Don Carmine's eyes narrowed craftily.
"Isn't that the place where that Greek who ran for President comes from?" Don Carmine asked slowly.
"The very same."
"The one who kept talkin' about the Massachusetts Miracle?"
Don Fiavorante nodded patiently.
"It is an honor," said Carmine, who had voted for the Greek governor who had promised to share the wealth and prosperity he had created in his home state with the entire country.
"It will be work. I hope you are a worker."
Don Carmine Imbruglia, aka Fuggin, took Don Fiavorante's hand in his and kissed it once in gratitude.
"This is too good to be true," he said, tears starting from his eyes. He was going to be rich. He was going to be a kingpin. At last. And he would make his fortune in the fabulously prosperous wealthy place called Massachusetts.
Chapter 8
"The Mafia?" said Harold W. Smith in surprise. "Are you absolutely certain, Remo?"
" I couldn't swear to it in court, no, but everything I saw had all the earmarks of the outfit."
"Why would IDC be in business with the underworld?"
"Why don't you ask IDC?"
The line hummed. That meant that Harold Smith was thinking. Remo leaned an arm against the stainless-steel acoustical shield of the pay phone. His face, showing in the polished steel, was reflected as if in a crazy house mirror. The warped effect was not enough to hide the fact that there was a lump in the center of Remo's forehead as big as a walnut. Remo touched it. It felt firm, but with a trace of rubberiness. He hoped it wasn't a tumor. He had had the thing ever since returning from the Gulf. He knew something strange had happened to him there. He didn't know what. It was like there was a blank spot in his memory. But somehow he had gotten the lump-whatever the hell it was-during that blank period.
Presently Harold Smith asked a question.
"You say all you saw was a personal computer?"
"That's right. Like yours, except it had an IDC plate on it. "
"And you destroyed it?"
"I think the technical term is 'shitcanning,' " Remo said dryly.
"Whatever. And you have no idea what this may be about?"
"IDC did give me a book, but I barely glanced at it. It was written in some dialect of English I never saw before."
"A software manual."
"If you say so," Remo said, fingering the lump on his forehead absently. "I left that with the goon squad."
"Do you recall the program title?" asked Smith.
"It began with an L and ended with two capital I's. Or maybe they were the Roman numeral two, I couldn't tell. When I saw that, I knew the rest of the book was hopeless."
"Two I's as in Ascii?"
"Spell it."
".A-s-c-i-i,"
"Yeah, like that, only it began with an L."
"That makes no sense. Ascii is a technical term for a plain-text file."
"I don't understand plain-text file," Remo admitted, "and it sounds almost like English."
Remo detected the sounds of keystrokes coming over the wire. Then Smith said, "Remo, according to my data base, the Boston Mafia is in disarray. I do not even have a record of a capo currently in charge."
"His name is Fuggin," Remo said dryly.
"Spell that."
"Your guess is as good as mine," Remo said.
More keystrokes. Then Smith said, " I have no name remotely like that in my files. It's inconceivable that the Mafia would allow an unknown person to assume leadership of their New England operation."
"That's the name I got."
"Remo," said Smith, "can you find your way back to this place?"
"I think so. It's near the airport."
"Attempt to penetrate the place tonight. Recover the computer. Alert me once you have possession. And above all, leave no trace of your penetration.
"Gotcha. By the way, I may need your help."
"In what way?"
"In placating Chiun. IDC hustled me to the airport so fast I couldn't get word to him. The line was tied up. His soap operas, I figure."
"Actually, Chiun and I were consulting," Smith said vaguely.
"Really? Care to fill me in?"
"You'll be briefed once you have executed your mission."
"You're a pal. But do me a favor. Tell Chiun I tried."
" I will communicate your concerns to the Master of Sinanju."