. "You remember it, don't you?"
Chiun's face fouled. "Of course."
"I think you're supposed to still be able to see it even after you come out of it," Remo said. "Shittman told me he could still see the words even after he came around."
"It was the same for me," Smith interjected.
"I see no words on walls," Chiun spit.
"Odd," Smith said. "Perhaps your Sinanju training dispels the lingering effects."
"There are no lingering effects because I was not hypnotized," Chiun snapped. "Whatever Remo tells you to the contrary is part of the web of lies he has concocted to hasten his ascendency to Reigning Masterhood." He waved his furious hands in the air. "Bah! I refuse to bear the indignity of this any longer."
Kimono hems twirling defiantly around his bony ankles, he swept out the door. Mark barely opened it in time. He let the door swing shut after the old man was gone.
"He let me off the hook pretty easy," Remo mused. As he stared at the door, a dark notch formed in his brow.
"That was easy?" Howard asked. "Have I told you lately how glad I am I'm not you?"
"Mutual," Remo said.
"We have more pressing matters," Smith interrupted urgently. "Mark, I want all televisions in Folcroft confiscated for the duration of this crisis. I don't want you to risk going near them. Have the orderlies lock them in a supply room. Now, given Friend's ability to worm his way into computer systems, for safety's sake I can no longer use the one in my office. Fortunately, he doesn't know you've joined CURE. I assume that's why you've been left out of the attacks so far. You should be safe for the time being."
"Unless he decides to tap into the only active computer in the sanitarium," Howard suggested. "He could just tell whoever's using it to kill you."
"I'm hoping the CURE safeguards will rebuff him. If not, we'll worry about that when and if it happens," Smith said tightly.
The CURE director didn't mention that he had already considered that scenario. It was a necessary risk. Besides, he knew how to keep both himself and his assistant safe. The tranquilizer guns Smith had hoped to use against Jeremiah Purcell were back under lock and key. His next trip would be to the basement locker to retrieve one of the guns. If it became necessary, he would use one on Mark Howard.
"Apparently, Friend has called here asking after me," Smith continued. "I will have to find out from Mrs. Mikulka precisely what she said. If he thinks I am incapacitated, it is likely that we can expect some kind of attack against me."
"Why?" Remo asked.
"Because his pattern has been consistent. He is setting us against one another, not caring who goes first. If he thinks one of us is vulnerable, he will seize the opportunity. That's what I would do under the circumstances."
"If you say so," Remo said. "Trust a computer to think like a computer. So what do I do?"
"What you were going to do already. Go to Australia and dismantle MacGulry's ability to send those signals around the world. With any luck that will lead you to Friend."
"That's what I started to tell you upstairs," Mark said excitedly. "I think I found him. When Remo told me about Friend, I did a search and traced a ton of computer equipment to two Vox sources. Way more than they'd need, even for the kind of TV operation MacGulry runs. He had stuff shipped to the station in New South Wales and redundant equipment sent to his house in Queensland."
"If that's the case, Friend will only be at one of those locations," Smith said. "The other is most likely reserved as a backup in case of emergency."
"I'll pull the plug on both," Remo insisted. "Okay, if that's all, I've got a plane to catch."
"About that," Howard said. "I was only making arrangements for one. But now that Chiun is up and about..." He looked questioningly at Smith.
Remo's eyes grew flat. "He's not going," he insisted.
"I suppose it might be unwise to send him in light of what happened at MacGulry's office," Smith admitted.
"Right," Remo agreed. "He's not going."
"It might not be safe for him."
"Like I said. He's not going."
"However, you know what Master Chiun is like," Smith cautioned. "If he decides he should accompany you, there is little any of us could do to stop him."
Remo's shoulders sank. "He's going, isn't he?"
"Yes," called a squeaky voice from the hallway. "And if you plan on opening your big dumb mouth again, pack a parachute."
Chapter 27
The sleek white Vox jet roared out of the clear blue sky above Queensland, Australia. Its lone passenger tapped his foot in frustration on the floor as he watched the ground rise up to meet the plane.
Ken "Robbie" MacGulry hated this. He liked to drive events, not sit in the bloody back seat.
It was all Friend's fault. The sentient computer program had transferred his enemies over to Robbie MacGulry. Apparently, they'd been after Friend for years. Now they had a living, breathing target to trace.
"Should've just told the yobbo to rack-off that first time he called," he grumbled to himself.
Maybe Friend didn't understand the human factor. Maybe he didn't realize that actual flesh-and-blood people had a tendency to make things personal. Or maybe just maybe-he wanted them to follow Robbie MacGulry back here.