Over black coffee and mineral water-Remo had the water because caffeine affected his system the way speed affects an ordinary person's system-Remo let Kinga pepper him with questions.
"What is your frank opinion concerning this catastrophe?" Kinga asked.
"It wasn't Martians."
"Who has said Martians?"
"The press. You should know that."
"There are no Martians, according to science."
"That's my theory," said Remo, grinning.
Mnga blinked. "What is your theory?"
"That there are no Martians here or on Mars."
"Yes. Of course. But what is your theory as to the shuttle disaster?"
"Something unknown. Maybe an enemy nation."
"Which is most likely?"
Remo shrugged. "Search me. The Russians are pretty quiet these days. But it's somebody out to get our space program."
"This is not logical," Kinga said flatly.
"You got a better theory?" Remo asked.
"The correct English is, 'Do you have a better theory?'"
"Thank you for the elocution lesson," said Remo, wondering why the woman wasn't trying to flirt with him. He decided to start first, just to hone his flirting skills.
"You are stepping on my toe," Kinga said firmly.
"It's called playing footsies."
"The correct term is 'foot.' Where were you educated, please?"
"In an orphanage," Remo replied truthfully.
"That is no excuse for not speaking your native tongue correctly. I myself speak three languages, including Russian."
Withdrawing his foot, Remo said, "You're different than other women I usually meet."
"I am Hungarian by birth."
"Hungarian women all like you?"
"How do you mean by this question?"
"Never mind," said Remo, who decided that as dates went, Kinga Zongar was a wet firecracker. Finishing his water, he said, "Well, gotta get back to my investigation."
Kinga stood up, flinging back her long tail of chestnut hair. "I will observe, if you do not mind."
"If you can keep up, feel free," Remo said, thinking that, on the other hand, it was refreshing to meet a woman who wasn't scratching at his fly like a cat trying to come in on a cold night.
"I can keep up," she said confidently.
WHEN REMO FOUND the Master of Sinanju again, Chiun was moving through the press of technicians and middle managers in a posture that clearly told Remo that he was stalking someone.
Remo fell in behind him, forgetting all about Kinga Zongar.
In his dark suit, Chiun was a shadow with an instinct for other shadows. And with all the floodlights and flashlights, there were plenty of stark shadows between the patches of incandescent light.
Remo moved more openly. Behind him, Kinga asked, "Who are you following?"
"Do you see me following anyone?"
"I see you following a person, but I do not see the person it is you are following."
"If you could, I'd be worried."
On the other side of the giant tower that was the launch-assembly building, Chiun paused.
Remo came up behind him, and Chiun waved him to hold back. Of course, Chiun was aware of Remo, even if he had given no sign until now. He could sense a flea leaping at a hundred yards by the tiny sproing of its legs.
Obediently Remo hung back. "What's up?" he called in a low, carrying tone that would register in Chiun's ears but no one else's.
A thin squeak floated back. "I am following a Martian."
"Where?"
"If I knew the where, I would be ahead of him and await him at his destination, unsuspected," Chiun hissed back.
Remo frowned. He sniffed the air. The only scent that came through the harsh tang of burned metals was human sweat and a faint whiff of what seemed to be chocolate.
"To whom are you speaking?" asked Kinga, peering into the dark blots between shards of light.
"And tell your Russian friend to hold her tongue," added Chiun.
"She's-" Remo started to say.
"Hungarian," Kinga said for him.
Chiun turned, looked at Kinga squarely and sniffed the air delicately. "Russian. But one who has dwelt in this land many years."