"Who's going to protect me while you watch the soaps?"
"Me, of course."
"And what am I supposed to be doing?"
"Sitting here recovering from your unfortunate exposure to ugly metal objects."
"You're going to guard me and watch soaps at the same time?"
"Masters of Sinanju are ambidextrous," said Chiun, flipping the channel selector in search of something familiar.
"Masters of what?"
"Sinanju,"
"Sinanjew? You don't look Jewish," said Ferris D'Orr.
"That is because I am not Jewish."
"Good. I don't like Jews."
"My ancestors would agree with you. They never got any work from the House of David. Herod was another matter. "
A round balding face appeared in the big TV screen just in time to receive a thrown grapefruit.
"Ah, they are on TV too," Chiun said pleasurably. "I saw them before in a movie. They must be very popular."
"Them? Those are the Three Stooges, aren't they?"
"They are wonderful," said the Master of Sinanju, settling onto the couch. He arranged his kimono skirts modestly se that they covered his legs.
Ferris D'Orr watched as the three men on the screen hit one another over the head with an assortment of blunt objects, chased each other through a house, and climaxed their antics with an ink-squirting duel.
The Master of Sinanju cackled happily. "I love them. They are so . . . so . . ."
"Stupid," Ferris supplied.
"So American," said Chiun.
"You like American stuff, huh?" asked Ferris D'Orr. "
American stuff is an acquired taste, I know, but I am trying. "
"Well, if I were you, I'd get a change of clothes. You dress like a sissy."
The Master of Sinanju restrained his anger at the white metallurgist. No doubt he was still suffering from his exposure to the laboratory.
"Alas," he said. "I have only one decent kimono left. Do you know a good tailor?"
"There's gotta be at least one decent one in this city."
"After this is over, we will visit him."
"Can't," said Ferris D'Orr. "I'm supposed to stay here. This is the safe house, remember?"
"Where would you feel safer," countered Chium, "alone in this house where killers can walk through the door with impunity, or on the street with the Master of Sinanju?"
Ferris D'Orr remembered his inability to budge the nebulizer and how the funny little Oriental had dragged him out of the lab with no apparent effort.
"No contest. I'll call a cab," he said.
Chapter 15
The phone rang on the desk of Dr. Harold W. Smith. Smith jerked away from his video screen. It was the regular line, not the direct connection to the White House. Smith looked at his watch. It was after eleven p.m. That meant his wife.
He decided to ignore it.
But when the phone continued to ring, shattering his concentration, Smith relented.
"Yes, dear?"
"Who is she?" Mrs. Smith demanded, her voice clogged with emotion.
"Again?"
"The other woman. You can't hide it anymore, Harold. First you develop a sudden interest in me, now you're out at all hours. Is it your secretary? That Mikulka woman?"
In spite of himself, Harold Smith burst out laughing. "Harold? What is it? Are you choking? If you're choking, hand this phone to whoever the tramp is. Maybe she knows the Heimlich maneuver."
"I . . . I'm not choking," Harold Smith said uproariously. "I'm laughing."
"You sound like a machine gun having convulsions. Are you sure that's laughter?"
"Yes, dear, I'm sure. And there's no other woman in my life. But thank you for thinking that. You've made my day."
"It's night, Harold. Almost midnight. I'm in bed. Alone. Just as I've been alone for the last week. How long can this go on?"
"I don't know, dear," Smith said in a more sober tone. "I really don't."
"Stop tapping those infernal computer keys when I'm talking to you."
"What? Oh, I'm sorry."
"You really are working, aren't you?"
"Yes, dear," said Harold Smith, turning away from the screen. But only slightly.