He carefully spelled out RAFFAIR in neat block letters. Once he was finished, he looked at what he'd written.
"Raffair," Smith said aloud.
Still, no secret was revealed by speaking the word.
Smith was sure that it was no acronym-either civilian or governmental-that he had ever encountered before.
The word affair was obvious. It had occurred to him many times over the past few days. But the letter R at the beginning changed it completely. "R," Smith said.
He placed a gnarled hand over the letter. "Affair."
Lifting his hand, he placed it over the last six letters of the word.
"R," he repeated out loud. All at once, the light dawned.
"Affair," Smith said excitedly, his voice loud in his tomb-silent office.
With a thrill of discovery, he pulled his hand away.
The CURE director was amazed when he looked down on those simple seven letters. It was so obvious he was angry at himself for not having seen it before. They had spelled it out for anyone to see.
R. Affair. Our Affair. Or in Italian, Cosa Nostra. The Mafia was behind Raffair after all.
So brazen were they, the name appeared in the stock market listings of newspapers across the country and around the world. Organized crime was trading on Wall Street. With remarkable, frightening success.
This was too important to wait. If he was unable to contact Remo through familiar means, he would have to place a call to Western Union.
Smith grabbed up the contact phone. He was in the process of dialing when his office door sprang open.
Frozen in middial, Smith glanced up.
He was surprised to see Remo and Chiun stepping in from his secretary's office.
Both men appeared disheveled. The Master of Sinanju in particular was dotted with a few small streaks of soot. The old man wore a funereal expression. Beside his teacher, Remo managed a weak smile.
"Mind if we camp out here for a couple of nights, Smitty?" he asked tiredly.
Chapter 20
"What is wrong?" Smith asked as he cast a narrowed eye over the two men standing inside his closed office door. The CURE director calmly replaced the phone.
Remo shot a glance at Chiun. The Master of Sinanju's expression was stoical. "Something happened to our house."
"What?" Smith pressed.
Eyes downcast, Remo struggled to get the words out. "It sort of... burned down."
Alarm tightened Smith's stomach. "What? When?"
"A few hours ago," Remo exhaled. It all spilled out at once. "We were gonna go to a hotel, but then I figured you might want to talk to me, and I didn't feel like calling and waking you up in the middle of the night to tell you what happened so, well, here we are."
Remo looked shell-shocked. Smith couldn't remember ever seeing such a lost expression on the face of CURE's enforcement arm.
Smith leaned back in his chair, his fingertips gripping the edge of his desk as he attempted to sort through this alarming information. He willed himself calm.
"What caused the fire?" he asked.
The Master of Sinanju answered for Remo. "Vandals," Chiun supplied. The word was a soft lament. The old man hadn't taken his customary seat on Smith's floor. He stood quietly beside Remo, his face a wrinkled mask of sorrow.
"I saw a bunch of guys driving away," Remo said. "They must have tracked us with that videotape. They weren't those guys with the masks." His tone was vague.
"I was afraid of this," Smith said. "Still, they found you more easily than I would have thought. Given the other attacks against you, I hope this doesn't mean there is some greater risk to exposure at work here."
Remo shifted uncomfortably. "Look, it's the tape, okay?" he sighed, exhausted. "It's not some big conspiracy that threatens your precious security. Now, can we please give it a rest? We've just been through hell."
When he looked at Chiun, the old man didn't return his glance.
"I am sorry for your loss," Smith said, shaking his head, "but this could be of concern for CURE."
"It's not, okay?" Remo snapped, his cheeks flushing red. "We just need a place to stay, that's all."
There was something beneath his hot response.
Smith didn't press it. "Your old quarters are available-" he began.
Remo's face sank with tired relief. "I knew we could count on you, Smitty."
"-but I do not think it's wise for you to stay here," the CURE director finished.
Remo's face steeled. "Why the hell not?"
"You said yourself that you believe the men from Raffair, Boston found you. They could do so again."
"Using what? A freaking crystal ball?"
"By employing whatever means they used to find you the first time," the CURE director replied. "Perhaps they even followed you down from Massachusetts."
"We were not followed," Remo insisted. "Perhaps not. Nonetheless, I still don't believe it is a good idea for the two of you to stay here."
"Too bad," Remo said heatedly, "'cause we're staying."
"Remo, I retain your quarters for our own private security reasons. There have been times over the past decade that have required short stays at Folcroft. However, if your house is a lost cause-I am presuming it is?"
"It's a smoking foundation," Remo said bitterly. "In that event, you will want more permanent accommodations. I cannot supply them for you here."
"We just need two goddamn rooms," Remo said, cold anger swelling his level tone.