"Isn't that one of your jets out by the gate?" Remo asked calmly.
"That's right, sir."
"Why not use it, then?"
"Can't. It's our Kansas City flight."
"We both know it's not going anywhere, so why not reroute it to New York?"
"Sorry, it's against company policy. All flights have to go through Kansas City."
The clerk noticed his on-screen data had all run together to form a luminous green blob that floated in the center of the black screen. Now, that was impossible.
"Baltimore and New York City are both on the east coast," Remo informed the clerk. "Do you mean that to fly from one to the other, I have to go through Kansas City, about a thousand miles out of the way?"
"It's the way we here at Winglight Airlines operate. It's actually more efficient that way."
"How is that possible?" Remo wanted to know.
"To save transportation costs and excise taxes, not to mention local fuel surcharge taxes, all our Jet-A fuel is stored in Kansas City. The extra fuel mileage is more than made up for by refueling in Kansas City exclusively."
"That explains your problem. What about the other carriers?"
"I think they just normally screwed up, sir. Deregulation, you know."
Remo looked at the man and stopped drumming his fingers. The on-screen data blob suddenly exploded like a fireworks display. When the little green sparks settled down, the clerk noticed that they had reformed into letters and numbers. He expended a sigh of relief. Then he looked closer. The letters and numbers were inexplicably backward.
By that time, the unhappy would-be passenger was gone.
Remo Williams had to wait an hour to use a pay phone. The pay phones at Baltimore-Washington Airport had lines in front of them that were longer than the ones at the reservation desks. But at least the phones worked when you got to them.
Remo called Dr. Harold W. Smith. He called collect. "Remo? What have you to report?"
"Nothing," said Remo. "I don't work for you, remember?"
"Yes, of course. But from what Chiun has been saying, I thought you were more or less unofficially back on the team."
"Forget what Chiun said. You should see him now. He's tricked out like some freaking Pee Wee Herman clone. Look, Smitty, I'm trying to get back to Sinanju, but I'm stuck in Baltimore. No flights are going out until morning, if ever. Can you swing something? Say, a helicopter?"
"No helicopter would carry you across the Pacific."
"I know that, Smitty. I just want to get out of Baltimore, okay?"
"Not okay. As you know, I'm responsible for allocating millions in taxpayers' dollars. I would be remiss in my responsibility if I used even a cent of it for nonoperational expenses. You are no longer a member of the organization. You admitted it. I'm sorry, I can't justify the cost of returning you to Korea."
"That's your answer?"
"Well, you could reconsider your decision to go. I have that matter we discussed. Someone is trying to kill me."
"I know how he feels," Remo said through clenched teeth.
"I'm sorry, Remo," Smith said formally. "I just can't see it your way."
"Thanks a lot," Remo said, hanging up. Behind him, a long snaky line of waiting customers groaned with one voice.
"What's eating you?" Remo asked them.
"You broke the phone," said a bony woman.
Remo looked back. The receiver was a mush of plastic attached to the dial pad. "Oh, sorry," he said sheepishly.
"That's easy for you to say. You already made your call. "
"I said I was sorry."
At the other side of the terminal, Remo tried to rent a car. He was told in no uncertain terms that he could not have one.
"Give me two reasons," Remo said.
"One, they've all been rented. Two, we don't accept payment in alleged gold ingots. Please take this thing off my counter."
Remo pocketed the bar of metal.
"Do you have a credit card and identification?" the clerk asked.
"No. What if I did? You already told me you don't have any cars."
"True, but if you had a credit card we could fit you in in the rnorning."
"I can get a flight in the morning," Remo said. "I won't need a car then."
"The customer is always right," the clerk told Remo.
Remo decided to sit out the night in the airport cafeteria. It was mobbed. The fast-food restaurants were jammed too. Not that Remo would have eaten in one. His highly attuned nervous system would have shortcircuited with the ingestion of the smallest particle of hamburger or french fry.
"Ah, the hell with it," Remo muttered to himself, looking for a cab to take him back into Baltimore. "Even dealing with Chiun is better than this crap."
But there were no cabs to be had, either, and Remo had to walk all the way back to the city.
The Master of Sinanju did not sleep that night. He could not, try as he might. The pain was too great. Even now, his pupil was many thousands of miles away, flying back to Korea. In his heart of hearts, Chiun wished he, too, could fly back to Korea, back to the land of his childhood. True, there were many painful memories back in Sinanju, of his stern father, who trained him in the art of Sinanju, of his cruel wife and her unworthy relatives, and of the shame of having been left, at an old age, without a proper pupil to carry on the Sinanju traditions.
Remo had wiped away that shame. Remo had become the son Chiun had been cheated of having. In the early days Chiun had not expended any great effort on making Remo a fit assassin for CURE. Remo was white, and therefore inept. His unworthiness would cause him to reject the better portions of Sinanju training. And even when Chiun grew to respect Remo, he avoided getting to know the man. He was white and therefore doomed to eventual failure. There was no sense in getting friendly. Remo would only die.
And it had happened. Remo had died during a mission. But Chiun, sensing a change in Remo revived him. Remo had come back from the dead less white than he had been when he had lived. He had come back Sinanju.
It was then that Chiun knew destiny had delivered into his aged hands a greater future for the House of Sinanju than he had ever dreamed there would be. Delivered to Chiun the Disgraced, the old Master who should have retired but was stuck in a barbarian land so backward even the Great Wang had never known of it. Chiun understood he had the greatest Master, the avatar of Shiva, in his care.