As he paced, switching channels in the hope of getting some word of Cheeta Ching's whereabouts, Remo wrestled with what he would tell Chiun if the worst came to pass.
For nine months, the impending birth of the baby had haunted Remo. Chiun's insistence that Cheeta and the baby come to live with them threatened their long association. Now this.
There was no way Remo could tell Chiun the truth without destroying their relationship.
In the blackest part of the night Remo had called Harold Smith.
"Smitty. Any news on Cheeta?"
"A full-scale search has turned up nothing."
"What are they doing," Remo said heatedly, "playing with themselves? Tell them to get on it."
"Remo, it is the middle of the night, Georgia is very big and the helicopter is very small. It could have set down anywhere."
"Or crashed," Remo said dully.
"Or crashed," Smith agreed.
"I never thought I'd see the day I cared whether Cheeta Ching would live or die. This is a mess."
"Perhaps."
"What do you mean, perhaps?"
"You have knocked KNNN off the air. Jed Burner has fled for parts unknown. It may be the end of the crisis."
"Not my crisis. I'm holed up in a motel room and I'm thinking of staying here until this blows over."
"You might as well go home, Remo. There is nothing more to be done in Atlanta."
"So what do I tell Chiun?"
"The truth."
"He'll kill me."
"I rather doubt that," Smith said dryly. "The bond between the two of you is very strong."
"Yeah, well I definitely noticed it getting looser and looser the closer Cheeta got to her due date."
"Remo, your face was seen by unknown numbers of KNNN staffers. I would prefer you out of Atlanta and where I can reach you."
"I'll think about it," Remo said, hanging up.
A lot Smith knew. For twenty years, Remo had worked for the old skinflint. There were times when Remo thought he understood Smith, and there were times he despised the man. These days, their relationship was neutral. But Smith didn't appreciate the elemental moods of the Master of Sinanju, how he could turn on Remo over matters of honor or pride.
Remo Williams, the second greatest assassin on the face of the earth, was normally without fear. As he checked out of his motel, he was afraid for his future and desperately trying to come up with a convincing lie that would salvage it.
And as he inserted the key into his front door lock, two and a half hours later in Massachusetts, he was still wracking his brain.
Maybe, he thought, I'll tell him Smitty wants us to fly to Peru and dismember Maoists. Chiun would like that.
The Master of Sinanju was in the kitchen when Remo stepped in. He was making tea. He was humming. This was going to be rough, Remo knew.
Remo stepped in, and Chiun looked up.
The Trinitron stood on its island, black and mute.
Momentary relief washed over Remo. Chiun couldn't have gotten the news.
Remo opened his mouth, trusting to the first lie that emerged.
Instead, he found himself speaking the truth.
"I blew it, Little Father," he said contritely. "I'm sorry."
"This is understandable," Chiun said, setting out a celadon cup.
"It is?"
"You did not have your teacher to guide you to success. "
Remo blinked. "That's right, I didn't, did I?" It hadn't occurred to him. But there it was. An escape hatch.
"Have you broken the news to Smith?" Chiun asked, taking a second cup from the cupboard.
"Yeah."
"He is angered?"
"Actually, he thinks I solved the TV problem even if the bad guys got away."
"A partial success whispers of completeness in a coming hour," said Chiun, pouring the tea into both cups.
"Smith has practically the entire Air Force, Coast Guard and Navy looking for the guy now."
Chiun frowned. "He swam from you?"
Remo shook his head no. "Helicopter."
"Ah. Then you have an acceptable excuse, for we do not fly after helicopters. It is not in our job description."
"Yeah, yeah. Right. Maybe we should turn on the TV now," he added, thinking maybe it would sound better coming from someone Chiun couldn't reach out and strangle.
Chiun frowned. "The squawking of rude readers of the alleged news of this province would spoil such a morning as this."