Remo looked at Chiun's gold-trimmed white silk kimono and said, "The only place you'll blend is at a Communion offering."
Chiun wrinkled his nose and said nothing.
"I have a rental car waiting nearby," said Smith, starting off.
OUTSIDE, Smith took the wheel, and Remo and Chiun at his tight-jawed insistence sat in the rear where they were less likely to be noticed. Smith drove down Constitution with all the urgency of a Sunday-school teacher, and when the white radiance of the White House cause in sight, Smith turned up Fifteenth Street and parked near the Treasury Building.
Shutting off the ignition, Smith turned and asked, "Remo, I trust you have your Secret Service badge and identification card with you?"
"Yeah."
"What name does it give?"
"Remo Eastwood. Why?"
"You are Remo Eastwood, a special agent out of Dallas. I am Smith, your supervisor."
"Just Smith?"
Smith stepped out, saying, "It is the perfect name if one does not wish to arouse undue notice."
"Just as long as no one asks your first name," said Remo, getting out, too.
"What is my secret name?" squeaked Chiun as they started up the broad stone steps of the Treasury Building.
"Moo Goo Gai Pan," said Remo.
"I will not be called that. I will be Old Man Lump."
"Who?"
"A famous Korean of renown."
Smith hushed them both as they entered the Treasury Building, and led them to the section given over to the Secret Service.
Smith flashed his ID at the turnstile, introduced Remo as Remo Eastwood out of Dallas and Chiun as expert on assassinations, hired by the service to consult on the attempts on the President's life.
They were passed without question.
"We here to see what the Secret Service is up to?" Remo asked as they moved through the corridors, attracting more than normal interest.
"No."
"Then what-"
"Do not be ridiculous," said Chiun. "It is obvious why Smith has come to this Greek money temple."
"Not to me," said Remo.
"Of course not. You have an illogical mind."
Remo followed in silence as Smith led them to a marble staircase that led downward into the building's subbasement. The way was blocked with a padlocked wrought-iron gate with a sign on it saying Unsafe. Do Not Enter.
The sign looked as if it had been posted in the days of Harry Truman.
To Remo's surprise, Smith took a key from a pocket and opened the fat padlock. A restraining chain rattled loose, and Smith opened the gate. He motioned them to slip through, then replaced the chain and snapped the padlock shut again.
They went down the cool stone steps, making virtually no noise. At the bottom they came to a huge steel vault door. There was a combination lock. Smith spun it once to clear the dial, then, blocking it with his spare frame, quickly worked the combination. It fell open on silent, well-oiled hinges the size of Amtrak rails.
"What's this?" Remo asked as they passed through the vault door. "The secret tunnel to the White House?"
"Of course," said Chiun.
"I wasn't asking you," said Remo.
Smith said, "It is a secret tunnel to the White House."
"If it's so secret, how do you know about it?"
"This is how I used to visit the President who inaugurated CURE."
Remo was so surprised he said nothing. He was used to Chiun coming up with these surprises. Not Harold Smith.
Chiun closed the vault door behind them. Once it shut, big fluorescent lights came on, revealing a big living area well stocked with food, communications equipment and a small number of beds.
"In the event of a siege of the White House or a nuclear attack in which they cannot be moved to a secure FEMA site in the Maryland mountains, the First Family will stay here," Smith explained, his lemony voice small in the great vault.
An opening on the other side of the vault led into a dark space. A tunnel, smelling faintly of moist brick. Smith led the way.
The tunnel was not straight. It zigzagged, and Remo realized the design was meant to foil pursuers unfamiliar with it.
They walked the length of two blocks. Smith's eyes weren't equal to the gloom, so Remo had to lead him along, directing Smith by the simple expedient of pulling him along by his tie.
"They gave you the key but not the location of the light switch?" Remo grumbled at one point.
"The lights are controlled from the White House end," Smith said.
"It is obvious, as well as wise," said Chiun.
Remo shot the Master of Sinanju a dark look that Smith missed in the murk.
The tunnel led to a thick stainless-steel door. Smith said, "There should be a wheel, Remo. Turn it."
Remo found a wheel that belonged on a submarine bulkhead door and undogged it. The door opened out, and they passed through to what looked like the boiler room of the White House.
"Okay," Remo said tightly, "here comes the tricky part."