"You did well enough."
"Now we have to get out of here."
"I think it is time to ascend the dragon."
Friend searched memory. The word-string "ascend the dragon" did not appear in any known language as a meaningful construct. But the word "ascend" was clear. He commanded the north and south walls to join.
The older one noticed it first. "The walls are closing, Remo."
"Great. What do we do now?"
"We wait."
"For what? The cavalry?"
"No. For opportunity."
"I hope you know what you're doing."
The two subjects simply stood, waiting. Heart actions nominal, respiration unremarkable. They were facing an unavoidable death, yet they did not react with the adrenal-triggered panic of their kind.
When the walls were only four feet apart, the Oriental set himself on splayed legs. He shook the sleeves of his garment from his arms and pressed one palm against the north wall and one against the south wall.
Friend computed that 2,866.9 foot-pounds of pressure were being applied against his outstretched arms.
"You could help," the Oriental remarked.
"It's your turn," the other said. He folded his arms calmly. The pressure increased. But the walls slowed and the servo motors began to spark and labor. They shorted under the strain.
The walls were immobilized.
"These walls are too slick for the usual," the taller one remarked. He slid a finger along the north wall and exhibited 5.1 milliliters of oil to the old Oriental.
"Then we do the unusual."
The two subjects exited the water tank via a system not on record. The Occidental created a hold at head height in one wall. He accomplished this by striking the wall with his stiffened fingers. The impact should have broken his fingers. Instead, a smooth indentation 0.133 meters deep appeared. The Oriental climbed on his shoulders and created another hole at his elevated head height. The Occidental climbed over the Oriental, who clung to the wall from the hand- and footholds.
They reached the ceiling in exactly 46.9 seconds.
The Oriental was on top. The trapdoor was designed to slide apart. Friend recognized the impossibility of his reaching the dividing point of the trapdoor halves. The Oriental did not try. He simply cut out a hole in the metal floor with a fingernail. Acording to current physics, it was not possible. But sensors do not lie and memory can sometimes contain insufficient data.
Friend calculated the percentile success factor of the remaining protective devices in the basement, and none had a success factor higher that thirty-seven percent in the face of these two interlopers.
Defense systems were nonapplicable. Only escape was possible.
Fortunately, there was an open line available.
"Let's not waste any more time," Remo told Chiun, looking at the computer. It hummed. Magnetic-tape reels turned in quarter-cycles. But no lights blinked on its blank face. And it had nothing to say, even after Remo called "Hello" several times.
"Smith wanted information from this thing," Chiun said.
"I'll bring him all the tapes and computer chips he wants. Let him sort them out. I'm for rendering this thing inactive," Remo said, moving in on the machine.
"So be it," said Chiun, following.
Remo came up on one side of the machine. "There's gotta be a plug here somewhere."
"Here," said Chiun, hooking a black cable with a sandaled toe.
"Well, don't just play with it. Pull the damned thing." Chiun shrugged, and kicked upward.
Just before the humming ceased, the computer emitted a musical beeping. Then it spoke.
"Hello, Remo. Hello, Chiun. What are you doing here? You're supposed to be in Zuuuuurich."
"We are in Zurich," Remo said in a puzzled voice.
"Oh-oh," said Chiun, kicking the plug away.
"What?"
"Its voice. Did you hear it?"
"What about it?"
"It sounded female."
"How could you tell? It was squealing at the end."
"It sounded like Smith's computer."
"All computer voices sound alike to me," Remo said, shrugging. He opened a front panel and began pulling tapes off their spindles.
"Grab anything that looks intelligent," he said.
"That leaves out everything in this room except myself," Chiun said, regarding the computer with concern.
"Thanks a lot," Remo said. But he whistled as he unplugged circuit boards and memory chips, tossing them into a pile. Except for getting a little wet, it had been an easy assignment.
Chapter 24
Dr. Harold W. Smith shifted the phone from his right ear to his left. "Hello? Hello?" he repeated. "Am I still speaking to Friendship, International?"
There was no answer. But the line remained open. Smith could hear the transatlantic static hiss in the receiver. "Hello?" he asked again. Smith's mouth puckered like a lemon. One moment, the too-polite voice had been speaking to him, then the line went quiet. He was on hold, he was sure of it. He hoped that Remo and Chiun had zeroed in on the other end of the line.
Smith kept the line open, glancing at his wristwatch every few seconds. He hated to think of what this dead air was costing him at current international telephone rates.