Beside this stood a pedestal on which a copy of the Bible lay open.
Cooder took a seat behind his desk and adjusted on his smile. It still didn't fit.
"What can I tell you, Mr.-?"
"Neilson. Remo Neilson."
"And I am Chiun," said the Master of Sinanju in an arid voice.
Cooder blinked. "Chiun, Chiun, Chiun. Where have I heard that name before?"
"One hears the name Chiun in many places," the Master of Sinanju returned coolly.
Cooder crossed one leg over the other and took hold of a dangling boot. "I'm sure one does, but for some reason, I know that name."
The Master of Sinanju lifted a finger and pointed the long colorless nail at the open copy of the Bible.
"Amos 5:26. You may look it up."
"No need. I know the Bible by heart, practically. Let me see . . ." Cooder closed his eyes. " 'But ye have borne the tabernacle of your Moloch and Chiun, your images, the star of your god, which ye made to your selves.' "
"Huh?" Remo said. "That's from the Bible?"
"You may look it up if you wish," Chiun said blandly.
"I will," said Remo, going to the pedestal. He flipped pages until he got to the Book of Amos and read along, a frown came to his strong face.
"Hey! It's here!"
"Of course," said Chiun, eying Cooder coldly.
"Your name! It's in the Bible. How did it get there?"
"It was put there," said Chiun, eyes still locked with those of Don Cooder, "by the first of my ancestors who bore the proud name of Chiun."
Cooder was looking visibly impressed.
"I'm a religious man," he said. "Not many know it, but it's true. Happy to talk to someone with a name out of the Good Book." His squinty eyes flicked to Remo. "What did you say your name was?"
"Remo," said Remo, looking away from the Bible.
"Well, not all the good names found their way into the Good Book," and he laughed like a nervous spinster. "Now how can I help you God-fearing folks?"
"We're looking into the blackout situation," said Remo, stepping away from the Bible.
"Why ask me? I just read news."
Chiun interrupted. "What is that?" he asked, pointing to a carved wood statuette that occupied a prominent spot on Cooder's desk. It was of a woman in a long concealing garment and head covering.
"That? That's an embarrassing question to ask a Texas Baptist like myself. It just happens to be a saint."
"Looks like a nun," said Remo.
"That's right. You must be a Catholic boy."
Remo said nothing.
"This here's Saint Clare of Assisi," Cooder explained. "Probably kin to Saint Francis. Saint Clare is the patron saint of television, believe it or not. So designated by Pope Pius XII back in '58. I did a feature on her once. The Pope, God rest his soul, up and decided television was too powerful not be watched over from above." Cooder frowned. "Saint Clare must have been looking the other way when the FCC gave Jed Burner his broadcast license."
"You think Burner is behind this?" Remo demanded.
"Sure. He's got the most to gain. People can't watch free TV, they have to get cable. Makes sense, doesn't it?"
"It did until KNNN went down," Remo pointed out. "They're off the air and so are you."
"Don't ever go into journalism, friend. You wouldn't last a minute in this man's game. It doesn't take a rocket scientist to see that Burner has his jamming equipment tucked away somewhere."
"Yeah. Well, I know enough to know that the jamming isn't coming out of Middle America."
"No?"
"It's coming out of Canada."
"What makes you say that?"
"That graph you showed last night. The center is Canada, not the U.S."
"You sure about that?" said Cooder, absently picking up the statuette of Saint Clare and rubbing her wimple with his thumb.
"Positive."
"You know, I'm glad you told me that."
"Why?"
"It kinda points me toward tall cotton."
"Huh?"
"Meaning I think I know who might be back of this jamming jamboree."
They waited for him to say it, and why he didn't, Remo asked, "Let's hear it."
"Can't. I have to protect my sources."
"Sources?" Remo said hotly. "I just gave you the major clue. You just said so."