"What the fuck does that mean?"
Then, as if it couldn't get any worse, an agent stuck his head out of the greenhouse door leading to the roof and said, "There's a woman demanding to know about the cover-up."
"What cover-up?"
"She says she's Pepsie Dobbins."
"Throw her nosy ass out of here!" Win Workman shouted. "And seal this entire building. This is a Federal crime scene, goddamn it."
Chapter 8
At the Furioso International Airport, Remo booked the next flight to Washington and then found a pay phone.
He dialed his home number in Massachusetts.
The line rang three times. Remo hung up, rang it another three times and hung up again. On the fourth ring of his third try, the Master of Sinanju came on the line.
"Remo?" a querulously squeaky voice said.
"Bad news, Chiun. The President was assassinated."
"The Fat Prince? The gluttonous one?"
"Yeah. Him."
"Did you do this deed?" the squeaky voice asked.
"Of course not."
"Then he was not assassinated. He was murdered. Only you and I are capable of work worthy of the name."
"Cut the self-congratulatory crap. A sniper took him out."
"Good."
"What do you mean, 'good'?"
"Emperor Smith, whom we serve in secret, will know by the crude use of a boom stick that neither you nor I were sunlighting."
"For the thousandth freaking time, it's 'moonlighting' and it happened in Boston, not three miles from where we live."
"Remo! This is not true."
"It's true."
"Why was I not informed that the puppet President was in this province?"
"Smith will want to know why you didn't stop the killer."
"I knew nothing of any President or his killer," Chiun squeaked plaintively.
"You know that and I know that. But the President was killed on Smith's watch, which is your watch."
"Your watch, too."
"I don't have a watch anymore. I'm just tying up loose ends, remember?"
"We will blame the unfortunate death of the puppet on your recalcitrance," Chiun crowed.
"The hell you will. Listen, I'm on my way to Washington to protect the new President."
"There is a new President?"
"The Vice President."
"This country is doomed."
"It will be if there's a conspiracy. I'm going to watch over the Vice President. I could use a hand."
"If there is a conspiracy, my place is at the side of the rightful emperor, Harold the Mad."
"Look, no one knows about Smith," Remo shouted.
"Are you calling from an airport?"
"Yes, what does that have to do with anything?"
"Because an airport is a public place and you are shouting your emperor's secrets to any skulking spy who happens by."
Remo switched ears and whispered urgently into the mouthpiece. "I'm officially requesting your presence. Okay?"
"I will consider your request-once I have it in writing," said Chiun thinly. "Until then, my place is at Smith's side."
And the line went dead.
Remo slammed the phone down, breaking the plastic handle. He went to the next phone in line and dialed Smith at Folcroft.
"Smitty, I just talked to Chiun. He won't join me in Washington."
"Why not?"
"I made the mistake of whispering the word 'conspiracy,' and he thinks he should be watchdogging you."
"I will call him. Where are you?"
"Furioso International Airport. My flight leaves in ten minutes."