"A land escort to, say, ten miles north of the thirty-eighth parallel. You could walk from there."
"I'm used to curb-to-curb service," said Remo, picking up a brass spittoon from beside the security chief's desk and squeezing it until it squeaked. He placed the mangled remains in the security chief's hands.
"I will drive you personally," the Korean decided suddenly, feeling the sharp metal edges cut his palms. Hours later, the security chief's enclosed jeep came to the barbed-wire fortification that North Korean policy claimed was designed to keep the devils of the South out of the People's Republic. In fact, it was there to keep the people of the North from spilling down to freedom.
"I leave the rest to you," said the security chief.
"Thanks," said Remo.
"I wish your teacher had been so reasonable. If only he had identified himself, we could have come to some realistic accommodation."
"I think he wanted to be followed."
"Then why maim two of our soldiers instead of revealing himself?"
"I think he wanted to be subtle," said Remo, melting into the trees.
Chapter 14
Everyone knew that Ferris D'Orr was in hiding. The whole world knew that the federal government had placed him in a safe house ever since the first announcement that Ferris D'Orr, discoverer of the secret of cold-casting titanium, had been the target of a kidnapping attempt.
And the whole world knew, thanks to the ever-present news media, that the safe house was not a house at all, but a penthouse in downtown Baltimore.
"This is correspondent Don Cooder, reporting from outside the Lafayette Building, the probable-but not definite-location of the safe house where FBI agents have secreted metallurgical genius Ferris D'Orr, the man who may revolutionize defense applications of titanium. Can you confirm any of that for me, Field Agent Grogan?" the newsman asked, shoving his microphone into the face of a big stone-faced man in a blue jacket with the yellow plastic letters FBI on the back.
"No comment," said the FBI man. He cradled an automatic rifle in his arms. Behind him, the glass entrance to the Lafayette Building was sealed off by wooden sawhorses. Other men, all wearing FBI jackets and brandishing firearms, loitered outside the doors. Overhead, a helicopter flew in noisy circles. The letters FBI were stenciled on it too.
The whole FBI team had been moved into the street only an hour ago.
"Our information is that Ferris D'Orr has set up a laboratory in the penthouse suite, where he is continuing his work," the newsman persisted. "Can you confirm that?"
"No comment," the FBI man said laconically.
"Then explain for me, if you can. Agent Grogan, why there is a highly visible FBI presence in front of this building at this particular time."
"To control the media. We weren't called in until you people practically stormed the place."
"Are you saying that you are not here to protect Ferris D'Orr, possibly the most important scientist in America today?"
"I know what Ferris D'Orr is," Agent Grogan said testily. "You don't have to give me the man's whole history. And yes, I am categorically denying that my team is guarding Ferris D'Qrr. I just finished explaining to you. Here it is again. We're on station to control the media. You don't muster a force like this to guard a safe house. That's like hanging out a shingle that says 'Hostage for Rent.' "
"But you're not denving that Ferris D'Orr is hiding twenty floors above our heads in fear of his life?"
"No comment," said FBI Agent Grogan, rolling his eyes heavenward.
"How about the attempted kidnapping of Mr. D'Orr? Are there any leads on that?"
"You'd have to talk to the district supervisor on that one."
"But you expect another attempt, do you not?"
"No comment."
The newsman turned toward his cameraman and fixed the videocam with a steely gaze.
"There you have it, ladies and gentlemen of the audience. Not quite proof positive, but certainly a revealing indication, that scientist Ferris D'Orr is being held in protective custody on this very block. What does this say about our governinent's ability to protect important members of the defense community? Is security so lax that just anyone can uncover a so-called 'safe' house? A discussion on these disturbing questions and a special background feature, 'Titanium and Your Taxes,' will air on a CableTalk Special tonight at eleven, ten central time. Until then, this is Don Cooder, CableTalk Network News, Baltimore."
After the news crews had gone home, confident that they had satisfied the American people's pressing need to know that a man crucial to America's defense future was safely-if no longer secrety-protected by the FBI, a taxi pulled up before the Lafayette Building and a man stepped out.
The man was barely five feet tall, Oriental, and wore a gray kimono, and he informed the FBI agents that they could go home.
"You are no longer needed now that I am here," the little man said in a pleasant, squeaky voice.
When FBI Agent Grogan politely requested the citizen's name, the citizen waved him away. And when the FBI man attempted to lay hands on the Oriental, he found himself clutching air.
"Stop that guy," he yelled to the guards at the door. Five FBI agents barred the door. There was a sudden flurry of movement, a flash of gray, and a sound similar to that of coconuts being cracked together.
Five highly trained FBI agents sank to the pavement, their eyes glazing, their heads bobbing on their unsteady necks after the old Oriental had knocked their heads together in sets of two.
Agent Grogan lunged for the old Oriental. The Oriental turned, and Grogan had a momentary glimpse of two yellowish fingers coming at his eyes. That was usually enough time for the human blinking reflex, one of the fastest reflexes in nature, to react. In this case, the fingers were swifter than the blink and Agent Grogan found himself sitting on the street clutching his face. Tears streamed between his fingers and he could not see.
The squeaky voice called back, "Remind me to kill you later."
A few minutes later, the district supervisor arrived, trailed by a battery of camouflaged agents.
"What happened here?" he demanded.
Agent Grogan stumbled to his feet, stabbing at his tearing eyes with a handkerchief.
"I think he poked me in the eyes," he said. "A little guy. An Oriental. Did you get him?"
"No-but he obviously got you. All of you."
"We've got to stop him."
"No, we don't. We've got to go home. We're relieved."
"Relieved! By who?"
"By the little Oriental who played Moe to your Six Stooges. Don't ask me to explain. I don't understand it any more than you do. But the word came from the top. Let's call it a night."
The next morning, when the network news returned for more no-comments, it found every trace of FBI presence mysteriously gone. They instantly assumed Ferris D'Orr had been removed to an even more secure safe house, and frantically scattered to chase it down, so that the American people would sleep better in the knowledge that he was still in safe hands. In their quest for truth and a higher ratings share, they neglected to do a simple thing. They forgot to enter the building to confirm that Ferris D'Orr had, in fact, been moved.
Ferris D'Orr could not believe his ears.
"One man?" he yelled. "One man is supposed to protect me? Are you crazy? Do you have any conception of how valuable I am to our Defense Department right now?"