Chiun's wrinkled features quirked. "Is it not too early for the heads that talk?"
"When I left Atlanta, they were all over every channel. They think KNNN going down is big news."
"Then by all means, Remo. Turn on the television device. I have poured you a cup of tea."
"Thanks," said Remo, hitting the on button. The set warmed up, and Remo felt his heart climb into his throat. The last time he had left Chiun, he felt angry and hurt. Now all he wanted was not to be the one to break the bad news-whatever it was.
The set winked into life. And almost immediately winked out again.
"What's wrong with this piece of junk?" Remo said, giving it a whack.
"I do not know."
"Have you been playing with the contrast knob again?"
"You make the pictures too light," Chiun sniffed. "It is bad for the eyes if they are not made to work."
"Well, I don't like it dark," said Remo, turning the contrast knob. The picture lightened. In one corner. There, emerging from the shifting from high contrast to lower contrast, were two mocking white letters:
NO SIGNAL.
"Damn!" said Remo.
Chiun looked up from his tea. He frowned.
"I thought you rendered the fiends impotent," he said.
"I did. I thought I did. Wait a minute, maybe this is a recap of the blackout footage." Remo changed the channel. The other channels were also black. They weren't hooked up to cable, so there was no way to tell what was happening there.
"Not now!" Remo moaned.
Chiun padded up to the screen, his tea forgotten. His facial wrinkles were gathering like storm clouds.
"Is it not a rerun?" he muttered darkly.
"Well, it is and it isn't," said Remo, running up and down the stations. "The out-of-state stations were just as black."
Then the telephone was ringing. Remo took it.
"Remo," said Harold Smith. "It has begun again."
"Yeah, and the timing couldn't be worse. I just turned on TV so Chiun and I could catch up on breaking news and the screen went dead."
"Remo, it is clear that Jed Burner's KNNN broadcast equipment is not responsible for this."
"Maybe not. But he's involved in this somehow, he and Haiphong Hannah. He's gotta be."
"That remains to be seen," said Smith.
"If he isn't, who else could it be?"
Suddenly, the TV began speaking in an electronically filtered voice.
"Do not adjust your set. The networks have refused to accede to my modest demands. So I am declaring a moratorium on all TV for the next seven hours. Or until my demands are met. I now return you to the Electronic Dark Age of"-an echo chamber effect cut in-"Captain Audioooonnnn. "
Then with Remo watching, the Master of Sinanju turned and hissed, "This is all your fault!"
"Huh?"
"You have failed," Chiun said loudly. "And because of your failure, I am deprived of all tidings of Cheeta Ching. "
"I'm sorry, Little Father. Maybe Smith can point us in the direction of the problem. You and I working together, we can probably solve this in a day."
"No. My place is at Cheeta's side. I must go to her at once."
"Oh no," Remo groaned, watching the Master of Sinanju hurry from the kitchen and float up the stairs to pack.
"Smitty," Remo hissed into the receiver. "You hear that?"
"I did."
"What do we do?"
"I do not know," Harold Smith said in a hollow voice. "But you must stay with Master Chiun and keep him from coming into contact with Don Cooder. The results could be catastrophic."
"They could be worse than that," Remo muttered, thinking that if there was anyone on earth the Master of Sinanju would like to snuff, it was Don Cooder.
Chapter 16
Don Cooder entered the newsroom of BCN's New York headquarters, bloodied but unbowed. He was holding a raw steak over one eye. London broil.
"Admiral on the bridge!" the floor manager called, after giving a sharp blast in the bosun's whistle.
"Let no one doubt Don Cooder's manhood after this day," Don Cooder said.
"Don!" the news director called, white-faced.
"No matter the danger, no matter the risks, if it needs reporting, Hurricane Don Cooder will report it," said Don Cooder.
"But Don."
"No buts! I know what you're going to say. Stow it. I may be head anchor, but in these veins flows the blood of a natural-born reporter. I can't help it. At times like these, I'm like a hound dog with a treed coon under a full moon. Call me country, but country is what made Don Cooder the knight of the remote newscast that he is."
With that, Don Cooder stormed in the direction of his office.
The news director was holding his arm leveled at the line monitor, where the tiny white letters No SIGNAL glowed faintly against the blacked-out screen.