"Of course," General Leiber said, wondering what "global links" meant.
"How about simultaneous language translation?"
"State-of-the-art," said the general, wondering why the President was so interested in languages at a time like this.
"Where is this computer now?"
"Being crated for freighting."
"Hold the line," said the President.
General Leiber listened to John Philip Sousa march Muzak with his brow wrinkling.
The President came back on the line.
"That computer," he said. "It's not going to the Pentagon."
"Of course it is. I just requisitioned it."
"No, it is not. It's going to where I tell you to ship it. Now, please write down this address."
General Leiber copied down the address of a warehouse in Trenton, New Jersey.
"Send it there."
"But, Mr. President, why?"
"I'm kicking this upstairs. You'll continue with your end of the investigation, of course."
"Of course," said the general. "But-"
"No buts. That's an order."
General Leiber hung up the phone, wondering where the President had suddenly found his gumption. Only a few hours ago he had been a raving idiot. And what did he mean by "kicking it upstairs"? He was calling from the White House, for God's sake. There was no upstairs.
Worriedly General Leiber put in a call to Excelsior Systems. The President had said nothing about the computer being returned. Well, hell, let the milk-livered bastard at Excelsior worry about getting his own damn computer back. General Leiber had bigger fish to fry. Assuming he himself didn't get fried along the way.
Chapter 16
At the White House, the President hung up the telephone. It was a stroke of luck that General Leiber had called with the news about that computer. It might be the solution to his problems. He reached into a desk drawer and pulled out the red CURE telephone. An extension cord trailed out of the Oval Office and all the way to the President's bedroom. The President had personally hooked up the extension himself and then forbidden all mention or questions about it among his staff.
He lifted the receiver. Dr. Harold Smith's acknowledgment came promptly.
"Smith, this is your President."
"Of course," Smith said.
"Smith, where are your people?"
"My people? I sent them to Washington hours ago. Do you mean they have not arrived?"
"No."
"Yes," said a squeaky voice.
"Which is it, Mr. President?" Smith asked in puzzlement. "Yes or no?"
"That wasn't me," the President said, looking around the Oval Office. Who had spoken? He was alone.
"Mr. President," Smith said sternly, "it is a serious breach of our security for you to converse with me while others are in your presence."
"I'm alone. I think." The President looked around the room. They called it the Oval Office for a good reason. There were no corners or crannies in which an assassin might conceal himself. The President looked into the well of his desk. The only things there were his legs.
"No, you're not," a second voice said. A firmer voice.
"Smith," the President said huskily, "I'm not alone. This is exactly why I wanted your people here."
From behind the standing flag of the United States, a figure emerged. The President blinked. He was a thin, youngish man with deep-set eyes. He was dressed casually. A second man-he stepped from behind the presidential flag-was anything but casually dressed. His kimono was the color of a Chinese firecracker. Two tigers rampant were stitched in black and gold threads on the front. It seemed incredible that either of them could have hidden unseen behind the standing flags, but the evidence was before him.
"I was mistaken," the President said. "They are here."
"Let me speak with them," Smith requested.
"Here," the President said. Remo took the phone and began speaking quietly.
The Oriental man regarded the President with wise eyes. He bowed.
"And how have you been?" the President asked. "Chiun, isn't it?"
"I am well," Chiun said with formal stiffness. "I trust you are happy now that you have ascended the Eagle Throne."
"The what? Oh, yes. Of course. I worked very hard to attain this office. I just didn't expect this rough a time of it so soon."
"Leadership brings many burdens," intoned Chiun. "Fortunately, Remo and I are here to lighten some of them."
"I wish you could do something about the press."
"Don't give him ideas," Remo said suddenly, clapping a hand over the red phone.
"You need only whisper their names in my ear and your enemies will become as the dust on your boots," Chiun offered.
"I think you're thinking of the last President. I don't wear boots. But the press isn't the problem. It's the source of these attacks. If only we knew which nation was behind them."
"As I told Smith, it is very simple," Chiun said. "Look for a jealous prince."
"The Vice-President?"