Smith's fingers went limp. "Do you remember the color?"
"White, with red letters."
"Alabama," said Smith, inputting the name.
The computer searched its memory banks and generated an on-screen readout.
"The van is licensed to the White Aryan League of America and Alabama," Smith said. Then he thought about what he had said. "Put Remo on, please," Smith told Chiun.
"Smitty?" Rema said.
"That swastika means something. The van is registered to a neo-Nazi group."
"What would neo-Nazis want with Ferris D'Orr?"
"I can't imagine, but it's going to be up to you and Chiun to find out and get D'Orr back before anything happens to him."
"Talk to Chiun. I'm just along for the ride until this is over. Then I'm going back to Korea."
"Would you tell him, Remo?" Smith pleaded. "I always get a headache explaining even simple things to him."
Remo stopped the rented car in front of the big gates with the hand-carved pinewood sign, "FORTRESS PURITY," over them. He stuck his head out the window and called to the guard, who wore a brown uniform and a Sam Brawne belt.
"Excuse me," Remo called, "Would you mind opening up?"
The guard sauntered over to the car. Out of the corner of his mouth, Remo whispered to Chiun, "Remember, keep your sunglasses on."
The Master of Sinanju adjusted his wraparound sunglasses over his almond eyes and pulled his white bowler down over his forehead. It matched his suit. His tie and breast-pocket handkerchief were a matching gold.
"Don't worry, I am cool," he said, using a word he had picked up from television. Americans used it a lot. Therefore so would he.
"What do you want?" the guard asked suspiciously. "We want to sign up. Where's your recruiting offices?"
"We only let in the racially pure," the guard said, looking at Remo's brown eyes and dark complexion. "What's your name?"
"Remo."
"Doesn't sound very Aryan to me," the guard said slowly.
"Remo White. And this is my father."
"Chiun, Chiun Whiter," said the Master of Sinanju.
"Whiter? Whiter than what?" Remo whispered in Korean.
"Whiter than thou," answered Chiun, adjusting his tie.
"What lingo was that you're speaking?" demanded the guard in a suspicious voice.
"Aryan," said Remo. "We're the official Aryan tutors. By this time next month, you'll all be speaking it."
The guard looked at them a long time and finally made up his mind.
"Okay, you can go in. It's the big building with the flag. "
"They all have flags," said Chiun as they passed through the grounds. Around them, men in brown uniforms marched in formation, "Nice ones. It is good to see the Zingh again."
"The what?"
"The Zingh," said Chiun, pointing. "It is a lucky symbol. "
"Little Father," said Remo as they got out of the car and walked up the long ramp in front of the main building, "that's the swastika. It's the Nazi symbol. It's evil."
Chiun spat. "Do the Japanese own the sun because they put it on their flags'?" he asked. "Or the Americans the stars? The Zingh is older than Germany. In ancient days it was a proud sign. Remind me to tell you about it someday."
"Later. Right now, I want you to let me do all the talking. These people are Nazis. They may be dangerous."
"Nazis are not dangerous," said Chiun. "They are idiots."
"Dangerous idiots, then. Just let me do the talking. We've got to pass ourselves off as good clean Aryans.
"That will be impossible. Aryans never bathed and were blood-drinking barbarians."
The man at the registration desk did not ask them if they were Aryans. He did not even ask their names. He asked only how much they made per year.
Remo said, "I'm unemployed."
Chiun said, "More than you can imagine."
"Will you pay your friend's dues?" the man asked Chiun.
"Surely," said Chiun.
"That'll be twenty-five thousand dollars for the year. Prorated. "
"Do you take American Express?" Chiun asked casually.
"Everyone takes American Express," said the man, running Chiun's card through a credit-card machine. "I'll get you your uniforms," said the man. A moment later he was back with two cardboard boxes. He handed them to Remo.
"These should fit you both. You bunk in the Siegfried Barracks. "
On the way out the door, Chiun opened his box. When he saw the contents, he made a disgusted face and threw the box into a trash barrel.
"We'll need that to blend in-" Remo said.
"When you wear a uniform," Chiun pointed out, "you surrender your very soul to the rules of others. Surrender nothing to these people, Remo, or they will own you.'