"It's not my elephant," Remo said in a defensive voice. He had followed Dr. Harold W. Smith up to Smith's Spartan office. Smith closed the door after them and retreated to the security of his shabby desk.
"You brought it back from Vietnam," Smith said flatly.
"Chiun made me. It was his idea. I wanted no part of this. If you want to get rid of the elephant, you have my total, unconditional moral support. Just don't quote me."
"We can't have an unlicensed animal like that on the grounds. This is supposed to be a private hospital. On that basis alone, I'm risking health-code violations and problems with AMA recertification." Just the thought of those bureaucratic hassles brought that old, haggard look to Smith's gaunt, lemony face. Smith reached into a desk drawer and Remo made a mental bet with himself that out would come the aspirin. Smith's haggard look suggested aspirin. His sour look usually signaled a liquid antacid binge. On occasion, it would be Alka-Seltzer. Smith was not wearing his Alka-Seltzer face today, so Remo was dead certain it would be aspirin.
"Talk to Chiun," Remo said exasperatedly. "You have good security reasons. Just give him the chapter and verse."
"The health-code matter of course is not uppermost," Smith told him. "Folcroft is a secret government installation. Security must be our primary concern at all times. An elephant is bound to attract attention."
"Save it for Chiun, Smitty. It's out of my hands."
Out of the desk drawer came a paper cup, and a worried notch appeared between Remo's eyes. A paper cup usually meant aspirin, but Smith always took his aspirin with water from the office dispenser. Why would Smith have a paper cup in the desk when they were racked next to the bottled mineral water?
"I hold you responsible for this elephant situation," Smith said, digging around in the drawer.
"Why me? I told you it was Chiun's idea."
"Which he wouldn't have gotten had he not been forced to follow you to Vietnam. Need I remind you that you were in that country despite my strict orders?"
"I don't want to rehash that mission."
"It was not a mission," said Smith. "It was a renegade action on your part."
"Rub it in, why don't you?" Remo slouched onto the office couch. Why was everyone on his case today?
"I am not even mentioning the expense to the taxpayers of having the elephant shipped to Folcroft. I'm sure there are naval officers who are still trying to learn how an Asian elephant came to be on a United States submarine. By the way, how did you get the animal into the sub in the first place?"
"Through the weapons-shipping hatch," Remo said sourly. "I told Chiun he wouldn't go down the conning tower, but it didn't discourage him. The sub captain tried to bluff Chiun too, but Chiun's been on too many subs in the past. He knew about the big hatch. He made them open it and Chiun prodded Rambo inside."
"Hmmm," said Smith absently. He pulled out an aerosol can, on which the words "FREE SAMPLE" were marked in red. Remo had never heard of aerosol aspirin, and he wondered if Smith was going to fool him and shave instead. But Smith's jaw looked as if it had seen a straight razor in the last hour.
Remo watched with growing puzzlement. Smith's odd New England habits fascinated Remo in a peculiar way. For many years Remo had resented the cold Smith. It was Smith who had set Remo up, so that his faked execution wiped away all traces of Remo's existence. It wasn't done out of malice, but because Smith had been charged with running a supersecret government agency called CURE. It was set up to deal with national-security problems in an off-the-books manner. Officially, it didn't exist. So its single agent, the former Remo Williams, could not exist either. Twenty years and countless operations later, the bitter edge of their working relationship had softened. And so Remo watched with faint amusement as Smith upended the tiny aerosol can and squirted a white, foamy substance into the paper cup. It was not shaving cream. It lacked the pungent medicinal smell--although there was a faint lime scent.
"Free sample, huh?" Remo said to fill the lull in the conversation.
Smith nodded and brought the cup to his lips. His skinny Adam's apple didn't bob as it usually did when Smith drank something. He tilted his white-haired head back further. Smith looked very uncomfortable. Maybe it was whipped cream, Remo thought.
"Can I get you a cupcake or something?" Remo offered. Smith's head came back down and the cup dropped from his face. His expression was especially sour, and annoyed. There was a dab of the white stuff on the tip of his nose.
"I must be doing something wrong," Smith muttered. He turned the can around in his hand as if looking for directions.
"Try squirting it directly into your mouth," Remo suggested in a pleasant voice.
Smith considered Remo's suggestion with a serious expression. Remo hadn't been serious. He leaned forward, anticipating Smith's next move.
But instead of squirting the stuff into his mouth, Smith dipped a finger into the cup and brought the foam-laden digit to his lips. He licked the finger clean, and went back for more.
"This is very inconvenient," Smith said to himself.
"Use your tongue," Remo prompted.
Much to Remo's surprise, Smith did. He scoured the bottom of the cup, getting more foam on his nose. Some of it collected at the corners of his mouth too. Remo decided not to bring it to his attention.
Finishing up, Smith capped the can and returned it to his desk. He looked at the cup as if considering its reuse. Reluctantly he threw it into a green wastebasket that Remo happened to know was purchased used from a grammar school that had been forced to close down. Smith had sat through a three-hour auction to get it, thereby saving forty-seven cents.
Smith looked up, his face businesslike except for the dabs of white substance.
"When did you become a whipped-cream fiend?" Rema asked with a straight face.
"Never," Smith said humorlessly. "That was an antacid product."
"Aerosol?"
"It's new. Supposed to be easier to take, but I didn't think so."
"I'll bet you go back for more anyway."
"Can we get back to the matter at hand?"
"Talk to Chiun. It's his elephant."
"I will need your assistance, Remo. I sometimes think the Master of Sinanju does not understand my concerns. He seems to listen, and gives positive answers, but then he forgets our conversations ten minutes later."
"Chiun understands more than you think. If he doesn't understand something, it's because he doesn't want to. He loves that elephant. I know. He's got me trained to see to its every need. You tell him he has to get rid of it and I guarantee you he will not understand a word you say."
"I have to try. Every day that elephant remains at Folcroft places us at risk."
"So talk to Chiun. I'm not stopping you."
"I would like you to back me up. Help me get through to him."
Remo sighed. "Normally, I'd say no way. But I'm facing a lifetime of stable cleaning if Rambo doesn't go. I guess it can't hurt to try. Chiun can't get any madder at me than he already is."
"Good," said Smith, buzzing his secretary.
"But I'm telling you right now, it won't work."
The Master of Sinanju arrived moments later. He ignored Remo and bowed politely before Smith.
"A thousand greetings of the morning, O Emperor Smith," he said roundly. "Your servant informed me that my presence was required, and my sandaled feet flew with wide-eyed anticipation to your sanctum sanetorum."
"Er, thank you, Master Chiun," Smith said uncomfortably.
Chiun beamed at his emperor.